#so i played the entire parade of providence today

[noctilucous-sunni]

i love kaveh but

his little robot suitcase (mehrak) is the cutest thing ever

IT MAKES LIL FACES

and therefore

i am not only going to pull for kaveh but

i am also going to pull FOR HIS SUITCASE ITS ADORABLE

look at this and don’t tell me it’s not cute

#AAAAAA #so i played the entire parade of providence today #not the gala thingy #just the championship story #AND I STUDIED A BIT #so yay #and also i can say that this is one of my favourite events <3333 #i LOVED IT SO MUCH #it was so good #and the cutscenes were so good #and kaveh 🥹🥹😭 #kaveh’s too precious #and the ending #and NAHIDA WAS THERE TOOOOOO ALONG WITH SCARA #it just made me so happy #i really enjoyed it #sunni rambles

[faithisasuperstar]

kingdom come → treech

treech!tbosas x reader

notes → in which your lover gets ripped away from you, and you’re left with mere memories, a promise, and a locket. feminine intended reader. i am a district seven girly FOR LIFEEE. when i was making a plan for a cato fic on wattpad, reader was ofc from seven ✨

warnings → me giving characters angst alert part two!!! not edited & uploaded via iphone

     “treech!” you giggled as you chased him in the woods you called your backyard. you heard him laugh as he leapt over a stream. attempting to follow him, you slipped, accidentally landing in the shallow water. luckily, you had your rain boots on. the red rain boots with hand painted black polk a dots that reminded you of ladybugs. on the other hand, your ruffly dress was not so lucky, soaked with water, dirt crawling at the hems. treech whipped around at the sound of you splashing, and offered a hand to help you up. you giggled as you took his hand. “thank you, my knight.” you teased, beginning to walk back to your home.

     “anything for m’lady!” treech declared, raising his arm triumphantly. your youth was filled with heartwarming moments like this. days spent playing with treech in the woods when the two of you were kids. and when you grew into your teenage years, long, meaningful conversations filled with laughter and secrets with each other after treech finished working. you had known treech your whole life, best friends for fifteen years and lovers for three, he was a part of you. 

     today, the day of the reaping, your mother had laid out an old striped dress of hers. the once colorful stripes had faded into something dreary, but the dress fit you like a glove. it was common knowledge in the districts that children should dress nice for the reaping. not because it was some momentous occasion, but because what they wear then might be the last thing they wear ever. dressing them up for their funerals, a devastating truth. treech met you outside, and he tilted his hat to you when you stepped out of the door. 

     “m’lady,” he greeted, providing his arm for you to latch onto. “well don’t you look ravishing,” he mused, and you curtsied at his compliment, before looping your arm through his. you were treech’s pride and joy and he made sure to treat you as such. the boy was more than happy to show you off, parading you around the streets of seven. the two of you chatted lightly about the days events as he guided you to the town’s square, located a mile and half from your house. eventually you had to part ways with him, but not before you left a quick peck on the cheek. he wore the kiss on his face boastfully as he joined the group of boys to your left. you smiled, finding your own place in the crowd of girls. the process went as normal, a few small announcements made before the female tribute was reaped. her name was lamina, a beautiful tragedy wrapped in a vest, but not anyone you recognized.

     your breath hitched as they called for the male tribute. it had happened so fast. you had never been this overwhelmed. they called treech’s name. your treech. you allowed yourself to hyperventilate for a few moments before catching sight of the boy slowly walking towards the front of the hall of justice. district seven, being one of the largest districts, had thousands of kids piled into the town square, separated by gender. out of the entire population of seven’s youth, it never occurred to you that your boyfriend could be the unlucky victim to be reaped. 

     struggling to control your breathing, you leaped into action, shoving your way through the crowd of girls to the pathway down the middle of the block. treech, still in shock, made his way down said pathway rather hesitantly, as if in disbelief that he had really been reaped. his eyes were scanning the crowd as he passed, stopping for a moment as he met yours. in an instant, you reached forward and grabbed him, pulling him into a hug before any nearby peacekeeper could intervene.

     “i love you, treech. i love you, i love you, i love you!” you repeated, sobbing into his jacket. his arms wrapped around you tightly, not wanting to let go.

     “i’ll win this, y/n, for you. i’ll see you soon, it’ll only be a couple days, just you wait.” he mumbled his promise to you. you pulled apart, woefully wiping away the lipstick mark on his face, cleaning him up for the cameras. there was no doubt that the entirety of the capital was watching you now. what must they think of the spectacle you had created? were they intrigued? disgusted? at this point, the peacekeepers had made their way to him, dragging him onstage.

     “treech!” you objected, reaching out for him. another peacekeeper lightly knocked you backwards, a pitiful expression adorning his face. the girls nearby, some you recognized and some strangers, held the same expression. none spoke, just stared at you. keeping your eyes on the ground, you creeped back to your spot in the crowd. soon enough, peacekeepers were hauling your boyfriend into the hall, and more were beginning to clear the square, forcing you to make your way back to your place of residence. unbeknownst to you, treech had slipped a token in the pocket of your dress before he was pulled away. it wasn’t until halfway through your agonizing, lonely trek back home that you noticed it. it was a dainty, wooden heart shaped locket. patterns had been intricately carved into the surface, no doubt by the careful hands of your loving treech. you traced the patterns with the pads of your fingers, tears staining the wooden block. 

     you clutched the locket, a newfound hope seeping into you, as you held onto the promise that he would win. for you.

#treech #treech tbosas #tbosas #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #thg x reader #thg fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas fanfiction #treech x reader #treech tbosas x reader #treech thg x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #Spotify

[noodleswrites]

Rainy days || Sirius Black

Pairing: young!Sirius Black x shy!Reader

Description: Rainy days are you and Sirius’ favourite days. It only natural, as the day you got together was one as well.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: not beta read, and I’m no author

It’s a quiet day at Hogwarts. Most students choosing to spend their off day lying in bed, or studying in the library. Normally the lawns would be crawling with chatty teenagers, soaking in whatever sun they can while goofing off with their friends. But today, the skies opposed those witches and wizards. Instead, deciding to rain on their parade with a loud downpour.

The hall is empty, except for you two. The large windows not providing enough of a buffer from the rain for the normal students. Sirius sits behind you, legs sprawled against the bench as his arms stay circled around your torso. Every once in a while, his thumb will move in soft circles over your arm, reminding you of his presence. As if you could forget. Sitting in his lap, you remain hyper aware of every connection between your bodies. His heat keeping you warmer than the blanket you are both wrapped in.

As if sensing your mind elsewhere, Sirius takes the book from your lap, wrapping the tattered ribbon around your unfinished page and placing it down beside you. At the simple domestic action, you smile, tilting your neck to direct your face to his. A warmth coming solely from your heart erupts into your body as you note the calm, content look on your boyfriend’s face. It’s not often the expression makes an appearance. In front of his friends and classmates, he plays the part of a boisterous Gryffindor to perfection, never letting slip such a calm facade. When confronted by an unwanted Slytherin, he becomes a striking viper himself, looking sly while attacking every crack from his opponent. The worst though is when he shuts off. Not deeming anyone worthy of his tumultuous thoughts. Staying away from everything until his Gryffindor mask can slip back into place. It’s only after spending alone time with him, that can finally make him crack, revealing his dark thoughts with tears and anger.

“What could be more interesting than this potions textbook?” Sirius asks, making a quip about your chosen reading material.

You feel your cheeks heat, knowing you were caught daydreaming about the man himself. Quickly turning your head, so you face the window instead of his all knowing eyes.

“The...rain. Yeah, it’s nice and I like it.” You lie, rather unconvincingly. Unfortunately, it doesn’t fool him.

“Oh come on, were you even trying with that one?” He snorts, lightly making fun of you. It only seems to make your face warmer.

“...It’ll only go to your head.” You sigh, remembering your mind’s previous position focused on him. Merlin knows that Sirius Black doesn’t need an ego boost. At least not on a good day like today.

His arms tighten around you, as a rumble echoes through his chest. One of his relaxed chuckles. “Well, then you have to tell me.” His fingers continue a soft pattern on your arm softly telling me ‘you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to’ and ‘you never have to be afraid to tell me anything’.

The soft smile returns to your face, as you enjoy his attention. “Well, the rain was a part of it. I always get sentimental on days like this.”

Without having to continue, Sirius understands what you’re referring to. You feel his smile pressed against your hair before it’s replaced with a light kiss.

“Yeah, me too.” He whispers, reminiscing along with you.

⛈

It was a rainy day the first time you’d had a conversation with the infamous Sirius Black.

The crashing sounds of rain against the windows, decorated by diamond muntins, echo through the empty hallway. The storm's force gives the illusion that the castle is shaking, the old rafters threatening to crash down and with them, the entire building. Luckily, whatever ancient spells put on Hogwarts, prevent any harm from coming to the school.

You stare out the window, watching water collect on the glass. An innumerable amount of droplets racing down the window pane. Feeling calm and content, you close your eyes, listening to the rumbling thunder. Taking a deep breath in, before slowly letting the air out, you feel any leftover stress from schoolwork leave your body. Like a ghost escaping its mortal shell. 

In your relaxed state, the sound of shuffling feet is enough to startle you out of your trance. The hallways were normally empty on days like today. You thought it would be safe enough to lower your guard, leaving you vulnerable to attacks from merciless bullies.

Rapidly twisty your body towards the noise, you can’t discern who it is, as you’re filled with a dizzying sensation. The quick turn unfortunately seemed to be too much on your head, as you feel your feet start to stumble over one another.

A pair of warm arms steady you regardless of the fact that you weren’t even close to falling down. Finally, your disorientation dissipates, informing you that you’re in the arms of Sirius Black, with your bodies pressed together. Your head looks up to see his looking down at you with one of his dark eyebrows raised.

“You okay?” He asks, not moving.

Struggling to think clearly, you stutter in your reply,”...uh, yeah...s-sorry.”

Sirius flashes you a charming smile, his arms finally loosening from their hold on you. “No worries.”

You shuffle about a metre away once you’re released. Your cheeks feel flushed, choosing to look once again at the rain instead of the boy. Embarrassing yourself in front of Sirius Black. You’ll never live it down! No doubt he’s raring to tell his mates, and soon the whole school will know just how much of a klutz you can be.

Your body language easily betrays your feelings on the matter, as your bottom lip finds its place under your top teeth. Your back hunches over, with your arms folded over your chest. Luckily you’re too nervous to check if Sirius is watching.

“Seriously,” you hear him say, with a softer voice than you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. You look up in shock alone, seeing him looking at you with an expression matching his voice, “It’s no problem.”

Feeling a shy, uncertain smile emerge, you give him a nod of thanks, before looking at your feet awkwardly.

Sirius Black was always too boisterous for you, only losing to James Potter as the loudest boy in Hogwarts. Preferring to stay in the quiet, like a rainy day, you’ve mostly avoided the boys. Their pranks were normally harmless, but they have gone too far before, mainly with their Slytherin classmates. Not wanting to be a victim, hiding from them always seemed like the best option.

Of course, you’d heard all about Sirius’ rise to fame, everyone has. The one Gryffindor in a family of Slytherin’s, who actively opposes his relative’s opinions. You always thought him very brave, to go against everything you’d been taught takes a Gryffindor level of guts. But his cocky persona always felt off. Like a mask, protecting his true face. Going through his life could not have been easy, yet he takes it so lightly. As if he’d never had a hardship in his life. Just like his best friend Potter.

Thinking about his false persona, you wonder if it’s an act of cowardice or genius. Being yourself is the hardest thing you can do. Showing who you are, leaving yourself vulnerable to attacks, without a decoy in place, it’s practically impossible. James Potter does it, born and raised with confidence that his parents fed. But Sirius Black is no confident boy, brave yes, but confident no.

Sure you always thought his contradicting personality interesting, and sure you contemplated taking the risk in trying to get to know him, but the curiosity never made it past the reasonable side of you. Seeing just how soft he could be alone, makes you wonder if you made a mistake hiding from the older Black boy.

“I’m Sirius.” You look back up at him, wondering if he’d moved closer or if it was just your imagination.

“I know,” you reply without thinking much about it. His lips folding in, hiding a laugh only makes you realize that your reply was not normal. Hoping your flaming cheeks are hidden, you tell him your own name, just like you’re supposed to do in a normal conversation.

“I know.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, examining his face to tell if he is simply laughing at your previous comment, or that he actually knows your name. Given that it’s Sirius Black, you assume the former.

“We share a few classes together,” he continues, only smiling at your rapidly widening eyes, “I sit in the back, making a lot of noise, and you sit in the front, silently.”

Feeling your breath stutter, you marvel at the fact he noticed your silence. What an odd and difficult thing to point out. It wasn’t like you spoke out once and awhile, surprising the class enough to notice your presence, you never speak in class, only whispering to your table partner about the lesson. Luckily your grades are good enough that teachers don’t feel the need to pick on you.

“That’s funny,” you say to disrupt the silence. He lets out a chuckle, and you feel your cheeks warm even more, thinking that the boy is laughing at how terrible at socializing you are.

“Sorry, I sound like a stalker,” he says, as you realize he wasn’t laughing at you, but at himself in an awkward manner. A small chuckle bubbles up from your chest, and the sound seems to calm him a bit, as his own laugh becomes less forced. “You sit next to Evans in Charms and given James’s infatuation, knowing who you were became a necessity.”

You push aside the sinking feeling in your chest. You never liked being noticed, and yet you felt good when you thought he did. It wasn’t even him who was concerned, but his friend.

Suddenly feeling the urge to run away and hide in a dark corner overcomes you, but to prevent leaving this conversation on an awkward note by running away, you end it with first words that come to mind.

“Well...it was nice to goodbye you.” Hearing your mistake as it comes out, you realize the situation is no longer salvageable. Running away really is the best option now.

His laughter drowns out the sound of both your footsteps and the rain, echoing in your mind for days to come.

⛈

Your relationship with Sirius Black changed drastically after that night. While he never approached you, nor held another conversation. But he does send you small smiles every time your paths cross.

The first few times it happened, you quickly looked away, hiding your flaming face. It almost would’ve been better if he had forgotten you completely. Almost. While the attention was embarrassing, and causing multiple questioning eyes focusing themselves on you, a fluttery feeling erupts from your heart every time you see the warm look. 

Recently, you’d decided ignoring him was even more embarrassing than acknowledging his newfound attention. So you now send shy smiles back, just a small look signalling that you remember him too. You could have sworn his grin widened the first time you reciprocated the look.

Recently you took to spending most of your time studying in the library, exams were coming up and cramming in all the information possible has become somewhat of a yearly tradition for you. Unfortunately, Sirius Black is rarely found in such a studious area, so you hadn’t seen his smile in over a week. You find yourself missing the small moments between you two. Even in a crowded corridor, it felt like a private look, a secret between friends. You’d only ever had one conversation, which of course had to end terribly, but you no longer feel embarrassed. A feeling deep in your gut tells you that his attention isn’t because he’s laughing at you, but because he enjoyed your time together. Of course your rational brain always has to make an appearance, causing you to doubt yourself.

Flipping through your tattered copy of ‘confronting the faceless’, you fail to notice the tall figure approaching the seat across from you. The thud of heavy books against the table finally cause you to look up. Your gaze meeting the tired green eyes of Remus Lupin, one of Sirius Black’s best friends. Oddly enough, you and Remus had become acquaintances over the years. Partnering up every once and awhile for group projects allowed you to break the ice. You both learned that you were good study partners, so meeting in the library a few times before a big test was not unusual. Although the apologetic look on his face was new, it wasn’t like you had planned to meet so being late wasn’t a problem. 

While looking up at him with a confused expression, you soon get the answer to your question as another set of books plunk down on the spot next to you. Jumping at the new sound, you whip your head towards the perpetrator, only to peer into the striking grey eyes of Sirius Black. 

“Hey Y/L/N, mind if I join in on this little study party?” He asks sitting down, already assuming my answer to be yes.

I turn back to Remus, noting the sheepish smile on his scarred face. Feeling embarrassed, I look back down at my textbook as if studying nonchalantly. “Sure.” I whisper with an embarrassingly high pitched tone.

Smiling to each other in the halls was one thing, but talking to him! Your last conversation still makes you recoil. He hasn’t said a word to you since the fumbled sentence, which means the joke he’s likely been preparing is soon to emerge.

“Great!” He claps his hands together loudly before rubbing them a few times, “Lets not muck about then.”

The hour started off as one of the most stressful moments of your life. You only spoke when questions were asked, and those responses rarely consisted of more than one word.

“You got anything in that book about Inferius weaknesses?” Sirius asks you quietly, leaning close to your ear, causing goosebumps to arise from your skin.

“Uh...yeah, one second,” your voice comes out as a breathy whisper. Flipping back towards the section in question. Coming across the pages focused on the creature, causes shivers down your spine, and not in the good way. “Here.” You slide the book towards him, choosing to keep your gaze on the table instead of gauging his expression.

“Mind if you read it out to me? All these words are starting to blur together.” He huffs out, sliding the book right back to you.

You risk a quick quick glance at the boy, noting a crooked smile and soft eyes. He doesn’t appear to be up to anything nefarious, so what could go wrong? Probably a lot.

Quickly skimming the text and racking your brain you find the answer to his question, “Summoning fire should help repel them.” You look back up at him, seeing his smile widen.

“I know that. What I need is the why.” 

Your cheeks heat up at the simple misunderstanding. Maybe he thinks you’re stupid now?

“Um...Well, the creators would charm them in anyway possible. They don’t have to worry about the creature feeling pain, but this way they’ll be stronger. Since there’s no charm or potion for fire resistance, the creator charms them to fear fire, as it would burn the inferi to ashes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, nodding his head at you. Once you finish, Sirius shoots you a tooth filled smile. “Cheers.”

After that question, Sirius continues to ask you more, and not all of them had to do with the textbook. He asked you personal questions, getting you to open up about your life, and in turn, he told you about himself. He told some funny stories about him and his friends getting in trouble, mention annoying habits his family had, he even helped you brush up on your quidditch knowledge. By the end of the hour, your smile was out freely without even trying. You barely noticed Remus leave early, mumbling a strange excuse that you couldn’t quite make out.

⛈

A storm rolls over Hogwarts, not looking to stop for the pre-planned Hogsmeade weekend. Most students allowed to visit, don’t let the rain deter them, choosing to stay dry in the shops. For the older students, the water can be easily deflected, but the fresh faced third years, whose excitement for the village tend to be stronger than the older years, sprint through puddles, laughing as they go. 

Instead of visiting the packed shops for what feels like the hundredth time, you instead decide to enjoy the castle at its emptiest point. The feeling of kenopsia with the added chrysalism makes for an interesting combination of tranquility. Which is why the sound of hurried footsteps set off alarm bells the second you hear them.

Turning around, you see the dripping form of Sirius Black walking at a fast pace towards you. Once he notices you’ve turned around, he slows his step, walking with a smooth sort of swagger that he didn’t have before. His ebony hair bare of its normal curl, as the weight of the rain holds it down.

A small smile finds its way on your face without permission. Just the sight of him warms your heart. Even with his smooth persona, you still find yourself able to melt at his adorableness.

“What are you doing here?” You ask once he’s in earshot.

“Why aren’t you at hogsmeade?” He asks, not answering your previous question.

You shrug in response, looking back out at the rain. “It’s quiet here.”

You don’t expect Sirius to understand, but he surprises you by making a sound of agreement.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” He chuckles under his breath, thinking of something before sharing. “If James and Peter were here, they’d either be bored out of their minds, or making fun of how boring we are.”

You chuckle with him, enjoying seeing him with friends that make him happy, even when they’re not there. After a brief pause in conversation, where the two of you simply listen to the pitter patter of the rain, and the soft breathing of the other, you decide to continue your conversation.

“You never answered my question,” he looks at you in confusion, not remembering the beginning of their interaction. “Why are you here?”

He scratches the back of his head, in a very James Potter-esque move. “Remus is sick, Peter is napping and James finally snagged a date with Evans. Sirius Black is many things, but a third wheel he is not.”

You snort at him referring to himself in third person, causing a smile to appear on his face. 

“I meant, what are you doing here? In this very corridor?” You smile at him, as a pale blush appears on his upper cheeks and nose. Most likely from the cold, you tell yourself. Only now reminding you of the face that he’s dripping wet. Without a second thought you remove your school cloak and rise yourself on your toes to wrap it around him, muttering about him getting sick like a doting mother. His blush only deepened but its joined with his cute chuckles.

“Lucky guess?” He tells you unconvincingly, but your focus shifts before you could become suspicious. As he spoke, the puffs of his breath hit your face, causing you to realize just how close your faces are. His blush appears contagious a your face quickly mirrors his.

His smile slowly shifts into another look. One that confuses you as you’d never seen anything like it up close. He doesn’t appear upset yet his eyebrows appear a smidge furrowed, and his lips open a sliver almost as if he were in awe. Too busy observing his odd expressing, you don’t realize him slowly inching closer, or the fact that his eyes have been glued to you lips much too long to be polite. 

Worried about your own appearance, you quickly turn back to the window, not noticing the slight touch of his lips to your moving cheek. Biting you lip in embarrassment, you hope Sirius doesn’t mind the fact that you just zoned out on his beautiful face. You hear a soft groan emit from the boy, as he’s remained close to your ear.

“Sorry. I-I just...your face did something...not anything bad of course, I don’t it ever could look bad to be honest...I mean because you have a nice face, not that I care or anything but it’s something conventionally handsome that a sculpture would admire.” You force yourself to stop speaking by biting you lip once again. How embarrassing. He’ll never talk to you again. First you stare at him then you have to go and blabber on about how fit he is! “Sorry...”

You slowly look back up at him, looking up though your lashes shyly while your bottom lip finds it’s home curled back into your mouth and held by your top teeth. 

Sirius looks down at you with an expressing you could only describe as adoring. Something you may see from parents looking at their children, or when your friends give you a meaningful birthday present. But even though you could distinguish the look, something about it on his face made it different. Almost...heated, in a way. Defiantly not the look you were expecting. 

“Don’t apologize.” He smiles down at you, with a twinkle appearing in his eyes, “I know I’m handsome.”

⛈

Following that heated interaction was your first kiss with Sirius. You could still feel how heated your face had become as his lips neared yours. 

The feeling of Sirius’ fingers brushing along your hand brings you back to the present, where you no longer have to dream about kissing him. His breaths tickle the back of your neck, causing goose flesh. Turning your head, your faces line up perfectly, allowing you to stare into his soft eyes. The smile he gives you mirrors the one he gave in your memory, but instead of him leaning first, you take the initiative and press your lips together. 

Pulling back, you see him staring at you, unable to move his gaze. You feel your face heat up from his attention, causing the corner of his lips to lifty in a playful smirk. 

“Sorry, I can’t stop myself.” He comments, not sounding sorry at all.

“Don’t apologize.” You can’t help yourself, with a tiny smile gracing your face. “I know I’m handsome.”

#marauders era #sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black #sirius x you #fluff #harry potter #hogwarts #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfic

[zqmbiescorpse]

GLADIATOR, PART 3

johanna mason x female reader

a/n: i feel like they part is really wordy lololololol, also everytime i try to proof read i get very bored, so i will do it eventually (probably)

summary: after winning the 72nd hunger games, quite a name had been made for you in the capitol - quickly becoming a favourite across panem. because of this, naturally, you find yourself thrown back into the horror of the games due to the 3rd quarter quell, representing district 5 one last time. though, not all is lost, fellow tribute and close friend, johanna mason of district 7, finds herself in the same position.

tags: graphic depictions of violence (sometimes), johanna mason, katniss everdeen, peeta mellark, finnick odair, johanna mason x female reader, catching fire, mockingjay part 1, mockingjay part 2, 72nd hunger games, 75th hunger games, gore, eye gore, detailed descriptions of eyeball squishing, disabled reader, female reader, reader is missing an eye, reader is missing limbs, missing fingers, traumatic events, blood, choking, johanna mason needs a hug, rebellion, slow burn, mutual pining, scared of feelings, fluff, angst, making out, kissing, confessions, peeta has his prosthetic leg, maybe smut idk, tension, awkwardness, wlw, i love johanna so much

warnings for this part: making out, kissing, some angst

word count: 3.5k

(part 4) (masterlist)

The tribute parade was definitely something. Experiencing it for the first time, three years ago, it hadn't seemed so bad at the time - possibly due to the overwhelming anxiety and fear that kept you from processing any other emotion. However, going through it again made you realise how ridiculous the whole thing was. You hated everything about it. Sure that it was a humiliation tactic provided by the Capitol for entertainment, you had observed each of the various tribute outfits and were unable to detect anything that looked decent. Aside from the dazzling black material, which caught aflame, worn by Katniss and Peeta, everybody looked as stupid as they felt. How were your stylists allowed to do that to you?

In all honesty, it was a major struggle to keep a straight face, at that point you were just completely over it and couldn't take it seriously, eventually accepting the fact that you were dressed disgustingly. During the parade you found yourself distracted, fortunately, concerned with one thing. Johanna. Especially after the previous night, she remained prominent in your mind throughout the entire day and you were quite desperate to see her again.

You'd caught a few glimpses of her, each time you did you fought with yourself to stifle a laugh, although, to her credit, she managed to pull off the outfit in an odd way. Maybe it was because you found her extremely attractive, but even dressed as a tree, Johanna looked exceptional.

You were waiting in the lobby of the apartments with your stylist, mentor, and the male victor of your district, Gus. He was about 20 years older than you, the greys scattered in his hair growing more obvious with each day. The two of you weren't close and you hadn't discussed alliances with one another, assuming that in the arena you would be going your separate ways, which you were fine with, you didn't mind Gus at all, he was a nice guy.

"Ah! You both did so well today! Y/N, Gus, you looked amazing!" Your stylist, whose name you hadn't bothered to retain, announced delightedly, clearly very pleased with her work. She clasped her hands together and smiled widely before suggesting all of you return to the District 5 apartments for a meal, to celebrate.

Politely, you declined. You feigned exhaustion, excusing yourself and going on ahead with the intention of hiding away by yourself for a few hours. You said you were tired because of the hard work you'd done today, playing it up massively, yet, your mentor bought it and let you go.

You approached an elevator at the far end of the corridor, failing to see the victors from District 12 and their mentor enter it. About to step in, you finally noticed that you wouldn't be alone, becoming hesitant at the presence of Katniss and Peeta. Haymitch caught your eye with a look of reassurance, he was encouraging you to join them.

"Y/N Armstrong, District 5." While the idea of leaving them be and getting on the next elevator sounded a lot more appealing to you, Haymitch didn't give you the opportunity to decide for yourself, loudly declaring your arrival before you had the chance to back away.

"There's my favourite warrior," he joked as you nervously made your way, standing by his side to create some distance between yourself and the other victors.

"Hello, Haymitch," you spoke with an easily detectable awkwardness, causing your cheeks to heat up slightly at how strange you thought you'd sounded.

Similarly to most winners of the Hunger Games, you'd been given a nickname relevant to your triumph, branded by the Capitol for all of eternity. To them, you were known as the warrior, or, more commonly, the gladiator. Someone who was a ferocious fighter and absolutely brutal during a battle of life and death. Unfortunately, it was an accurate description considering the circumstances of your victory, but you found it funny how gladiators were usually slaves, trained and forced to fight, and weren't predicted to live long lives. The latter half you found you related to more.

Normally, hearing people call you that made you uneasy, cringing each time you were addressed as such, yet, when Haymitch called you that you knew it was him poking fun at the Capitol - mocking them, not you so you didn't mind it at all. Besides, you were close enough that you found some humour in his methods too.

Not much more was said, the atmosphere was uncomfortable and it didn't help that you could feel both Katniss' and Peeta's eyes constantly on you, both of them staring at your injuries.

"I'm not a fan of prosthetics," you blurted, brushing off any insecurity you had, faking confidence while you smiled at them. You sensed the comment had broken some of the suspense, since the elephant in the room had been acknowledged. Sometimes you walked around without even an eyepatch covering your socket, shortly after the tribute parade you removed the one given to you, discarding it. Consequently, you were feeling quite exposed standing there with people, who were pretty much strangers, the old wound on display for them to see.

"If I didn't need it to walk, I wouldn't either," Peeta spoke up, a welcoming warmth to his voice. You appreciated his response, the both of you were able to relate to each other, him wearing a prosthetic leg due to an infection that made him need to amputate. At least you could say that you and Peeta were somewhat friendly. You knew that Haymitch was probably pleased, happy that you were taking the plan of rebellion seriously by attempting to connect with the District 12 tributes.

"Why don't you wear them? If anything, you're just putting yourself at a huge disadvantage." That was the first time Katniss had ever said a word to you, her tone harsh, communicating suspicion and uncertainty perfectly. For some reason, you were getting the feeling that she wasn't very fond of you. Then again, untrusting and closed off was a large part of who Katniss was, understandably, so you didn't take it to heart.

"I like how it makes them uncomfortable." You were totally honest, having your injuries on show often satisfied you in a weird way, refusing to let the Capitol disguise what they did to you.

You could tell Katniss was a fan of your response, something in her face changing, it relaxed a little as suspicion morphed into respect. Imprinting a positive impression, the air felt a lot clearer than before and you felt you could breathe better, any anxieties about the situation disappearing.

Little conversation continued but you still felt that you'd managed to make a good amount of progress today regarding alliances. Then, the elevator doors slid open, allowing Johanna to saunter through them, that frustratedly amused expression, which she commonly wore, present. She briefly acknowledged you, enough to make the blood start rushing. You could tell that she was up to something, intrigued and glad to see her, you watched on intently.

"My stylist is such an idiot. District 7, lumber…trees. Ugh, I'd love to put my axe in her face." She rambled on, anger seeping through her words while she let her crimson hair flow free and removed any extravagant jewellery inconveniencing her.

The image of Johanna axing someone in the face. No matter how hard you tried to not be attracted to the idea of her doing that, you couldn't stop thinking about it. You too hated your stylist for what she made you wear, consequently seeing no issue with what the fired-up redhead was saying. God, just the thought of it made you feel…something.

Seemingly lost, drifting away in the daydream, you'd missed the part where Johanna got undressed and was now completely naked in front of the four of you, flashing everyone standing in the elevator. You'd heard that earlier on in the day, Finnick had approached Katniss in the same playful manner, more subtly since he didn't strip off. It was a way of lightly intimidating her, observing how she would react in an uncomfortable situation; having some fun at her expense yet seeing whether the person they were risking their lives to protect was worth it.

Haymitch and Peeta were clearly enjoying themselves, shamelessly taking in everything Johanna had to offer. On the other hand, you struggled to not stare at her stunning body, her bare chest perfectly in line with your sight if you were to look ahead like a normal person. Your eyes fixated on every spot around your area that wasn't the person in front of you, you were a flustered mess, blushing all over, now feeling rather warm.

Although what she was doing was not aimed towards you, Johanna took notice of every reaction you were having, relishing in how nervous she made you feel, every smidge of red splattered on your cheeks was because of her, and she was proud.

You could almost smell the disgust radiating from Katniss, unimpressed by Johanna's stunt, she tried seeking support from you as together you'd discovered a newfound respect for one another. She expected you to be equally repulsed, only to find that you were trying so desperately to not pass out because of Johanna. Katniss bit her tongue, rolled her eyes and came to the conclusion that you were into Johanna, though, at least you were being more respectful about it. Haymitch and Peeta gawked while you had the decency to look away, even if it was because you felt awfully tense and awkward due to the attraction and feelings you had for her.

With the rise of a perfect brow, the fierce woman gave one last glance at everyone, winking at Haymitch, the pair exchanging knowing looks. Sensing her departure, you quietly let out a sigh of relief, having been holding your breath, allowing your heart rate to regulate. Regaining confidence, your vision altered itself from a top corner of the elevator to what you expected to be an empty space ahead of you. To your surprise, Johanna remained unmoving, her dangerously mischievous eyes already on yours.

You had no chance to inquire, her hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, her grip firm, practically dragging you away with her - a delighted cheek plastered to her face.

"Thanks! Let's do it again sometime!" marvelled the domineering woman, her voice getting lost to Peeta and Katniss while she made her way into the hallway, a very confused, uneasy you trailing behind, sort of against your will?

"I was supposed to get off ages ago, this isn't my floor," the sudden realisation hitting you, displaying stupidity since this was unmistakably not your floor.

"No, it's my floor, and you got off at the right time, with me. We're going to my apartment," Johanna informed you, leaving no room for protest.

At that moment, she spun around to face you after leading on in front, finally releasing the hold she had on your reddening wrist. However, she made sure to run her thumb gently over the mark, sparking jolts of an electric sensation down your left arm, then she dropped your hand.

"Why?" Your voice was laced with bewilderment. There was an additional something you were meaning to vocalise, but any recollection of what it was disappeared once you were faced with the naked woman again.

"Johanna, I can't believe you're wandering around without any clothes, shouldn't you, yknow, put something on?" Fumbling your words here and there, a cloud of scarlet dust crept its way back up your neck.

"Well why do you think we're heading back to my room?" She mocked, inching closer to you, whispering, “What is it, baby? Do you not like my body?”

You froze, slightly wide-eyed, a feeling of dread at the lack of ability to think of something to say. Johanna just laughed.

“Okay…whatever, let’s hurry up then. I mean, what if someone sees you?” You finally responded, purposefully ignoring some parts of what she’d said, apparently more embarrassed than she was.

“You’ve already seen my plenty,” She smirked, her pointer finger jabbing into your shoulder, “So has Katniss, so has Haymitch, so has Peeta. It doesn’t bother me, I’ve been seen in worse states anyway, crying, shaking, covered in the blood of others, right? And the whole of Panem saw that.” The seductive expression never left her face while she was talking, a huge contrast to the words coming out of her mouth, the sinister undertones lacing them.

Johanna witnessed a change in you. She was enjoying the teasing and seeing you tense up every time she took a step closer to you, until getting any closer wouldn't leave room to breathe. Although it was doubtful that she would ever confess it, she disliked seeing you sad, and you were looking pretty dejected after she reminded you of the world you were living in, having been immersed in whatever was occurring between you both.

Eventually, you had gotten back to her apartment and Johanna wasted no time getting dressed into a more casual attire, disappearing into her closet. Her room appeared identical to yours: same rectangular shape, same double bed with the same luxuriously styled sheets, same window, and even the same bedside table.

"Is everything alright, Johanna?" You asked, growing ever more curious as to why she brought you all the way here.

"Mhm, yeah, why'd you ask?" She called back, still out of sight.

"Because…is there a reason why you wanted me here?" You could only imagine how timid you sounded, glad that she couldn't see you fidgeting about.

"Was you expecting something? I bet you thought you were gonna get lucky," Johanna almost howled, reappearing suddenly.

"What? No… we're friends… I don't know, maybe I thought you needed something…" Your voice trailed off, each word getting harder and harder to hear, almost a fearful whisper as you awkwardly laughed your way through your speech.

The unique effect Johanna caused whenever she was around you was extraordinary - a tense thrill that you could never want to dispose of. It was humiliating how you seemed to melt into a goopy, uncoordinated puddle on the floor each time she gave you the time of day. Considering the less-than-ideal world you lived in, not many things brought joy to your life, hence your strong attachment to the short-tempered tribute from District 7, thus, it would be a total lie to pretend that you weren't expecting anything to happen.

Seeing her on the opposite side of the space, you were caught in her cheery gaze, provoking a smile to form on your lips. This seemed to satisfy her ever-growing playful mood.

"Well maybe I do need something, baby…" Johanna suggested, a nonchalant grin gracing her alluring features.

It was aggravatingly slow. She wasn't even that far from you. Yet, Johanna took her sweet, sweet time moseying over, each step she took closing the gap keeping you apart.

"Whatever it is, I can try my best to help. I'm always here for you and stuff…" You claimed, the nerves rapidly ramping up. Fully aware that advice and a conversation weren't what the enticing woman before you desired.

An approving hum tickled your ears, Johanna was now so near to you that you could feel her warm breath on your lips, mere centimetres apart from hers. You were desperate to close the gap but couldn't bring yourself to do it, something was stopping you from finally putting an end to all the agonising tension. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn't possibly fathom the idea of someone as beautiful as Johanna expressing a romantic interest in you. Maybe her bringing you back to her room, backing you into a corner, was just another teasing gesture that in a few moments would be over and everything would die down the moment things started to feel serious between you and her.

"What is it, pretty girl? What are you thinking?" Johanna almost whispered against your lips, a whole new wave of red coating your cheeks.

Lacking a response, the beautiful woman took it upon herself to cup your face in her soft hand, feeling the heat radiating off your skin, while she gently tilted your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. You observed an odd mix of emotions, her eyes suggesting seduction, lust, desperation, longing, yet, there was also uncertainty and fear.

"Johanna…please…"

As much as she was giving in to your pleas, Johanna was giving into herself, she'd been craving your affections and couldn't hold herself back any longer, though there was an isolated nervousness to her that was hidden excellently, you didn't notice a thing, too excited and wide-eyed her lips meeting yours.

It was barely a brush, a soft press, sudden feelings of hesitancy present again and the kiss did not last long. You felt quite satisfied, having managed to feel her lips against yours, even though it was short - yearning for more. Sparks ignited your entire bodies because of the tender moment, spurring Johanna on.

Her mouth soon connected back to yours, crashing into it hungrily, her tongue swiping across your lips, which you parted, accidentally whimpering into her mouth. This kiss continued to deepen, becoming bruising, you couldn't help but feel like she was being a little rough, not that you minded, triggering a similar amount of passion from you.

The past three years have brought a strange relationship into your life through the likes of Johanna, it had been very gradual, for starters, not seeing her as much as you had wanted caused your friendship to build at an excruciatingly slow pace, the romantic feelings that came later were danced around for far too long - tensions constantly high, the desire for one another ever-growing

Her hands roamed your body, fingers trailing around your hips, she grasped at your clothes and guided you backward pushing you flush up against the wall in her apartment. Clearly the more dominant out of the two of you, Johanna seemed to be in control, leading the kisses and the occasional touches over each other's aroused bodies.

Breaths were few and far between, more concerned with keeping the movement of your lips entwined; like your mouths were glued together, impossible to part, the simplicity of inhaling and exhaling became their least significant thing. But you did part, eventually, not wanting to lose the closeness, your hands remained tangled in her dark hair and Johanna left a series of pecks around your lips, regaining air every other second.

The erratic atmosphere came to a halt, presenting an opportunity to calm down. Faint pants could be heard, but that was all. A grin stretched across your face, wide and hopeful, never breaking eye contact with a content Johanna. She wasn't smug, amused, or teasing, appearing genuinely pleased. It was a moment you could bask in for hours, a golden glow basking you both, in her arms, playing with her luscious locks, reshaping the spikes that added so much to her personality without fail.

And then, she pulled away.

Immediately, you could sense something was wrong. The previously loved-filled eyes looking down at you in a memorised trance turned sinister, the happiness washing away and being swiftly replaced by…regret?

You could feel a shake against your waist, her smooth palms let go and she retreated back into herself. A distance had been put between you, physically and emotionally.

"Johanna, what is it? Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?" Whereas the words would usually come tumbling out of your mouth due to nervousness caused by a silly, awkward crush, here, you were stumbling and stammering because you could see the cogs turning in Johanna's mind - caught up in her own dreadful thoughts, a painful expression flashing her features.

She didn't respond. Growing worried by the second, you tried to move nearer, consequently, Johanna became infuriated, the intense anger she would aim towards everyone in the Capitol, a side of her you hadn't witnessed directly.

"You need to leave, go, I don't want you here!" She yelled, repeating it until her throat went sore and her eyes started to water from frustration.

Initially, you stood there, perfectly still. To understand would take a while. It was obvious how scared she was and that frightened you, you struggled to comprehend the abrupt change occurring so drastically, your world crashing down around you. The sweet bliss and sheer joy you had felt were rare, the last time you had felt so happy was hard to recall, however, your naive heart was being crushed by the one who had made it beat so freely.

Your stomach turned, nausea corrupting your senses, the shouts for you to leave never ending, and getting through to Johanna was impossible. Tears flowing, streaming down your cheeks, you made haste, slamming the door as you left - consumed by sorrow and bewilderment.

That night, you didn't get much sleep.

#johanna mason x reader #fanfiction #x female reader #finnick odair #katniss everdeen #lqbtqa #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games #catching fire

[nickgerlich]

Looking For A Miracle

In the history of American retailing, there has never been a chain whose name became synonymous not just with an event, but an entire holiday season. While younger generations may not have the same level of intense memories as their parents and grandparents, it is still part of our fabric. It starts on Thanksgiving and runs through Christmas.

Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is as much tradition as is the turkey that will be front and center on dining room tables later that same day. The parade dates to 1924, and it was a shrewd move on behalf of the department store to put its name on it. Little did they know then it would become synonymous with not just the parade, but also the day and the holiday shopping that would ensue the day after.

As if that weren’t enough, Hollywood picked up on this beautiful romance, and in 1947 released Miracle on 34th Street. It was almost like it was a 96-minute commercial for Macy’s as it spun the tale of a drunk man hired to play Santa Claus at their downtown store.

With all of that good fortune, it would be easy to think the company was set up for life. Alas, no one is immune to change, and even Macy’s, which continues to benefit from its association with the parade as well as the month that follows, is in trouble. They just announced 150 more store closings, leaving the chain with 350 stores. It once had many hundred more.

The news comes not long after Macy’s rejected a $5.8 billion buy-out bid. They must be feeling pretty confident that they can take it from here, choppy waters be damned.

But this does not address the elephant in the room, that being the one whose name is Change. Much has indeed changed in the century since the birth of that parade, when downtown flagship department stores were a matter of civic pride and family tradition. I remember my family always traveling to downtown Chicago to go to Marshall Field, then the leading store in the region. It was an event, complete with seeing Santa, dining in the restaurant, and shopping all day. Side note: Macy’s eventually bought Marshall Field and changed the name, but Chicagoans still refer to that downtown location as Field’s.

Today, department stores are in the throes of death, along with the suburban malls in which they reside. Whereas mall owners could once count on these anchor stores to attract the foot traffic that would keep the ship and its smaller tenants afloat, that is no longer the case. The US is littered with abandoned malls or those so eerily like a ghost town that you begin to wonder why we went down this road in the first place.

Of course, we can point to e-commerce as a big contributor for this decline. This includes Amazon as well as the upstart fast-fashion site Shein. But there’s more. COVID taught us that curbside pickup and delivery are also viable options. Mass merchandisers like Target and Walmart have upped their game, and provide more outlets for our shopping dollars. All of these have combined to create a perfect storm.

It’s not like Macy’s hasn’t mounted its own response with a reasonable e-commerce site. It’s just that through so many decades of focusing on its roots that it overlooked the need to grow in new ways. Worse yet, it has developed a rather stodgy image. Just like Sears did toward the end of its life, Macy’s is now where your old aunt shops.

Eeewwwww.

I have to wonder how much longer the chain will survive. I hope they do not face the same fate as Sears. For that matter, I would not wish upon them the challenges that JC Penney has faced. At best they can hope for the comparatively calm seas that Dillards finds itself in.

This is the challenge for every legacy retailer. You have to maintain relevance. And while an annual parade may stir romantic notions, I don’t think it is going to be close to enough to keep the company going for 12 months a year, not just one. I hate to rain on their parade, but it’s looking kind of overcast out there, and it’s time to reach for an umbrella.

Dr “But Miracles Do Happen” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #Macys #retail

[pastorsperspective]

How Do You Want to be Remembered?

A Blessed Friday to all! Today’s topic is the sermon from November 6th, titled: “Zakar: To Remember”. The accompanying text is from Exodus 13:3. If you missed it, I can’t help you. Sadly, our live feed was struck silent once again. I have much hope that our technical difficulties will be worked out sooner rather than later, but in the meantime, I was able to read the printed sermon notes and sit down with Pastor Chad to discuss. I really had no burning questions this week, so, we simply discussed our fond memories. Which felt very apropos given the sermon.

The message this week was filled with the hymns we all know and love, they bring back so many memories of time spent in church with my grandparents and the many times I have been blessed to provide special music for them at their church. Are you from a family of musicians or is it just you?

My Dad. Funny story; when my sister and I were young, we both needed braces. Dad had worked in the oilfield pretty much his whole life, mom was a teacher. So, to get some extra money to put our braces on, Dad took up drumming again and played gigs. I remember being young and seeing him play with a little country band that played around town. I remember at a very young age, seeing Dad play. Dad marched in the marching band. We even had a picture of my dad playing snare drum and me playing quad drums in the same exact spot years apart. Both at the Homecoming parade. So, Dad is where the music comes from. When I did band try-outs, they tested me and I remember the band director saying that I would make a really good drummer or a really good clarinet player. I did not know what a clarinet was. I knew what drums were because Dad had drums, but I just didn’t know what a clarinet was it just sounded really cool. So, I said I wanted to be a clarinet player. I went home and told my dad and he was not happy. He had started to make his peace with it and then the orthodontist was like, “Uh-uh. We’re about to put braces on. You’re not about to play the clarinet.” I had been very excited and told him about it. He asked if there was another option and I told him I could play drums and he said, “Sounds like you’re a drummer!” So, I went back to school and had to tell the band director that I couldn’t do it because of my braces and asked to play the drums. So, I played drums. I had already started teaching myself to play piano. Dad didn’t really play piano; he could play a couple songs. I was really self-learning and very passionate about it. I loved it.

 Your sermon was really centered around the music that we remember. I have so many. All the songs that you talked about; I grew up with those in the Adventist church. My grandfather always sang in church and his favorite is The Old Rugged Cross. He preaches from time to time in their church and whenever he preaches, he asks me to come and do special music. I frequently include The Old Rugged Cross because I know it’s his favorite and it’s a way to honor him in that moment.  My grandmother’s favorite is Mansion Over the Hilltop. I have lots of memories of sitting on the bathroom countertop as a young child, watching my grandfather shave and listening to him practice his songs for service. He kept a cassette player in there and he would practice over and over. I would listen to the song twice and then run off singing the entire thing. He still teases that he used to have to sing it a hundred times but I only had to hear it twice and I would know every word.

That’s awesome! I love that. That’s what it’s about, that’s what I was trying to do. Just get people to take a minute to sit and remember. This wasn’t a very big or theologically challenging message. It was just to take a moment and be in your feels and remember and allow yourself that space. I don’t think we do that enough.

Did your grandparents have favorite hymns or songs that you remember?

My granddad, he had hymns he loved, but he loved Dallas Holm songs. So, hymns, yes, but Dallas Holm songs are an instant reminder. He really liked Rise Again, He Knew Me Then; those were some of his real favorites. They’re not hymns but they’re Christian songs that he loved.

In my grandparents’ house growing up it was all classical and old hymns all the time. They never would have allowed what we call contemporary Christian music. My love of music came from my dad as well. Though I only stayed with my parents half of the time, he was always playing his records and dancing and happy when the music was on. Of course, he was playing the Beatles, Eagles, Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Doors, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, which is one of my favorites. All the great old classic rock bands. He was happy that way, dancing to Mr. Bojangles and being silly. Music is a time machine.

Yeah, it is. It really can be. I think of music and I think it can convict us, it can empower us, it can give us strength, it can give us hope, it can give what we need and what we most deeply desire that sometimes we can’t find in the world. I’ve always loved that. I grew up singing these hymns and granted, I love Casting Crowns and I can sing Casting Crowns songs all day, but when we sing How Great Thou Art or The Old Rugged Cross, or Amazing Grace; we’re echoing not just the voices of our own relatives that we remember. There’s also those who we don’t know and have not had the opportunity to meet yet, who have been singing these hymns for decades or centuries and centuries. That’s extremely powerful! To think that I am singing the exact words that John Wesley sang at his ordination service. I don’t think we think about things like that. We’re singing the same hymns that probably carried Mother Theresa through her time of service and the difficulties that she faced. Those are just two examples. We’re singing the same hymns that Martin Luther King probably sang right before giving one of his many speeches. There’s this sainthood that undergirds these hymns that have meant so much to so many people in different ways and it’s really neat to think about.

It is. It offers this profound sense of connection to the past, or to your roots. My great grandmother lived to be 97 years old. She never learned to read and only ever learned to sign her name. She was born in a cotton farming town in Arkansas when people married at 14 or 15 and started their families. But she recognized the numbers in the hymnal. She knew all the words to her favorite songs and she knew exactly where to find them in that book, even though she couldn’t read the titles. Even in her last years she would hold the Bible or a hymnal and watch services on tv and sing the songs. She couldn’t read the words but she sure could sing them.

That is awesome. I think the service for All Saints was meaningful. It’s very difficult for many people, even for me. I barely made it through the sermon. After I sat down, I had a moment of feeling like I really needed to pull myself together. It really was an emotional service, not necessarily because of the message, but just all of it together. It really just came through for a moment to stop and remember. That’s so powerful. If we can get better as Christians at just stopping for a moment and remembering amidst the business and craziness of life. Stopping to remember is important and not just one day a year. Yes, All Saints Sunday is a special time, but I think the bigger message from All Saints is that we need to do this daily. I don’t always agree with every denomination, theologically or whatever, but one thing I’ve always respected about the Catholic church is the importance they put on having the candles constantly ready. That you can go at any time and remember and say a prayer. That I think they really got that better than the rest of us. I have always appreciated and respected that.

So, I challenge you, readers, to think about your roots, your grandparents, or wherever your love of hymns, or music in general, comes from and take some time to really bathe in that this weekend. Pull out an old record or cassette. Look at some old photo albums. Tell your kids a funny story about grandma or grandpa that maybe they didn’t know. Just continue the remembrances for a moment and think about the impact you have on the young people in your life. Consider how you'd like to be remembered.

I would like to leave you with this parting song in honor of my dad, who passed away three years ago this December. If you only listen to Christian music then skip listening to it, but it’s not vulgar, no swearing. It was one of his favorite songs: Mr. Bojangles by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

#fumc #pastorsperspective #methodist #pastorchad #Youtube

[katsukikitten]

Time spent with Todoroki.

Warnings: This is a Pro Hero aged up AU, think late twenties. Adult themes such as sex are to follow. Please enjoy

Shoto was by far your favorite sugar daddy. He showered you in lavish gifts and gave you the pipe often. He checked your bank account and made sure it never fell below a certain amount and paraded you around town like the Princess you were. But most importantly he was stoic. Doing nothing more than wiping you up with a warm rag once the two of you were finished, never clinging to you with desperate hands like many other sugar daddies had. Hoping their money would make you giddy and buy your love. Maybe it would have, had you not already run out of love for people. Your heart broken one too many times by a long term relationship causing you to vow that money was your only love. 

People were just too disappointing. 

Your contracts with Shoto were medium in length, anywhere between three to five months mostly because he likes to keep his "options open." Which filled you with pure lust for him, knowing you could get away with your kinks without worrying over some man falling for you. 

Still, it was difficult for the Pro hero not to fall for you, at first he had no interest in love. Having sworn it off mostly for fear of failure thanks to his dysfunctional family. It was the main reason he started looking into sugar baby websites, he saw your profile picture and your bolded No strings attached. He liked the idea of that, loved it really and yet, he became tangled in you after the renewal of your second contract. He tried to suppress the warm feeling in his chest, he found it difficult more times than not. 

Especially now, with you on your knees with his guicci jacket spread out on the tile of the bathroom floor as your lipstick clad lips wrap around his cock. Your cheeks hollowed and your eyes looking up at him with enchanting lust. He fists your hair shoving you further on his cock. Your eyes water as you gag softly and Todoroki is just thankful your makeup is waterproof. 

The sight and the sounds make him groan while your manicured nails dig into his bare thigh. You rub your thighs for friction, moaning around his cock, it's enough to send Shoto over the edge. Hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat as his grip on your styled hair tightens. 

"Fuck Princess…." He moans bucking into your mouth, sharp eyes look down at you. Seeing a powerful man come undone for you is enough to keep you content for now. 

"Sir will take care of you after the gala okay?" His cheeks are still a little red as he runs his hand over your hair. Lifting you off the floor before fixing himself. He gives you a light spin, making sure nothing scuffed your gorgeous designer dress before he exits the stall. Pushing back his long hair while you retouch your lipstick with a knowing smirk. 

The two of you waltz back to the party, sans his jacket, abandoning the designer garment without a second thought. The price of it was barely a drop in his bucket. It could have been half of his bucket for all he cared, his mind always swimming with thoughts of you.  He places his hand on the small of your back as he guides you back to the table, dinner half forgotten once your hand wandered towards his crotch for a tease. 

"F...find the bar okay?' Izuku asks as you take your seat, your sly hand going for your wine. Uraraka blushes when you give her a wink. 

"Just fine." Shoto says sipping his whisky. 

"So who's won awards so far?" You ask with gleaming eyes, Izuku smiles. 

"Kaachan for most villains caught. Kirishima for the safest feeling hero, myself for rescue ratio." He holds up his small little trophy, "And you, Shouto, for most mysterious." 

"What about the rankings? Did we miss that?" 

"No they are about to announce it!" Uraraka exclaims, eyes glittering with excitement and wine. Her chestnut eyes slide over to her emerald eye date, hoping for the best for him. 

The announcer steps to the stage, his sapphire blue suit catching everyone's eye as he takes the center. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a night filled with congratulations and cheer but now is the moment you've been waiting for, tonight we will reveal the top three heroes. Voted in by a strenuous board appointed by the fans, we finally present the BIG THREE!" 

Some tables erupt in cheers while the host takes his dramatic pause, when the sound dies down the host brandishes the golden envelope. 

As he announces your hand wanders again, playing with your favorite toy, Shouto's face gives way nothing as the host drags out the awards. Explaining how long the winner's speeches should be. Soon Shouto cannot ignore your hands creeping on his clothed cock that throbs beneath your fingers. He knows he can't wait through what's bound to be a half an hour. He rises excusing himself dragging you with him before you're being cornered against a wall in some random closet. 

"So impatient, princess." He bites out, kissing your throat, sliding down to your exposed collar bone while his hand ventures between your thighs. Calloused pads circling your puffy clit as you let out a loud moan that's swallowed by the cheering of the gala room. Impatient himself he undoes his pants, stroking himself with his free hand while you cum on his fingers. 

After the coil in your stomach snaps for a third time he's satisfied, kissing you as he aligns the tip of his dick to your quivering entrance.

"Fuck, Shouto. Fuck me please, sir!" You beg, making his head spin, alcohol mingling in the small dark space. 

"Be patient kitten. Sir will fuck you right baby." He grunts, sheathing himself into your soaking core.  You cry out, clawing at his back through his shirt. The smell of biting cold hair mingling with the hearty smoke of a bonfire engulfs you as you press your face into his chest. He lifts both of your legs, strong hands grabbing onto thick thighs as he fucks into you with a deadly pace. Slapping skin and lewd wet sounds echo back to the two of you, encouraging his pistoning hips. 

"Listen to those sounds Princess, your pussy sounds so pretty." He bites at your ear as you endlessly moan and whimper into his chest. Cunt clenching as he drives over your spongy spot, the head of his cock going deeper with each thrust. Soon it all becomes too much, your vision spots panting as you cry out in ecstasy, body ridged and arching to meet him. 

"Cumming on my cock already?" He coos, fucking you through your next orgasim as your legs shake around him. Toes pointed in your red bottoms as you attempt to hold onto him for dear life. 

"S..sir! You cry out, "I'm gonna...nnngghhh." 

He ruts into you, pressing you further into the wall as he frees up one hand to play with your throbbing clit. Rubbing harsh circles as he loses focus on his precise thrusts that turn sloppy. His eyes too focused on you as you cum, milking his cock. Your eyes flutter, desperately attempting to hold eye contact as one hand palms your breast and the other scratches at the skin at the nape of his neck. Your tongue lulls out just a bit as your mouth makes a sinful O shape, a few tears of over stimulation fall down your cheeks as he continues to fuck into your wet cunt. The sight makes him explode into you, warm spurts of cum causing you to whimper and clench in delight as he ruts until he is done.  He sets his sweaty forehead against yours, panting as words claw up his throat. 

"I love..." He whispers, catching himself just in time, "Your tight cunt." 

He kisses you, hoping you don't think anything more of it. 

After a few minutes, and Shouto's cock softens, he withdraws. Wiping you up with a wipe from your purse as the two of you check the other for fluids. A drunken cat smile plastered on your lips as you reapply your lipstick, wiping away the stains on his dark grey shirt and collar. 

The two of you step into the hall just in time as the doors start to open. Quickly and calmly you grab for your pack of cigarettes, your normal alabi, placing the stick in your mouth. Shouto, much like a gentleman, lights it as you inhale to keep the tip a burning ember. Gently blowing the smoke over his clothes, careful to avoid his face as you waft the burning stick around yourself as if it were an incense. Knowing good and well the smell of smoke always hides the salty smell of sex. Quickly you extinguish it on an ice cube that Todoroki provides, you toss the cube in the closet and the half of a smoke into your burkin slamming it shut just as a small group of sidekicks approach. 

"Shouto! Wow! I can't believe it was a three way tie this year! Congrats to you, Deku and Dynamight!" They drunkenly cheer, "It's crazy how that happened." 

"You're so secretive, your manager accepted the award on your behalf even though you were here tonight!"

A stream of people dot on your date as you cling to his muscular arm while you harbor a secret of your own. Cum dribbles between your thighs as you think of his sweaty head against yours. It feels good to be a Pro hero sugar baby. 

"You staying the night again?" Shouto asks as he presses a cold water bottle to your palm, your body covered in a sheen of post sex sweat from a week's worth of fun. You give him a small smile as you sit up, tits bouncing as you readjust entirely. You can feel his icy hot gaze as it rakes over your body, feeling the goose flesh prick along your skin as it does with the threat of an oncoming summer storm. 

"I wanna discuss the renewal of our contract. Plus we have a final date per the expiring one." He says as he rises, heading towards the luxurious ensuite to start a shower for you both. 

"Hmmm guess I could. How much longer do we have left?" You never really paid attention to this things, always being satisfied with whatever Shouto gave you. 

"Two weeks." He returns back from the bathroom, grabbing his wallet from his bedside table. Pulling out his onyx black card, he places it in your hand. His eyes holding yours, you give a devilish grin. 

"Sir has a lot of paperwork for the agency to do today. Buy a dress I want to fuck you in and anything else you want to match okay baby girl?" He leans down to give your forehead a kiss while you giggle. Unable to hide the giddy that bubbles beneath your skin, you wrap your arms around him. 

"Thank you sir!" You exclaim, pepper his cheeks with kisses as you pull back, "Do I get to pick the date again?"

"Mmhmm." He encourages, running his hand up your bare bare as you squeal with delight.  You rush to the bathroom before he slowly follows behind. While under the hot stream the two of you make out for far too long, tongues fighting as the two of you exchange laughs before you add a playful statement that stays with the two toned hair man as he sits in his boring home office. 

"I'm going to get a dress so classy and sinful you'll fuck me on the spot!" 

His eyes wander to the photo on his desk, the one of your first date. The one you insisted the two of you take after a month of late booty calls since he paid for the "girlfriend" package. The two of you are bundled in warm coats, you cling to his firey side as you laugh and he just barely smirks. 

Looking back he thinks this is when he started to fall for you. You had never been ice skating before and insisted on going while the two of you were in NYC for important PR interviews for the cold and mysterious hero. Because that's what people did in the movies while in NYC, put on their skates at the Rockefeller rink to glide along the ice beneath the sparkling lights of the giant Christmas tree. It was busy, he opted for no skates, as he did better without but he helped you lace yours. Being ginger for the first time in his life as he helped you onto the ice, after demanding a moment of independence you had fallen straight onto your ass. Giving Shouto second hand embarrassment but instead of yelling, crying out or giving up, you laughed. Genuinely laughed as you reached for his steady hand, captivating the whole rink for a moment. It felt like magic had washed over the ice, as snow slowly danced into your hair and the colorful lights danced across your eyes. Just like that the spell was broken with a flash of light. A stranger approached to give you a small tip on how to skate and the polaroid he had taken. You thanked them with a smile placing the photo into your coat pocket leaning into Shoto to share a secret. 

"Now we have our first 'date' immortalized!"  You had giggled, gliding across the ice as if you were ethereal, hands outstretched for Shoto to join you. 

He wonders how you're doing at the shops. He occasionally gets a text or two from you. Sexy pictures of you in the changing room as you obviously buy lingerie as well. 

He fists his cock enough times he gets no work done and by the time he convinces himself enough is enough you come home. 

Wearing that damned devilish smirk. 

And so another week passes in the four walls of his bedroom. Your bank account as stuffed as your pussy as you bounce on his heating and cooling cock. 

"Fuck, baby fuck." Is all Todoroki can say as you chase your own high. His blunt nails clawing at your thighs as your tits bounce. Your mouth opens into that gorgeous O as you seek out that delicious friction on your clit. The coil in your stomach snaps as your humping becomes erratic and sloppy but still enough for your tight cunt to spasm wonderfully over Todoroki. So nice is the sight, sound and smell of you that Todoroki pumps his hips up into you twice before he paints your velvety walls, his eyes focused on you. 

"Fuck." He presses his sweaty head into the silk of his pillow case. Two toned hair clinging to his forehead. You lean over and kiss his cheek. 

"Thanks for the ride Pro hero." You wink before you dismount. Stretching towards the sky once your feet hit the warmed hardwoods, you begin to make your way towards the bathroom. Phone in hand. 

"I wanted to talk about extending your contract." Todoroki says, staring after you, "At dinner tonight." 

"It expired tonight right?" You say, looking over your shoulder while your phone lights up with an alert, "No need for dinner." 

"What do you mean?" He calls to you as you start the shower. 

"I mean, I think we should let the contract expire. Keep things fresh you know? Keep our options open?" 

He jumps to his feet and begs the urgency to die in his step. Calmly with somber steps making his way to the ensuite. He finds you already in the shower, water washes away the smell of sweat. The smell of him as your phone glares up at him. He taps the screen and your recent notifications wave at him as he stares down. 

Reading one of them in horror. 

Todoroki isn't sure why he feels this way as he looks at your phone on his vanity. As if the world fell from beneath his feet. His throat burns as he stares at the illuminated glass, spiraling as steam clouds his vision that begins to blur. He knew what he signed up for, he wanted this. 

This detached, heart hidden exchange in hopes of choking down the loneliness 

But he never expected that when this ended it would feel as if his heart had been ripped out, stepped on and crushed beneath the heel of one of your red bottomed shoes. 

"Come on aren't you joining me for our last shower iced cutie?" 

"Uh yes I'm coming." He steps into the shower as the push alert on your phone burns into his brain. 

"Kirishima Eijirou has put in an offer." 

#todoroki x reader #todoroki sugar daddy #bnha au #aged up au

[cupofteaguk]

let the games begin

PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES

summary: in hindsight, acting out against prankster Jung Hoseok wasn’t entirely good for your sanity. after all, it’s not very fun to have hiccough sweet mixed in with your morning breakfast—a feat that goes about as well as one would think. 

pairing: hoseok x fem!reader 

genre: hogwarts au, pranskter!hoseok, enemies to lovers | fluff 

warnings: there’s mention of Nayeon in this fic and yes it’s the same Nayeon from new romantics because i love crossovers lol, talks about Hogwarts curriculum (definitely not technically accurate but I tried my best), slow burn, ~banter~

word count: 19.5k 

a/n: a birthday fic for jung hoseok <3 

.

As soon as his name is called, a silence falls across the dungeon as students stand a little straighter and become a little more alert to the situation about to unfold. Murmurs rise up amongst the crowd as people look around, stand on tippy-toes, poke their head up, all trying to seek out the owner of the name—the brash individual who has piqued interest and has guaranteed an excellent show of skill for today’s lesson.  

There’s a moment of silence, before a hand raises briefly into the air. “Present, professor.” It’s a voice from the back, a low tone but full of confidence. All the eyes flicker towards the source, a boy stepping away from his group of friends in order to walk towards the center of the room. At the center sits a long table, stretching across the expanse of the class. The surface is colored blue with decorations of wands and colliding spells, explosions of rainbow patterns. The perfect backdrop for a dueling lesson. 

“Ah, wonderful Mr. Jung!” The professor announces, curling her fingers into each other. Professor Wong is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who has recently employed a dueling class once a week as part of her curriculum to interweave real life practices with academic intentions. 

For every single duel that has been conducted, it’s always the same: pair two students against each other who have one assignment: disarm the other. There’s always a comment on the form, always a comment on the reflexes of the participants, and never a repeat of students who are volunteered for the activity. 

With the exception of this one. 

Jung Hoseok steps onto the table with practiced ease, his arm sweeping his cape back so he can step towards the center of the table. A light flurry of giggles pass through the air, of students already in awe of a move as simple as moving his cape. Hoseok doesn’t react outwardly to the shower of affection, he merely looks down to fiddle with the rings that decorate his longer fingers. 

“And the student who will go against Mr. Jung today is…” Professor Wong refers down to her parchment. “Kim Mingyu. Mr. Kim?” 

For a brief second, silence envelops the room until a distant voice is heard. “Oh fuck, Professor Wong is trying to get me killed.” 

Professor Wong lowers her parchment. “Language, Mr. Kim. And facing off against Mr. Jung shouldn’t be a problem—his form is good but you’ve had weeks to study the art of dueling from previous students who have come up before you.” She pauses for a moment as Mingyu makes his way towards the center of the room. “And I have every confidence that you’ve been preparing.” She lowers her neck to fix him with beady eyes. “Did I presume correctly, Mr. Kim?” 

Mingyu hoists himself up onto the table, managing an uneasy smile. “Of course, professor.” 

“Filling me with confidence as always, Mr. Kim.” Professor Wong sighs. But she steps off the table and whirls around to address the two now situated atop the dueling table. “Now, the purpose of this duel is to provide real world context to this aspect of wizard combat. You two are not to injure each other but simply disarm your opponent. Nonverbal spells or verbal spells are allowed. Now, you know the rules. You may begin.” 

Hoseok turns to Mingyu as the pair approach each other, the air weighing down in tension and anticipation. Once in the middle, the two bow before turning around and making their way to their respected ends of the table. Mingyu shuffles around nervously, while Hoseok whirls with the spin of his robe. 

Mingyu launches first, stepping forward as a bright burst of light flickers out from the end of his wand and zaps straight towards Hoseok. A nonverbal attempt at expelliarmus—one that is immediately thwarted by Hoseok’s deflection. The light of the spell reflects off, creating a sound of hollow space, before the pair are once again back to where they started. 

Hoseok attacks next, his own silent spell flying towards Mingyu, who mirrors a shield charm. But Hoseok steps forward and another attack flies at Mingyu, who has to step back hastily to reflect the spell. The latter boy looks exhausted, as nonverbal spells are still a challenging subject to master. Most seventh year students have the concept of casting spells nonverbally down, but require more practice beyond what a single year can provide. A lot of it comes down to practice, discipline, and mental fortitude—all things that Mingyu is losing hold of right now. 

His opponent, however, doesn’t seem to be losing steam. Hoseok merely narrows his eyes and continues stepping forward. With every step he takes, he attacks with yet another expelliarmus spell aimed at Mingyu. After the second spell, Mingyu has reached the end of the table before the wand flies out of his hand. In the midst of the confusion, his foot slips off the edge and everyone gasps as Mingyu teeters, about to fall.  

Bringing his wand towards him, Hoseok brings an end table from the other side of the room, lining it up to the edge of the long table so Mingyu has an additional surface to step on. The latter boy stumbles but maintains his footing at the higher ground. 

Hoseok smiles slightly. “I can’t have you breaking your back during a disarming duel.” 

There is a moment of stunned silence from Hoseok’s save, but as soon as the silence passes, the crowd erupts into claps and cheers. 

“A wonderful benchmark for fair dueling practices once again, Mr. Jung,” Professor Wong starts up again as she steps onto the table. She waits for Mingyu to step back onto the main long table, waits for Mingyu and Hoseok to bow to each other again, before she’s turning back to the class. “Alright class, what did we learn from today’s duel?” 

As the class engages in conversation about what has just occurred, several gazes flint over to Jung Hoseok. The boy appears calm and composed as always, making sure to pocket his wand before he’s running fingers through his hair and creating a curtain in his hair that exposes his forehead. Several more giggles arise from the movement. No doubt the conversations would carry on after the class time about Jung Hoseok is confident, posed, and absolutely—! 

. 

“Dreamy…” Nayeon sighs as she finishes recounting the events of the duel to you, ending it on the kind of note that makes you want to stab yourself with a fork. “You should have seen him—it’s like he gave Mingyu a chance to go on the offensive before Hoseok just tore into him. How do you think he did it? I’ve never seen anyone our year be able to conjure up so many nonverbal spells in a row.” 

“Seems like Jung Hoseok never has anything better to do than learn that shit,” You grumble under your breath as the pair of you step into the next lesson of the day: potions. Your statement is dripping in sarcasm because it’s entirely false. Jung Hoseok can conjure up many nonverbal spells in a row for a variety of reasons, and most of those reasons have nothing to do with burying his head into a book. 

Nayeon doesn’t seem to hear you as she slides into the seat next to yours to continue gushing about how attractive Hoseok had looked sweeping his robe back or pushing the hair out of his face. Although talking about Hoseok makes your eyes roll all the way back into your skull, you indulge her infatuation because she’s a friend. A new friend, but still a friend regardless. 

Nayeon is the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Despite the six previous years spent in the same castle, Nayeon is not someone you were very familiar with as you were growing up. The pair of you just ran in different social circles throughout the previous years, and her popularity as a player for the house team has always made her seem like some faceless figure in your conversations with other people. That is, until a few weeks ago when you ran into Nayeon leaving a party in the Room of Requirements. It was after the first Quidditch game of the season—Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, and Gryffindor had lost out on the opportunity to advance to the next round. 

To be fair, Jeon Jungkook is a monster on the Quidditch field. 

Regardless, Nayeon had gone to the party and had been seconds away from being caught by Head Boy Min Yoongi had she not run into you heading back from the library. You saved her from detention that night, had played along with her claim that the pair of you were partners for some upcoming project. As the pair of you were walking back to your respected houses, you both made good conversation and decided to start hanging out in between classes. Nayeon is unlike some of the other friends you have within the castle walls—she’s much more outspoken and extroverted, but she is really sweet which is why you’re indulging her the way you are right now. 

Because despite Nayeon’s parading of how cool and amazing Jung Hoseok is, he definitely is not. 

“Yeah, wasn’t I so cool? Mingyu tried his best, but he just couldn’t handle me coming after him with my spells.” 

You sigh through your teeth, and don’t even bother watching as Jung Hoseok himself appears in the potions classroom. His Slytherin friend Park Jimin is at his side, and they both slide into the seat behind you as Hoseok continues to brag about his victory during the dueling match. 

This carries on for a little before the potion lessons start. In preparation for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, there are less students and higher expectations than ever before—all lessons expertly crafted to help students prepare for their examinations. 

And it all starts here: with an assignment from the professor to construct a potion for dreamless sleep. “Some of you might need this in the coming months, depending on how many N.E.W.T.s you have to take,” He had remarked humorlessly, before sending the class off on their own. As with many classes during a seventh year at Hogwarts, students are usually left to their own devices to finish up whatever assignment may be in store for them. 

In the case of the potions class, it’s typical to get an ingredient or a potion to either write a paper on or recreate the mixture where a grade would be received on the spot. For today’s potion, ingredients are situated in the back and the textbook on Advanced Potion Making in the reference tool. With everything set up, you go off to gather your ingredients before returning back to your desk. After setting up your cauldron, you get to work setting up your station. 

As you’re turning around to gather your textbook from your bag, an unwelcome figure approaches his own desk in order to set his own materials down atop the table. He notices you immediately, and flashes you a smile. “Hey Y/N, you should have seen me today in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I kicked ass at our dueling lesson.” 

“Unfortunately for you Jung Hoseok, I’m not taking that class,” You sneer, whirling back around to focus on your current assignment, trying to focus. You can do this. Every grade distributed in your classes is important and you cannot afford to be distracted. 

“You mean Dark Arts isn’t in your wheelhouse,” Hoseok says as soon as you’ve tried to settle yourself into a comfortable silence. Nayeon watches from next to you, eyes flickering in confusion between the two of you. 

You turn back around to give him a sweet smile. “Herbologists aren’t required to have a Dark Arts N.E.W.T. Not that matters much, since it doesn’t affect you in any way.” 

You turn around, staring down your first ingredient of the day: a sopophorous bean that needs to be cut in order for the juices to help with the construction of the potion. 

As you start your chopping (or attempting your chopping), Park Jimin’s voice resumes from behind you. “So how exactly were you able to go like three nonstop nonverbal spells against Mingyu? Doesn’t that require a lot of concentration? At least, according to the textbooks.” 

“It does,” Hoseok answers. “But I like to think I’ve had a lot of practice in casting spells. It requires a lot of mental commitment and you really have to think about what spell you’re trying to use as you’re using it. Luckily, I think my skills are pretty solid so Professor Wong is pretty smart in having me be a good reference point—!” 

Unable to take it anymore, you place your knife down on the table and turn around once more to face the two boys behind you. Hoseok and Jimin look up, but you only focus your attention on Hoseok. “Jung Hoseok,” You seethe. “Some people are actually trying to do well on these assignments and pass this class so we can set ourselves up for success. Not everyone here is protected by a family name.” 

At your final sentence, the people within hearing range react immediately. Jimin’s eyes widen as he lowers his own knife to study you. Even Nayeon looks over her shoulder to stare at you. 

Hoseok, however, just raises an eyebrow at your attack. He takes in a breath of thinly veiled frustration before giving you a nod. “Fair enough. Focusing is really important in class, I get it. Here.” He picks up his wand from his desk and gives it a wave. “Consider this water under the bridge.” 

Your eyes follow the movement of his wand with narrowed eyes, before you turn back around without saying a word. You turn back to your ingredients, not thinking anything of it as you manage a clean cut through the sopophorous bean. You pick it up, sprinkle it into the cauldron—! 

And the contents inside immediately implode. You jump, Nayeon screams, and the ends of Hoseok’s lips tug up into a grin. 

Professor Slughorn is at your table. “What seems to be the problem, Miss. Y/N? Put the wrong ingredient into the potion so soon?” 

“N-No professor, I promise!” You stammer, frantically sorting through your materials before settling on the pages of the textbook you’ve been referring to. “It says to put the juices of the sopophorous bean into the cauldron first. I did and it just—I don’t know…” You continue, borderline helpless as your eyes shift. 

Professor Slughorn is quiet for a moment before he leans forward to pick up one of the ingredients you have on the table. He observes it before placing it back down. “No worries, Miss. Y/N. It seems like your ingredients have been tampered with—with an aging charm no less. If ingredients like these are past a certain threshold, they lose their magical properties and end up damaging the potion. I know you wouldn’t do such a thing, so go ahead and grab the correct ingredients once more—Mr. Jung?” 

Hoseok falters slightly with his own mixing as Professor Slughorn turns to face him this time. 

“Now, Mr. Jung, just a quick word.” He lowers his chin to give Hoseok a more beady look. “Considering the wastefulness you’ve treated my ingredients, I am partial to just removing you from class for today. But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Next time I’d be a little more mindful about picking up my wand before threatening another student. Just detention for you this time, Mr. Jung.” 

Hoseok hardly seems fazed by the punishment, like he has been expecting it. He lowers his head slightly. “I’ll be more careful, professor.” 

Professor Slughorn walks away, unable to see the wink Hoseok throws at you, unable to see the way your lips part in realization and the way your teeth clench together. Because Jung Hoseok has done it again. 

. 

“Argh!” You scream, bringing your curled fists up to your hair, ignoring the curious glances you receive from your classmates. The fingers land into the strands as you make an extra note not to pull too hard. “I’m gonna kill Jung Hoseok one day, mark my words.” You catch Nayeon’s wide-eyed stare. “He’s not that pretty to look at, come on.” 

Nayeon blinks for a moment, before her lips curl into a smile. “You seem to know Hoseok pretty well.” 

You groan. “I’d rather not go into it right now, I think I’ll burst a vein in my forehead.” 

Nayeon keeps quiet at that, giving you the few seconds you think you mentally recover from the day. You did manage to get your potion done for the day, no thanks to Hoseok, and now you and Nayeon are walking through the outdoor pathway that drops off into the courtyard. The greenery is fresh underneath your shoes as you and Nayeon continue until you see another familiar figure laying atop a picnic blanket with a book in her hand. 

But this time, rather than irritation, the sight of this person brings a smile to your face. You exhale the last bit of your frustration. “Sana!” You sing, quickening your pace with Nayeon following closely behind you. 

Sana looks up from her reading material and waves wildly at the two of you. “Hey guys, how was class?” 

“Pretty calm,” Nayeon starts as she carefully slips off her shoes and steps onto the blanket Sana had laid out. “Until someone got into a fight with Jung Hoseok.” 

Sana gives you a side glance. “What did he do this time?” 

Nayeon blinks, having not expected that. “Wait, you know about that?” 

Sana laughs, gesturing to you with the point of her book. “They’ve had bad blood since year one. Jung Hoseok has done a few hair-pulling pranks throughout his Hogwarts career. Sometimes they’ve affected just one person or sometimes they’ve affected a whole dormitory. But Y/N is usually caught in the middle of it all and thinks that Hoseok is full of shit.” 

“Whoa, whoa, wait, what stuff? I’ve heard of a few pranks going off in the Hufflepuff Common Room and an incident with house arrangements but I didn’t think—!” Nayeon starts. 

“Yep, all Hoseok’s fault,” You cut in, digging into your bag and pulling out a bag of food. 

Nayeon’s eyes light up. “Sounds like there’s a lot of tea to unpackage then—I honestly figured something was up. Hoseok seemed to know exactly how to push your buttons and your insult about his family name seemed very specific. What was that all about by the way?” 

You give her a look as you rip apart your bread. “Oh that’s right, I forgot that a lot of people outside of Hufflepuff don’t really know Hoseok’s history. But I’m sure you know about the Jung family line in the Auror department.” 

Aurors were highly trained law enforcement officials who dealt with crimes relating to the Dark Arts and the dark witches and wizards who engaged in that dangerous magic. The training to obtain an auror position was known for being vigorous and intense and the reputation of the job was even more so. Despite that, wizards and witches who worked as an Auror were highly respected. It’s usually rare for even one wizard from a family to become an auror, but to have an entire family with the skills, talent, and grades to become an auror is a rarity in of itself. 

Knowing that, Nayeon nods. “Of course. The Jungs are legends. Not only did they have generations of family members both heads and regular aurors in the department, but they have such an impressive streak of finding dark witches and wizards. But wait—are you saying—?” 

“That Hoseok is from that Jung family? Yes, one hundred percent.” 

Nayeon’s lips part as her eyes widen. “Wow, that’s pretty crazy. I’m guessing Hoseok is expected to become an auror too.” 

“At this point, just being a Jung is enough to probably get him in. He just needs to get the right number of N.E.W.T.s and he’ll be smooth sailing. I don’t even think he’ll need the grades to get in.” You move around in your blanket so you’re resting on your stomach. “That’s why I think Hoseok is full of shit. He doesn’t take school seriously because of his family. His job and way of living has already been predetermined, so he just spends his time creating havoc everywhere he goes and literally dampening everyone else’s day with his horrible pranks. Seriously, now that I think about it, he pulled some crazy shit once a year.” 

“Oh, like remember that time during first year when he set off a dung bomb in the Hufflepuff common room?” Sana asks, shuttering at the thought. “Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still smell the bomb in my nose. It was awful. The smell was in the room for days.” 

Intrigued, Nayeon listens in as you and Sana briefly recount the annual party of pranks Hoseok created for everyone around him, or for you more specifically. 

In second year, while trying to impress a student, Hoseok tried levitating a bottle of ink into the air during a lesson but lost control of the bottle. The actions caused the ink to spill all over your white blouse, colored with an ink so poignant that it required help from the Headmistress. You doubt Hoseok even knew you existed before then. 

In third year, Hoseok spread quick dry glue all over one of the moving staircases—a product that, like the name implies, dries quickly when activated by the movement of a person, place, or thing. Unfortunately, you and Sana had been the person, place, or thing, to arrive atop the moving staircases. It was following a post-dinner bliss, seeing you and Sana trying to head back to the Hufflepuff common room before the plan was promptly thwarted by glue. 

“Oh hello there, I remember you,” Hoseok had said, teary eyed and grinning from his previous laughter—just appearing from the shadows. “I spilled ink on you last year, nice to meet you!” 

It had been your first conversation with Jung Hoseok, and the first time you wanted the ground to swallow him whole. But sadly, it doesn’t end there. 

In fourth year, Hoseok made everyone’s quill disappear throughout the whole duration of the lesson only to have them reappear moments before class ended just to chase the poor professor out of the classroom. And of course, the final cherry on top had been a firework of feathers, the byproduct of the quills colliding and exploding over the whole class. The feathers had stuck to you for weeks, and Jung Hoseok had been laughing the whole goddamn time. 

He had even cornered you after class with his classic shit-eating grin. “You look like a bird,” He commented. 

In fifth year, he did something that surprised you: he walked to your desk and gave you a present. 

“I hear you’re into plants or whatever,” Hoseok said, placing a small pot onto your desk. “So I found this and thought of you!” 

He had seemed polite enough for you to indulge him. “It’s herbology,” You corrected him, but you wave it off. “But it’s fine. Uh…” You take the pot, curling your fingers around the edges. “This is very nice of you, Hoseok. Thank you.” 

But turns out it was not a very nice gesture for you because the plant had been jinxed—a bewitched thing that became dangerously overgrown through the night and latched onto you in its path. You had woken up the next morning with branches and leaves curled over every part of your body, your entire bedpost covered with greenery and you right at the heart of it. You, lifted several feet above the bed, trapped in the plant Hoseok had given you. The Headmistress was called to help you out, and you refused to stand next to Hoseok in the greenhouse for the rest of the year. 

And finally, the cherry on top of pranks was during sixth year. In an attempt to fix an admirer’s robes, Hoseok ended up bewitching the entirety of the housing system. The crests people wore on their robes were mixed around and swapped out. The gesture ended up fucking up who was allowed or denied access into the different houses—a crazy day that you remember extremely well. The paintings that guarded the common rooms couldn’t let in certain students, especially the first years because new students are still trying to be adjusted into the school. The day had been an overall frenzy where the attention of the Headmaster was needed to undo the mess. Hoseok had gotten a week of detention following that incident. 

“Wow,” Nayeon says, back in the present, with her chin in her hand and her eyes wide. “I didn’t even know most of those pranks were done by Hoseok.” She looks at you. “I didn’t know you were the one who got attacked by the plant overnight.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” You cut in, looking embarrassed. “It was all very terrible and horrible and Jung Hoseok is a gigantic piece of trash—!” 

“Piece of trash? You don’t mean yourself, do you?” 

The familiar, shit-eating grin in his voice causes the three of you to jump as you pivot your waist to find Jung Hoseok and his stupid equally-as-naturally-talented friend Jeon Jungkook by his side. They’re both staring down at you. 

You glare at him. “Are you stupid? If you’re selectively eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for you, it’s clear that you know I was talking about you.” 

Hoseok slides his hands into his pockets. “Tactful as always. Anyways, this is my friend Jeon Jungkook. You may know him.” 

“What’s up,” Jungkook introduces himself, eyes flickering to Nayeon as he grins. “Hey Nayeon.” 

Nayeon gives him a weak smile in return. You wonder if she’s still upset about her loss against Jungkook in the Quidditch match. Or, deeper than that, you wonder if she’s more upset that he invited her to that party in the Room of Requirements and never showed up.  

“Pleasant,” Hoseok comments in regards to the atmosphere that has been crafted before he’s turning back to you. “I’m hearing about a potions exam coming up.” 

You nod. “You’re correct. Why, you’re gonna try and study this time?” 

Hoseok laughs at that. “Nah,” He brushes off. “It doesn’t seem that important. I’ll look over a guide or something, but that’s it.” 

Your stare hardens slightly. “I think it’s a little more important than you’re making it seem. You do realize that if you fail your exams, you won’t even make it to the N.E.W.T.s, and it seems like that’ll definitely fuck up your chances of doing anything significant with your life.” You pause. “Don’t you need to continue that family legacy or something?” 

Hoseok laugh melts into a frown. The group you’re surrounded with becomes significantly quiet, as everyone seems in shock about the direction you’re taking the conversation. “Why don’t you just mind your business? My ‘family legacy’ or whatever dumb shit you want to call it isn’t of your concern. More than that, how I decide to go about my business is up to me.” He smiles, all teeth but no humor. “Your concern for my grades is cute. But I’m a Jung. I don’t need help and certainly not from you.” He readjusts the page on his shoulder. “Have a good rest of your day.” 

As he and Jungkook take their leave, you roll your eyes and turn back to Sana and Nayeon. You smile. “He’s a dick. So, Sana, What kind of food did you bring out for us?” 

. 

When Jung Hoseok said he didn’t think the upcoming potions exam struck much importance to him, he didn’t think the universe would actually take him seriously. That is all that can run through his mind as he stares at the POOR classification written across his test. 

His mind whirls a little as he starts to flip through the parchment, to figure out what had happened. Sure, he didn’t study specific ingredients closely, but he’s always known the gist of what different potions were meant for. That is, after all, how he passed his O.W.L. in potions.  

“Yeah… I guess the more advanced courses look into what certain ingredients can do,” Jimin says, where his OUTSTANDING classification is over his own exam—of course. “When you get out in the real world and need to make something specific, it’s better to have the foundation of materials. Anyways I thought you knew that. I gave you a copy of a study guide for you to reference.” He narrows his eyes. “Unless you were out with Namjoon again.” 

Hoseok sighs. “Whatever. It’s just one exam, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

He’s about to collect his belongings when Professor Slughorn’s voice calls him from the front of the room. “Have a bit of trouble studying for the test, Mr. Jung?” He asks as Hoseok steps towards the desk. 

Hoseok looks down at his test and plasters a smile. “Just wasn’t sure what to focus on, Professor. It won’t happen again.” 

“I hope that it won’t, Mr. Jung.” Professor Slughorn puts down his quill before folding his fingers atop one another. “Because if you fail another one of my exams, it’ll be clear to me that you aren’t fit to take the N.E.W.T. for potions. And I understand you’re interested in the auror program after graduation. That is something I can’t guarantee right now. Unfortunately, just being a Jung won’t be enough if you can’t even make it to the examination period at the end of the year.” 

Hoseok furrows his eyebrows, pressing his lips together. “So what do I need to do?” 

Professor Slughorn ponders for a second. “An Outstanding classification would do you well, Mr. Jung. Good luck.” 

With that, Hoseok leaves the confines of the dungeon with a head full and a panic brimming at the corners of his consciousness. An Outstanding was a Park Jimin level of smart and a 24/7 level of commitment—something Hoseok himself has only accomplished once. What the fuck was he going to do?

He ponders this question as he leaves the dungeons of the potions classroom, where Park Jimin is waiting near the entrance. 

Jimin grins, detaching himself from the wall to approach his friend. “Are you still my potions partner?” He asks jokingly, matching Hoseok’s pace as the pair of them make their way towards the Great Hall for breakfast. The tall glass windows bring in that morning light, the haziness of morning stretching out past the horizon of the mountains outside. 

Hoseok huffs. “Maybe not for long. Professor Slughorn says I need an Outstanding classification for his next exam or he’s gonna kick me out of class.” 

Jimin whistles. “That’s the highest grade in the school from one of the hardest classes you’ll take at Hogwarts. Potions exams are no joke.” 

“I know that,” Hoseok snaps. “I took the exam. I’m aware they’re hard. Otherwise I wouldn’t be in this fucking position right now.” 

“Spicy,” Jimin rebuffs, nudging Hoseok with his shoulder. Hard. “But hey, don’t be a dick to me. You failed on your own merits. You’re lucky Professor Slughorn is actually nice and is letting you off with a warning. If this was first year and he didn’t know jack shit about you, you’d be gone.” 

Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t apologize, however, but it’s implied with his momentary lingering glare. “So, uh,” He starts. “You got time to help me out during study periods? Outstandings require like… near perfect scores. I only got that score on the O.W.L. for Defense.” 

Jimin gives Hoseok a long look. “I would help you Hobi, but I recently got roped into some Ministry of Magic project with that transfer student from Ilvermorny. Professor McGonagall’s orders. It’s a pretty heavy assignment, so I could still try to arrange some time for you…” 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Hoseok cuts in, waving him off. “I’ll figure something out.” 

Jimin ponders this for a moment as he and Hoseok linger outside the Great Hall, waiting for their other friends to show up as per usual. “You sure? I could make time. No worries dude, seriously.” 

“Like I said, it’s fine,” Hoseok brushes off once more, eyes roaming around the hallway. Several unfamiliar students pass the pair of them before you show up and catch his eye. “Uh,” He starts with Jimin, looking at you but directing his voice to Jimin. “If the guys show up, go ahead without me. I’ll catch up in a second.” 

Jimin looks over Hoseok’s shoulder, looking vaguely curious about where Hoseok’s interest in engaging conversation with you has come from, but shrugs it off when Kim Taehyung appears. 

“Hey!” Hoseok calls, saying your name and making you look up from your conversation. “Hi,” He repeats, smiling from you to Sana and back to you. “I need to talk to you.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, Jung Hoseok, I didn’t rat you out to Professor Slughorn and no, I didn’t imply that you were the one to mess with my ingredients.” 

Hoseok snorts. “Okay first of all, I know Professor Slughorn figured that out on his own. I know you weren’t smart enough to piece anything together—!” He cuts himself off when your glare narrows into something that implies you’ll murder him in his sleep. “Right.” He readies himself. “I need to talk to you.” 

You look at Sana and sigh before looking back at Hoseok. “What is it?” 

He’s quiet for a second. “You’re good at potions, right? Like, you’re actually good at knowing ingredients and shit?” 

“Where exactly is this going?” You snap back, looking slightly hurt that your expertise in potions was being put under question. Not that it was ever Jung Hoseok’s responsibility to know your grades. Not that he cares, anyways. 

“She’s good,” Sana interjects politely. “She got an Outstanding classification on the recent test.” 

Hoseok brightens. “Thank you Sana.” 

“Hey,” You protest. “Who’s side are you on?” 

Sana gives you a look. “Are you saying that you were just going to ignore him? While he’s standing right in front of you?” 

Your glare deepens. “Why don’t you go and save me a seat for breakfast? I’ll catch up.” 

Sana laughs. “Alright then.” She turns to Hoseok. “See you around, Hoseok.” 

Hoseok tilts his head up. “Later, Sana.” He waits until Sana has entered the Great Hall before he’s turning back to you. “So, an Outstanding classification. You’re pretty smart then.” 

Your glare doesn’t go away. Instead, your eyes narrow in suspicion. “What do you want?” 

He seems to ponder this. “I’m giving you an opportunity. I’m in need of a tutor for potions and you seem…” He waves towards all of you. “Vaguely qualifiable. What do you say?” 

You look like he’s grown a third head. “Are you serious? If you’re actually trying to get me to help you out, you’re not doing a very good job of selling yourself. In fact, you’re coming off as more of a dick than usual.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Why don’t you ask your actual smart friend over there?” You gesture towards the entrance of the Great Hall, where Park Jimin is only now sliding into one of the tables. Around him are the company of Jungkook and Taehyung—all three of them laughing mid-conversation. 

Hoseok turns back to you. “Jimin is busy.” 

You give him a tight smile. “And so am I. Goodbye, Jung Hoseok.” 

“Hey, wait, come on,” Hoseok cuts in, not entirely used to rejection of this degree. He’s more accustomed to friends rearranging schedules for him, to students watching his movements with awe. Not disgust, which is the look you’re giving him right now. “Don’t be like that. I need help.” 

“Wow, you’ve really built up a case this time. I’m jumping out of my seat with glee and anticipation,” You remark sarcastically. 

Hoseok bites his tongue. He speaks without thinking. “You should be honored I’m asking you for help. I’m a Jung—people part for my family because they know how important we are. What’s up your ass anyways?” 

Your gaze on him turns from annoyed to appalled. “What’s up my ass?” You echo. “You think I give a shit about how you’re connected to your family? Based on your work ethic alone, you’re unrelated to them for all I care. The fact that you’re using them to justify your dick behavior is blowing my mind right now,” You sneer, taking a step back away from him. “Tutoring you isn’t an ‘opportunity’, Hoseok. It’s an anchor.” With that, you turn around and Hoseok alone in the hallway. 

To say he’s frustrated would be an understatement. He lingers, watching you make your way into the Great Hall to join your friends. For some reason, your rejection just makes him even more attuned to your actions and gestures—the way you join your friends at the table, the way you reach for the food lined up along the center of the long table, the way you smile as if you hadn’t been snapping Hoseok out just seconds ago. 

With a huff, he too steps into the Great Hall and slides into the corner seat along with his friends. 

Jimin laughs, sticking his fork into some bacon and eggs. “What happened?” 

Hoseok scoffs. “What makes you say something happened?” 

“Dude, it’s written all over your face,” Jimin retorts, gesturing to Hoseok with his fork. “She pissed you off. What happened?” 

“Does it even matter?” Hoseok returns, reaching over to grab the cup laid out for him. It immediately fills up with the morning drink of his choice—coffee. “Just being frustrating and yelling at me, as per usual.” 

Jungkook laughs. “That is true.” 

“Anyways…” Hoseok starts up, craning his neck just slightly to see you further down the table, still smiling and joking around with your own friends. “She said something that really bothered me. So I think I’ll send her a little present of thanks.” 

Very slowly, he takes his wand out of his robe and rummages through his bag for a box. With the mutter of a spell underneath his breath, the box turns invisible with only the vague shimmering blurriness of its space to give an indication of its location. Hoseok raises his wand up, and the box follows, as it floats soundlessly down the table and past the other small clusters of students partaking in their own morning eating. Most don’t notice, too involved in their personal conversations or trying to shake off the morning exhaustion in time for lessons. 

The box lingers when it reaches you, and Hoseok drops his wrist so the contents inside the box sprinkle all over your breakfast food. 

“Accio box,” Hoseok hisses, watching as the box flies towards him before catching it with one hand. At his friends momentarily bewildered look, he flashes the now visible product towards them. “Hiccough sweet,” He explains, tossing it to Jungkook when the latter opens up his arms with a silent question. 

Jungkook catches the box and turns it over to read the product description on the back. “A Zonko’s Joke Shop Product,” He reads. “Induces a hiccoughing fit when consumed.” He looks up. “So you just need to eat this and…?” 

An utter of your name is heard from across the table. “Are you okay?” 

You cough, hitting your chest with the palm of your hand. A round of hiccups escape you as your whole body jerks with each spasm of your diaphragm. “Maybe I—hic—ate too fast—hic—!” You try for a glass of water, but your hiccoughing makes you choke just before you can down the liquid, causing only further coughing and discomfort. 

Hoseok watches the whole thing with a grin on his face. 

In the midst of your coughing fit, you catch Hoseok’s eye and don’t have too much trouble deceiving his grin this time. It also helps that he’s waving the box of Hiccough Sweet at you. 

Your lips part in shock. “Jung—hic—HOSEOK—!” The noise of your hiccups grow louder to echo through the breakfast hall. The increasing silence doesn’t help as your struggles only become more and more apparent. 

Your lips part in shock as the noises of your hiccups grow loud enough to echo through the breakfast hall. The increasing silence doesn’t help as your struggles only become more and more apparent. 

Sana seems to catch wind of this and places a hand on your back as you gasp in between your fit of hiccups. “Maybe we should go to Madam Pomfrey and see if she can fix this,” She says, helping you out of the seat as you cough in between your hiccups. 

You point to Hoseok as you and Sana make your way out of the Great Hall. “I’m—hic—going to kill you—hic—so you better make sure I don’t—hic—see you in the hallway—hic—you dick!” 

Hoseok is still mid-laughter as you and Sana leave the hall, bringing the curiosity of whispers and rumors along with you.

. 

You don’t return to the house dorms that night, something about how Madam Pomfrey couldn’t figure out how to combat the hiccough sweet and had to take some time to figure out how to settle your diaphragm down. Hoseok had giggled about it then, and continues to smirk about it hours later as he exits the castle and makes his way down to the Gamekeeper’s hut along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Today is Saturday, and the breeze is calm but the clouds are collecting along the edges of the sky with the telltale signs that a storm is coming up soon. 

Regardless of the weather, Hoseok is still making the trek out as he crosses down dirt pathways and rocky inclines—finally reaching the hut and the gates of magical creatures that are housed within the area. Today, Kim Namjoon is out there begrudgingly combing through the cages of the Blast-Ended Skrewts. 

Hoseok lingers outside the cage for a moment, watching his friend partake in the very activities he had talked about and laughed about months prior. 

He speaks finally. “If I decided to hit this cage, would the skrewts start shooting fire at me?” 

If Namjoon is surprised by the visit of his friend, he doesn’t show it. “No, they’d start shooting fire at me so for the sake of our sanity, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” 

Hoseok grins. “I’m sure that the zookeeper who is supposed to be mentoring you would appreciate the sentiment.” 

Namjoon flicks him off instead, and the pair wallow in silence as Namjoon continues cleaning up the cage until the area is spotless. Quickly, he opens the cage and shuts it behind him to signal his completion of the task. The silence stretches on as Hoseok reaches into his bag and pulls out a roll, referring to a common activity between the two of them, as the air quickly fills with purple smoke that smells of berries. 

“What about your problem?” Namjoon asks after a few minutes. He shakes his roll. “The potions girl had a bit of trouble recovering from your hiccough sweet prank, so I’ve heard. Is that supposed to help convince her that she should tutor you?” 

Hoseok blows smoke. “Probably not. But she called me an anchor!” 

Namjoon snorts. “Because you’re asking someone to help you study when you can be pretty shitty at studying because of your even shitter attitude? Especially regarding potions, AKA your hardest subject?” He looks out. “I’m surprised she didn’t say anything worse.” 

Hoseok narrows his eyes at his friend. “You dick. You’re not exactly a model citizen either. What the fuck do you think got you into this position in the first place?” 

The pair of them bicker for a little longer—conversations indulging through the activities of different classes and the different affairs going on amongst their friend group, before the aforementioned heavy clouds groan from above. It’s an angry sound, a crackle of noise that splits through the sky and gives a warning of what’s to come. 

It’s a warning that only lasts a few seconds before rain starts pouring down from the sky, loudly pittering and pattering against the ground. Taken aback by the sudden nature of the weather, as well as the heavy weight of the rain drops themselves, Hoseok and Namjoon scramble to collect their belongings. Namjoon turns his attention back to the magical creatures around him, the rain starts to soak through his hair. 

“I need to clean up,” Namjoon says, slightly begrudgingly, but firm nonetheless. 

So Hoseok nods. “I’m gonna try and head back.” The pair of them exchange one last final parting before going their separate ways. 

Despite Hoseok claiming a trip straight back to the castle, he doesn’t follow through immediately. He takes a bit of a detour, towards another place he knows he can remain alone and unbothered—a place that usually allows him to wallow in his thoughts given how it’s always unoccupied during certain days. 

He heads towards the greenhouse. 

But the time he’s reached the outskirts of the house, he’s soaked through his robe and his hair is promptly sticking to his forehead. The cool temperature invokes a slight shiver as Hoseok still pushes open the door of the greenhouse and closes it behind him. 

He basks in his alone time for a grand total of five seconds before—! 

“Jung Hoseok?” It’s your voice, and Hoseok groans. You’re not exactly the first person on the list of people he wants to see right now, especially after the whole hiccough sweet thing the other day. Not that he’s actively trying to avoid you, but seeing you is like salt in the wound. It’s definitely vice versa for him to. 

He whirls around to see you having stepped out from an enclosed area of the greenhouse, a separate place of the building separated by more glass for advanced herbology students. It’s closed off from the main portion of the greenhouse to ensure that curious first-years don’t accidentally mess with plants that could alter one’s memory or other forms of dangerous enchantments. You, however, are prepared for this—with your dragon-hide gloves and rolled up sleeves of your white polo shirt. 

When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you only further narrow your eyes at him. “What are you doing here? Last time I checked, idiots don’t need to drop by the greenhouse.” You jerk your chin towards the outside. “In the rain of all times.” 

He ignores your insult to approach you instead. “I was just escaping the rain, thank you very much. Very cozy in here. And I’m totally fine, thanks for asking.” When you don’t say anything, he clears his throat. “So, what are you doing here?” 

You gesture towards the area of the greenhouse you’ve just emerged from. “Do you have eyes? I’m here for an assignment.” 

“Ah.” Hoseok nods. “That’s right, I forgot you like the play with plants.” 

You frown. “It’s not playing with plants, I’m observing them—!” You cut yourself off, seeming to decide it wasn’t worth fighting this battle. You raise your hand and make a noise of self-protest in the back of your throat. “You know what? Whatever. I’m done for today anyways so I’ll let you roam free in here. Touch a plant and lose your memory for all I care.” You disappear back behind the advanced herbology section of the greenhouse once more to put your equipment back in the proper place, leaving Hoseok back at the entrance.

A few seconds pass before you’re emerging once more with your school blazer over your shoulder, brushing past Hoseok and turning the knob to exit the greenhouse—leaving Hoseok behind. 

Watching you leave, somehow, is even more frustrating than enduring a conversation with you, which is why Hoseok dashes towards the door you’ve just closed to pull it open again. You’re up ahead, blazer over your head and your shoes splashing into the puddles on the ground. 

“Y/N, wait!” Hoseok calls, closing the door and jogging over to catch up to you. 

Your pace doesn’t let up. Neither does your disdain for him as you look over your shoulder to continue barking at him. “What do you want, Hoseok? Doesn’t putting hiccoughing sweet into my breakfast fulfill your quota of torturing someone for the week?” 

“What?” Hoseok shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not about that. It’s about the thing, the—the other thing!” 

“The other thing…?” You trail off, before stopping dead in your path. Hoseok would have crashed into you had he been running behind you rather than next to you. But alas, he slows down into a standstill. The rain continues to pour down on the two of you, further soaking Hoseok past his already wet clothes. You yourself lower the blazer off your head, allowing the rain to touch the strands of your hair. “Are you seriously bringing that up with me again?” 

Hoseok swallows. Every little micro aggression you direct towards him only eats at his confidence more and more. Not used to being rejected as many times as he currently has, he finds that he has a harder time trying to formulate the right words into the right sentence, he actually stammers. “I just thought…” 

“Thought what?” You interrupt. “That avoiding me would make me forget how much of a dick you are? That’s right, you don’t think I noticed what’s been going on for the past few days. You’re filled with guilt and you think ignoring the problem will just make me forget it long enough to be your stupid tutor. But let me tell you something, Jung Hoseok.” You take a step closer to him, close enough where he can see the rain drops clinging to your lashes. “Nothing can make me tutor you.” 

You step back, turn around and start your walk towards the castle once more before Hoseok sighs loudly into the air. He says something that he hasn’t said since he was ten. “I’m sorry!” He calls out, yelling it through the space between you. 

That makes you falter slightly, having never heard those two words spoken to you before. You stop walking, looking over your shoulder to stare at him—give him a chance to further explain himself. 

Hoseok sighs again, trying to quickly formulate his thoughts into words before you lose interest and continue to think he’s full of shit. “Professor Slughorn called me in the other day and said that if I don’t get an Outstanding classification on the next exam, I’m basically out of the potions N.E.W.T.s. If that happens then I won’t get into the auror program after graduation—and yeah, I’ll be a disappointment to my family. So I, uh… need your help. Please.” He says the last word more as an afterthought, more of a grumble. 

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the sound of rain pattering against the grassy pathway. A part of Hoseok really thinks that you’re going to curse him out again, tell him to piss off now and forever. But you speak. “What was that?” You say. “The last part.” 

There’s a slight smile in your voice, as if you know what he said but just want to hear him repeat nonetheless. 

“Please,” Hoseok tries again, a little stiffer but a lot louder. 

“One more time?” 

Hoseok glares harder, but he’s not sure you can see it through the rain. 

Finally, you take a step towards him. Your shoes squish against the mud, stopping when you’re arms length away from him. “You must be desperate,” You say at last, running a hand across your forehead to rid of some of the water that has collected there. At last, you yourself emit a sigh as you rummage through your bag for your wand. You pull it out, pointing it up to the sky as a clear veil comes out from the tip—an invisible umbrella. The rain hits the surface of your spell-produced umbrella, but it’s a protection that only covers you up. Hoseok continues to feel the rain soak through every part of him. “Fine,” You acknowledge after a moment. Hoseok feels his heart lurch in his chest. “I’ll tutor you—but, if you fuck with me even once… if you show up late or don’t take this seriously, then I’m out. I won’t even give you a warning. This is my warning.” 

Your strong-hold and straightforward attitude about your conditions to tutor him leaves Hoseok vaguely starry-eyed. Not that you aren’t normally no-nonsense, but to see you take so much control over something he is a part of makes him stunned. 

So he utters the only thing he is capable of uttering with a full head. “S-Sure,” He manages. 

That seems to be enough for you, because you give him a curt nod. “Tomorrow afternoon, 2pm,” You throw out. “That’s when I’m done with lunch. Meet me in front of the library.” 

“Y-Yeah…” Hoseok says, trailing off as he watches you leave, taking your energy and the pitter-patter of your umbrella with you down the pathway and back toward the castle. 

.

He doesn’t even want to try and entertain the possibility of fucking around the following day—doesn’t even want to see if you were perhaps joking around when you threated to back out of the tutoring arrangement if he so much as breathed wrong in your direction. He shows up five minutes before the agreed time.

You show up a minute before, readjusting the strap of your bag, but you stop at the sight of him lingering outside the library. You wear an unreadable expression as you approach him. 

Hoseok stares right back. “What?” He says, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. 

You shake your head. “Nothing, nothing. Nice to see you passing the first test of showing up early..” Without another word, you make your way into the library with Hoseok hot at your tail. 

The two of you eventually settle into a tiny corner booth encompassed by shelves of books. The library is quiet considering it’s a Sunday afternoon when most normal students are probably fighting the food coma of lunch. Normally, Hoseok would be one of those people—would prefer to just relax outside in the courtyard with his body laid out amongst the grass and the conversations of his friends putting him to sleep. The momentary visual of that is contradicted to his current predicament: inside the library and the uncertain nature of the current situation leaving him apprehensive. It’s an emotion he isn’t accustomed to. 

“So,” You start just as Hoseok is settling into his chair. You lean forward, fingers lacing together as you regard him with a curious look. “We need to figure out how much you know. Can you tell me what bezoars are and what it’s good for?” 

He stares at you. 

You kiss your teeth as you twist in your chair to collect parchment from your bag. “Alright. This’ll be a good next few weeks.” The dryness in your tone is hard to ignore. 

Hoseok furrows his eyebrows. “Why, what’s wrong? What’s a bezoar?” 

You sigh. “What’s wrong is that bezoars were the first things we studied this year in class. Honestly, Jung Hoseok, how did you even make it to this level of potions?” 

“Hey,” He exclaims, actually pouting at you. Just a little, but the defeat in his tone is present—still guilty for not knowing what bezoars are. “The O.W.L.s were easier. And Park Jimin is one of my best friends, he usually tutored me right before the exams. And exams from last year were made for more memorizing rather than actually giving me a foundation for this shit.” 

You waver in the collection of your materials to give him a look. 

He looks right back at you. “What?” He asks again, a little sharper this time. 

You lift your hands up as if to deflect his self-conscious attitude. “Nothing, it’s just—you’re pretty observant about that kind of stuff. And I would even go so far as to agree with you. Those tests were pretty brutal.” 

“Yeah, exactly…” The notion of you actually agreeing with him feels like a few weights off his shoulders. Hoseok settles himself deeper into his seat. “So I honestly just forgot the information as soon as I finished the test.” 

You nod slowly. “Okay… that’s fine. It’s a problem, however, because you really need to know all this information if you’re gonna need to pass the upcoming potions exam and even further for the N.E.W.T. exam. Just memorizing and forgetting for each test isn’t going to work this year. But, for this upcoming potions test, this is what you’ll be tested on.” You produce another parchment that contains a small list of ingredients and actual potion brews. “Professor Slughorn said that the next exam will be a combination of concepts learned from the first test as well as the lessons after that.”

Hoseok takes the parchment from you and feels his eyes almost bug out of his head. The list itself isn’t too long—just a handful of ingredients and potions—but the subheaders are filled with different points that would need to be covered in the exam. Like where specific ingredients could be found, what season would be the best time to grow them, if they could be grown, what potions from class one would find this ingredient, and the general purpose of the ingredient. For potions, pointers you’ve written cover the intention of the potions and the ingredients required. 

The new knowledge that he would need to know all this information fills Hoseok with a sense of dread, before the doubt settles in. “There’s no way it has to be this detailed.” 

You glare at him. “Hey, why would I take the time to write out all these different subheaders otherwise? Last time I checked, I was the one who passed and you were the one who failed.” 

“You don’t think I know that?” Hoseok snaps. “Why else do you think I’m here?” 

You slam the textbooks and parchment you’ve brought over onto the table. “Are you seriously trying to pick a fight with me over this shit right now?” You run both your hands through your hair. “Look, you don’t like studying and memorizing and applying yourself—I don’t get it, but who the fuck am I to spare brain cells in trying to make sense about you. But this is the reality of the situation. You get out what you put in. If you would prefer Park Jimin to tutor you and whisper the answers to you when the professors aren’t looking, then be my guest.” 

“No! No, okay, fine, I’ll stop,” Hoseok interjects tensely. “I guess you just make me a reactionary person.” 

You make a side-eye at that comment, but don’t say anything to further drive the wedge already in place between the two of you. “How good are you with retaining information?” 

“Depends how mean you are to me,” Hoseok mutters. 

You ignore his jab to open up your copy of Advanced Potion Making. “Alright, well, I guess we can start with going over bezoars…” 

.

You can not fathom why you decide to tutor Jung Hoseok. Thinking clearly about it, there isn’t a gain or a loss to come out of helping someone who has done nothing but make your many years at Hogwarts challenging and terrifying at the same time. You know that he doesn’t purposely single you out, and more often than not it’s just the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time—Hoseok doesn’t have the bad blood in him to target one person (unlike his friends), but his carelessness doesn’t excuse years of frustration and annoyance. 

Given those feelings, you almost said no. In the beginning, you had been fully prepared to reject his ass over and over again until he gave up. It wasn’t difficult at first, with his arrogance shining through and doing well to push all the right buttons that drove you to a rejection in the first place. 

But that day in the greenhouse had changed some things. Hoseok had been the most vulnerable you had ever seen him, showed the most humility, and actually seemed human. And you’ve always had a soft spot for vulnerability—makes you feel guilty if someone poured their heart out only to get rejected once more. So you accepted. 

Besides, even though you aren’t sure how to tutor, you painted yourself as a good student and assumed that teaching someone concepts that have already been reviewed before would be simple. 

But you were very, very, very wrong. 

“For the last time, Jung Hoseok,” You seeth, fingers pressing deep into your temples as you rub. “A fluxweed is part of the mustard family, grows purple flowers, and is known for its healing properties. Knotgrass doesn’t sprout flowers—it’s used for polyjuice potions and is brewed to make knotgrass mead. How do you keep fucking this up?” 

“They both have a grass differential in their name!” Hoseok whines, throwing himself back into his seat. “Weed and grass is very confusing! How does a grass ingredient not sprout a flower but a weed ingredient does? That’s too weird!” 

“It’s not weird, it’s just the way things are!” You snap back. 

“The fact that you say that only makes it more weird!” 

You have to zero in and read an excerpt on fluxweed to calm the nasty flare of anger that lights up in your stomach. Not only is tutoring Hoseok not simple, but it turns out he has difficulty memorizing very basic ideas of things he has zero interest in. How on earth did he pass his O.W.L. for this fucking subject in the first place? 

The pair of you were in your third week of tutoring, still reviewing concepts from the beginning term. With the next upcoming potions exam rapidly approaching, the seeds of doubt start to grow in your mind, an unsure feeling that the pair of you could catch up to the rest of the material. Your growing frustration over Hoseok’s inability to retain the information is also starting to get in the way of proper tutoring sessions. 

Basically, you’re at your ropes end. The hour-per-three-days you have spent tutoring Hoseok could have been spent studying for your own assignments and own weaknesses. Or perhaps seeing a therapist on how to stop letting people like Hoseok take advantage of you. 

“You’re being so impossible right now!” You shriek, ignoring the wandering eyes of other students who glance over at your outburst. “How are you not retaining this information? It’s almost like the only time you’re studying for this class is during our tutoring sessions…” You glance over at him, seeing the vaguely guilty expression in his eyes, and you feel your heart race pick up—the feeling of fight or flight coming over. “Please do not tell me that’s what you’ve been doing for the past three weeks.” 

“Hey…” Hoseok protests. “That’s just how I studied with Jimin. Maybe if we met everyday I’d retain the information better.” 

You turn to face him completely this time, eyes wide and body shaking with only thinly veiled irritation. “Do you think…” You start, voice already rising. “Do you think I have the time or the patience to go that far when I’m already sticking my neck out for you? Why can’t you just work around what I’m giving you—?” You begin to feel it, the anger settling in your throat and the heat of your face bringing tears to your eyes, the absolute frustration of the situation and the fact that you have only yourself to blame for the outcome. 

But, someone new swoops in to interrupt your raging. 

“Hey, there you are Jung Hoseok.” You manage a quick glance in the direction of the voice before turning away to collect your thoughts. It’s Kim Namjoon—one of Hoseok’s good friends and lead writer for the Hogwarts Daily. The thought of being seen and reported on by Namjoon brings you enough nerves that you choose not to make eye contact. You merely look away to blink away your anger and swallow your frustrations. 

It’s hard though, especially when Hoseok and Namjoon start to have a conversation as if you aren’t even here. 

“What’s up?” Hoseok asks, after the two of them engage in their handshake. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, same as usual.” Namjoon stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to ask if you were free. Jungkook wants to go down to the Three Broomsticks.” You’re in the middle of flipping through your copy of Advanced Potion-Making when Namjoon adds on one more line: “It doesn’t seem like you’re doing anything important anyways.” 

Then, Hoseok laughs. 

That final sound makes you feel like something has snapped inside of you, with that white hot anger coursing through you once more with no force inside you willing to stop it. Without a warning, you slam the textbook shut. The sound of it crashes through the library. 

For the first time since Namjoon’s arrival, Hoseok looks over at you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, okay, now you want to ask me what’s wrong,” You snap, standing up so fast that the bottom of your chair scraps against the floor. You start to collect your parchments and textbook into your hands. “This was a mistake. I should never have agreed to this.” 

Hoseok frowns, standing up as well. “Wait, hold on—are you mad at me?” 

You slam your bag onto your seat. “WOW, okay, for someone who was all signed up to take five fucking N.E.W.Ts, you do know how to lack critical thinking skills in all shapes and forms! Of course I’m mad at you! You lack respect, initiative, and any self-sufficient skills that could make you a fraction of a good student! It’s like you seriously expect me to solve all your problems and tell you exactly how to handle your situation and be honored that you chose me to do this, when in reality I just felt bad and I thought you reaching out to me would mean a change in your attitude. But clearly, I was wrong. You—you’re impossible to deal with! I can’t believe that I wanted to help you in the first place!” You spit out. your chest heaves up and down, the tears pricking in your eyes. The wetness makes your vision glossy, so you miss Hoseok’s expression drop. “I’m sure you can figure out your own way of passing the class.” 

With a final huff, you turn on your heel, ignoring the gaze of other students who watch you leave. You even brush past Madam Pince who looks seconds away from a scolding. The action leaves Hoseok alone in the library to mull over what has just happened. 

But would he even process what you’ve just said and actually take it seriously? Debatable. But you don’t even care. Your main focus is just to get out of the library as quickly as possible and find somewhere to scream.

You just heard towards the first place that comes to mind—the Hufflepuff common room. You brush past the painting, storming past the group of students conversing near the fireplace and up into the girls dormitory. After going through a maze of different hallways and doorframes leading into different bedrooms, you stop at your own—the door leading to your own bedroom. Inside, Sana is sitting atop her bed, flipping through the pages of a History of Magic textbook. She looks up from the book as soon as she sees you. “Hey, how was the tutoring session?” 

You don’t respond immediately. You brush past her, beeline straight for your own bed and throw yourself atop the covers. Landing face-first onto your pillow, you yell right into the cushion.

Sana jumps at the sound, immediately sliding off her bed to make her way towards you. “What’s wrong?” She asks, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

You pout to yourself for a moment, before you huff and proceed to flail your body atop your bed. Your arms and legs wiggle around, hitting the mattress before you stop and perform a 180 so that your back is resting on the mattress. The tears have disappeared from your eyes, but the angry weight still sits in your chest. “Hoseok is an ass, and I effectively quit from being his tutor today.” 

Sana tilts her head. “But I thought you guys were getting along okay.” 

You snort. “Understatement of the fucking year.” You push yourself up into a sitting position. “That bitch was only using our tutoring sessions to study for potions. The fact that he can’t even fit in supplemental lessons just to make sure he remembers what we’ve gone over. And when I brought it up he was so disrespectful about it! As if I don’t have other things to think about, and like he just expects me to worry about him on a daily basis!” You give Sana a look, before sighing and throwing yourself back onto your bed. “Whatever, it’s done. I can just go back to focusing on my own studying. Hoseok can drown for all I care.” 

Sana smiles as she reaches over to brush the hair that has fallen across your face. “How about we go down to Hogsmeade. I’ll buy you some candy, that should help you get over that jerk.” 

You lift your head to focus on your friend, the corner of your lips quirking up at her offer. 

“Okay, but I’ll just let you know that I won’t hold back,” You say, sliding off the bed and digging through your trunk to get your coat. 

“Since when do you ever?” Sana retorts, as the pair of you break off into giggles, making your way down the stairs into the common room and out into the castle halls. 

.

The crush of footsteps against the grass underneath gives away the arrival of new company. You’re laying in the courtyard outside of the castle, blanket under you and your own copy of Advanced Potion-Making at the edge of your fingertips. All it takes is one glance up to know who has decided to visit you. 

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “Didn’t I say you should figure out your own way to pass potions?” 

Above you, Jung Hoseok shifts nearly on his stance, switching from one foot to another before he settles on standing straight. He’s doing something you haven’t seen him do in the many years you’ve been in his company: he’s staying quiet. 

His silence leaves you with little choice but to follow along. You push yourself up into a sitting position and lean back enough for your arms to aid in the upcoming of your posture. “How was the Three Broomsticks?” You ask. “You seemed excited to go off with your friend.” 

Hoseok winces at that. 

You catch it. “Yeah, I heard you laugh when Namjoon said it looked like you weren’t doing anything. How do you think something like that makes me feel? Invisible? Like shit, perhaps? Well then, you would be right.” 

Hoseok sighs. His eyes flicker down to an open spot on your picnic blanket. “C-Can I… Can I sit?” 

You only continue to glare at him. “No.” 

He ignores you, electing to just sit down anyways. 

You sigh. “First you can’t even respect my wishes, then you just go off and do whatever you want to anyways.” 

Hoseok glares right back at you. “Because I know you won’t listen to me otherwise. Just hear me out, alright?” 

You engage in a staring match with him, before scoffing and returning the attention back to your book. “Don’t you have another date at the Three Broomsticks to attend to?” 

Hoseok blinks once, twice, before looking down to fix his attention on the edge between the picnic blanket and the grass. “I didn’t go,” He admits quietly, under his breath. 

You tilt your head back, eyes rolling back momentarily before you train your gaze back onto him. “I can’t hear you—why even show up if you can’t even have an honest discussion with me—?” 

“I said, I didn’t go,” Hoseok cuts in, louder this time with a tinge of frustration in his tone. “Just because I laugh with someone doesn’t mean I agree with them. That’s why you were so mad, am I right?” 

Instead of denying or confirming his answer, you keep your mouth shut. 

That seems to be enough for Hoseok, who sighs as he runs a hand through his hair—the frustration over whatever miscommunication he thinks occurred between the two of you clearly affecting him. “Anyways,” He continues. If he’s baffled by your silence, he chooses not to comment on that. A good choice, honestly. “I didn’t go, so can we just continue our tutoring sessions?” 

You keep your gaze on him for a moment, before you look back down at your book. You pucker your lips together. “Nope,” You answer, emphasizing the ‘p’ sound. 

Hoseok recoils, taken aback by your response. “What? Why not?” 

You shut your book, a silence acceptance that you weren’t going to get any reading done at this rate. “If you think I’m just mad about you laughing at some stupid comment your friend made, then you’re a lot dumber than I thought and you would drive the auror department right into the ground. I don’t need that energy around me right now, so good day to you.” You open your textbook right back up and look down. However, it feels as if you’re staring straight through the page, not really absorbing the material and rather just waiting for Hoseok to make his next move. 

He does react with a scoff, looking away for a moment before training his gaze back on you. He’s quiet, and you think that he really is going to walk away, but he goes for his bag. Rummaging around, he produces a stack of ripped parchment papers. He stares down at his collection, before he hands the stack to you. “Here.” 

Your eyes flicker from the papers to his face. To your surprise, Hoseok actually looks embarrassed by what he’s showing you. His meekness gives the encouragement you need to reach out and take the stack. “What is this?” You ask, looking down anyways to find your answer. 

Your heart beats a little quicker at the sight—but it’s not an acceleration due to frustration or irritation. It’s something softer and quieter—touching. 

In your hands is a stack of flashcards ripped from a roll of parchment: potion ingredients on one side and all the requirements you had mentioned previously scribbled on the other side. 

Hoseok watches you carefully. “I, uh,” He starts. “I turned down going to the Three Broomsticks yesterday to work on these. Uh… I’m sorry. For being a dick. I shouldn’t have laughed at what Namjoon said. What I should have been doing was studying on my own though, especially since I know that I have my own shortcomings as a student. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you going out of your way to help me. I should have been a better student, so… yeah. I understand if you don’t want to tutor me anymore. But I didn’t want us to end on terrible terms.” He reaches his arm back out to you, silently asking for the return of his flashcards.

It’s a request you don’t follow through on immediately. You stare between Hoseok and the cards he has just handed you and feel a soft flutter in your stomach—a notion of fondness? Or perhaps is it pride? Either way, it feels like you are seeing Jung Hoseok in a somewhat different light. His meekness and shy nature is coming out in more ways than you had ever expected it too and you are taken aback, and yet it heightens the curiosity you have for him. What other layers does Hoseok have? And are you willing to take the risk and find out? 

Hoseok raises an eyebrow at your unmoving stance. He jerks his hand up and down a few times to get your attention. “Hello? You good in there?” 

You snap out your trance, staring at Hoseok for a moment before looking back down at the flashcards. You skim through a few of them, thumbing through the parchment and flipping over a handful just to see what he’s written. He’s… surprisingly thorough. 

You close your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. You better not regret this. 

You extend your arm to return the stack of parchment back to Hoseok. “If you want, we can go over the details to make sure you can be as thorough as possible.” 

Hoseok takes his flashcards back, looking up to meet your gaze at the statement. He seems to be analyzing your expressions, waiting for you to tell him to piss off all over again. But when you don’t say anything, he speaks up. “What are you saying…?” 

“Look,” You cut in softly, looking down and refusing to make eye contact this time around. “You have already put in all this effort to apologize to me and I can see that you’re working hard. At this point, it seems like a waste if you aren’t able to pass your exam.” 

Hoseok looks stunned at your answer. 

You look away again. “Besides,” You continue. “I don’t want you to come bitching me if you happen to fail your exam and tell me that I held your fate in my hands—I don’t want you to make me feel guilty about this. That’s all.” 

Hoseok processes what you’re saying quickly, because he nods and flashes you a grin. But you can see the weight of tension and stress melt off his shoulders, because he holds himself up a little higher as nods a few more times. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll, uh, let you get back to your own studying.” He straightens up, but keeps his gaze on you. “At the library after lunch tomorrow, right?” 

You kiss your teeth, pointing an index finger at him. “Sounds good, Jung Hoseok.” 

Rather than look back down at your notes, you find your gaze trailing after Hoseok’s retreating form. You watch the way he walks over to Jimin—the way the pair of them talk briefly before Hoseok is gesturing to you with the wave of his arm. Jimin looks at you, makes brief eye contact with you, before you’re turning away to gaze back down at your textbook. 

You cannot pretend you don’t feel the weight of Jimin’s stare as you wait for the two of them to disappear from your line of sight.

.

Hoseok is waiting by the entrance of the library by the time you show up, and the nervous shift in his weight tells you all you need to know about his apprehension. 

“Hi,” You greet, approaching him as Hoseok looks up to regard you almost cautiously. “Are you ready for today?” At his nod, you lean back in your body weight. “Just because you apologized doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you, okay Jung?” 

He just nods again. 

“I just have one little quiz to give you before we can get started,” You continue. “If you can’t answer this, then you really are hopeless. But if you can answer it, I’ll tutor you and we can forget all this other shit happened. Tell what bezoars are and their purpose.” You ignore the face Hoseok gives you when you bring up the potential hopelessness of the situation. 

Bezoars—a reference to the very first question you asked him when you started this whole tutoring session. 

The vague allusion makes Hoseok laugh. Just a little though, because the smile disappears when he notices that you aren’t fucking around with that question. So he settles down and opens his mouth to answer the question. “Bezoars is an antidote for most poisons with the exception of basilisk venom, and it’s taken from the stomach of a goat. It’s formed from the collection of hair or plant fibre that settles in the gut of the animal. Most effective when you swallow it whole.” He wavers slightly. “That’s pretty much the basics.” 

You nod. “Impressive.” 

He shrugs half-heartedly. “I uh, pretty much stayed up all night working on those flashcards, which is where I learned all about bezoars.” 

You nod again. “Alright, that answer satisfies me.” You gesture towards the entrance of the library. “We are free to continue on with the lessons.” 

As you walk into the library, Hoseok is right behind you. “Are you saying you would have just walked away if I didn’t know the answer?” 

You snort. “Of course. It’s been a month since we started the tutoring session—if you didn’t know what bezoars were I would have run for the hills. Hence, me calling you hopeless.” 

“But naturally you aren’t going to do that,” He says, sliding into the seat at the table booth you’ve selected for the pair of you. “Because I’m awesome.” 

You glare at him, letting his self-praise settle for the matter of four seconds. “Okay,” You say, standing up and collecting your books in your arms once more. “It was really nice knowing you, Jung Hoseok, but I’m about to go run for the hills now—!” 

“Wait, wait, okay, I’m kidding, nevermind—!” 

.

Things get better after the conversation in the courtyard. Two weeks and two tutoring sessions later, Jung Hoseok is already in the library at your usual sitting spot by the time you arrive. You’re still in the haze of your lunch coma, but you become more alert at the sight of him hunched over his textbook. 

You pull your seat back, causing Hoseok to jump in surprise at your arrival. There is, however, a bag in your seat, one that Hoseok quickly tugs back onto his own lap. “S-Sorry,” He manages, flashing you a small smile. “I was just saving the seat for you.” 

You press your lips together to hide the momentary gap in your expression. “Thanks,” You return, sliding into the now vacant chair and placing your bag on the desk. “What are you working on today?” 

“I’m reading about garrotting gas,” Hoseok answers almost proudly, straightening up enough to flash you his textbook and the parchment he has set aside to take notes. After flashing a quick peek, you are clearly able to see the long line of bullet points he has made. 

“Wow,” You say, impressed by how far he’s gone. “You’ve covered a lot. When did you even get to the library?” 

Hoseok smiles sheepishly. He touches the back of his neck, a habit you’ve noticed recently that takes form in the presence of nerves. “About thirty minutes ago actually. I know garrotting gas is pretty advanced stuff so I wanted to get a head start. Plus… since Professor Slughorn taught it about a month ago I know I’m still behind.” 

“Nah, you’re catching up rather quickly, actually,” You interject with a smile of your own. “The fact that we’ve been able to cover all the first exam’s topics within the week is awesome. Your flashcards have really helped out.” You turn your attention to your own bag, missing the soft look Hoseok sends your way. It vanishes as soon as you look at him again. “Plus garrotting gas will be on the N.E.W.T. Nice to see that you’re planning ahead.” 

Hoseok actually rolls his eyes at that. Playful, but unbelieving. “I need to pass this potions exam first before I can think about the N.E.W.T.s. “ 

You laugh, reaching across the way to rest your hand on his shoulder. “At this point, if you don’t pass that potions exam, I will literally throw you off the Astronomy tower.” 

The next tutoring session comes on a Sunday, per Hoseok’s request. 

“I just want you to test me on the two potions we went over right after the first exam,” He explains. He’s selected a different spot in the library today: a table in the main area with enough space for the pair of you to sit opposite of each other. Something about you sitting directly across from him feeling more official, or something like that. You don’t understand it, but Hoseok seems eager to try. 

So you nod, folding your fingers atop one another as you give Hoseok a look. “Alright. So garrotting gas and the garnish pink blended poison, correct? Just to make sure you didn’t skip ahead.” 

Hoseok feigns a gasp, pressing his hand to his chest. “I would never.” 

You snort at that, closing your eyes and shaking your head. Clearly, it’s a rejection of an attitude Hoseok once held for the potions curriculum. The fact that you are able to joke about it and earn an equally sarcastic reply back shifts something in your heart—he’s now smiles with teeth. 

The pair of you go at it for a little bit—“garrotting gases are colorless that causes choking or even suffocation because the gas catches people by the neck if someone were to walk through it, and garnish pink blended poison are pink in color that have ten different components for ingredients. According to Golpalott’s Third Law, the effects of the poison could be countered with the adequate antidote or a bezoar.” 

You nod, corner of your lips turning up. “Good job. And you brought Golpalott in as well, which is always a plus. I would say that you pass the review then.” 

Hoseok grins and makes a little noise of satisfaction, a quiet little burst of excitement that makes your stare linger for an extra moment. Having never heard a sound like that from him, it makes you wonder what more he’s hiding from you. It’s also such a happy sound that you cannot help but smile back at his own happiness. 

Hoseok drums his fingers on the table, the smile still plastered to his face. “Hey, uh, want to cut this session early and enjoy some sunlight for once? Jungkook is in the middle of Quidditch practice and sometimes I like to go watch what he’s up to. Want to join me?” 

You blink at his offer, surprised that he would ask you something so forward. Not that Hoseok is a stranger by any means, shapes, or forms, yet you would never consider the pair of you friends or even people that hung out outside the barriers of your normal interactions. Which is why you are shocked by his offer. “You want me to join you?” You ask instead. 

Hoseok flushes at your question. He may have softened around the edges but it’s hard to let go of old expectations and it shows. “I-I mean,” He starts. “Obviously you don’t have to come with if you don’t want to. I just figured that you’d still be here studying when you could go get out and get some sun. Not that you couldn’t have gotten sunlight on your own, I just thought—!” 

“Hey, Jung Hoseok,” You interrupt, unable to hide the smile of pure amusement that takes over at the sight of him being so flustered. You’ve never seen him stammer through anything before. “What are you so nervous for? I’ll go to the Quidditch practice with you.” 

He blinks. “Really?” At your expression, he springs right into action. “Oh yeah, of course. His practice just started so let’s get going!” 

The pair of you start packing up you belongings, albeit not much was taken out to begin with given that Hoseok had only asked to meet up for a single purpose, so it doesn’t take long until you’re exiting the library and making your way through the hallways that will lead to the entrance of the castle. You and Hoseok talk briefly about Jungkook and some old memories, but most conversations fade out into a comfortable silence. 

You don’t mind the lack of talking. Hoseok’s presence has never made you uncomfortable per say. Irritated, annoyed, or frustrated would definitely be a better word to describe the nature of the dynamic you’ve always shared with Hoseok. Yet lately with all of your previous interactions, it seems to have softened the frustration into something else. What that something is, you aren’t entirely sure yet but you aren’t opposed to finding out. 

“You’re right, the sunlight is pretty soothing,” You speak up as the pair of you continue through the grassy fields and the flags and hoops of the Quidditch field grow larger with every step. 

Hoseok hums. “Was I right in that you were just going to continue studying on your own as soon as I left?” 

You cough. “W-Well, you weren’t wrong.” At his laugh, you immediately whirl to glare at the boy. “What’s wrong with studying huh!” 

“Nothing, nothing!” He protests, waving his hands back and forth. “Actually, I guess it’s good you’re a nerd who likes to study so much. Otherwise we wouldn’t have become friends.” 

“I think the word you’re looking for is an anchor,” You grumble, ignoring the fact that he’s just called you a friend—and further ignoring the fact that you aren’t completely grossed out by that label. 

Hoseok scoffs. “You dare use that word of insult against me? After everything we’ve been through!” 

“It’s not an insult,” You protest wildly despite the fact that it is, indeed, an insult. “It’s… well…” 

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Go on,” He beckons. “I’m listening.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. “Oh! Hey, look, it’s the Quidditch field!” You exclaim loudly, gesturing to the now extremely tall structure of stands and hoops above. “Shall we head up?” You ask, pointing upwards to indicate the higher elevation the pair of you will have to take in the hopes of seeing the Quidditch practice in its full glory. 

Hoseok points at you. “This conversation isn’t over.” He does, however, drop it long enough to lead the both of you into the tent and up the wooden stairs. It’s a long trek up to the top of the stands where the seats are located, but you make it eventually. Several other students are scattered across the area, some are grouped together with friends and others are watching the practice with bright eyes and wide smiles. 

Hoseok seems to notice you staring curiously at the solo watchers because he leans over to whisper something in your ear. 

“Those are some of Jungkook’s fangirls,” Hoseok explains, subtly gesturing to a few. “I recognize that one. And that one. And the one over there too.” 

You snort. “Seems like you’re also one of Jungkook’s fangirls if you can point some of them out so easily.” 

Hoseok chokes, taken aback by your analysis. He recovers quickly however. “Hell yeah I’m one of Jungkook’s fangirls. And I actually get to sit with him at lunch.” He winks. 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Cocky as ever, I see.” 

The pair of you continue walking until you reach a more secluded area of the stands, less occupied by other students, so you and Hoseok can continue to converse amongst each other. 

“Not cocky enough, apparently,” Hoseok notes quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat and looking out to watch the Quidditch practice. Up ahead, Jungkook performs some sort of twirl—a movement you aren’t super familiar with given that you aren’t the biggest observer of Quidditch technicalities. But it seems impressive, if the little shrieks and screams coming from the fangirls’ Hoseok pointed out to you are anything to go by. “You agreed to still tutor me even after calling me out on my bullshit.” 

You laugh. “Well, I would argue that me calling you out made you less of a cocky person.” You turn to him, nudging his arm with your own. “I never got to bring this up, but you’re actually a good student and you’re actually really good at studying. I didn’t know you were holding back on me, Jung.” 

Hoseok hums. “Not even.” He goes quiet for a moment, lacing his fingers together at his lap. “Well, I’m sure you know my family.” 

You snort. “As if. I probably expose that fact to people at least three times a day—!” 

Hoseok’s eyes glint. “Wait, you’re the reason I get auror-hopefuls coming up to me at random intervals of the day?” 

“Uh…” You trail off. “You know what, never mind about that. Keep going, you know, you and your family and stuff. Sounds like you were going in an interesting direction.” 

His glare softens the more he looks at you. “Well, coming from such an impressive family, honestly I never saw myself as someone who needed to apply himself. Things were always just sort of… handed to me, I guess? I grew up with Jungkook—I took him to his first Quidditch match actually. And then we just took more people into our group. Anyways, since things were handed to me, it just feels like I never have to try so hard because rewards were always the expectation.” 

You nod slowly. “That’s why you poured hiccough sweet over my breakfast food when I refused to tutor you.” 

He nods back, surprisingly acknowledging his past prank on you. “Yeah but since you’ve been cool about helping me out, it feels different. No one in my family has ever praised me or told me that I did a good job on something. So having you around fills me with pride. It’s getting to my head honestly, so you might need to stop otherwise I’ll revert back to my old ways.” 

Realizing that he’s slowly transcending back into his arrogant mode, you scoff and roll your eyes as you look away from him. “How about you just use your common sense and stop yourself before that happens.” 

Hoseok blinks. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.” 

You make a face at him. “I’m always being serious.” With that, you turn your attention back to the practice session in front of you, missing the way Hoseok stares at you before smiling to himself and fixing his own attention back on the flying broomsticks ahead. 

.

One week before the next potions exam, you tell Hoseok to meet you along the edge of the Forbidden Forest where you are waiting with a textbook and a task in your mind. Hoseok shows up moments after you’ve gotten settled. The boy is all bundled up in a scarf and a long coat—all prepared to fight the winter weather that is threatening to overtake the school. 

You smile at his arrival. “Hello, Jung Hoseok.” 

Despite the layers that Hoseok is sporting, he still finds himself shivering slightly from the cold that seems to pass through him like nothing. “Aren’t you cold? What the fuck are we doing out here?” 

You shrug half-heartedly, a smirk dancing across your lips. “Oh I’m fine. See, I like to come prepared.” And prepared you are, with your thick fluffy scarf, fur-lined coat, and beanie that covers your ears. “This is a metaphor for our lives.” 

“No it’s not.” Hoseok deadpans across from you. 

You ignore him. “But alas!” You continue, opening your arms out wide for him. “The potions exam is one week away. Are you ready?” 

Hoseok presses his lips together, giving you a shrug. “I don’t know, probably, I guess—!” 

“Wrong answer!” You interject. “You should be ready. Do you realize how much time we’ve both put aside for this moment? Have more confidence!” 

“Is that why we’re out here?” He grumbles. 

You sigh after a moment, lowering your arms and leveling Hoseok with a glance. “No, that confidence should have been second nature to you by now. We’re here because I want to give you one final test.” 

“Oh.” Hoseok seems to straighten up at the mention of a final measurement to see how much he’s learned thus far. “Okay…” He ponders this for a moment before settling back down—probably just to acknowledge to himself that this was actually happening. “What kind of test?” 

You untuck your copy of Advanced Potions Making from under your arm and wave the book at him. “A finding test. This is really important, not just for Professor Slughorn’s exams but for the N.E.W.T.s as well. I like to kill two birds with one stone. I want you to find the ingredients for a potion of my choice. The one I’ve picked should make it easy for you to access the ingredients around this area—that is, if you know where to look.” 

“Okay… okay….” Hoseok replies, shifting the gears of focus in his mind, mentally preparing for the challenge. “What potion am I working for?” 

You smile at his question. “Elixir to Induce Euphoria, if you please.” 

Hoseok ponders that potion deeply for a second before he looks over at you. “When can I start?” 

Your grin widens. “Now.” 

So Hoseok runs off to gather the materials, to search high and low if necessary to find what he is looking for. You imagine that the ingredients necessary must be engraved in his mind, since this particular elixir is something the pair of you have just recently gone over in your tutoring sessions. Based on the reading you were both doing on the elixir, you know that all the ingredients could be found within the forest—albeit, the difficulties could be found from not knowing the specific flower to pick or which trees produce which kind of leaves. In the wintertime, with everything as bare as it is, it adds a level of challenge in identification. 

Yet, you are still confident in Hoseok’s abilities. The book knowledge he’s gained from the readings and the random quizzes you’ve had together definitely leave you with the sense that a practical test is fully possible considering how much progress he’s made. 

Hoseok comes back within twenty minutes, fingers clasped around the various goods and materials he has collected from the forest. 

You hold out your hands to inspect the ingredients, but Hoseok doesn’t hand them over right away. He holds them back, bringing the materials closer to his body. “Hold on,” He says. “I should tell you how to use the ingredients right? I’m sure that would be part of a test.” 

You think about this. “Fair point,” You agree, but you still hold your hand out. “Here, you can just give things to me in the right order.” 

Hoseok nods, looking down to sort through the various ingredients before he’s lifting up the first. “First, you add shrivelfig.” He holds up a purple fruit, roughly the size of his palm. “Originally from Abyssinia, but it’s an aggressive root allowing it to grow anywhere. I’m guessing that’s why Hagrid and Professor Sprout made a magically controlled garden for them near his hut.” He puts the fruit down into one of your open palms. “Next, add some porcupine quills—from porcupine, naturally.” He puts the few spines he has collected carefully into your hand. “Then you…” He searches his mind, finally snapping his fingers when he finds his answer. “Right, you stir four times in an anti-clockwise motion.” 

You watch him carefully, the corner of your lips turning up as you feel that rush of excitement and pride starting to take over you. He’s getting it all right so far. 

Seeing your smile, he continues. “The possible side effects of the elixir of induced euphoria include excessive singing and nose-tweaking so to combat that you should add a spring of peppermint right here…” He places the spring of peppermint in your open palm. “Add sopophorous beans… and finally some wormwood.” He, to your surprise, produces a tiny flask. 

Your eyes widen at the sight. “I-Is that where you put the wormwood?” 

The wormwood part of the ingredient is actually derived from the wormwood plant, meaning that there was a certain level of extraction required to gather this particular material. Knowledge that Hoseok had to put an extra level of thought into acquiring the wormwood makes your smile only grow wider. You don’t even have half the mind to ask where he got the flask. 

Hoseok gives you a tentative look. “D-Did I get it?” 

“You did!” You exclaim, throwing the ingredients up into the air and out of your hands. You start bouncing in place, unable to contain your excitement. “Y-You exceeded my expectations, and the fact that you wanted to tell me the process and you had a storage container for the wormwood plant? That just blows my mind right now!” The fact that Hoseok has gone from someone who once refused to pick up his own textbook to someone who voluntarily wanted to relay information from you, to someone who has become so prideful and confident about the straight facts he’s ripped for you—it gets to you. 

So much so that without warning, you find yourself cupping his cheeks and kissing him right at the corner of his mouth. 

The reality hits you as the icy cold realization washes through your veins. You back up immediately, holding your hands out as your heart takes to pounding as loud as it can in your chest. What the fuck did you just do? It was a spur of the moment reaction, sure, but again, what the fuck? 

Hoseok looks just as shocked as you, looking across with equally wide eyes at what has just transpired. 

Quickly, the humiliation floods through you. “O-Oh my god Hoseok I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” You brush off, taking a few necessary steps backwards and trying to wave off the previous action with your hand—as if something like that is even possible. 

Hoseok snaps out his trance quickly, leveling you with an unreadable gaze. “Hey, no, it’s okay—!” 

“No, no, it’s not okay,” You interject, feeling yourself start to spiral slightly as you run a hand through your hair. “That was such an unwanted advancement on you. I just… I don’t know what happened.” 

Hoseok becomes a little bolder at that, stepping towards you. “Y/N, I said it’s fine, I—!” 

“You don’t need to say anything,” You cut in again, giving him a tight smile. “I’m already embarrassed enough as it is—no need to chew me out for doing something stupid.” Without looking to see his next reaction, you kneel down to gather the ingredients (and the flask of wormwood) into your hands. You don’t make eye contact with Hoseok as you practically shove the materials into his chest. “Y-You did really well, I’m confident you’ll pass the upcoming test for sure.” You continue to stare at the ground. “I’ll, uh, see you around then.” 

Without waiting for him to say anything—for him to reject you—you run off, knowing that this time, you yelling into a pillow or crying will be for something entirely different from frustration. 

. 

Hoseok doesn’t see you until the potions exam, and even then you are a blur of robes and colors as you shuffle past him and into your seat right in front of him. Before he even has half the mind to reach over and talk to you, Professor Slughorn passes out the exams and the class is reduced to complete silence. 

You hand your test in before Hoseok even reaches the last page. 

But when Hoseok turns in his exam, he is confident—which is an emotion that doesn’t usually accompany him in these types of situations. The fact that he knows all of this confidence came from you only widens the gap of loneliness he feels when he knows he won’t be able to celebrate the completion of the exam with you. 

Professor Slughorn eyes Hoseok carefully as he takes the exam from him. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow to see your grade, Mr. Jung, so you can act accordingly.” 

Hoseok nods, ignoring the way his heartbeat is pounding through his ears. “Of course, professor.” 

That night, he sits in the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by friends but feeling alone. Not even Park Jimin, who lifts up a glass of his butterbeer in congratulatory graces, can shift Hoseok into Party Mode. So much so that Hoseok excuses himself from the restaurant to linger outside and dig his feet into the snow. 

He’s wandered off for so long that he isn’t surprised by Jungkook exiting the restaurant to check up on him. The latter boy shivers slightly, hands digging themselves into his coat pocket as he runs up to his friend. “Hey, everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head, big doe eyes watching his friend curiously. 

Hoseok regards Jungkook momentarily before he’s looking back out at nothing. “Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind.” 

Jungkook hums. “I thought you’d be happy. You’ve dedicated so much time to studying for that potions exam, after all. I really imagined that you would be through the roof. Maybe you’d celebrate with that girl who’s been tutoring you. I saw you guys show up to my Quidditch practice game that one time, it seemed like you were pretty close.” 

Hoseok huffs. “Well, I thought we were. I don’t know.” 

Jungkook tilts his head. “You want to talk about it?” 

So Hoseok talks. Only for a little, as to not bore Jungkook with useless details like the color of your eyes or the prettiness of your smile. He sticks to a storyline, discussing the nature of your relationship—starting from the arguments, going through his apology, and ending on your kiss. “She started apologizing like crazy,” He continues. “And going off on how uncalled for it was for her to do that. I was surprised, sure, but I wasn’t opposed to kissing her! Or her kissing me for that matter. But I tried to tell her and I guess she thought I was gonna reject her? Anyways that’s when she left and I saw her for a bit during our potions exam, but she seems hell bent on ignoring me.” He looks over at Jungkook, gauging for a reaction or even just a piece of advice. 

Jungkook remains silent, lips pressed together. 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Nevermind. I forgot you’re a womanizer and don’t need to worry about this kind of stuff.” 

Jungkook pouts. “When you put it like that…” 

Hoseok ignores him, choosing instead to straighten up into a standing position. “Anyways, let’s go back inside.” 

.

The following day, as Hoseok is heading towards the dungeons to get his exam score from Professor Slughorn, he spots you sitting at one of the open window sills with Sana. Blame his sixth sense for being able to detect your position, but his feet move before his brain can. One second, he’s standing at the edge of the hallway, and the next second he’s standing in front of you and Sana. 

Sana parts her lips in greeting, the smile ever-present across her lips. “Hey Hoseok—!” 

“I need to talk to you,” He interrupts, reaching for you until he’s grabbing your wrist. Without warning, he hauls you up and drags you up onto your feet. Ignoring your flabbergasted expression, he pulls you down the hallway into a secluded corner. Most of the general area lacks people and footsteps, but he prefers the privacy. 

He doesn’t even realize you’re trying to yank out of his grasp until he drags you forward to stand in front of him. Noticing your struggle, he lets go of you immediately. He manages a quiet apologize, one that you don’t notice because you are already opening your mouth to argue. “Are you crazy?” You shout. “Do you just always go around interrupting people’s conversations and being rude to my friends? Did you take some crazy pills this morning?” 

“Yah!” Hoseok cuts in. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if the person I’m trying to talk to wasn’t actually a child who thinks avoiding me can retroactively erase a month’s worth of interactions!” 

“I’m not trying to erase anything!” You argue back. Hoseok gives you a look, and you retreat slightly. Only slightly. “Intentionally, anyways,” You mutter. “But okay fine! What does it matter to you anyways? I’m embarrassed alright! I did something uncalled for and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole but I couldn’t do that so just being away from you seemed like the next best thing.” 

Hoseok maintains his glare on you. “Why would you be embarrassed?” 

You look like you want to snap his neck. “Because!” You start, voice initially loud and projecting clearly through the halls. You lower your voice into a hiss. “Because I kissed you,” You grit out between your teeth. “And just exposed the fact that I kind of like you now—!” 

“Okay but,” Hoseok interrupts. “I really like you too. And I didn’t mind that you kissed me.” 

You stop short, craning away from him. “Wait, what?” 

Hoseok gives you a small smile, but he diverts his gaze as to not embarrass himself fully. “I think you’re cool. And you would have heard me say that yesterday if you hadn’t run away like a dumbass!” 

Your face feels hot suddenly. “Hey, you were just staring at me! How else was I supposed to react!” 

“You had kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it! Sorry for trying to process things like a normal person!” He snaps back. 

You pout. “You should have run after me then. I felt like shit all day yesterday!” 

Hoseok makes a face back at you. “I’m not a mind-reader, how was I supposed to know that?” 

You sigh at that, bringing your fingers up to press against the bridge of your nose. “Okay, okay. At this rate, this argument will go back and forth for years.” 

“Sure,” Hoseok relents, backing away for a moment. “But I’m not a mind-reader.” 

You clench your hands at your side. “Fine, fine, I got it. I shouldn’t have run away, but—!” You raise a hand up to point a finger at him. “You should have been more transparent about your feelings!” With a huff, you lower your arm back down and cross them over your chest. “Anyways, uh…” You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow as you try really hard to keep the smirk from taking over your lips. “You like me too, huh?” 

Hoseok purses his lips out, also trying to hide his smile. “Maybe.” 

You start laughing, twirling your hair around your finger. “What was that, Jung Hoseok?” 

He glares. “Actually, what I need to tell you isn’t that important.” 

“No, no, c’mon,” You say, reaching out to latch around his arm. “Tell me.” 

Whether it’s the pout in your voice or the glint in your eyes daring him to refuse you, he relents. “I’m going down to the dungeons right now—Professor Slughorn offered to grade my test early so I could, uh, prepare any next steps. I was just wondering if you’d like to come with me.” 

Your gaze softens. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. Let me just let Sana know what’s up.” 

You make a quick detour back to Sana, still sitting at the windowsill, but she nods when you update her on the situation. Together, you and Hoseok make your way down the hallways and towards the dungeon. Hoseok doesn’t even realize how nervous he is until he reaches the steps leading downwards and his heart is thrumming to its own beat. 

You notice, because of course you do. “Hey,” You call softly, reaching over to take his hand. You squeeze it in your own. “You’ve prepared so hard for this. If you don’t get an Outstanding, I will go up to Professor Slughorn myself and tell him to stick his grading up his ass.” 

Knowing that you’re just trying to reassure him, he gives out an airy laugh of appreciation. “Thanks.” He squeezes your hand back before letting go. “I’m going in now,” He says, taking the stairs down towards his destiny. 

Professor Slughorn is in the dungeons when Hoseok pushes open the room—the older man is at his desk at the front of the classroom, papers folding from one pile to another on its own. With every sheet of paper that settles in front of Professor Slughorn, there’s a few movements of his quill, before the paper moves on to its next pile. Overall, a very efficient system. 

Professor Slughorn looks up at the sound of the door. “Ah, Mr. Jung. I was wondering when you were going to come in.” For a greeting, the statement is much too passive and neutral for Hoseok’s liking. Any indication of Hoseok passing or failing the test doesn’t shine through at all. “Well come in, come in. I have your exam ready.” 

Gulping, Hoseok steps deeper into the classroom, the heels from his shoes clacking against the stone floor. As soon as he approaches the desk, Professor Slughorn draws his wand and a single wave is required to have an envelope move from one corner of the table into Hoseok’s awaiting hands. 

“Best if you review your score outside, if you please,” The professor interjects, doing absolutely nothing to raise Hoseok’s confidence. The man hardly even spares him a glance as Hoseok turns around and exits the classroom—strangely filling like a dog with a tail tucked between his legs. 

You’re waiting near the stairs when Hoseok exits, and you’re all ears and attentive stares as Hoseok reaches the top. “So? What happened?” At Hoseok’s solemn expression, your gaze hardens. “Alright, I’m talking to the professor.” 

He stops you by tugging harshly at the sleeve of your robes. “I haven’t opened it yet.” 

You stop in your trail, eying the envelope. “Well then, take a glance!” 

With one final sigh, Hoseok looks down and tears open the parchment. He pulls out the script from inside—the paper with his exam grade. The red letters dance across the paper, the words PASS written next to Potions Examination. His eyes trail further down to see the ranking of his grade, to see if his hard work has paid off… 

On the bottom, written in Professor Slughorn’s fancy cursive: 

Classification: Outstanding

Hoseok jolts, his whole body moving backwards momentarily as if the words from the paper have slipped out to slap him across the face. He reads the single word once more, twice more, before he’s looking up at you with the widest grin. “Outstanding,” He relays. 

And you’re moving towards him at once, jumping up and down until you’re wrapping your arms around his neck. Hoseok doesn’t even care for the suddenness of the gesture, instead wrapping his arms around your midsection and lifting you up into the air. “Jung Hoseok!” You’re gasping out, pulling away from him to place your hands on his shoulders. “You did it!” 

“Hhhhholy shit,” Hoseok replies back, placing you back onto the ground but moving his hands to your waist instead. He sees you in front of him, bright eyed and full smiles with all teeth. “Thank you so much, I wouldn’t have done this without you.” One of his hands moves up to cup your cheek. “I could kiss you right now!” 

Your grin widens. “Should have done that yesterday too, Jung.” 

The smile slips off Hoseok’s face. “You’re really gonna bring that up against you son of a bitch—!” 

You lean forward and kiss him. It’s just a peck, a press of your lips against his own, but your lips are so soft that he cannot help but lean forward himself as you pull away as quickly as you had come in. That grin is back on your lips. “I did say too,” You say with a twinkle in your eyes. 

Hoseok almost rolls his eyes, before the door to the dungeons opens and you both hear a voice sound from the bottom. 

“I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow, Mr. Jung,” Professor Slughorn calls, waving towards the pair of you—that smile finally pasted across his face. “Hopefully with a much better attitude from now on.” 

You and Hoseok step away from each other, but Hoseok doesn’t let you go too far as he draps an arm around your shoulder. “Oh don’t worry professor,” He replies, looking down at you for a moment. “My girlfriend will make sure of that.” 

#btswritingcafe #bangtan-bookclub #hoseok scenario #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x reader #traci writes #hp reputation series

[gotnofucks]

Sell My Soul - 2

Pairing: dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: Your husbands finds a secret you’ve been keeping and he is not happy.

Words: 2k

Warning: non-con/dub-con (past, mentioned), smut, breeding kink, Stockholm syndrome (kinda), language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: The second part to Sell My Soul. Read the first part here .  

 Part 3

MASTERLIST

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

You found him waiting for you in the bedroom, sitting on the bed with his legs apart and his handcuffs on the bedside cabinet. You walked in timidly and he gestured for you to shut the door. His face for once was emotionless and you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Your husband scared you most when he became this way, because you knew behind this façade was a fury that would burn you. You’d seen it only a couple times since you’d married him all those months ago and it still gave you nightmares.

“Come here, Mrs Bodecker. It’s time we have a little talk.” Lee said and you walked to sit beside him. Before you could, he held your waist and lowered you to your knees between his parted legs. He tapped your chin and you raised your head to gaze up at him. Though his posture was relaxed, his eyes were dark. These blue eyes had looked at you in all sorts of ways: lust, anger, jealousy and even kindness. You shivered slightly.

“Tell me Y/n, haven’t I been a kind husband to you?” He asked, and you nodded. In the traditional sense of the word, he had. He provided for you and kept you safe. There were days he’d chase you around the house and lavish you with kisses, or times when he’d be overcome with an urge to care for you and he’ll feed you himself.

“Unlike the other men you know, have I ever raised a hand or belt on you?” he continued, and you shook your head, confused. Though he could be rough, he’d never beaten you. The only marks you carried were made by his mouth or the occasional prints of his fingers in throes of passion.

“Didn’t I straighten out your brother and let him keep that store of yours?” You nodded again, not knowing where he was going with these questions. You’d gotten a little better at reading him over the months, but you didn’t know what had gotten into him today.

Lee sighed then, before take hold of your face and holding tight. The fire in his eyes seemed to flare.

“Didn’t I forgive you when you tried to run away from me, not just once but twice?” His voice was hard, and you swallowed. You’d made two unsuccessful escape attempted but hadn’t even made it to the town borders before he caught you. That was within the first few months of your marriage. You didn’t try it again because it was futile. He had been angry, so so angry. You hadn’t left the bed and the house for days and he stayed home with you, fucking the truth of his ownership into you for days.

“Lee, I won’t do it again. You know it.” You said and placed your hands on his thighs just the way you know he liked.

He tilted his head and licked his lips as he looked at you in contemplation. The glass around his emotions was cracking and his face contorted in anger as he leaned down to whisper directly in your face.

“Tell me Mrs Bodecker, how long have you been taking these?” He asked and your heart almost stopped beating as he pulled out the bottle of contraceptive pills from his pocket. Your eyes widened in terror and you looked from the bottle in his hand to his eyes with increasing panic. His hand around your jaw became painful and you pushed against his wrist.

“Please”, you croaked and Lee suddenly pushed you away before standing up. You stumbled backwards and crawled away from him but didn’t run away. That would be a fatal mistake right now.

“I cared for you, provided for you, I was kind to you and your family and all I asked in return was for you to be a good wife and give me children, a family. This is how you repay me?” He practically spat the words and started unbuttoning his shirt. He threw it away and he took long strides towards you before hauling you up by your arm. “Strip”

“Lee, please, lets talk about this”, you pleaded.

“There is nothing left to talk about. Strip right now before I rip off your dress and parade you through the neighborhood to let you and everyone else know your fucking place.”

You trembled as you started striping and watched him do the same. This was probably the angriest you had ever seen him, and you had no thoughts of disobeying at this point. The moment your undergarment was off, and you were bare, he picked you up and tossed you on the bed but didn’t climb up himself. Instead, he took his handcuffs from the bedside cabinet and started fiddling with them.

“How long have you been taking these for?” He asked and you eyed the handcuffs with rising trepidation before answering.

“From the very day we got married.”

He stalked towards you and took your hands before cuffing them to the headboard, leaving you prone and helpless.

“Is that the truth? Because if I find out that you were ever pregnant and terminated my child –”

“No!” You cut him off suddenly. “I wouldn’t do that, you have to believe me. I – I was never pregnant.” You closed your eyes and tried not to cry. The bed dipped under his weight and he hovered over you, the spicy scent of his cologne and sweat smothering you.

“Why did you do it?” He asked and something in his voice made you open your eyes and peer deeply into his. For the first time you saw a crack in his veneer and saw hidden within the layers of anger the betrayal than sat within. Your heart thudded for an entirely different reason because you never expected the strong man who you called husband to ever look as vulnerable as he did at that point.

“I am sorry Lee” you sobbed. “I was so scared”

His lips trailed over your tear stained cheeks before following a well-known path down your body and stopped between your thighs. Familiar hands parted them, and you felt his kisses on your nub that made you clench around nothing.

“What were you scared of, Y/n?” He was looking at you with his chin covered in your essence and truth spilled out of your lips.

“I don’t want children growing up in a house where their parents’ marriage was made by force and not love.”

Lee’s face twisted and he crawled up until his face was right above yours.

“You don’t think there is love in our marriage?”

Your mouth parted but no words came out. Was there love in your marriage? You never wanted to marry him; he had blackmailed you into it. You’d tried everything for the first few months to leave him and start a new life somewhere else. But when it became apparent that you were stuck with him, you’d ceased your efforts. You’d become resigned to the fact that you were his wife and had tried your best to adapt to that role so your life could go as smoothly as was possible. For months now you’d been a dutiful wife to him, and you were surprised when he was what others would say a good husband to you. Was there love in your relationship? Was there more than duty and resignation in your heart for him?

“I don’t know Lee, I don’t know!”

You expected him to shout at you, but your husband was full of surprises tonight. He kissed you, and he kissed you in a way he had never before. It was gentle yet passionate and he took his time tracing every part of your mouth. You were breathless by the time he pulled away and struggling against the handcuffs.

“How can you not see our love? How can you not see my love?” He didn’t let you answer and let his mouth press wet kisses everywhere on your body. He bathed your breasts and sucked, your moans urging him on. “How can you deprive me of the chance to see our children nurse from these breasts?”

“Lee, please uncuff me.” You pleaded but he paid you no mind. Your emotions were everywhere, and you wanted nothing more than to touch him right now.

“How can you deprive me of seeing you get beautiful and round with our child” He said nuzzling your stomach and you struggled harder against the cuffs. They cut into your soft skin, but you didn’t care.

“Please honey, release me. I need to touch you.” You begged. He had again nestled his head between your thighs, and you needed him to lick off every drop of moisture that leaked out of you.

“How can you take those disgusting pills that prevent my seed from growing inside this cunt? This pretty cunt that would taste ten times sweeter with our baby inside you.” He licked a straight strip and you arched your back. He thrust inside you with his tongue and played with your bud until you came with his name on your lips.

“Lee!”

His hands were beside your head now and his cock at your entrance.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me you don’t see love there.” He whispered and your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Your eyes watered and he entered you slowly, groaning with every inch. His thrusts were unhurried, and you burned everywhere he touched you.

“My hands” You whispered and this time he listened. Still inside you he reached for the key and uncuffed you, taking your raw hands in his and kissing them. You put them around him and kissed him deep, trying to convey through him what you were feeling.

“If I were to give you divorce papers right now, would you sign?” He asked and stopped moving inside you. Your hips buckled and tried to get him to move but he pinned you down with his weight. “Tell me, my sweet little wife. Would you sign them?”

You could see nothing more than his sweaty face above yours and feel nothing more than his body against yours. His heart was beating against you and gently combed your finger through his damn hair before touching his face.

“No, Mr Bodecker, I don’t want to leave you.” A truth that you hadn’t acknowledged to yourself. A scary truth that you never let your heart accept, but how could you not when he gazed at you with blue eyes that held the force of ocean behind them. You kissed him again and he moved, more frantic now.

“Promise me you’ll never take those pills again!”

“I won’t! I promise!”

“Promise me you won’t leave me.”

“I won’t leave you Lee!”

“You’re mine! My wife, my love. Tell me you’ll be the mother of my children”

“I’m yours, Lee! I will bear your kids! I’ll be their mother!” You shouted.

He hit that spot inside you that made your dig your heels in his back until he hit it again. Your voice rose up in a frenzy and you clamped hard on him, breathless with your release. Lee pumped into you until all you could see and feel and smell and taste was him. He went at you and when he came inside, his hands entwined with yours. You lay sweaty in his arms, neither of you letting the other go.

“You never answered me.” He whispered in your ear, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck. “Do you really think there is no love in this marriage?”

You looked at your husband and for the first time let the wall around your heart crumble. It mattered little in this moment how he took you. The truth was that you were his and you knew in your heart that he was yours too.

“I may have made a slight misjudgment” You admitted, and you saw him smirk. That smirk more than anything else assured you that things will be okay again.

#dark!lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker #the devil all the time #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan

[paperandsong]

Illustration by André Castaigne, 1911

Phantom of the Opera and Carnival - some thoughts

While ALW’s Masquerade lyrics imply that the masked ball happens at New Year’s – toasting to a prosperous year and a new chandelier – in Leroux’s novel the masked ball happens sometime before Shrovetide/avant les jours gras. Shrovetide is an archaic English way of saying Carnival. While Masquerade is a great song, ALW’s decision to move the date of the masked ball means that it loses some of the symbolism and disconnects the story from the greater tradition of Carnival. I have some thoughts about this. It’s a little long, apologies.

What is Carnival? Primarily, it’s a season: the period of time between January 6 (Twelfth Night) and Mardi Gras (the day before Ash Wednesday). The date of Mardi Gras changes every year because it is linked to the dates of Easter and Passover and calculated using the lunar calendar. Carnival is celebrated in some way in most of Europe and in most of the Western Hemisphere, especially in areas colonized by France, Portugal, and Spain. It is not widely celebrated in the U.S. except along the Gulf Coast, primarily in Louisiana, because this region was colonized by France and Spain and the tradition became entrenched before the area became English-speaking. Carnival is celebrated to a lesser extent in Africa, again as a result of colonization. I’m not sure about Carnival celebrations in Asia (leave a comment if you do know!) While Carnival traditions vary widely depending on geography and culture, there are some elements that define the celebrations: masks and hidden identities, processions that later became parades, an excess of food, music, and dance. Carnival is older than Christianity. Most of the pre-Christian elements seem to come from the Romans. But the Carnival that was exported across the world along with colonization was very much a medieval Catholic tradition.

Modern Carnival is usually celebrated as a secular holiday.  But in order to explain Carnival, I have to address the religious roots. [I’m not trying to preach, I promise.] The word Carnival comes from the Latin carnes, flesh. It is a celebration of the flesh in every respect. The excessive hard partying could be viewed an attempt to eat up all the butter and get out all the sinful behavior before Lent, the 40 day liturgical season proceeding Easter, when there is an expectation of fasting and hard praying and grim contemplations of death (Stations of the Cross, Passion Plays). But you can also view Carnival as a very intentional celebration of the ephemeral nature of life.  The dates of Carnival correspond with the liturgical season of Epiphany, which is the only period of the year when Jesus is alive and concerned with human things – he is a mischievous child, he goes to weddings with his mom, his miracles are often quotidian and material – wine and bread and fish. Only three to four months pass from the time Jesus is born at Christmas to the time he dies at Easter. His human life was short and fleeting. Carnival/Epiphany are about the fleeting nature of all life. A celebration of the flesh. Ash Wednesday serves as the reminder that eventually it will all turn to dust. You must burn through the ephemeral to reach the eternal. Carnival isn’t only about excess before deprivation. It is a celebration of life in the face of death.  

New Orleans Carnival/Mardi Gras provides the perfect metaphor for this. Parades involve “throws” to the crowds – trinkets, usually beads, plastic coins, toys, cakes. People can get a little crazy in their thirst for beads – especially the rare glass ones. But come Wednesday, the beads grow dim before your very eyes. Thousands of them get crushed beneath the wheels of garbage trucks cleaning up the streets. No matter what wealth you have accumulated in this world, no one, absolutely no one, can take it with them when they die.

Carnival is a time when the old order is inverted. Jesus was meant to turn the world upside down – a king born in a barn! Costuming and masking blur gender and class lines. In the Americas, while racial lines were historically very much imposed even during Carnival, it was also a rare time when slaves and later free people of African descent were allowed to express their cultures in public. This is clearly still true in Carnival as it is celebrated in Brazil, the Caribbean, New Orleans. Carnival can work to temporarily equalize the masses as masked people blend into each other and lose their own identities.

So, what does any of this have to do with Phantom of the Opera? Erik appears at the masked ball dressed as the Red Death. Yes, clearly, he is a fan of Poe. He’s a well-read man! But death very much has a role to play in Carnival and it isn’t at all uncommon to see people dressed as death or other morbid figures. Because Carnival celebrates life, it is inherently celebrating the ephemeral. All life ends. And that is what makes it beautiful and worthy of celebration.

Erik enjoys his connection to death. Depending on your reading of Leroux, Erik is probably not even wearing a mask, stalking the party in his full hideous glory, as Daroga might say. This is especially meaningful when you consider Leroux’s famous quote about Parisians and masking. While Erik is a trickster and a liar, on this night, a night of inversions, he is the most honest man at the Garnier. He is there to remind others of their own mortality. And this is a perfectly normal and sane way to celebrate Carnival. The party goers aren’t afraid of Erik (except that one guy who touched him) – they greatly admire his costume; they even ask where he had it made. As if he were just a normal reveler. Even today it would be completely normal for there to be a guy dressed as death walking around a Carnival party. In this way Erik is almost the opposite of Poe’s Red Death, whose mere presence offends Prince Prospero so much he orders him killed on sight. Perhaps it is because Prospero himself does not understand the nature of his own Carnival or life itself. You cannot lock Death outside.

While the party goers seem amused by Erik’s costume, and we enjoy Erik’s moment of pure arrogance and swag, I don’t think Erik’s performance is entirely symbolic. It’s also a threat. If he really had as much gunpowder under his house as Daroga informs us, then it would have taken a while to get it all down there. On the night of the masked ball, isn’t it possible that the gunpowder was already there beneath the Opera? Only Erik would have known this. I think this made him feel powerful, to walk around knowing that at any moment he could end it all. He was there to embody Death, to incarnate it. To make it flesh.

#carnival #carnaval #phantom of the opera #le fantôme de l'opéra #gaston leroux #red death #edgar allen poe #you can't take it with you #mardi gras

[anntoldst0ries]

Coda (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, Chapter 7 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count: 3.1k Rating: 18+ (NSFW) Summary: Things got heated between Dr Ramsey and Dr Valentine during Bloom’s event. Will they finish what they’ve started?

Warning: This fic contains adult content, don’t read if you’re a minor.

A/N: Happy Easter, folks! So, let’s pretend this horror of a dress (which, let’s be honest, even Bloom’s PA wouldn’t wear) never happened. Also, this is my first time ever publishing NSFW fic, so please be understanding 🙈 That being said, I always appreciate feedback and am forever grateful for all of you, because you help me grow 💜

Huge shoutout to Bree @jamespotterthefirst who was so lovely to pre-read it and actually encouraged me to post, girl you are golden and I just cannot thank you enough! We are all so lucky to have you 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼😍

Even though he was trying to be sensible about this, every molecule of sense left him during his left palm’s chance encounter with Noelle Valentine’s bare thigh.

But has anything about their touching bodies ever been truly accidental?

Although, if he was honest, this was just the culmination point.

His rational mind’s death by a thousand cuts.

It all started when she entered the premises of the venue in her provocative dress and he had to blink rapidly a few times, thinking that his eyes were deceiving him, breath trapped in his throat.

Cut.

Her every step gracious and light, as if she’s been the human embodiment of a wood nymph.

As if she’s stolen the world's entire allure.

Cut.

Her silky waves, cascading like a waterfall - he wanted to dive into them, lose himself in them.

Drown in them.

Cut.

She was a prodigy, a goddess descending from mount Olympus, who, for some mysterious reason, decided to grace the mortals with her overwhelming presence.

Some guests were standing agape, the others smiled wide and showered her with rain of compliments; a few people had tiny lightnings of jealousy flickering in their eyes.

But no one was left indifferent by her grand entrance.

Strangely, Ethan didn’t feel jealousy.

In fact, he couldn’t be more proud.

His eyes, like x-rays, have relentlessly been reminding him of the perfect shapes hiding under the layers of the sophisticated, silky material. In this regard, he envied everyone else. Unlike him, imagination was all they had.

He knew. He touched. He teased. He tasted. He caressed.

Sometimes, ignorance was truly a bliss.

Today, ignorance was certainly not going to help him get through this evening.

* * * * * *

He almost lost it on the balcony.

Then, the sudden appearance of musicians interrupted them.

He wasn’t startled.

He was angry.

Freaking Bloom and his jazz band, he thought to himself. How on earth was he constantly able to rain on Ethan’s parade, even when they weren’t physically in the same room?

Noelle’s pearly laugh dissipated all thoughts in an instant, her impossibly beautiful face now turned to him. Entwining their hands, Ethan knew he had no choice but to play along.

Inside, he was laughing out of the other side of his mouth.

They were coming back to the room full of buffoons and right now her presence was as comforting as it was driving him further into insanity.

Before he was even able to sit down, someone has already slipped a drink into his hand and when Ethan was ready to sigh and curse the fate that sent him to Bloom’s 4th circle of hell*, a sudden realisation struck him.

This evening wasn’t lost yet.

In fact, it wasn’t lost at all.

And as he was thinking, a small smile ran past his lips.

The answer was right there in front of him.

* * * * * *

“Dr Ramsey, you’re still here?” Ethan had heard the unwanted and all too loud voice, followed by an even more unwanted pat on the back, accompanied by his nemesis’ reddened face and alcohol breath.

He plastered a fake smile, mustering the remains of politeness.

“You didn’t strike me as a party type, I thought you’d be making excuses a long time ago.” Leland grinned like a Cheshire cat. For a second, an outsider could have almost thought these two hold each other in high regard.

Almost being the key word.

“This is the most pleasant surprise.” Leland continued. “You see, I am rarely wrong, so it’s one of these moments when not only am I wrong, but also being wrong actually makes me happy.” He laughed as if he’s just delivered the best punch line in the world.

“Well, we are representing the hospital after all and I wouldn’t be too much of an example if I left before the rest of my team.” Ethan put on his best charming smile, not without a superhuman effort.

You don’t play the game, you play the opponent, he reminded himself.

“It looks like we are finally agreeing on something, doctor.” A sleazy smile ran past his lips, as he left to mingle with another circle. Inside, Ethan shuddered. There was just something about Bloom that didn’t add up and he was yet to figure what it was… but now his focus shifted to something else entirely.

Just like he predicted (or diagnosed, if you will) with every sip, every passing minute, the guests were falling deeper and deeper into inebriation - the excellent staff made sure that every time someone emptied their glass, a new dose of liquid happiness was ready for them. Dr Ramsey knew this must have been Bloom’s doing.

They may have had money and resources but during these events, they were like wild animals held captive and then suddenly let loose. Their problem was that they thought money could pay for everything, but it certainly couldn’t buy back dignity, redeem bad manners and erase terrible first impressions.

Tonight, he will use this flawed logic to his advantage.

* * * * * *

Noelle was sitting across the table, not even trying to hide anymore that whatever the tech moguls were trying to sell, she wasn’t buying.

Neither their fancy apps nor their bullshit.

Ethan finished yet another glass of scotch and stood up, his height towering over everyone else at the table.

“Well, it’s about time I was moving. Thank you for a very… revelatory evening, gentlemen.” The other table occupiers didn’t even pay too much attention and murmured something, shifting their focus back to the beautiful female doctor. “Dr Valentine, can I offer you a ride home? That is, if you were planning to leave soon…”

“That would be great, thank you, Dr Ramsey.” If her eyes could speak up, they would have definitely thanked him for throwing her a lifebelt.

“Fantastic, meet me outside in 10 minutes then? I have…one more business to attend to beforehand.”

She wasn’t exactly sure what it was — the look, the pause between words, the accentuation - but something told her that whatever business he meant, she was very much a part of it.

Her suspicion has soon turned out to be justified, as his tall figure wandered off and disappeared around the corner.

A corner he had absolutely no reason to disappear around.

The younger doctor waited a minute before making her excuses and assuring her companions that a future partnership with Edenbrook couldn’t look any brighter, Noelle turned around and followed the man in black suit.

Walking as fast as her hurting feet and long gown were allowing her, Noelle entered a long corridor at the back of the fancy restaurant and had to admit that even this place, which must have simply led to different utility rooms, looked spectacular and stylish. Almost like those fairytale corridors, which lead to other dimensions.

But only if a voice summons you and guides you there.

Just as the thought popped into her head, a firm grip tightened around one of her wrists, making her jump.

When she turned around, his index finger was on his lips in a clear message.

Quiet.

They only made a couple of steps before he cautiously opened the door and rushed her into a room. It looked like a sophisticated pantry or a wine cellar and she thought the stock must have been worth more than her annual salary.

The room was dark, bar for the little window, which wasn’t much helpful with providing the light, given that the world outside was hugged by the arms of the night.

“Ethan, what’s goi—“ She never had a chance to finish the sentence, before he took her breath away with his lips, not for the first time this evening. He didn’t stop there, pushing her towards the counter, like a famished animal backing its victim into the corner.

“You said you’ll be looking for an encore, didn’t you?” She was trying to accustom her sight to the darkness, the gleam in the blue of his eyes her only reference point.

“Although, if I’m not mistaken and my opera knowledge is still sharp, I think coda** is actually the word you’re looking for.”

She stilled, a shiver running through her spine, the electric feel both hot and cold. An audible swallow filled the silence that lingered after his words, not for long as he continued his monologue.

“And I’m sorry, Dr Valentine, but I’m not a patient man today…I’ve exhausted all my patience on senseless endeavours this evening.” Almost as if to prove the sincerity of his words, he started moving towards her, his every gesture deliberate; there was no space for randomness.

Every word hit her like a wrecking ball, her remaining senses overkeen. She couldn’t rely on her eyes anymore and her hearing, smell and touch suddenly became heavily heightened, almost supernatural.

She couldn’t reflect on this for too long though, as he backed her further towards the counter, blocking her moves.

“H-how… how do you know no one’s gonna come in?”

Even in the dark, she could see the corners of his lips going up, in a smile which wasn’t affectionate. It was dark, almost sinister.

And hot as hell.

Ethan leaned into her and dropped his voice even lower than she thought was humanly possible, whispering straight into her ear.

“I don’t, but… my diagnostic instincts rarely fail me, Noelle Valentine. Plus… that’s a part of the thrill, isn’t it?” He paused for a second to gloat upon the effect his ministrations had on her. Dr Ramsey enjoyed controlling the situation - more than he’d care to admit.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t fantasised of this, of losing yourself in me completely… except you couldn’t, because of a tiny detail, a stubborn question in your pretty head… what if someone walks in on us? What if it happens when you are overwhelmed by pure ecstasy, knowing there is no coming back, that the only way is forward…”

Ethan knew immediately that these words hit the jackpot. If she wasn’t before, she was definitely shaking now, her treacherous body betraying her in all ways possible.

That’s how she knew all these months ago. Maybe her mind could, but her body could never lie to Ethan Freaking Ramsey.

Ethan’s hands started roaming her body, discovering his favourite promised land, as if he had not been touching her on that balcony earlier, as if he’d never touched her before.

Because for him, every time with her was first and last. And he hoped things would always feel this way.

“Who are you and what have you done to Ethan Ramsey?”

She couldn’t see the smirk that appeared on his painfully handsome face.

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about what’s to be done to you, Dr Valentine.”

With this, he lifted her up by grabbing her ass and sat her on the counter, pressing her back against the cold wall, which felt strangely warm against her body.

Or not so strangely, given there was a fire inside of her.

Securing her neck with his palm, he pulled her closer for a long, wet and greedy kiss, the obscene sounds of their mouths filling the otherwise silent space.

“Touch me.” A silent plea fell off her lips, her voice a quiet sob. Usually, he’d enjoy teasing her forever, playing little games, checking how far she would go to get what she wanted. But not tonight.

Tonight… he’s gonna give her exactly what she wants.

Because he wants it even more.

His middle and index finger slipped past the silky material of the dress and the band of her underwear. Noelle parted her lips slightly and drew a shallow breath, waiting in anticipation. Her wish was granted a couple of seconds later, when he ran up and down her folds, eliciting a small, guttural moan, which he was sure would forever be his favourite sound in the whole world.

Before she was even able to get used to the feeling, he pushed 2 digits into her without warning, making her eyes wide with amazement. But the movement stilled a second later. Maybe he couldn’t not tease her after all.

“Please.” The sound that came out of her was almost inaudible, yet extremely high pitched. Even if he tried, Ethan simply didn’t know the words that could come close to describing what these reactions were doing to him.

“You know I will give you the world… I will give you anything you want, Noelle. You just need to tell me what it is that you desire.”

She didn’t know what was the biggest turn on - his sultry voice dripping with desire, the feeling of his digits inside her or the well thought out choice of words. But it gave her an answer immediately.

“Fuck me with your fingers, Ethan.”

There was something shy and yet confident about the way she said it, he couldn’t explain it. Whatever it was, it made him even harder, which, at this point he thought wasn’t humanly possible. Although he was painfully aware of his own desire, he couldn’t rid neither her nor himself of the pleasure of watching her come undone on his fingers.

“As you wish, my naughty girl.”

His fingers started moving in come-hither motion, first slowly and teasingly. Just when she opened her mouth to beg him again, his thumb circled her swollen clit and pressed the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision, sending her mind into overdrive. She had to bite her own shoulder to suppress what she was sure would turn into a scream.

“Fuck… yes, right there.” She was an incoherent mess, while his fingers curved and touched places that made her eyes roll. “Faster, Ethan.” She commanded weakly as his fingers picked up the face, going in and out of her furiously.

She was pleading and moaning for god knows what and her hands were desperate to grip something, just anything.

Soon, he knew as well as she did that the peak was close, for her body kept moving and shaking on its own accord.

“I’m…this…you…” She cried, making even less sense than before.

“I know. Let go… let go now, Noelle. I know you needed this so much. Come for me now, baby.”

Sinking her teeth, this time in his shoulder, and tightening her grip on him, Noelle clenched around his fingers, the feeling so arousing that he thought he’s going to explode himself. He had to hold her with all the strength he had in his free arm, as she was all over the place, trembling, cursing, riding out what must have been one of the strongest orgasms she’s ever experienced.

When the feeling settled, Ethan slowly loosened his grip over her and slid his fingers out, bringing them to his lips. The taste of her astounded him every single time.

“In case I haven’t told you before… nothing can compare to the way you taste. Maybe apart from the way you feel, but I need to check to be certain.”

Before he was able to do so himself, she reached for his belt and unbuckled it hastily, letting his pants pool at his feet. Ethan hissed when she was ridding him of the last layer separating them, his throbbing member oversensitive to the slightest touch. He responded in kind, slipping her thongs down.

He stared at her as if he’s forgotten how to blink before saying:

“If I were you, I’d hold on tight.”

She grabbed the edge of the counter and tightened her grip, leaning onto her other arm, palm pressed flat onto the surface. Ethan positioned himself in front of her and the moment his tip met her sex, a wild lust overtook him completely, from top to bottom. He pushed hard, their bodies finally connecting.

He didn’t waste time to make himself or her feel comfortable. Right now, he wasn’t a guest - he was the invader, the intruder, the conqueror.

“Fuck, it’s impossible you’re still so tight.”

In answer, she clenched her muscles around him even more, earning herself a throaty sound.

“You little minx.”

She was going to be the death of him and what an epic death it would be.

“Ethan, fuck me like you mean it.” Noelle bit her lower lip, knowing the effect this tiny gesture always had on him. He didn’t need anything more. The sound of fast thrusts soon filled the air, making it thick and dense. The race started, two lovers chasing their gratification like it was the last thing they were ever going to do.

This wasn’t vanilla.

It was chilli, whiskey neat and flames.

A dance of carnal desires, intense and salient, leading to the grand finale. Nothing finesse, quite the contrary - a satiation of the most primal of human desires.

Ethan kept thrusting into her so deep that she felt blood when she had to bite her lip, trying to stop the animalistic scream trapped in her throat, begging to be released. She felt every vein, every nerve inside of her, every place he was reaching. Her hands and arms hurt, but her mind, currently controlled by Ethan’s cock moving in and out of her in killer pace, has overridden any physical sensations other than pure pleasure.

“So…so close.” She panted weakly, rolling her eyes as waves of pleasure kept crashing on her.

Leaning into her, he caught her earlobe and as he kissed her ear, Ethan groaned. “You’re so,” thrust, “fucking”, thrust, “hot”, thrust, “when”, thrust, “you come.”

And with that, she came.

Her whole body arched and hot white pleasure turned every cell of her body into bliss. It was like jumping into the pool on a sunny day, submerging yourself completely and then just… floating.

Ethan followed her instantly, her climax triggering his own. They were holding onto each other for dear life, compounding the intensity of their sensations and silently praying for this moment to never, ever stop.

When their breathing returned back to normal a few moments later, the older doctor pushed aside strands of her hair that stuck to her face and then cupped her cheeks.

“You ok?” The tenderness in his voice almost made her heart stop.

As if she hasn’t already been dead.

“Ok? No, I’m not ok. I am pretty fucking great.”

“That you are.” He smiled wide. “You are pretty fucking great.”

“Well you are not too bad yourself. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I died and was reborn, all at the same time.”

They laughed at each other’s choice of words, still in a tight embrace.

“Ready for the next part, Ramsey?”

“Next part?”

“Now we need to sneak out of here for real.”

* * *

* This is a reference to Dante’s poem “Inferno” from “Divine Comedy”

** coda - The final part of a play, film, or narrative in which the strands of the plot are drawn together and matters are explained or resolved

Tag 🏷 list: @starrystarrytrouble @genevievemd @sophxwithers @terrm9 @maurine07 @the-pale-goddess @drakewalkerfantasy @iemcpbchoices @oldminniemcg @schnitzelbutterfingers @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @archxxronrookie @queencarb @qrkowna @utterlyinevitable @lucy-268 @udishaman @stygianflood @romereadingshop @romewritingshop @caseyvalentineramsey @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @liaromancewriter @mrs-ramsey @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @fayeswiftie @tsrookie @lisha1valecha @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @lem-20 @fireycookie

#Ethan Ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #play choices #Ethan x noelle

[nealiios]

The Supernatural 70s: Part I - Corruption of An Innocent

"We're mutants. There's something wrong with us, something very, very wrong with us. Something seriously wrong with us - we're soldiers writers."

-- with apologies to the screenwriter of "Stripes"

Dear reader, I have the darkest of revelations to make to you, a truth when fully and wholly disclosed shall most assuredly chill you to the bone, a tale that shall make you question all that you hold to be true and good and holy about my personal history. While you may have come in search of that narrative designer best known for his works of interactive high fantasy, you should know that he is also a crafter of a darker art, a scribbler of twisted tales filled with ghosts, and ghouls, and gargoyles. I am, dear innocent, a devotee of horrors! Mwahahahaha!

[cue thunderclap, lightning, pipe organ music]

Given the genre of writing for which most of you know me, I forgive you if you think of me principally as a fantasy writer. I don't object to that classification because I do enjoy mucking about with magic and dark woods and mysterious ancient civilizations. But if you are to truly know who I am as a writer, you must realize that the image I hold of myself is principally as a creator of weird tales.

To understand how and why I came to be drawn to this sub-genre of fantastic fiction, you first must understand that I come from peculiar folks. Maybe I don't have the Ipswich look, or I didn't grow up in a castle, but my pedigree for oddity has been there from the start. My mother was declared dead at birth by her doctor, and often heard voices calling to her in the dead of night that no one else could hear. Her mother would periodically ring us up to discuss events in our lives about which she couldn't possibly have known. My father's people still share ghost stories about a family homestead that burned down mysteriously in the 1960s. Even my older brother has outré memories about events he says cannot possibly be true, and as a kid was kicked off the Tulsa city bookmobile for attempting to check out books about UFOs, bigfoot, and ESP. It's fair to say I was doomed - or destined - for weirdness from the start.

If the above listed circumstances had not been enough, I grew up in an area where neighbors whispered stories about a horrifically deformed Bulldog Man who stalked kids who "parked" on the Old North Road near my house. The state in which I was raised was rife with legends of bigfoots, deer women, and devil men. Even in my childhood household there existed a pantheon of mythological entities invented explicitly to keep me in line. If I was a good boy, The Repairman would leave me little gifts of Hot Wheels cars or candy. If I was being terrible, however, my father would dress in a skeleton costume, rise from the basement and threaten to drag me down into everlasting hellfire (evidently there was a secret portal in our basement.) There were monsters, monsters EVERYWHERE I looked in my childhood world. Given that I was told as a fledgling writer to write what I knew, how could anyone have been surprised that the first stories I wrote were filled with the supernatural?

"The Nightmare" by John Henry Fuseli (1781)

My formative years during the late sixties and early seventies took place at a strange juncture in our American cultural history. At the same time that we were loudly proclaiming the supremacy of scientific thought because we'd landed men on the moon, we were also in the midst of a counter cultural explosion of interest in astrology, witchcraft, ghosts, extra sensory perception, and flying saucers. Occult-related books were flying off the shelves as sales surged by more than 100% between 1966 and 1969. Cultural historians would come to refer to this is as the "occult boom," and its aftershocks would impact popular cultural for decades to come.

My first contact with tales of the supernatural were innocuous, largely sanitized for consumption by children. I vividly remember watching Casper the Friendly Ghost and the Disney version of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I read to shreds numerous copies of both Where the Wild Things Are and Gus the Ghost. Likely the most important exposure for me was to the original Scooby Doo, Where Are You? cartoon which attempted to inoculate us from our fears of ghosts and aliens by convincing us that ultimately the monster was always just a bad man in a mask. (It's fascinating to me that modern incarnations of Scooby Doo seem to have completely lost this point and instead make all the monsters real.)

ABOVE: Although the original cartoon Scooby Doo, Where Are You? ran only for one season from 1969 to 1970, it remained in heavy reruns and syndication for decades. It is notable for having been a program that perfectly embodied the conflict between reason and superstition in popular culture, and was originally intended to provide children with critical thinking skills so they would reject the idea of monsters, ghosts, and the like. Ironically, modern takes on Scooby Doo have almost entirely subverted this idea and usually present the culprits of their mysteries as real monsters.

During that same time, television also introduced me to my first onscreen crush in the form of the beautiful and charming Samantha Stevens, a witch who struggles to not to use her powers while married to a frequently intolerant mortal advertising executive in Bewitched. The Munsters and The Addams Family gave me my first taste for "goth" living even before it would become all the rage in the dance clubs of the 1980s. Late night movies on TV would bring all the important horror classics of the past in my living room as Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Invisible Man, the Phantom of the Opera, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Godzilla all became childhood friends. Over time the darkened castles, creaking doors, foggy graveyards, howling wolves, and ever present witches and vampires became so engrained in my psyche that today they remain the "comfort viewing" to which I retreat when I'm sick or in need of other distractions from modern life.

ABOVE: Elizabeth Montgomery starred in Bewitched (1964 - 1972) as Samantha Stephens, a witch who married "mortal" advertising executive Darren Stephens (played for the first five seasons by actor Dick York). Inspired by movies like I Married a Witch (1942) and Bell, Book and Candle (1958), it was a long running series that explored the complex relationship dynamics between those who possess magic and those who don't. Social commentators have referred to it as an allegory both for mixed marriages and also about the challenges faced by minorities, homosexuals, cultural deviants, or generally creative folks in a non heterogeneous community. It was also one of the first American television programs to portray witches not as worshippers of Satan, but simply as a group of people ostracized for their culture and their supernatural skills.

Even before I began elementary school, there was one piece of must-see gothic horror programming that I went out of my way to catch every day. Dark Shadows aired at 3:30 p.m. on our local ABC affiliate in Tulsa, Oklahoma which usually allowed me to catch most of it if I ran home from school (or even more if my mom or brother picked me up.) In theory it was a soap opera, but the show featured a regular parade of supernatural characters and themes. The lead was a 175 year old vampire named Barnabas Collins (played by Johnathan Frid), and the show revolved around his timeless pursuit of his lost love, Josette. It was also a program that regularly dealt with reincarnation, precognition, werewolves, time travel, witchcraft, and other occult themes. Though it regularly provoked criticism from religious groups about its content, it ran from June of 1966 until it's final cancellation in April of 1971. (I would discover it in the early 1970s as it ran in syndication.) Dark Shadows would spin off two feature-length movies based on the original, a series of tie-in novels, an excellent reboot series in 1991 (starring Ben Cross as Barnabas), and a positively embarrassingly awful movie directed by Tim Burton in 1991.

ABOVE: Johnathan Frid starred as Barnabas Collins, one of the leading characters of the original Dark Shadows television series. The influence of the series cannot be understated. In many ways Dark Shadows paved the way for the inclusion of supernatural elements in other soap operas of the 1970s and the 1980s, and was largely responsible for the explosion of romance novels featuring supernatural themes over the same time period.

While Dark Shadows was a favorite early television program for me, another show would prove not only to be a borderline obsession, but also a major influence on my career as a storyteller. Night Gallery (1969-1973) was a weekly anthology television show from Rod Serling, better known as the creator and host of the original Twilight Zone. Like Twilight Zone before it, Night Gallery was a deep and complex commentary on the human condition, but unlike its predecessor the outcomes for the characters almost always skewed towards the horrific and the truly outré. In "The Painted Mirror," an antiques dealer uses a magic painting to trap an enemy in the prehistoric past. Jack Cassidy plots to use astral projection to kill his romantic rival in "The Last Laurel" but accidentally ends up killing himself. In "Eyes" a young Stephen Spielberg directs Joan Crawford in a story about an entitled rich woman who plots to take the sight of a poor man. Week after week it delivered some of the best-written horror television of the early 1970s.

In retrospect I find it surprising that I was allowed to watch Night Gallery at all. I was very young while it was airing, and some of the content was dark and often quite shocking for its time. Nevertheless, I was so attached to the show that I'd throw a literal temper tantrum if I missed a single, solitary episode. If our family needed to go somewhere on an evening that Night Gallery was scheduled, either my parents would either have to wait until after it had aired before we left, or they'd make arrangements in advance with whomever we were visiting to make sure it was okay that I could watch Night Gallery there. I was, in a word, a fanatic.

ABOVE: Every segment of Night Gallery was introduced by series creator Rod Serling standing before a painting created explicitly for the series. Director Guillermo del Toro credits Serling's series as being the most important and influential show on his own work, even more so than the more famous Twilight Zone.

#horror #70s #occult #supernatural #television #writing

[awhiskeyriver]

le cirque monstre

This is the prologue to an old but newly updated story I idea I’ve had for years, sort of forgot about and recently remembered and became interested in again. I honestly don’t know when I will transfer this over to ao3 (probably at least the prologue, soon) or when I will add more. My inspiration for things is very fleeting right now, but I wanted to get your thoughts here in tumblrland on whether or not I should bother continuing!

Unedited and some things might end up changing in the future, but enjoy!

                                                            +++

Prologue: 1918, Coney Island 

     She used to think the cotton-spun candy that tasted like melted sugar was just like a dream; too good to be true. She was younger then, and everything about life was shiny and vibrant. Her nose crinkled with distaste as her boney knee stuck to the floor of the bleachers.  Not anymore, though. Now, the popular fair treats were only a nuisance, making her job of cleaning between shows all the more difficult.

      “Applesauce,” she muttered, twisting to sit on her butt as she peeled a piece of gum from her skin.

       “What are you complaining about now, Katniss?” Gale asked, poking up from the row behind her with a devilish grin. Katniss rolled her eyes when he reached out to poke her nose, wondering how someone three years older than her could still be so immature. Gale and her had been best friends since the time she was small, bonded through unfortunate circumstances of life. 

        “I’m tired of cleaning these seats,” she pouted, sweating and absolutely exhausted. It had been their fourth show of the day, with five more to get through before calling it an evening. Katniss felt the sharp pangs of hunger vibrate through her stomach and moaned.

        “If you quit being such a dewdropper this could’ve been done by now and we’d be off eating lu—“ he cut off, ears perking at the sound of distant voices growing closer. Katniss turned to face Gale before he pushed the top of her head in signal to crouch, doing the same for himself.

        Female voices billowed through the auditorium, followed by that of her father, whose voice was authoritative and all business. He cleared his throat loudly a couple of times before joining in their quiet laughter with a hardy one of his own that reverberated off the bleachers.  Katniss shrunk further into the ground with the sound. Father had always been a vocal man. Vocal when he was happy, even more so when he was angry. He talked, and Katniss listened. Katniss was always listening.

       “The children all loved the performance today.”

       “Simply loved it!” another high-pitched voice agreed. Katniss twisted her head uncomfortably in hopes of seeing beneath the bleachers and caught sight of two women dressed in long black robes with matching white-lined headdresses.

       Nuns from the orphanage.

      Gale had sold them tickets earlier before the last showing, and Katniss had hoped she would’ve finished her chores in time to see the children. Because despite living within her father’s circus (what he advertised to be the happiest place in America) there was a surprisingly low number of people who were willing to keep her boredom occupied.

     “Children, what must you say now to Mr. Snow?” A chorus of cheerful thank you’s sounded, and underfed children whose clothing didn’t exactly fit wore bright grins. Perhaps the advertising hadn’t been entirely false. They all sure seemed to think so.

     The children lined up behind the tallest sister like toy soldiers, marching towards the opening flap of the tent. All, except for one.

     “Not you, young man.”

     Katniss had practically turned herself upside down in effort to keep the woman in her line of sight, and caught the faintest glimpse of the child. He wasn’t facing her, but his hair was ash-blonde and unattended. Although he wore the same uniform as the other boys, it was sloppy with his shirt un-tucked and it’s color slightly off-white.

     “You are not going anywhere,” she spoke dismissively as the other sister came to stand beside her.

     “…But, have I done something wrong?”

     His voice surprised her. Strong for a child, despite the same unavoidable squeakiness Gale experienced sometimes, being almost fourteen. 

     “Part of becoming a man,” he’d said proudly when her and her baby sister Prim giggled. “It’s called puberty.”

     “Puber-what?” Prim asked, nose wrinkled.

     “Awe, forget it.”

     “Peeta...” The one reached out, as if to touch him but recoiled before her hand could land on his shoulder, and drew back. “Our home has no place for you, anymore. There is nothing we can do for you.”

     He remained quiet as the softer one peered up at her stone-faced sister, who only nodded with agreement.

     “You belong here. There is simply nowhere else for you to go.”

     “There is not a soul in New York who cares to take in a crippled boy.”

       Father took a step in closer to the nuns, who stood a fair distance from the wilting boy. Katniss watched on, her heart beating explosively inside of her chest in a way that made her breaths almost ragged. She’d witnessed cruelty tenfold and was not blind to its existence. But the reality of what the young man was crashed down on her heavily, and she realized perhaps they were not being heartless afterall.

    The boy was grotesque. Evidence of the fact made clear as he turned on a crutch made of wood and exposed his profile. It took a hand covering her mouth to keep from making any audible sound. 

    So, they were simply right, then. There wasn’t a soul in New York, or most likely any state, that would willingly take him into their care. Nobody but a circus.

    He resisted as her father’s thick hand clutched his arm, but surprisingly enough did not scream. He did not say a single word as he finally spun around fully into Katniss’s view. Watching with a mixture of fear and dread as the two nuns who had escorted him in left without him. 

                                                          +++

     “Quit trying to bug him, Kat,” Gale snapped, catching her arm outside of the tent where all of the circus freaks were busy preparing for their shows.

       Three weeks had passed since the boy joined her father’s circus, parading around with clowns on stilts and the small people that waddled around in shoes five times too big and circular red noses. Three weeks and any time she tried to catch a glimpse of him outside of the show, Gale caught her.

       “Aren’t you at all curious?” she huffed, twisting out of his embrace with a thoughtful rub to her elbow. “Haymitch says he is only thirteen. The youngest carnie we’ve ever had.”

       “Then going in there will only make him feel like more of a freak,” he scolded and Katniss wilted, realizing the truth to his words. They both jumped as father’s booming voice sounded from a distance, calling Gale’s name.

       “I need to go start selling tickets,” he sighed, turning to leave with suspicion in his eye. “Promise me, Kat.”

       “…Oh, alright.”

       “Promise me.”

       Katniss sighed, smoothing out the fluffy material of her dress as something to keep her hands busy. “Yes Gale, I promise to stay out of trouble. Now go, or you’ll have to answer to the whip.”

       He left and Katniss paced the length of the carnie tent. There was music playing inside, the soft blare of a saxophone and some sticks against metal pots. Katniss enjoyed spending time with the performers when allowed. Chaff, the deep-skinned muscle man that could lift four hundred pounds despite missing a hand, made her laugh. And Haymitch, a magician, let her play  with some of his props when he was drunk enough. 

       So, really, her going inside of the tent wasn’t completely for the new boy. She had been keeping her fingers crossed during the promise to Gale, anyways.

       Katniss glanced around the abandoned backlot, where dark puddles of mud created divots in the green grass she was forced to hop over to keep her shoes clean. Then, she slipped past the thin curtain, which closed off the strange world of fantasy from harsh reality.

       Katniss went unnoticed, weaving her way through lounging performers and billowing clouds of smoke. It was always louder in the back tents – deep laughter and saxophone practices, occasional drunken arguments and the escaped moans from two closer carnies. She winced when the volume grew unexpectedly, and bowed her head as if to provide a thin veil of privacy to a group of outlandish people who didn’t know the meaning of it.

       She waved at Haymitch, who only raised up his eyebrows in her direction before blowing up a shining red balloon and twisting it with his skilled hands. The other clowns seemed to be hanging close by; some sleeping, others smoking. The new boy most likely wasn’t far. She bit the inside of her cheek, silently debating with herself whether or not to ask of his whereabouts before she caught a glimpse of something that captured her attention.

       There it is again, she thought, following the thin trail of light that bounced off the draped edge of the tent, which was otherwise dark. She bent over in half, silently pushing past it with curiosity in her expression. The corners of her mouth lifted when she saw him, sitting perched on the clear opposite end near one of the long poles, which held the tent in place. With a thin, melting candle for light, he kept a novel perched in his one bent knee, his eyes scrolling the pages like a typewriter.

       “Hello,” she offered, jumping in surprise when the boy dropped the book and shot up on one wobbly leg.

       “Oh…” she bit the corner of her bottom lip to keep from giggling at his startled expression.  His overgrown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes despite his best efforts to push it back.

       “Did I scare you?” She asked, reaching out to hand him his cane. He didn’t reply, but accepted the crutch quickly before bending over for the book, which he tucked behind his back away from her view.

       “It’s alright, I’m not gonna take it,” she promised. He glanced down at her, bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was just curious.”

            He huffed in silence, falling back to the ground silently as he dusted the dirty pages. Katniss frowned, shifting on her feet as she watched the boy flip through his story.  She hadn’t thought past the initial finding him, and now that she had, the silence was deafening.

       “Can you speak?”

        The tips of his ears turned red as he kept his gaze focused at the ground, running his hands over the dirty cloth of his pants.

        “Of course.”

        “I know,” she smiled slyly, inching closer to him the way one might approach a nervous animal. “I just wanted to hear you say something.”

        She sat down, pushing her butt closer when he didn’t protest and leaned over his shoulder to glance down at his lap. She’d never seen a book so close in real life, only in the hands of strangers or in pictures. Father had never bothered teaching her how to read more than a few simple words, claiming it was pointless for girls to fill their heads with nonsense like knowledge. Certainly, as a circus girl, it wasn’t Katniss’s place to argue. But, it hadn’t helped her curiosity.  She sat in silence, wondering if the boy could actually read the words on the pages, or if he was pretending. It was just as ridiculous for the time to be spent teaching him such a skill as it would be for herself.

        “What is your novel about?”

        “You can borrow it, if you would like,” he offered, dog-earing one of the pages before handing it over to her waiting hands. Her lips pursed sourly as her eyebrows furrowed, pushing the book back into his hands with a sting of betrayal in her chest.

        “Well, you don’t need to make fun of me.” she mumbled, rising up to her feet. How humiliating, to be made fun of by this boy she’d only hoped to make feel more comfortable.

        “Wait.” He grabbed hold of her arm, the first physical contact he’d offered to her since she’d approached. Her body stiffened and the warmth of his fingertips was gone in a flash as his hand twitched back down to his side. He pushed a long lock of hair back behind his ear, eyes boring into her despite her back being turned.

      And it was then, under the candlelight that she saw the gnashes and hideous scarring that ripped apart more than half of his face up close. Quickly, she looked away. 

        “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he promised lowly, sounding almost sincere. “I wouldn’t.”

         “I can’t read. You should know that,” she sniffed, chin tilted up in the air as her eyes shifted back to his forlorn face. “I’m a lady.”

        “My apologies. Someone I kne—” he stopped himself short with a shake of his head before cocking his chin back in the direction of the book. He ghosted a hand over its impressive script before opening it back up to the page he’d previously closed. “Perhaps, I could teach you. If you wanted to learn, then you could borrow it sometime.”

        Katniss took a moment to truly ponder the idea. Plenty of carnie’s had taught her things over the years. Octavia, the lady with facial hair as long as that which grew on Katniss’s head, had taught her how to properly buckle her shoes when she was younger. And to that day, Haymitch took credit for teaching the girl her first words. She didn’t suppose accepting such a proposition from this boy was much different.

        “What would you like in return?” she wondered aloud, confused by the boys humorless laughter, sounding through the dark space.

        “Your company shall be payment enough.”

        She imagined the boy, all by himself in the dark confines of the carnie tent with only the book as company, and pitied him. She knew well that it took more than being surrounded by a sea of people to not feel alone. Gale and Prim would like her new friend though, she was sure of it, and together they would all keep him fine company until he found a solid place within the odd circus family. 

        “Alright,” Katniss agreed, dusting the dirt from the bottom of her old dress. She needed to be going soon, or Gale would grow suspicious. The last thing she needed was father out searching for her when he had a show to run. “Friends, then.”

        “Sure,” he agreed slowly, as if mulling over the word. “Friends.”

        “But we can hardly be friends if I don’t know your name,” she argued, waiting patiently with her hands twisted together. Her tightly spun sausage curls bounced with every step she took in the direction of the main tent before stopping just outside of it. “Mine is Katniss.”

       “It’s nice to meet you, Katniss,” he spoke, so eloquently for someone of his status. “I’m Peeta.”

#fanfic #writing #circus!everlark #this will definitely be on the darker side...lol #probably the darkest thing ive written #very different #but i hope interesting?? #let me know if its worth continuing or aborting LOL #writing is hard #everlark #everlark fanfic #thg #why is putting something out into the universe so hard?? lol

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Dear Diary.

Ruggie is the real MVP in this entire thing.

Dear Diary,

At last, Ruggie has returned with one of my notebooks, my quill, and a fresh inkwell. I think I shall go mad in Savanaclaw without my precious writing materials.

While it is true that they provide for my basic needs, there is not much to do in these parts. I think I mildly understand why they were upset with Uncle for not accommodating to their demands. Still, I do not believe there was a need to resort to violence.

The students of Savanaclaw... I do not find myself comfortable around them. They are always making a loud racket or starting a brawl in broad daylight. I hate to be alone with them, but one way or another, they someone always has their eye on me, their “golden canary" in a cage.

Especially that Leona-san.

I have heard whispers that he is the second born prince of the Afterglow Savanna, but he is not “princely” at all. He is lazy, prideful, rude... The nicest thing he has done so far is ignore me when he is not parading me around in public.

That is just fine, because I ignore him as well. Or at least I try to. There is no point of keeping up a farce when we are in private.

I do not see why the students of Savanaclaw follow him like loyal dogs; He’s not the sort of leader I’d want to bend to.

... I say that, but... Circumstances being as they are, I have had no choice but to do as he says. For the past few days (or is it weeks? I seem to have lost track of time here) now, Leona-san has been dragging me around campus to irritate Uncle, to goad him into handing Savanaclaw the funds they were promised.

Uncle is upset. He tries to bargain with Leona-san time and time again, but is shot down every time. All the squawking has attracted the stares of the others students. They have started to whisper about “the raven and the lion”.

... That phrase makes me uneasy.

I hope Uncle is able to pick me up soon. I don’t know how long this ink will last, or when Ruggie will be willing to bring me more.

While I wait... I think I shall brainstorm up a new story to get my mind off of this sweltering savannah. Perhaps something with flowers ro liven up the place.

Dear Diary,

Somehow, it has consistently fallen to me to locate Leona-san and prod him until he agrees to attend classes. It sounds like a simple task in theory, but I assure you that it is not.

Leona-san is not only far larger than me, but also far more muscular. I can pull him and poke him all I like, but he does not readily budge. I’ve had to strategize and plan my methods of attack.

Some things I find to be effective for waking him up:

Tickling his nose with a spare feather.

Splashing his face with some cold water.

Waving a sprig of broccoli or a slice of cucumber at him.

... Did you know, diary? Leona-san drools. It gets his hair stuck to his face and plastered all over. Leona-san snores, too. Other times, he sleeps in such a state of peace and tranquility that I doubt it is the same lion.

At least when he is asleep, his arrogant mouth is shut.

A wild sleeping beauty among the dusty savanah.

Dear Diary,

I cannot even attend classes anymore without feeling a pair of eyes on me. Some Savanaclaw student herds me over to Magift Club practice as soon as lectures end.

I’m forced to sit in the stands until Leona-san finishes up and hauls me back to the dorm. Sometimes I watch, and other times I work on my latest story, The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight.

I’m not a fan of Magift, diary. This raven can barely fly on her own in this human form. To use flight for sport... I do not entirely understand it myself, but I feel as though I have come to appreciate it a bit more from those long hours of Magift practice.

Leona-san mounts his broom in a very odd manner. You would normally straddle the broom between your legs, correct? Yet he casually stands on it as though it were a surfboard...? It looks to be rather dangerous, but he handles it with ease.

I have seen him running, too—mowing his opponents down with mighty magic. It’s strange how Leona-san can move with such grace and speed--in the mornings, he is nothing more than a lumpy sack of potatoes lazing about in bed. Who would have thought? Instead of a crown of gold and jewels, it is a crown of sweat that he wears.

... I have made it a habit to pack a small towel or a handkerchief to offer after practice. It is not that I am concerned for his health (he seems to be in a state where he is well enough to make snappy remarks and boss me around), but... I figure it is only the polite thing to do, since he is working hard for once.

Putting forth effort in something—anything—is to be admired.

I have often thought that Leona-san was nothing more than a pretty face, but this hard-working side to him is also tolerable.

If only he were like this all of the time.

Dear Diary, 

I asked Ruggie if there were any interesting spots in Savanaclaw for me to sit and observe. I am in desperate need of inspiration, for I am stuck in the middle of The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight. With a little laugh, he suggested that I spend the afternoon with Leona-san.

“You write about princes and princess or whatever, right? Leona-san call tell ya about how all that stuff’s not all it’s cracked to be, nishishishi!”

He vanished for his day of odd jobs and left me for the wolves—or should I say for the lion?

I found Leona-san lounging in his bedroom, as per usual. He was, surprisingly, not taking another 20 hour cat nap—he was fiddling with a chess board and its pieces. I didn’t take him to be the type to play such a game, and I told him as much.

Leona-san seemed wounded at the insinuation. He challenged me to a game right then and there. Chess was far from how I thought I would be spending today, but I figured it was better than nothing.

... Somehow, I lost.

Not just once, not just twice.

Countless times.

With each consecutive loss, Leona-san’s maddening smirk widened. He must take great pleasure in putting me in my place—and that thought is irksome.

I would claim he was cheating but... every move he made was effortless, done in the blink of an eye. When woud Leona-san have had time to scheme? Surely it could not be his natural ability.

Surely not.

I lost track of my losses at some point. The sun was dipping into the horizon by then. The light spilling into the room, all red and orange and yellow. How had all that time passed in the blink of an eye? How had the hours slipped away like that?

The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight laid on the floor, princes and princesses forgotten for the day.

“Your bark is worse than your bite, canary.” Leona-san had said, claiming another checkmate. “Next time, think before you speak.”

I had no words to throw back at his smug face.

What followed was silence; awkward and long, and only disrupted by a sigh.

“Stop making that face. It’s annoying,” he had commanded, bending to retrieve my notebook and slapping it back into my hands. “You’re bad at chess, so go do something else wih your time. Write or whatever.”

... Was that his way of comforting me?

If so... if certainly didn’t seem like it. Leona-san is even more terrible at conveying his true emotions than I am.

... Ah.

It seems... that there is more to him that meets the eye.

To think that a lion so bold and brash... also boasts of beauty, brawn, and brains...

Hmm.

The perfect inspiration for the Scorned Knight’s character. Perhaps I could work with this.

I shall have to properly pen the story sometime. Once Ruggie returns from his odd jobs, I will put in another request for ink, as I am almost out.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie Bucchi #playing with the writing raven #Cat and Corvid

[lokislittlesigyn]

OG616 : Thor: The Dark World - Pt.3 [Thor’s Return]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: just more sad - but with some hope at the end!

Author’s Note: I take some deleted scenes as canon, so enjoy those making a little appearance. c:

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath , @onaheroicmission To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Loki was first imprisoned, it had been summertime - but the bright days and warm, temperate nights spent gazing up at the stars brought Sigyn little comfort. She wished he were there, with her. As time passed, along with grief for what could have been, a gradual swell of frustration and despair welled up inside of her.

He was so close. On the same realm, but stuck in the deepest reaches of Asgard.

Frigga had helped her send more gifts. Odin, catching onto their scheme, clearly disapproved. He never confronted her about it, but Sigyn often gave him a wide berth just in case.

And she never once dared to go near the entrance to the dungeons. 

She avoided that area of the palace entirely, in fact. For months she dutifully kept her promise,  instead pouring into the letters that were safely hidden in the folds of books she sent to Loki. She told him what everyone was doing, how the realms were faring, and what new (or old) places she’d found in the forest. She told him of any astronomical happenings, knowing he liked to watch the sky. She even told him, around Yule, how she had thought of him during the celebratory toasts.

By the time a second summer passed, Sigyn was running low on books to send. 

Eventually, whispers of autumn played on the breeze. The chipper green hues of summer gave way to fiery reds, the same color as…

Sigyn sighed heavily, sitting on a tufted window seat in a breezy area of the palace, her sketchbook on her lap.

Thor still hadn’t returned home. 

Neither had Sif, nor the Warriors Three. Instead, troops of Einherjar, often led by Tyr, funneled enemy captives into the dungeons. She saw them sometimes, droves of hardened criminals, some still covered in blood that was most likely not theirs, being paraded down into the depths.

It would be easy enough to disguise herself, slip in among them, and then… Well, trying to avoid being imprisoned herself was the tricky part. She huffed through her nose. In truth, she’d concocted dozens of far-fetched plans on how to reach Loki, or free him. 

But she was bound by her word.

Frigga was too smart to let me go without making a promise, Sigyn mused, She knew I’d go straight to him otherwise. But this existence is.. Miserable.

Sigyn closed her eyes. She had spent countless days on a seat like this years ago, lying next to Loki. Sunny mornings and rainy afternoons, cozied up with a good book and loving company… 

She shook her head and sighed.

An eternity alone.

One year was a fraction of her life, yet it felt like an eternity in itself. Were they doomed to this fate forever? Odin showed no sign of shortening Loki’s sentence, despite her excellent behavior. Even Frigga couldn’t convince him to letting anyone visit the dungeons, outside of delivering prisoners. 

Fate…

Grabbing her book, Sigyn flipped through the pages. It doubled as a notebook of sorts, and often accompanied her on trail rides or trips to visit Heimdall and learn about the stars. It was an unassuming and well-loved little book, the pages all crumpled and covered in scribbled-down futhark. 

Eventually, she found the page she was looking for, and the symbol upon it. Three sets of three lines. One, vertical, the other two at angles. The web of Wyrd. The net of Skuld. The matrix of fate.

Her eyes drifted to the margins, where she’d taken notes from a book in the library - the same one she had read frequently after Loki’s fall. It had quickly become a favorite book in those months, so much that she’d copied an entire page from it. A knot formed in her throat as she read.

“Here we see how the past, present, and future are interconnected. Norns, keepers of fate, weave them through spinning the strings of our lives. We provide the material with our choices, our actions. But who is to say this life is the only tapestry made?

Endless choices, endless possibilities await us with every day, every breath. Surely, other paths await. For as we exhale our final breath in this life, we inhale our first in another: An eternal tapestry of fate.”

Sigyn held the book closer, pressing it to her chest. A tear slid down her cheek, plopping into her lap.

I’ll see you again, love. In this life or the next.

~~~~

Weeks later still, Thor returned to Asgard, inspiring raucous celebration in his wake. The entire realm seemed to rejoice upon his return. By the time a new wave of prisoners had been taken to the dungeons, and those escorting them could return to their lives, it was dark out. Cold. 

Snow drifted down from the sky, white powder collecting on the edges of streets and tops of buildings. The beginnings of winter had found its way to Asgard: the last hues of fall clinging to the trees, cool rain now replaced with soft flurries of white. 

Sigyn took a deep breath of icy air, pulling the collar of her sapphire cloak closer to her neck. Oddly enough, she enjoyed the cold. It felt familiar.

She had changed into a slightly thicker, warmer version of her riding outfit. But now she adorned it with an emerald and gold sash tied around her waist, as well as her necklace, which was tucked in her shirt.

As beautiful as the palace was, Sigyn always loved roaming the city.

Fires blazed around her, filling the night with bursts of amber light, and countless Asgardians were already celebrating the recent victory on Vanaheim. Laughing, drinking, reveling.

Sigyn quickened her pace.

Children raced past her and she recognized them as Volstagg's son and daughter, following them through a tavern. She exhaled a gentle breath, the warm air melting the snowflakes on her shoulders as she approached a large table. A powerful voice filled the room everyone was nestled into.

"... Cracking under the strain, I threw the beast off. But, six more beat me to the ground, crushing my blade as if it was paper- Oh, you're missing the best part, hah!" Volstagg called his children over, scooping his daughter up into his lap. She giggled.

Sigyn took a careful seat next to Thor, who smiled a silent greeting. She returned it. Across the room, Fandral, ignoring his two lady-friends for a moment, gave Sigyn a small wave. She smiled again, nodding at him. 

Thank the Norns they’re home safe.

"Now, where was I..?" Volstagg held his daughter in his lap.

"You were surrounded." Thor smiled, taking a drink.

"Again." Fandral smirked.

"Oh, yes, yes yes, by the most vile criminals the Nine Realms have ever produced!" Volstagg embellished each word with dramatic movements, entertaining the crowd.

"To our left, savage beasts, with fangs like knives! To our right, soldiers of fortune, their blades dripping with blood! And who was there to face the horde, but Fandral the Dashing!"

"I was." Fandral took a drink.

"Hogun the Grim," Volstagg continued, "And Volstagg the.." He stopped.

"Voluminous?" One of Fandral's ladies suggested.

"Fat." Fandral chuckled, and even Thor and Sigyn laughed.

Volstagg looked indignant. "Invincible!" He corrected, "I don't mind telling you, I feared for Thor's life." He pointed to the thunder god, who was still grinning.

"But," Volstagg raised his voice, "With steely courage, intrepid spirit, and an axe-" He beat the table with a fist, "Victory was ours!" then raised a toast to tumultuous applause.

Thor clapped, drinking more mead. "Truly, a tale for the ages."

"No doubt he'll be telling it that long as well," Fandral took another drink.

"Another!" Volstagg shouted, tossing his goblet aside. Several others did the same.

Sigyn kept smiling, but never as widely as she once would have.

I wish you were here, Loki.

I wish you were here beside me. Joining in the celebration. Correcting Volstagg, rolling your eyes and chuckling at him.

You could always make me laugh.

She felt Thor move next to her, setting down his goblet without so much as sipping from it. 

"Brother?" She muttered to him.

He pursed his lips in a half-smile. “It’s nothing.” But as he gave her a firm, loving pat on the shoulder and left, Sigyn saw a pain behind his eyes she knew all too well.

The mortal he met, he still misses her. Her heart ached. I know how that feels...

Sigyn left the celebration early, heading straight to the palace.

It didn’t take her long to find Frigga. She was in her chambers, a basin of fire lit before her. Sigyn cleared her throat.

Frigga glanced at her over her shoulder. “It’s quite cold out tonight. Though, I expect the festivities are keeping you all warm.”

“Some warmer than others. Fandral has returned to being.. Well, Fandral.”

The queen laughed gently. “Yes, I expect he has.”

Sigyn huffed a small laugh, walking closer. They stood a moment, watching the flames.

“Frigga..” Sigyn started, looking at her - she noticed there were tears in the queen’s eyes. “Is.. Something wrong?”

Frigga smiled sadly.  “I spoke with him today. Loki.”

Sigyn froze. Frigga continued, “Using illusions, of course. He’s settled in nicely - you did well, choosing things that would help him feel more comfortable. I had meant to fetch you tomorrow, in fact, to help you visit him through magic - Odin is in good spirits, now that Thor has returned. But I’m not sure Loki would like to see me for a while.”

Sigyn swallowed. “What did he do?”

Frigga rubbed her hands together. “He is bitter. Angry. Hurting. I fear resentment toward Odin and Thor has clouded his judgement..”

“I need to see him,” She whispered, so softly she was surprised when Frigga heard.

“Yes.” The queen agreed. “And he needs you.”

Sigyn looked at her, eyes filled with tears.

#loki x sigyn #loki fanfic #logyn #OG616 #thor: the dark world

[ms-march]

12 Days of Turn- “Festival”

uhm yeah you’re not being deceived by this header collage.  Happy day 3 of 12 Days of Turn!  Here is a collaboration with @tallmadgeandtea​ on a ss:sp and lbl crossover!  While it is not inherently holiday themed, like at all, it was just too good to not post for the prompt “festival.”  If you like it please be sure to give it a like, comment, and/or reblog!  Disclaimer: there will be some serious lbl spoilers ahead!

May had blossomed in Virginia once again, and Belvoir’s grounds were as beautiful as always.  Ever since John had resigned as an aide de camp and taken a fighting command in Nathanael Greene’s Southern Army, Adrienne had occupied herself by taking trips and hosting extravagant parties at her childhood home.  The guest lists and menus never ceased to distract her from whatever certain peril John placed himself in daily.  Today she dressed in a blue and yellow polonaise gown with a blue brimmed straw hat for a garden party, hosted in the extravagant and freshly manicured gardens behind the Manor.  Her blonde curls were arranged perfectly atop her head as she walked down to the large main entrance hall with a grand doorway leading straight out into the gardens behind it.   

Adrienne stood atop the landing on the grand staircase, and the footmen opened the large front doors, two more appearing and stepping outside to assist guests out of their carriages.  Adrienne gladly smiled at each of them, motioning them behind her and out the doors to the garden.  Most of the guests were members of Virginia high society: Martha Jefferson, Dolley Madison, Elizabeth Wythe,  Martha Washington, Elizabeth Randolph, Catharine Greene, Dorothea Henry, Anne Lee, and many more.  But none of them piqued Adrienne’s interest as much as the additional guest requested by Martha Washington.

Adrienne had known the older woman for as much of her life as she could remember; the woman was as a mother to her, so she was more than willing to grant such a request when it was brought to her.  Upon hearing the name Mrs. Elizabeth Tallmadge, however, Adrienne became excited.  She held Major Tallmadge in high esteem, considering him a friend of hers, and was more than delighted to extend an invite to his wife, even if she would likely be unused to such luxury as was provided at Belvoir.  Adrienne trusted Martha would make her presentable, but when Martha began to ascend the stairs, there was not some pretty faced and practical middle-class girl following her, rather a well-dressed and beautiful tall blonde woman.  She was mesmerizing to Adrienne as she climbed the staircase, her blue and white chintz gown brushing the steps.  It was slightly clear the girl had no governess or formal studies of such, but Adrienne was entirely confident that she could perform to the highest tier without so much as a headache appearing.

The blonde had a radiant and warm smile, complimenting Martha’s own motherly grin, as she looked around the extravagant hall in awe, admiring the murals across the walls and the marble of the stairs.  Her hand hovered over the ornate railing as she floated up the stairs.  When she finally joined Adrienne and Martha atop the landing, Martha smiled, waving the slightly shy girl over to them. “This is a lovely house, madam,” she spoke clear and confidently, “It is certainly a rarity in the colonies.”

“Yes,” Adrienne offered her own warm smile to the woman, seeking to ease her shyness, “It is solely a European style house, based around the classics of Hampton court and the elaborate plaster halls of the baroque style.  My father’s pride and joy.”

She nodded politely, and Martha began to speak, the motherly smile still soft across her face, “We shall see you in the garden, dear.” And the blonde was whisked away, her eyes lingering on Adrienne for a moment as she was led by Martha.

When the long parade of guests had all arrived and been accordingly received, Adrienne slowly made her way to the doors leading to the stone staircase leading down into the gardens.  She took her time as she descended, allowing the chatter to wash over her in waves.  The musicians began to play their light and jovial music- the newest pieces straight from London - as Adrienne exited the doors.  There was no need for the crowd to hush and greet her- this was not a formal ball after all-but there were still a few who made to greet their hostess once again, giving her curtseys as she passed.  Adrienne nodded at each of them with a respectful smile as she drifted through the group of merry guests.  She floated happily from table to table before stumbling upon Martha engaging in a conversation with Catharine Greene, and the blonde from earlier observing the party from an ornate bench with a small flute of cherie in her hand, untouched.  

“You do not drink?” Adrienne asked as she approached, “I can send for another beverage if you would like, madam.” 

“Oh,” the girl startled from her observations, flushing light pink in the cheeks as she gleaned down at the untouched glass before looking back up at Adrienne, “No, that is really unnecessary.  I just find this place too intriguing to be bothered with my drink.  There is far too much to observe.”

Adrienne smiled.  This woman was undoubtedly Major Tallmadge’s wife. “It would be no trouble,” she assured her, “Please notify one of the servants about or myself if you should find yourself in need of anything at all.”

“And if I find myself in need of your name, madam?”

“Then it shall be readily given,” Adrienne smiled brightly, “Lady Adrienne Fairfax Laurens of Virginia. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam.”

The blonde answered her own question in response. “Mrs. Elizabeth Walker Tallmadge of Philadelphia,” she bowed her head for a moment to acknowledge Adrienne’s title, “My Lady.”

Adrienne’s face turned to a quick shock, followed quickly by excitement as she rushed to sit beside the woman. “Walker?” she asked excitedly, “As in the same family that owns the mysterious Walker Manor?’ An amused nod was given to signal that her assumption was correct, allowing Adrienne to continue in disbelief, “That old brick house with closed gates, locked doors, and empty grounds?  No one has been seen living there for years!”

Elizabeth laughed at the younger girl’s seemingly naive antics, “I have indeed been living there, though mostly alone for the past 10 years.”

“Alone?” Adrienne asked, astounded, “Without so much as a governess?” Another nod, “Then I should imagine you cherished social outings during such a period, madam, for I cannot fathom such a miserable experience.”

Elizabeth shook her head in dismissal, “Unless you count Sunday church as a social outing, which I am sure you do not.”

Adrienne’s jaw dropped open slightly, her eyes widening slightly, “How horrid!  I do believe I would suffer greatly under such circumstances.”

Mrs. Tallmadge looked around the gardens at the decor, servants, and guests galore before responding, “I do believe that you would, my Lady.”

“Oh!” Adrienne reached out, placing her gloved hands atop those of Elizabeth, “Please call me Adrienne or Miss Fairfax at the very least.  I do believe it is well deserved after allowing me to pester you so carelessly.”

“Oh, it is no problem at all, believe me. I rather enjoy being pestered.” Elizabeth grinned at her, allowing a happy laugh to escape, with Adrienne’s own laughter joining her. “Now, allow me to pester you in return,” she continued, “Are you at all perhaps related to the Laurens’ of South Carolina?  I am friends  with Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, who has recently retired to a field command in the southern campaign.”

“Yes, I am” Adrienne spoke, and forcing a smile, she felt a good deal of joy seep out of her body at the mention of her reckless husband, “I married Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens in 1778- our son is inside with his own governess as we speak.”

“Oh!” The woman sounded shocked; Adrienne supposed it was from the lack of such knowledge.  She was sure that John did not speak of her often, if at all before he resigned from the northern campaign. “You must be delighted.  He is a good man. I was married myself in ’78. He attended our wedding.”

“He is a good man,” Adrienne sighed, attempting to keep the smile on her face, “Even if he is occasionally a little too reckless for my liking.”

“Like taking up a field command in South Carolina?” the older blonde asked, lips pulled into a humorous smile with knowing eyes and raised brows.

Adrienne did laugh lightly as she sighed, stress seeping into her voice, “Yes, precisely like taking up a field command in South Carolina.”  

This time it was Elizabeth’s turn to reach her hands out to hold Adrienne’s, “I am sure he will be ok.  He has the tendency to pull through even the most difficult of situations, I assure you. It is something he and my husband have in common.”

A servant came around to Adrienne’s side of the bench from behind, presenting a singular letter upon a tray.  Adrienne took the letter carefully, curiosity seeping through her fingers as she broke the seal.  Her hands unfolded the paper delicately, and she held it in her lap as she began to slowly scan the words.  

“On May 12th, 1780, Charleston, South Carolina, was captured by His Majesty’s Royal Army forces under the direction of Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Clinton.  Major General Benjamin Lincoln provided them an unconditional surrender, turning over himself and all 3,000 men under his command to the mercy of the British.  Those included in these troops are as follows…” 

Adrienne’s eyes scanned quickly down the list, heart pounding against her chest as they searched for the one name that mattered the most to her.  Her heart ceased in its incessant pounding, stopping entirely as her eyes glazed over the words on the paper before her.

“Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens”

Her throat was dry, and her layers became constricting.  She did not notice as the blonde’s astute eyes beside her examined the paper in Adrienne’s hand.  Until Elizabeth  spoke up, “Adrienne, I am sorry-”

She stood abruptly, swallowing thickly, “You will have to excuse me, Mrs. Tallmadge.  I need to get some fresh air.” Adrienne hurried away as quickly as she could into the house and to the room directly to the right of the garden’s entrance, drawing Martha’s eyes and mind from her conversation with Catharine Greene.  She excused herself from the woman and began to make her way into the house, Elizabeth trailing closely behind.  

Adrienne had called for her son, just a year old, and swaddled in blankets.  She sat on a chaise against the wall of the entirely empty bluish-gray room, the letter lying face-up beside her.  She did not look up the sound of heels on the tile, attention focused solely on her child.

“What happened?” Martha asked Elizabeth as she rushed through the doorway.

“She got news of her husband,” she replied, electing to forgo discretion in this instance, “And it is not all good.”

“Not good as in he prefers the new position or not good as in he is dead?”

“Neither,” she replied as they rushed into the room, the swishing noise of their silks and the click of their heels across the tile having no effect on the young girl who sat, holding her child. “Charleston has been lost and the Lieutenant Colonel taken prisoner.”

“Oh, not good,” Martha spoke, cutting the conversation off as they approached.  Martha took a seat on one side of Lady Fairfax, moving the letter to her hands so that she could sit, with Elizabeth sitting on the girl’s other side. “Adrienne, dear,” Martha spoke, placing a hand on Adrienne’s forearm, “Tell us what has happened.  We only wish to help.” She continued trying to soothe the distraught girl for several minutes to no avail.  Martha finally excused herself to send for some cold water and a washrag, hoping that would be enough to pull Adrienne out of the shock that had overtaken her body.

Elizabeth stayed with her, observing the young woman as she cradled the baby in her arms, holding him close against her chest.  She watched as Adrienne softly shushed the baby, bouncing him just slightly. “May I hold him?” she asked, pulling the girl from her stupor.

Adrienne’s eyes glanced over to the woman in blue beside her before clearing her throat and snapping to attention, “Yes, of course, you may.” She carefully handed the bundle of blankets over to Elizabeth, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “Be gentle with him,” she spoke in what sounded a bit like a plea, eyes still focused on the baby’s face, “Little John is still just barely a year old, and he is very precious to me.”

Elizabeth nodded, the baby taking her full attention as well.  A happy smile rested on her face as the baby cooed, but unlike Adrienne, she made no attempt to shush him. “He is named after his father?” she asked the young girl softly.

“Yes,” Adrienne smiled in a similar way to Martha Washington as she looked upon the baby, “He shares his father’s eyes.” The baby whined, prompting Adrianne to reach out and caress his soft cheeks and comfortingly hum to the child, Elizabeth recognizing the song as the chorus of “In Days of My Youth.” When the boy finally quieted, satisfied with her attentions, “And his temper as well.”

Elizabeth laughed a little at that, making faces to baby John. “He is an angel,” she whispered to the young woman beside her.

“He is incredibly well-behaved today,” she agreed, “But do not let him fool you.” She whispered, caressing his cheek, “His lungs are as strong as can be.  I should think he could give Colonel Hamilton a run for his money once he is older.”

“As his father already does?”

“Precisely,” Adrienne replied, prompting the two girls to begin laughing once more.

A moment of silence passed over the room and between the young women, the coos of the baby being the only things stopping the room from falling into complete silence.  Finally, Elizabeth spoke, turning to look at Lady Fairfax, “I could write Benjamin for any news on Lieutenant Colonel Laurens if you would like, Miss Fairfax.  It would be no trouble at all.”

Adrienne opened her mouth to reply before closing it with a sigh, “No, it is likely the news has not yet reached the northern campaign.” Elizabeth opened her mouth, no doubt to offer a statement of hope or a plea to at least attempt the contact, but Adrienne waved her off kindly with a tired smile. “There is very little General Washington could do for John, besides make his situation worse.  No,” she brushed invisible dust from her skirts, “I shall go to Charlestown.  As a member of the British Aristocracy, I benefit from accommodation by any of His Majesty’s forces.  And they will be forced to heed to my wishes out of respect for the hierarchy of British society.”

Mrs. Tallmadge placed a concerned hand over Adrienne’s own once more, her brow furrowed in concern, “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

“It is the best idea I have got, and the best chance John has got,” she spoke, attempting to sound convincing, to herself as well as Elizabeth, “Even if he will be cross with me for my interference.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips slightly, trying to pull them into a smile as she did so, “Are you sure you do not wish for the General to interfere on your behalf instead?”

“Yes,” Adrienne nodded, forcing out a shaky breath, “Unveiling any further connection between the Lieutenant Colonel and Uncle George will only make easing his situation even harder.  They will make it worse, attempting to dangle him before the General.”

Elizabeth nodded, observing the girl a little closer upon her comment, ‘Uncle George?  That is certainly new.’  

Adrienne looked away from the older woman, down to the baby now sleeping peacefully in her arms.  Adrienne laughed quietly at his little snores, “Would you mind coming with me to put him to bed?  I fear it will wake him if I were to take him.”

Elizabeth nodded and rose slowly, following the shorter blonde out the light blue room’s large entranceway, farther into the house.  She followed Adrienne up an elaborate white staircase, across an upper terrace of a small tiled ballroom, through a paneled door to a less ornate but large room of yellow and green.  The room had a plush alcove bed with two doors on each side of it, several chairs, and a chaise.  There were toys of obvious expense that the baby could not yet hold arranged decoratively on the floor.  Adrienne led her to the bed, instructing her to place the baby atop of it.  She pulled a little lever connected to a wire with her finger and sat on the edge of the bed.  Elizabeth watched as she sang softly to the baby in the bed.

“From the court to the cottage convey me, away for I am weary of grandeur and what they call gay; From the court to the cottage convey me, away for I am weary of grandeur and what they call gay.  Where pride without measure and pomp without pleasure, make life in a circle of hurry decay.” Adrienne continued to hum the melody softly until the door left of the bed opened and a woman, a servant, stepped out, curtsying to the two ladies.   She rose wordlessly, smiling warmly at the woman as she took a seat in the room before ushering Elizabeth out of the room with her. “I like to have someone watch over him as he sleeps,” she explained to the older woman, “It makes me feel better when I leave him to rest.”

Elizabeth nodded at her, smiling back to Adrienne, “A mother never stops worrying about her child.”

“Are you yourself one?” Adrienne asked politely as they stood in the hall outside the bedroom.

“No, Miss Fairfax,” Elizabeth smiled sadly, “As badly as I wish for a child of my own, my husband wishes to wait till after the war. Though I cannot help but agree with him. I can not imagine how hard it is to be a mother during times like these. And who knows how I would manage.”

Adrienne smiled comfortingly up at the tall woman, “And I have no doubt you will make an excellent one.” She offered her arm to Elizabeth, who looped their arms together as they walked down the hall, turning before reaching the terrace they had crossed originally, slowly strolling down a long and wide hallway with a series of proudly displayed portraits.

Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the walls, recognizing one of them, a very young little girl with blonde hair with a white linen gown and blue silk sash wrapped around her waist.  It was Lady Fairfax, she realized.  Her eyes darted away, noticing another young woman, not as young as Adrienne, but a child nonetheless.  She had wavy brown hair and wore a solid blue dress similar in shade to Adrienne’s own.  There was a plaque underneath the portrait that read “Lady Anne Fairfax 1748-1763.” The girl was only a mere fifteen years old at her passing.

The next portrait that caught her eye was one of a man in a blue and gold silk coat, this was also labeled, “Viscount George William Fairfax 1729-” there was no year of death, and Elizabeth realized he must have been older than the General.  The final portrait that caught her eye was not dressed in blue or white, but pink.  The plaque read “Sarah Walker Fairfax 1719-1754” and Elizabeth paused, jerking Adrienne’s attention to her.  1719, that was a Walker older than her own father.

“Is everything alright, Mrs. Tallmadge?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, giving the girl a smile, “I was just admiring this portrait, and the name startled me.”

“Oh!” Adrienne exclaimed with a large, genuine smile, “That is my grandmother, of Virginia’s original Fairfaxes.  Do not let her poise fool you.  She was born in the Colonies, rather than England.  Was raised in the Caribbean, actually.”

“And born where?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“Pennsylvania or Maryland, I think,” Adrienne replied, “I am not sure.  Why do you ask?”

“I have seen this portrait before,” Elizabeth spoke, eyes examining the painting, “In the storage of Walker Manor.  Every time I asked about it, my father would simply ignore me.”

“Walker Manor,” Adrienne asked, moving to stand beside the tall blonde, “Do you think she could be related to you in any way?”

“Who were her parents?”

“I do not recall her mother, but her father was a man named John Francis Walker.”

Elizabeth gasped, turning quickly to Adrienne, “That is my uncle!  I have never met him, he has long since passed, but my father has spoken of him several times when complaining about old fixtures around the house. He likes to say he was the one who inherited both the Philadelphia status and the messes that came with it.”

Adrienne’s face lit up as well, not caring about the previous comment by Elizabeth’s father.  She reached out to hold each of Elizabeth’s hands in her own, “That is very exciting, madam, that I could have just met you today only to find out that we are related!”

“Indeed it is!” Elizabeth spoke happily as she laughed at Adrienne’s childish joy. “Though I suppose it is not too surprising. Old Philadelphians may complain about Old Virginians, but we have all found a way to get into each society’s most prominent families.” She turned to face the rest of the hall, eyes scanning portraits until they landed on a pair of paintings, each of a young man in a red and blue military coat.  She walked to them gladly, Adrienne trailing behind her.

“Oh!” Adrienne exclaimed as she realized who the two twin paintings that hung from the walls were. “Those were gifts from Mrs. Mary Ball Washington.  The one on top is Uncle George when he was a Colonel in the British-American Army during the French-Indian war.” She pointed up to it, “And the one below it is his elder brother, Lawrence Washington, a Major in His Majesty’s Army.  I was engaged to him for a short period between the deaths of my sister, Anne, and his own.”

“His elder brother?” the woman asked, astounded, “But the general is approaching fifty years of age if I am correct!”

“Yes,” Adrienne laughed, “There would have been quite the age gap between us.”

“Would a child even be possible in such a match?” Mrs. Tallmadge asked as they continued to walk along, turning from the hall and down a separate set of marble stairs with even mural-sized portraits lining the walls.

“Yes,” Adrienne replied, “But I would have been married far younger.  With Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, I was given the luxury of time, and I am very grateful for it.”

The women descended the stairs, and Adrienne ushered her out the door underneath the staircase that led out to the gardens. “I must collect Martha.  We will return to the party shortly,” she assured Elizabeth, “I have already been absent for too long.  It is unbecoming of a hostess to abandon her guests in such a manner.”

Elizabeth reached out, grabbing Adrienne’s elbow as she turned away from her, causing Adrienne to look back at her as she stood in the doorway. “If you ever should find yourself in need of anything, please, let me know,” she smiled softly, letting her hand fall back to her side.  There was a knowing gleam in her eye, “I have a way of getting things done.”

Adrienne smiled brightly back at her, laughing happily at her statement, then turned around entirely and disappeared down the sunny corridor.

#this was..lots of fun #i always love writing Belvior #and I also love liz #so i really hope you all like it #lbl #ss:sp #martha washington #adrienne fairfax #liz walker #lady adrienne fairfax #elizabeth walker #john laurens #ben tallmadge #benjamin tallmadge #12daysofturn2020 #12 days of turn 2020 #12 days of turn #turn amc #turn: washington's spies