#currently my portrait for this month maybe even longer as my portraits I usually have for two months

[rock-a-noodle]

Hey, remember that time Petunia dressed as Elphaba for Halloween?

#eye contact #shut up kelly #elphaba thropp #wicked #happy tree friends #htf petunia #I was only able to find this in an AMV-I doubt they have these still on the site and I sure as fuck can't find it on Google #For twelve years I thought it was Giggles but only NOW am I noticing Petunia's tail and flower I mean Giggles is an activist she'd be a good #Elphaba but she's also like Galinda being all cheery as shit #currently my portrait for this month maybe even longer as my portraits I usually have for two months #nostalgic shit #even though this was during a school year when things were starting to suck again...

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 1- She Ran With Wolves

Bucky Barnes x powered (f)reader Series Re-write (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: You’re a survivor, always have been and always will be. After narrowly escaping the clutches of Hydra years ago, you’ve been keeping to the shadows for as long as time allows. With Hydra suddenly exposed and your secrets in the open, you’re on the hunt for the last part of your past, but is he ready to see you again?

Warning: angst, talk of violence, some fluff mixed in (a little); way more to come

Masterlist

Side note- This is a TFATWS Series Re-write!!! Obviously lol, anyways. Readers powers are heavily inspired by a certain Marvel badass and I just thought her powers would work so well for this. Also they’re cool as fuck.

September, 15th 2013

Location: S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, Washington D.C.

This recent project Fury had sent her on was beginning to make itself quit the annoyance for Natasha this past of couple weeks, granted he always gave her the toughest assignments, understanding that no one else can dig up as much dirt as the Black Widow can.

But this? This was different, the target in question was practically a ghost, a legend among the ones lucky, or possibly unlucky enough to have been made aware of this dangerous individual. But no matter how much she asked around from her various secretive resources on the problem in question, this mystery person was simply just rumor to them. Or perhaps too much of a sour subject to seek into any further. Although one thing was always prevalent, people were scared.

But why?

The assassin leans back in her chair, a thoughtful expression crossing over her features as she stares bitterly down at the top secret file gifted to her by Fury himself. Suddenly a door closes, she shuts the file in an instant, only to be greeted with the apologetic face of Steve as he walks past her.

“Sorry. Fury told me you would be in here.” Begins Steve as he takes the nearby couch, something small and metal in his right hand, “Said you were assigned some impossible case. How’s it going so far?”

Letting out a jaded sigh, she shifts her gaze over to the window, “The absolute vagueness of this person is....frustrating to say the least. All I’ve been able to gather is that they’ve been part of some top secret experimentation on pregnant women. Somehow they’re involved with it....I just, gotta figure out how.” She adds with a conflicted expression dancing across her features.

Steve hums in thought, “Sounds complicated.”

“You have no idea.” Mutters Natasha unenthusiastically as her green irises shift back down to the annoying little file.

Steve palms the object in his hand before gaining his friends attention once again, “Here. Fury told me to give this to you.” Her brows furrow in thought as she reaches over and quickly accepts the strange hard drive looking object, “I think this will help. It has the location of the target and who they are. That’s it.....Well, the last reported location.”

“How did he?” She wonders aloud, face suddenly breaking out into an irked grin, “Fury you son of a bitch, about time I found a legitimate lead.”

——

Sitting on her comfortable apartment couch, Natasha sifts through the various encrypted files from the hard drive that’s currently plugged into her laptop. So far she’s spent about two hours breaking through the various encrypted file blockers and now at long last has finally made some real progress.

Studying the brightly glowing screen, she moves her finger, clicking another coded link that reads -V13X11- she’s immediately greeted with a black screen and the slightly blurred picture of a woman’s face who’s looking rather stoic and fearless against the camera flash. Her eyes are set and hard as stone, dark and almost angry behind lips that show the ghost of a forced smile. She’s noticeably an overall attractive woman, in kind of a terrifying and intimidating sort of way, like looking at a fierce lioness standing valiantly against a foe; nonetheless she stares defiantly at the person behind the camera. 

Her eye color, weight, date of birth, and presumably patient number, that's printed in big bold letters 00X13 on the glowing screen, right below her squared portrait. Furrowing her brows, Natasha scrolls down to see about a paragraph long of personal information given about the woman. Including, to the red heads tremendous surprise, a birth name, Y/N Valerious.

Oddly enough, the name indeed sounds a tad bit familiar, though she can’t quit place from where.

The file states that she was raised in a facility on the outskirts of Surinda, Russia; someplace in Siberia, close to the heart of the mammoth country. Trained by the organization Hydra and summitted into inhuman experimentation by the specific facility that held her, however the rest is all encrypted and impossible to translate into something comprehensible much to Natasha’s utter disappointment. 

Huffing in frustration, she slips out the hard drive before shutting down her laptop and slamming it shut. The room is darker by now with the sun gone, and tomorrow it appears that Natasha will be off to Sweden to confront this woman, Y/N, in hopes of gathering valuable intel into the people who created her, and any important information regarding her troubled past. 

If she’s willing to comply.

——

Closing your laptop, you stand and wander over to the opened window to stretch before taking a deep breath of freshly brisk winter air. The land here in Uppsala, Sweden is more beautiful and peaceful then you could have ever imagined since renting an apartment two months ago. In fact, this is probably the longest you’ve ever stayed in one spot since abandoning the life of an assassin many years ago.

Though you know it won’t be much longer until you leave again, but you can’t just yet, there happens to be a certain agent on her way to find you. Fury unknowingly received your encrypted hard drive with opened arms, foolishly under the impression it was sent from an old friend when he reached out for answers into your complicated history. Then when the Black Widow eventually clicked open your link, bam, you could see everything she was nosily sifting through. Everything you wanted her to see. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if something dramatic happened to the people over in D.C. at this point, idiots, all of them.

For the past couple years S.H.I.E.L.D has become sort of a troubling snooping nuisance for you, constantly delving their way into your relatively uneventful lifestyle every couple of months, meddling around to figure out if you’re still currently active for Hydra and if not, are you willing to pay for your crimes or to join them like she did. Definitely not on your to do list any time soon.

Watching as a small black bird zips by, you quickly shut your window and close the dark colored curtains to block yourself from the rest of the chaotic world. Hastily making your usual rounds about the apartment to be absolutely certain all the possible openings are locked. Soon after you head for bed, ready to face the ex-assassin whenever she arrives in the following days ahead.

-

Seated at your kitchen table, you casually sip at your steaming hot tea while watching security footage from downstairs from when you hacked into their system, the same night you began renting the place. As expected, the notorious red head slips her way into the building and up the four flights of stairs until finally a light knock is heard at your old wooden door.

So she wants to do this cleanly.

Switching off the device, you stuff it in a nearby drawer before calmly walking down the tiny hallway over to the frontdoor and opening it, lock off and all. Her green eyes blink in curious surprise as you show her no indications of aggression; she’s about your height if not maybe slightly smaller, thick scarf and a winters coat about her person as she holds a normal sized black bag in her right hand. No doubt a gun concealed somewhere close, a light precaution in case things go south from here.

Trailing your wary gaze from her travel bag to her pale face, you raise an intrigued brow, “I assume you’re here for me?” You ask with the tinge of a confident Eastern European accent as she slowly nods, eyes calculated and calm as she studies your mellow yet slightly defensive stance.

Pursing plush lips together, she casually shrugs with a light hearted smile, “I only realized you must have sent that hard drive when I arrived in London...”

“Well I’ve gotten rather bored running away from your persistent bastards over in America.” You interrupt before opening up your door even wider, gifting her an open invitation instead of a fight, “Come in. I assume we have much to discuss.”

Following you to the table, she sets her bag on the closest chair as you take another sip from your tea. Cautious eyes trained on her every move as she shifts a bit uncomfortably in her chair, “So, I assume you’re not here to sell me that pretty bag of yours. Not that I’d want it.”

She smirks at your blunt sarcasm, pleased to know you’ve at least got a sense of humor after all you’ve endured, “No. I’m here to learn about who created you and if there are any more. Y/N, I’m well aware of how dangerous you truly are...but given the fact that you’ve had time to adjust, and let me into your home willingly. I came seeking answers. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Folding your hands together, you tilt your head at her thoughtfully, “Well that’s good. I didn’t really want killing the Black Widow on my conscience, though I’d speculate a few would be relieved.” You quip with a playful smirk before your face turns serious again, “I’ll tell you about the fuckers who made me. Then you leave and never bother me again. Understood?” You add in almost a growl.

Handing you a polite smile, she nods in agreement, “Of course. You have my word.” You take another sip of your tea as she reaches into her bag, a beige file suddenly plants itself atop your kitchen table. “This is the only surviving file on you. It’s enough, but there’s too many cracks that need to be filled. I need to know how they conducted the experiments and who else survived them. This is important for the safety of S.H.I.E.L.D and the rest of the world. Y/N, we’re trying to make sure something like this can never happen again. And well, any secrets on Hydra always helps.”

Setting your cup down, you smirk, “This should be filled with liquor if I’m going to be spilling some top secret Hydra business of this velocity.” You muse, setting aside your mug, your face quickly shifts to a more serious expression. “For starters this isn’t a very heartwarming story.”

“Neither is mine.” Begrudgingly admits the ex-assassin.

“Well, at least we have something in common then, Black Widow.” You assert with a pointed look before leaning back against the barred wood of your chair, thinking of where to start first. Your eyes trail over to the window as you begin your story, “This place, where they kept us. The scientists working for Hydra wanted to test out special DNA altering serums on the embryos of willing participants. Well, we weren’t willing....but they targeted the poor, feigning a program that would pay these mothers-to-be thousands if they participated. Plus a comfortable place to stay for awhile.” You reveal before taking another sip of your tea, “You see, I’m not originally from Russia, my home was some nameless village in Eastern Europe that I’ve forgotten the name of by now, it was so long ago. But anyways, I guess fate has a funny way of administering it’s business to the ones seeking safety in times of struggle. So my mother...” You take another sip of your tea to help clear your throat and head a little bit, God you hate talking about this.

Setting it down again, you continue, “Mine accepted. They took her and twenty-two others to this facility deep in the woods. This place was practically a paradise for them...” You chuckle miserably, “soon enough the scientists pumped them full of drugs and began their altering of the embryos DNA, genetic codes, and whatever else they saw fit to mess with. Nine months later we came into this world kicking and screaming.”

“Shit.” Mutters Natasha in astonishment, fully engrossed in your story as she starts to realize maybe her upbringing wasn’t as fucked as yours.

“They monitored us for the first few months, waiting to see if anyone acted strange....nothing, to their utter disappointment. Soon they drew blood samples and as it turned out, we all had altered DNA from the serum. Just as they’d planned.”

Her brows furrow in puzzlement before she asks, “How’d you get your powers then? I don’t think I missed anything.” Insists your guest questionably as you shake your head.

“You didn’t. But you have to understand that as we grew older, all of us basically became tiny super soldiers as fucked as that is, not only did they change our genetic code for meddling with later on when we got older. But this serum was so well developed that it completely fused with the fetuses genetic code, only causing us to grow stronger as we aged from toddlers to three-year-old's and up. Testing even revealed that it slowed down our ageing process just like with Captain America. But it wouldn’t be effective till we reached our mid to late twenties.”

Natasha takes a moment to process your words before she nods in acknowledgment, “Y/N. It’s my understanding that this is a buried secret from the organization for good reason, it’s just....what year did this all take place? It’s not in any of the records I was able to dig up, not even in yours, nothing except for your date of birth.” States Natasha curiously, stopping you before you speak of anything else.

Nodding you lean your arms against the wooden table, leaning in a bit closer now, “1953, after World War ll when people where still recovering from the heavy aftermath while the Cold War was still raging on when well, you know.” Giving her a lopsided shrug, you glance from an old faded picture on the wall then back to her, “Lets just say Russia wasn’t exactly having a stellar time, nor was my mother for that matter.” You Conclude before aimlessly pursuing your lips together, “Which yes, makes me at around 60 years old. Don’t I look pretty.” You add, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Natasha’s eyes concede silent astonishment as she blinks back surprise, “Even after all these years doing what I do, meeting the people that I have. I’m still left speechless every once in awhile. Y/N I can’t even imagine what you’ve seen.” Reveals the red head honestly as her green irises flicker from your file then back up to you, a conflicted expression dancing across her features, “How did they...how did you gain your powers, aside from what the serum gave you in the process?”

An apprehensive sigh escapes freely from your lips while you lean back into the creaky old chair, a troubled look darkening your features as you avoid her intrigued gaze, “They waited until we were twelve before testing us....in the meantime we lived as normal children; learning, playing, and training to survive. You know, the typical stuff.” You add with a small breathy laugh, though no humor finds your eyes, “We had our mothers until a year before they began the experiments. But it wasn’t that terrible of a loss since they trained us to adapt to our environment and never fully depend on anyone but ourselves.....it’s sick. And I’m not even sure what they did to them, I guess I never will.”

She nods as you make a disgusted face, an acidic hatred rising in your chest at the thought of your childhood, “I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine how traumatic that must have been.”

“Oh believe me, it gets better.” You joke bitterly, “In pairs of two they tested us, putting us into rooms where two doctors would strap us down and stick a needle into our skin. After that, they waited until something dramatic happened. Oh, and it sure as fuck did.” You conclude with a sneer.

Biting her lip anxiously, Natasha asks anyway, “How many survivors?”

Scoffing, you shake your head in revulsion for what those doctors did to everyone, an angry expression soon crossing your features, “One.” You sourly mutter, “All my other friends died of the new serum they gave us, either right then and there on the table, or in the following days. You see, it was supposed to blend with our altered DNA to create something powerful out of it, something beyond humans normal capabilities. It just ended up horribly mutating everyone except for me.” You whisper, clear sadness and hatred coating your very words.

Your eyes stare sharply at the peeling table top paint, a frown on your lips as you take in a deep breath before continuing, “What they did to me....no one should have to go through something so goddamn agonizing, I was only a child, just a little girl in a terrible place whether I knew it or not....and you know how it affected me?” She slowly shakes her head no as you smile miserably, your brows furrowed in pain, “I was gifted with bone claws that retracted out of my knuckles and one from each of my feet.” You confirm, eyes suddenly darkening in fury, “And you know what those goddamn bastards did to me afterwards? Like I hadn’t suffered enough from the pain of it all, they pumped me full of liquid Adamantium. Turning my claws to solid metal, the fucking strongest material on earth. Right in the body of an eleven year old child!” You shout furiously as she flinches back at your outburst, blinking hard, you let out a heavy breath before leaning back into your chair in defeat.

Calm down, Y/N. It’s just a memory now.

Strong brows dent her clear skin in thought as you await a response, after a few long moments does she soon gather her racing mind, lacing her fingers together she raises a brow at you, “That doesn’t explain how you’ve survived so long. The years working for Hydra, they turned you into a weapon....yet you’ve escaped and haven’t been killed yet. Not even a scratch to be found.....well, at least that I can see.”

Turning to face the puzzled assassin, you give her a lopsided grin, your chill composure coming back to you quickly enough, “I didn’t just get claws from the enhanced serum that fucked with my genetic make-up, it completely heightened my humanly abilities. Suddenly I was stronger, faster, and all my senses felt like they were on overload. Best of it all, I came to realize I had accelerated healing capabilities. Who would have thought that their shitty inhuman experiments would have gone so horrendously, yet with the one miracle of an exception. Me.”

“I had figured that branch of Hydra was meddling on dangerous ground, I hadn’t realized the extent of what they were doing. Did they try making any more like you?” She wonders.

“I was the last. Since I was the only compatible vessel, they didn’t want to waste anymore time or money on others who could possibly fail.” You explain with a shrug, “I became one of their most treasured assets.”

Pursing her lips together, she gives a slight nod before revealing a different file from her bag, you watch as she pauses for a moment before opening it up, you quickly take notice of the many white papers pinned together. Some with encrypted symbols and words while others are in plain English. Your brows furrow as she flips the first page to reveal...

“I know I came asking for answers about classified information, but this won’t be a complete mission if I don’t ask you about your time with Hydra.” Proposes the red head cautiously while she studies your face for any hostile reactions, not getting anything but skepticism, she continues, “I understand you were very important to them. It’s recorded you’ve completed about three dozen kills over an active period of about thirty-seven years.”

You scoff before muttering, “So it would seem. They gave me my first mission in 1971...when I was 17.”

“Right, but that’s not exactly what I’m seeking.” Her eyes immediately trail down to the files, “I assume you must have seen this man at least once...” She flips another page over and pulls out a playing card sized photograph, she turns it around and slides it closer to you. Instantly you recognize who he is, but how did she?..

“I haven’t seen him in years, nor heard of him for that matter.” You mutter, though your tone shifts to a more aggravated one.

Noticing this difference, Natasha continues, “That’s the look of someone who has met him for less then friendly reasons. What happened to the Winter Soldier?” You take a long moment to study his stoic face of icy blue and white, and black; its when he was in the Cryostacis chamber, the place where they would freeze him to keep their Winter Soldier locked away until he was needed for a new mission. All that you can fully witness is his sleeping face, though you know exactly what he looks like up close and with no ice crystals in his dark hair.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you slide the photograph back over to her folder, “I met him when I was 25 in 1979, Hydra needed us for a duel mission somewhere in South Africa, they needed their best. We were tasked with locating and stealing some precious metal which we later learned was Vibranium, because apparently they had used the last of the Adamantium on me.” You reveal with a casual shrug, “It went relatively well as expected...and well, we worked with each other many times after that, until I escaped and he was sent to kill me in 2009.”

“You knew him for almost twenty-nine years. Do you know where he might be now?”

Scoffing, you almost laugh, “Even if I did, you’d never get him. But if I’d have to assume, he’s probably frozen in some cryo tank somewhere in the middle of Russia. Waiting to be let loose again so he can take out a new enemy of the state.”

“Right.” Nods the Black Widow as she closes up her files, her green irises quickly on you again, “Thank you for your time, and for the heavy material you spoke of.”

“It was a long time ago, someone else should remember what those fuckers did to innocent mothers and their children. No one in this entire world knows except for me, you, and the doctors I haven’t killed yet.” You growl with venom lacing your every word.

Soon you watch as she swiftly rises to her feet, as you do the same, “I wish you well then.” Affirms the Black Widow as you follow her lead to the door, she stands on the other side for a moment before asking, “Is there any way I could find you again?”

Leaning against the door frame, you break out into a knowing smirk as she stands waiting expectantly, “If you’re lucky, you’ll never see me again. Goodbye agent Romanoff.” And with that do you gently close the door, leaving her in the hallway with a plethora of useful information, but still nothing significantly useful on the Winter Soldier, now only time will tell if he ever happens to show up on her radar again. Hopefully not, she thinks doubtfully before turning on her heels and sauntering off down the hallway.

——

Almost two whole years had passed since last you’ve spoken to the assassin, in that time you’ve watched her speak on live television when Hydra had finally been exposed to the world and all their secrets let loose for the prying hungry eyes of the public.

Even some of your own information had been leaked, the world knew who you were now, what atrocities you’ve committed for the organization during your time with them and that you’ve been M.I.A since 2009. Now you’re on an international watchlist. Fantastic. Apparently some very important leaders of the world and other prestige family members alike aren’t very fond of yourself for murdering their adversaries or filthy rich husbands. 

But it’s not like you had a choice, Hydra would always alter your memories when they shocked you into forgetting who you even were; thus you’d complete a mission and a couple days or so later would your mind stitch itself back together again the best it could from the electrical trauma. Only the killing part would be a dark and fuzzy memory, thus revealing itself to you in bits and pieces at a time. Soon everything blurred together and you just complied or face getting electrocuted multiple times a session, until your eyes remained empty and dangerous.

Considering you’ve been on the run since that information was released, in this time, you’ve tracked down past agents and doctors alike who had wronged you, considering you now had full access to their recent history. Hence increasing your body count as you went from one country to the next, making the world a tad bit lighter with their darkness whipped from existence.

Although soon enough you became unsettled with the loads of information expunged from Hydra, your mind inevitably making a one eighty back to a certain broody super soldier from your complicated past. He must be in the world somewhere, living as a secret civilian or whatnot. He has to be. And you’ve decided to find him before someone else does.

Maybe it was curiosity, or the fact that he was like you and shared a bloody history with Hydra, but your instinctual drive to find the Winter Soldier eventually drew you the beautiful city of Bucharest, Romania. Although he didn’t make finding him effortless in the slightest, after endless days hacking into network databases looking for even a snippet of information. You found a lead.

Turns out airport security footage is very useful, even more so, footage from around the city’s grant center; and from there you were able to track him to Romania. Eventually after a couple of days in the city, you were able to catch a glimpse of him at the local market place and thus followed him to his little shitty apartment without him as so much as noticing.

Once he left again, you slipped inside and began your wait for his eventual return. But will he even want to speak with you? Does he even remember you? Your memories hadn’t been continuously whipped like his were, granted you were forced into cryo more then once and electroshocked into forgetting your memories. It eventfully stopped once they realized your mind would just heal itself into remembering again, so instead they threatened you with a tracking device deep into your skin tissue that would blow up if you tried to run.

Clearly you eventually found a way around this, as terrible of a memory it gave you.

——

Looking out the window, your ears suddenly pick up the sound of boots stealthily walking down the hallway, they’re incredibly light against the tiles outside, perhaps he somehow knows you’ve been following him. A moment later the scent of a man fills your nostrils and you know he’s inside the apartment. You could barely hear the door.

He’s silent as a mouse, nothing indicating he’s even there except for his rapidly thudding heartbeat that pounds anxiously against his strong chest; you slowly turn to face him. His hat from earlier is gone, dark blue eyes stare warily on you while soft breaths emit from his slightly parted lips. He’s not afraid, but he is nervous.

Folding your arms over your chest, you take a glance around the room, “Nice place.” You confirm casually, eyes back on the Winter Soldier in a second as the corner of your lips pull into a humored half grin, “I’m not here to complete some personal Vendetta against you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is more curious then cold, maybe he can be reasoned with after all.

Taking a step forward, you shrug, “Wanted to make sure you aren’t still on their side.”

He keeps silent for a moment as you watch him watch you, “I’m done with them.” Mutters Bucky, disgust dripping off his words. That’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Progress.

“Good.” You add with the tiniest of smiles before motioning towards his little kitchen table, “Mind if we sit and talk? As, well...I guess civilians now.”

Studying your face for any indication of falseness and hostility, he’s pleasantly surprised when he finds none. Bucky takes off both of his gloves and sits, metal hand shinning in the low lighting. A threat or a precaution? Maybe he just wants it off?

You follow his example, and soon the two of you sit not even three feet away from each other. Both yourself and Bucky hold an awkward silence for a long moment as the tension in the room rises, shifting your gaze from the counter behind him, you don’t really notice as he trails his eyes over your face, “I remember you.” Reveals Bucky to your great surprise, your eyes falling onto him in an instant, “They sent us on missions together, until you left and they woke me up to kill you for it.”

Smiling, you let out a humored breath of air, “Turns out you didn’t miss me after all. I gave you a nice scar for your troubles though, you still have it?”

Bucky purses his lips into the tiniest of shadowy grins, although no real joy is shown, “It’s a thin little line across my left rib cage. Just barely reached my bone.” Yeah, and I would have if you didn’t punch me in the eye socket first, you think to yourself from when the Winter Soldier had tracked you down. But that’s a long story.

“Glad it’s healed and they didn’t have you come after me a second time. I don’t think I would have let you live again.”

He thinks hard for a second as he processes your words, “You let me live? The first time?”

“Well,” You serenely admit, “I couldn’t exactly kill you...I guess, well....I don’t really know why I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. Guess I’m not as ruthless as Hydra wanted.” You mumble with a conflicted frown, the two of you keep silent before you break the odd tension, “Doesn’t matter now. I heard about what happened in D.C. just like the rest of the world. Gotta say, I was wondering what everyone over there had been getting themselves into.”

“They leaked everything.” Mumbles Bucky with a knowing flash of insight within his dark restless eyes.

“I know.” You add with a slow nod, “I’ve been traveling more cautiously for the past year and a half now. You’d think they’d let us live in peace, of course not. But I guess it means the world knows what a piece of shit organization Hydra is. So that’s something.”

“Yes.” Agrees Bucky, eyes trailing from your fingerless gloves to your face, of course he remembers what hides beneath, “What happened to you since you left?

Fumbling with your fingers as they lay against his table, you turn you head to the window, the ghost of a smile dancing across your lips, “Surviving. You?”

He shifts his gaze back down to his metal hand as you turn to face him, “About the same I’d say.”

Leaning back against your creaky wooden chair, you hand him a small yet friendly smile, “Well then. What of us now? Two ex-assassins alone in the world. With nothing but our wit and fists to keep us afloat.” You add with a low chuckle, he doesn’t crack.

Losing your smile, the two of you keep silent as ghosts for a long moment before Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I got some tea.” Replies the admittedly handsome man now since you have a moment to really look; the briefest hint of a grin revealing itself against his lips for only but a flash of a second. But you still see it.

Fumbling with your fingers you give him a pursed lip grin, “I like tea.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #series rewrite #bucky barnes #tfatws

[kaaytea]

heyhey !! can i request some hcs of jun, tetsuya, n chris having a very soft but artistic s/o who draws them a lot? and maybe one day they find her sketchbook open n it’s just sketches of them? no pressure if you’re not inspired by this or anything tho n ty !! <33

Sketchy Secrets

⤷Includes: Chris, Jun, Tetsuya

A/n: I'd be more than happy to write this! The 3rd years make me unfathomably soft so I'm going to have a bunch of fun with this! Thank you for requesting and I hope you like it ♥️

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

Chris

Chris wouldn't consider himself a very nosy person

He's always respectful of your space and never pries when he can tell you want to keep something private

But nothing has ever tempted him to break that boundary more than the worn notebook you keep on you

It's in your hands constantly and you're so secretive about the item your behavior was bound to garner some curiosity on his end eventually

Nevertheless, Chris fought his inquiring mind out of respect for you and let the contents of the notebook remain a mystery

Chris could definitely appreciate art but he wasn't much of an artist himself, so it was quite the surprise when he opened the notebook he used the keep baseball notes in and be met with a bunch of sketches

Immediately he understood that this must be the oh-so mysterious notebook you've had on you for months. By some miraculous force the two of you seemed to have accidentally swapped notebooks

The damage was done and he already knew what resided in the book so how much worse could it be to give into the hungry curiosity he's been harboring the past few months?

Chris handled the pages with care as he flipped through the book. Most of the pages were filled with what he assumed to be anatomy studies and the occasional silly doodle here and there

When Chris reached the middle of the notebook he noticed a trend in your art begin: All of your sketches were of him

His cheeks were most definitely tinted a soft pink the further he flipped. He was dumbfounded that you found him to be a source of inspiration, he wasn't always a ball of sunshine and rainbows as you've seen him on his worst days

But he found it interesting to look at the conjured up version of how you saw him. It was like he was looking at himself through your eyes

It was then that you barged open his dorm door, hair messy from running and his baseball notebook clung to your chest. He saw the fear flare in your eyes when you spotted the open book in front of him

"D-did you..."

"I looked through it. I'm sorry, you wanted to keep this private and I spoiled that for you."

"So did you see the...uh sketches?"

"I did and I think they're remarkably beautiful, I had no idea you were so talented, love"

A wave of relief crashed into you at his words. You honestly thought he'd think it was creepy you had pages and pages filled with sketches of him

Chris chuckled at your reaction before he stood up and pulled you into a warm embrace where he placed a kiss to the top of your head

Jun

Jun is...a very brash person

He's loud and rambunctious by nature but the man instantly developes a softer side when around you

Seeing the normally boisterous outfielder morph into a far gentler version of himself was quite the sight, and the occurrence had definitely become a topic his friends would make jabs at

Jun never let their teasing remarks bother him much, he enjoyed spending quiet time with you and was more than happy to sit through his friends bad jokes if it meant he could continue hanging around you

Recently though Jun had noticed an odd habit of yours

You stare at him alot. Not in a 'checking your boyfriend out' kind of way but as in blatant staring even if you knew he caught you looking

It was a bit odd in his opinion seeing as you never addressed or hinted at why you actually do stare at him so much

Jun didn't question it, maybe he was just catching while you were spacing out and didn't realize what you were doing

What he didn't know was that he would unintentional find out what was driving this habit of yours only a few weeks after becoming aware of it

He spotted you alone at a table in the schools library one afternoon while searching for some research material he needed for a project

You were sitting with your back to him, leaning heavily on on of your arms. From where he was standing it looked like you had either fell asleep or were zoning out like you often did around him

Jun decided to go "wake" you up, as leaving you there in that state would be defeating your purpose of coming to the library in the first place

Before he could tap your shoulder after approaching your table, his eyes flicked to the book sitting wide open infront of you

More specifically he was watching your hand roughly sketching the outline of a person's hair style

The longer he looked the more he realized that the entirety of the two pages in front of you were drawings of him

Anything from small, quick doodles of him catching a ball or swinging a bat to more detailed sketches of him laughing or reading a book

You must have finally sensed someone looking over your shoulder as you jumped slightly in your seat and quickly turned to find Jun (whose face was beyond flushed might I add)

"This is why you stare at me all the time?!"

"Ah...maybe?"

Despite how embarrassed you both were he still pulled a seat up next to you, gruffly mumbling out how you shouldn't let his presence keep you from your art

He then quietly complimented your artistic skills, sealed with a soft kiss to the back or your hand

Tetsuya

If there is one thing that Yuki Tetsuya loves about your relationship it's the fact that you always pack little bentos for the two of you to share after games

Obviously he loves YOU for many other reasons! But if he were asked what quirk or abnormality he loves the most in your relationship it'd be the bentos

Which he was currently rummaging through your bag for

You usually have a specific spot in your bag for the small containers, a place that would keep the food cool so it wouldn't get spoiled in the Tokyo heat, but Tetsu couldn't seem to find them

Eventually he spotted the familiar teal and green box after shuffling the contents of your bag around a bit

With an accomplished glimmer in his eyes he pulled the bento out from your bag

As he was retrieving the container, said bento caught the corner of a small notebook causing it to tumble out and flop open on the concrete

Tetsuya quickly scooped the book up from the ground fearing that he had gotten it scuffed or dirty, but those worries left as his attention was captured to the contents of the notebook

At first he thought the image was a digital picture you had printed out but the longer he looked the more he picked up on the smudgy finger prints littering the page

And then it clicked for him: You drew this!

Right next to the portrait of him was a smaller doodle of a scene he recognized as your phones lockscreen (a second year version of the two of you happily smiling at eachother, his arm wrapped respectfully around your waist as you struggled to look up at him due to the brim of his Seidou hat blocking your view)

The sketched version looked exactly the same as the real photo! It was beautiful and somehow you had managed to enhance the tender emotions portrayed in the picture

"Tetsuya, did you find the ben- oh.."

"Do you think you could draw a larger version of this? I want to put it on my desk."

You just laughed at his bluntness before giving him a nod in response

A small smile graced his features as he looked from you back to your messy sketch. It wasn't a look you saw very often from him, but that smile made your knees weak as you fell in love with him all over again

#kayquests #takigawa chris yuu x reader #takigawa chris yuu #isashiki jun #isashiki jun x reader #yuki tetsuya #yuki tetsuya x reader #daiya no ace #daiya no ace x reader #ace of the diamond x reader #ace of the diamond #diamond no ace #diamond no ace x reader

[itsthewritergal]

It’s all a mess -  F.W x reader

Y/N and Fred had been dating for a year, but they had been friends since the very first day, when Fred and George let her sit with them on the train. She had all been sorted into Gryffindor which just made their friendship grow stronger. Although recently Y/N and Fred had done nothing but argue. Constantly. George was growing tired of having to console the both of them, and their friends avoided both of them when they argued.

Y/N sat with her friend from Ravenclaw at dinner, she was currently avoiding Fred after their argument the night before. She was filling in her friends on the details,

“So I was in the library right, doing my essay because I wanted to go to the Quidditch game next week” She started after shovelling some food into her mouth “Fred comes in all high and mighty because I dared to speak to some Hufflepuff about my potions class. He starts accusing me in front of everyone about loyalty, when he was with Angelina all last week and barely even spoke to me” She snapped, groaning loudly “He then tells me that he doesn’t know why we are still together!”

“Maybe it’s not such a great idea you two being together” Her friend said with a sad smile

“She’s got a point you know” Luna mused from her place next to you “Perhaps you two just aren’t suited anymore” she hummed twirling her fork around on her plate

“But I love him” Y/N argued

“Yes we know that. But does he love you? From what you’ve been saying it doesn’t sound like it” Her friend said with a sympathetic smile

Y/N turned the conversation quickly onto her Charms homework, in an attempt to pull her friends away from the conversation. But their words played heavily on her mind. Fred had been acting distant and angrier than usual, but surely that wasn’t because he was falling out of love with her. With a huff she said goodbye to her friends and made her way back to the dorm.

———-

Walking through the portrait hole, Y/N caught sight of Fred and Angelina giggling together, her fingers traced over his arm as his was wrapped around her shoulders. They looked happy together, just how Y/N and Fred had done a few months ago, with a sad smile Y/N knew exactly what she had to do. Taking a few steps towards them, George was the first one to notice that she had walked into the room. His eyes widened in shock as he kicked Fred to get his attention. Angelina was the next to notice Y/N and she quickly pinched Fred, who was yet to notice her presence.

“Don’t stop now” He laughed “I was just getting to enjoying that”

“No of course, don’t stop on my account” Y/N said sadly, “Seems you two are happy” She gave them a weak smile

“YN it isn’t what you think” Angelina said “We were just talking, and I”

“It’s fine, everyone knows me and Fred just aren’t quite working anymore” She said “I guess this is probably for the best” Y/N pulled off the bracelet that Fred had given her for their one year anniversary

“What are you doing?” He questioned standing up and pushing Angelina off of him. “Why are you giving me this?” He said suddenly feeling a wash of nerves fall over him

“i’m done Freddie, I’m done with all the fighting, never knowing what’s going to happen next. I’m done, we’re done” Y/N said solemnly “Take care of him for me” She laughed to Angelina, who was looking just as guilt ridden as Fred did.

“YN let’s talk about this” He pleaded

“I can’t. I’m sorry” She said making her way quickly out of the common room.

———-

The halls were empty, apart from Y/N’s quiet footsteps as she made her way towards the Astronomy Tower. She knew that nobody would be stupid enough to look up there at this hour. Not that anyone would miss her. Sitting herself down on the cold floor, Y/N let herself cry. Her sobs echoed loudly, but she didn’t care, she wanted to scream. Everything they had together was gone just like that, everything that she had dreamed about was gone. She didn’t hear the footsteps, or George settling himself beside her.

“He’s an idiot you know” He commented, wrapping a blanket around her

“He got what he wanted, he’s had a crush on Angelina since second year” Y/N laughed bitterly, pushing thoughts of the other girl out of her head

“He doesn’t love her, I’ll admit I don't know what he was thinking in the common room but he doesn’t love her” George tried his hardest to make her feel a little better.

“Well it sure doesn’t look that way” She said resting her head on George’s shoulder “It’s all a mess George”

They sat up there for what felt like hours, reminiscing on their old adventures before everything took a turn for the worse.

“You’re still coming home for Christmas right?” George asked turning to look at her. He couldn’t remember a Christmas where she didn’t come to the burrow, it had become their tradition

“I don’t know George, I don’t think I will. I’ll go home, have a quiet one instead” She hummed, thinking back to her family who all hated Christmas.

“You can’t! It would break mum” He said in an attempt to make her feel a little better “And Ginny, she loves it when you come”

“I don’t think I can George, I don’t want to face him, I don’t even want to look at him” She said unsure if the feelings would go away by Christmas

“Lucky I’m the better looking one eh?” He laughed, grinning proudly as she smiled up at him.

———-

“Come on then how was your Christmas?” Ginny said sitting herself down opposite Y/N

“It was nice” She lied easily “Mum made this massive roast and we all opened our presents all together, even went down to the park to ice skate” She said, hoping that Ginny didn’t catch on

“Wow, sounds pretty incredible” She smiled, “We missed you” she added quietly, with a small glance towards Fred “We all did”

“Don’t be daft, it must have been nice not to have me crashing it” She laughed

“Fred barely left his room” she said sadly “You know he’s really sorry”

“Can we please talk about something else” Y/N practically begged, she had managed to push all the thoughts of Fred to the back of her mind. Hearing that he missed her was something she knew she wouldn't be able to handle.

“Well here comes the post” Ginny said, grateful for the interruption .

A large parcel thumped down on Y/N’s lap. Wrapped in brown paper she pulled at the string carefully. A letter fell out, and a maroon knitted jumper was revealed.

Molly Weasley.

Feeling a few pairs of eyes on her as she pulled the jumper out of the paper, Y/N stood up and ran out of the Great Hall. She had tried her hardest to be strong, but she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. Making her way out into the courtyard she found a corner and sunk down onto a bench

“You okay?” George asked, following her

“Tell your mum thank you, but I can’t accept this” Y/N said

“Of course you can” George cut her off, sitting himself next to her “It’s Fred who messed up, not us”

“George, it hurts okay. It hurts to know that I’m not only loosing Fred, but i’m loosing you too. I can’t come between you two. I wont let myself”

“You’re not loosing me you muppet” He argued, only to be cut off  by her

“Yes I am. I couldn’t write to you this Christmas, because I didn’t know what I could say to you that I didn’t want to talk about with you and Fred. I couldn’t tell you I had an awful Christmas because I didn’t want to let Fred know that I wasn’t doing ok”

“You had a bad Christmas?” George said

“You know my family, they don’t do Christmas. But that isn’t the point” She said “The point is-”

“I messed up. That’s what the point is” Fred said making his way towards the bench

“I think you should go” Y/N said slowly look Fred up and down

“Just let me talk” he said calmly

“I’ll leave you two to it” George said giving Y/N a small sideways hug

“I can’t apologise because I know it wont help” Fred started “I was angry at you. I thought you were flirting with that Hufflepuff boy, I heard him talking to his friends about how fit you were and it annoyed me. I wanted to get back at you. I wasn’t thinking” He said

“Fred why would I look at anyone when I had you”

“Have” He corrected quickly “You’ve still got me, I know we aren’t together but there isn’t anyone else”

“Freddie” She sighed “All we do is argue” “Not any more, c’mon Y/N. We love each other, we can get through this” He promised, his tone was desperate, voice wavering slightly as though tears were about to fall

“I’ve been an idiot. Christmas was hell without you. Mum was miserable, and angry with me when I told her. Dad had to stop her from driving to your house to pick you up” He chuckled slightly “Ginny told me you had a pretty great Christmas”

“I lied to her, mum and dad didn’t even realise I was home. They went on some couples retreat” She laughed

“So you didn’t go ice skating?” She shook her head “And you didn’t have a massive Christmas dinner?” Once again shook her head “And you didn’t have loads of presents?” She shook her head again “I’m sorry Y/N”

“It’s fine, I did Christmas my own little way” She smiled.

They settled into a silence, neither one wanting to break the comfort that they had so desperately missed. Fred placed a tentative arm around her shoulders

“You know I love you right?” He said

“Fred don’t” She started

“I’m being serious Y/N” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face “I love you”

“I love you too but everything is just so much” She huffed sadly

“We love each other, that’s all that matters right?” He said grasping at any little hope that they might be okay

“Yeah, that’s all that matters” She said, wrapping her arms around him. Nestling her head into his neck.

“Are my favourite couple back tougher?” George shouted from the other side of the courtyard quickly making his way over

“How long have you been waiting there?” Y/N laughed

“Since I left” He grinned mischievously “So?”

“Yes we’re back together” Y/N grinned happily

“I’ll go write to mum! She’ll be expecting you at ours next holiday. Don’t tell the others but you’re her favourite” George winked as he skipped off

“Remind me again why I stick around with you two insufferable idiots” She shook her head laughing

“Well you’re stuck with us now” Fred grinned.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #hp fandom #fred and george #fred x reader

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they���re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #pruaus

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 6

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 6

Chapter Summary: More of a filler chapter, not much Henry, I’m sorry.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, pregnancy, poor self image, bad coping mechanisms, low self esteem.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5}

"I already told you, Faye! I don't want anything to do with this!"

"So because I want to keep my babies, you're leaving me? Is that what you're trying to tell me, David?"

"Yes! Shit, I knew you were dumb, but seriously!"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf too, whore? How do you even know I'm the one that knocked you up? You've slept with just about every guy in town!"

"Get the fuck out."

"Don't come crying to me later! You're nothing without me! No one is ever going to want you. Especially once you have kids. Who the hell wants used goods? Have fun living a life of regret!"

Faye jerked awake, her head spinning as she tried to catch her bearings. Did David really leave her just like that? Sure he wasn't the greatest, but he had never lashed out like that before. At least not where anyone else could witness it.

No. David's gone. He has been gone for almost four years now. New life. Starting over. It's all in the past now.

Have to get the baby up before the sitter comes. Work is coming up soon. Life goes on.

"Briar, what are you doing on the floor?" Faye chuckled, crouching down next to her daughter, curled up on her pillow by her bed.

"I'm a puppy." Briar yawned in explanation, holding her arms up to be lifted, promptly licking her mother's cheek as soon as she was up.

"Briar, we talked about licking people."

"I'm not Briar, I'm puppy."

"Ok then, puppy, no licking people. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"Puppy food."

"Cereal it is."

Feed the toddler, quick shower, get dressed, throw her hair up away from her face, wait for the baby sitter, hugs and kisses goodbye, then off to work. The usual routine she had settled herself into.

Feed the baby, because she's hungry and she comes first.

Shower, because she probably has some sort of mystery goo on her from the toddler.

Get dressed, avoid the mirror.  No one wants to be reminded of how much they've changed. The softness she wasn't used to around her lower stomach, hips and thighs. Her breasts no longer as perky as they used to be. The stretchmarks competing with her tattoo's for attention.

Then, the hardest part of the day. "Ok, Briar, Mrs. Anderson is here. Mommy has to go to work. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy." Briar responded, hugging her mother tight and kissing her cheek before she was sat back down.

"Have a nice day, Miss Warren."

"I hope she's not too much to handle."

"Never is."

Some days, Faye likes to pretend she's ok. Like she has a handle on things. Like she knows what she's doing and not just blindly stumbling through her life while trying to do right by her daughter.

Other days, she would absently push her sleeves up and her eye would catch on the black lines decorating her forearm, just below her elbow. Some days she's reminded that life is a bitch, and you can't always get what you want. On those days she tried to stay out of her own head, though that rarely worked.

She could slap on a smile with the best of them, but she could never force it to reach her eyes. Her face always remained an open book, free for anyone to read. The past creeps up on you. There's nothing you can do to stop it some days. On a bad day, the ghosts of the past will haunt your mind, echoing the worst days of your life into the void of your shattered heart.

"No one is ever going to want you!"

"You're nothing without me!"

"Who wants used goods?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Warren. There was nothing we could do."

Over and over on a seemingly never ending loop, reminding her of the darkest times in her life.

Why would anyone want her? She's not the same hot twenty six year old she used to be. She was soft. She was saggy. She would never be as attractive as she used to be. Anyone in their right mind would turn around and run once they realized how much she had let herself go.

Days like today were best spent keeping people at a distance. Tell them some story about being tired. Avoid anyone that is going to call her out on her obvious lie. Therein lies the problem with dying your hair obnoxious colors. Among a sea of blonde and brunette, powder blue tends to stick out and make it almost impossible to vanish.

Lie your way out of it. Survive another day. Tomorrow might not be better, but at least it won't be the same.

"Mommy, you're back!" The sweetest sound she could hear all day.

"I always come back, my little love." Faye assured, kissing her daughter's head.

Need to care for the baby. She comes first. She deserves the world. Play time. Dinner time. Bath time. Story time. Bed time. The same after work routine she had established months ago when she decided to drop everything and run.

Her daughter thought the world of her. She would do anything to see her smile. She would wear the stupid costume. She would pretend to be a horsey. She would let her daughter use her as a jungle gym. She would make the same dinner again for the third night in a row for her.  So what if she soaked the bathroom floor during bath time? She was a mermaid, and she wanted to show off her tail. Story time, always an adventure with her imaginative little girl. What world would they find themselves in today? Dinosaurs? Princesses? Mythology? A rhyming book?

Ah, yes of course. Her current favorite, the book about the dinosaur cleaning his room. She was a girl obsessed with dinosaurs at the moment.

"Mommy, where's my Papa?" Briar asked, staring intently down at the page depicting a mother and father watching the dinosaur throw away paper scraps.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart. He wasn't a nice man." Faye explained, resting her cheek on her daughter's head.

"Can I have a new Papa?"

"Maybe someday, sweetheart."

"Can Spider-man be my new Papa?"

"Why do you want Spider-man to be your new Papa?"

"He's my boyfriend!"

"That's not how it works, silly. If he's your boyfriend, he can't also be by boyfriend! Pick another hero!"

"Batman!"

"Well, he is rich." Faye mused, Briar giggling happily. "Now it's time for bed, my love."

"Ok, Mommy. I love you!"

"I love you too, Briar." Faye whispered, kissing her forehead. The nightlight was switched on and the door was left cracked open, just in case. Now for her seldom used free time.

Should she sketch some more? Finish that painting she started forever ago? Ever since she started a "real" job, her art had fallen by the wayside. She was too drained to do much after work and caring of her daughter.

Maybe some drawing will lift her spirits and keep the nightmares at bay tonight. But what to draw? Not in the mood for still life. Brain too fried for something straight from her imagination. Her usual model was sleeping, and her last few self portraits had been a serious blow to her ego. She just drew what she saw in the mirror. Then, when she was finished, she decided she should have worn more clothing before she drew herself. What was supposed to boost her confidence and empower her as a woman instead left her wondering when exactly she developed that roll when sitting in that position.

"Fuck it. I'm drawing a moose." Faye grumbled to herself, turning the page from her self portrait to a blank sheet. Half an hour later when she was trying to remember what a moose's antlers looked like, she finally picked up her phone. Seven unread messages? That seems like a lot. When was the last time she looked at her phone? Oh yeah, when she got home, five hours ago.

All from one person. So she wasn't ignoring everyone at least. Seven messages, all from Henry. Shit. That's not good.

Are you ok?

You seemed off on set today

You didn't even talk to me

Did you at least make it home alright?

Can you send me a sign of life?

I'm sorry if I upset you or something. Can you please talk to me? I'm genuinely worried.

Please?

Well, fuck. Here she was playing unicorn apocalypse with her daughter, and this poor guy was worrying himself to death.

Sorry, I was drawing a moose

Perfect way of saying "I wasn't ignoring you" while also avoiding his persistent questions about her wellbeing. The good old 'drawing a moose' excuse. Works every time.

I think your moose aged me by ten years. Are you ok?

Just had a bad day

Anything I can do to help?

Squeeze me until I stop struggling and my spine snaps

That's called 'murder' Miss Warren

I knew there was a name for it

Is there anything I can do for you that involves less prison?

Nah, if you're not going to take me out, then I'm not interested

I'm not going to take you out by murder. I will take you out on a date.

Faye froze, staring at her phone. He was just playing around, like he always did. No way he was serious. Henry liked to flirt, and she wasn't about to throw herself at him over a joke. She had more dignity than that. So how does she respond? She can't just ignore him, and taking forever to respond is going to give the impression that she was freaking out over what he said.

She was completely freaking out over what he had said, but he didn't need to know that. Was he just looking to get laid or something? Probably. He had gotten pretty close the last time he had been over. There's a difference between dating and screwing, though. He was probably just looking for someone to fuck while waiting for a woman worth his time to come along. Faye was broken out of her thoughts by her phone going off again, alerting her to a new message. Didn't he know she was busy having an existential crisis?

If you're free on Sunday you can come over and show me that moose your working on

*you're

Smart ass

Sunday?

I'll have to see if Mrs. Anderson can watch Briar

Bring her along. She keeps asking me about Kal

Pretty on brand for her

Sunday?

Sunday.

Sunday. What to wear on Sunday? He was probably looking for a little something something for his time, so something slutty? She got rid of all her slutty clothes after she had Briar in a fit of self hatred toward her new mom bod, so that was out. Besides, he wouldn't have invited Briar over too if he was looking to get laid.

So what does one wear on a casual 'date' these days? She had until Sunday to figure that out.

Tag List:  @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #guys like you #guys like you fic #triggering themes

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 14 - In The Morning

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Hermione arrives at Grimmauld Place 

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST) (except that one time)!

Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 13

I can't stop myself from calling calling out your name I can't stop myself from falling falling back again

 July 17th came around sooner than Fred was truly ready for and before he knew it, his father and Ron were leaving Grimmauld Place to meet Hermione and her parents in Diagon Alley. They had extended the invitation to George and himself as well, but the two of them opted to stay behind to help Ginny get things ready for her arrival. Or at least that’s what George told their mum and dad. Instead, they planned to use that time to work on welcoming Hermione back the only way they knew how.

“Okay, we’ve got – fake wand, spitting teapot, nose-biting tea cup, Ton-Tongue Toffee, Canary Creams, those Nosebleed Nougats we’ve been working on, aaaaand then of course we can always just turn her scarf into a snake or something,” listed George, looking down critically at the products in his trunk.

“You’re overthinking it, mate,” said Fred, chewing on the side of his thumb as he shuffled through his work notes on the desk.

“Well then, please enlighten me Freddie,” George huffed, placing his hands on his hips and turning to his twin.

“We can just apparate downstairs as soon as she gets here and scare her. She’ll never see it coming.” It was true. While Fred and George had passed their apparition tests first try the previous spring, Hermione had not been around enough to see them practice.

“What? A jump scare? That seems a bit cheap, don’t you think?”

“Since when have you cared how we pull pranks?” laughed Fred. “You’ve never been particularly choosy before.” With satisfaction, Fred finally found the piece of parchment he’d been searching for and pulled it to the top of his pile of notes. It was his ingredient list for Fever Fudge. He and George had spent the entirety of their free time so far that summer developing a themed line for their business and Fred felt like they finally had it. Now they just needed to make the products. And they needed Hermione’s help. Hermione. The familiar twisting and churning in his stomach returned every time he thought of her. What was it about the little witch that made him so bloody nervous? His palms sweat, his neck got hot, and his stomach ached whenever her soon to be visit was brought to the forefront of his mind that week. It was ridiculous. It was only Hermione after all. Even if he did fancy her at one point, that was off the table now. He was with Angelina and she still fancied his brother. The only thing to do was to get back to normal, go back to the way things were before he found himself lusting after his baby brother’s friend, go back to when they were simply just friends.

“I suppose we could do it when she’s standing next to Walburga. That’ll certainly give her a fright,” mused George, closing his trunk with a heavy thump of the lid.

“Now you’re getting it, Georgie boy!” Fred stacked the parchment and moved around quills and ink bottles, doing his best to tidy up the small workspace. Hermione was sure to make a comment on their messiness the minute she saw it. She always did.

“You seem in better spirits—” George leaned casually against the wall near the open window and looked at Fred with an annoyingly knowing smirk “—Hermione’s visit wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Would it?”

Fred scoffed. “It has everything to do with her visit, Georgie. We need a pair of fresh eyes to go over these product designs and it’ll be someone else to talk to in this depressing place besides you.”

George opened his mouth, clearly ready to refute Fred’s statement when a large tawny owl soared through the open window and landed on the bottom left-hand corner of the desk. The owl had a stately, professional manner, akin to the owls used at Hogwarts. Taking the letter from its claws, Fred gave the owl a small treat and watched as it spread its wings and soared back out through the open window. He turned the envelope over in his hands and saw that it was addressed to him. The words were in a neat scrawl he recognized immediately, and so he tore into the envelope with enthusiasm.

Dear Fred,

I’m so sorry I haven’t written to you. Quidditch camp has kept me really busy. They have us running so many drills, I barely have the energy to eat at the end of the day. But, as I’m the new Gryffindor quidditch team captain (remember don’t tell anyone, it’s still a secret), it’s important that I know everything there is to know. I hope your summer is going well, though!

I will try to write more later, but I wanted to send you a quick note to let you know I’ve gotten your letters.

Yours,

Angelina

P.S. – You won’t believe who’s an instructor here. Oliver Wood! Can you believe it?

Fred threw the letter down onto the desk with a sigh. She clearly hadn’t read his letters. If she had, then she would have known that his summer was not going well. Feeling close enough with Angelina and taking the fact that she was his girlfriend into consideration, he’d shared with her his lamentings of his overbearing mother and the general stodginess of the home they were currently staying in. He hoped to get a tad bit of sympathy or maybe even acknowledgement. But instead, he got a few short lines and news on Oliver Wood. He smirked at the last bit. At least he could be certain that Oliver Wood was there to torture her with his insane quidditch practices and long-winded speeches on hard work and diligence.

“Who’s it from?” asked George.

“Angelina,” answered Fred, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his head as he stared at the discarded letter on the desk in front of him.

“What’s it say?”

The sound of the front door opening downstairs caught the pair’s attention and Fred stood, grabbing the letter, and tucking it into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. Hermione’s here. Let’s go,” he said pointing to the door with a tilt of his head.

Sneaking down the hallway, they leaned over the banister and spied the top of Hermione’s frizzy head. They watched as she walked slowly down the entry hall, looking side to side as she took in the ominous visage of the ancient Black home. She was almost to the end of the hallway where it split into three separate directions when Fred looked to his brother and with a nod, and apparated. Fred felt the familiar pull at his navel and the thrilling sensation of the air being sucked from the space around him before he landed effortlessly beside Hermione. Half of a second later George appeared at her other side.

“Wotcher Granger!” they exclaimed in unison, immediately dissolving into laughter when Hermione jumped with fright. The poor little witch let out a startled yelp, falling back into the covered portrait of Sirius Black’s mother Walburga.

Upon being woken up the nasty woman began to spit her usual vitriol, “Filth! Mudbloods! Blood traitors! In my home! The disgrace! Out! Out!”

“Fred! George! How many times have I told you to leave that portrait be?!” screamed their mother, appearing in the kitchen doorway to their right.

“Wasn’t us mum!” yelled Fred in their defense, still trying to stifle his laughter.

“Yeah mum, Hermione’s the one that screamed and pulled the sheet down!” agreed George, slinging an arm over the shoulders of Hermione who currently looked incredibly displeased.

“Right, well I wonder why that was—” their mother scowled “—get! All of you, out of here while I fix this. Ron, help me, will you dear?”

Ron, who’d been leading Hermione down the hallway stepped forward and grabbed the sheet with their mum. Meanwhile, Fred and George followed their mother’s instructions and led Hermione into the kitchen.

“You two are biggest prats!” scolded Hermione, setting her bag down on the kitchen table.

“Maybe, but you still love us,” said George cheekily before pulling her into a tight hug. Hermione smiled, her irritation visibly melting away as she hugged George back. Once his twin brother had released her, Hermione turned to Fred, both of them fully intending to hug as well. But then they stopped, both jerking forward awkwardly before settling on a very stiff and uncomfortable handshake.

“Frederick,” she greeted him politely.

Fred cleared his throat before answer, “Granger.” They continued to shake hands, their arms sticking out in front of them for much too long as they stared at each other, unsure of what to say. “You’ve gotten taller,” Fred finally remarked, noticing the way she no longer came to his shoulder, but instead reached just past his chin. He released her hand lamely and brought it up to scratch the back of his head.

“Yes, well, it appears I’ve been through a bit of a growth spurt the last month or so,” she answered, before reaching for the clasp at her neck and divesting herself of her light travel robes. Growth spurt was right, thought Fred as he stared unabashedly at Hermione. Not only had she gotten taller, but her once lanky body had given way to a very womanly form. He exchanged a quick look with George, whose flabbergasted expression clearly stated that he too was witnessing the same phenomenon. Hermione Granger had gotten hot. Very hot. Swallowing thickly, Fred wanted nothing more than to burst into flames literally and figuratively. Being dead, he reasoned, would be better than dealing with the hot fresh hell of Hermione Granger surely coming into her own body the moment he had decided his attraction to her was off the table. Almost mockingly, the corner of the envelope that held Angelina’s letter poked into his thigh.

“Is that a new sweater, ‘Mione?” asked George. Fred shot a glare in George’s direction. While his question appeared to be innocent, Fred knew it was an obvious jab at the fact that not only was Hermione not wearing something three times her size, but the sweater in question outlined her new curves so perfectly that Fred had to consciously keep his eyes trained on her face.

“Oh—” Hermione looked down at her outfit “—yes. My mum insisted we go shopping before I left. Got me a whole new wardrobe and everything. Something about putting me in better spirits or something.”

“Why would you need to be in better—”

“My, my, my, well if it isn’t Hermione Granger,” the voice of Sirius Black cut Fred’s question off. He watched as Hermione turned excitedly and spotted the older wizard leaning against the doorframe that led into the dining room. The witch crossed the room enthusiastically, allowing Sirius to envelope her in a tight hug.

“Sirius! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Hermione, letting out a small squeak when Sirius lifted her into the air.

“Same to you,” he said with an exaggerated groan before setting her back on her feet and holding her at arm’s length. “Look at you! Is this really the same mousy little girl that saved my life two years ago?” asked Sirius teasingly before leading her to the kitchen table.

“Hold on a minute. We haven’t heard that story,” said George. The comment caught Fred’s attention as well. While the two had been informed by both Ron after his third year and their mum and dad that summer that Sirius Black was not the man they thought him to be, they had never heard exactly how he officially escaped his capture.

“Really? She only traveled back in time and road on the back of a hippogriff to break me out of my cell,” said Sirius, looking down proudly at a flushing Hermione. “Would you like some tea dear?” he asked Hermione.

“We’ll get it,” said George, pulling a stunned Fred around and towards the counter. “Well that’s interesting.”

“Which part?” asked Fred, reeling from the combination of Hermione’s figure, and finding out that she traveled through time?

George chuckled at his comment and the pair began to make a nice afternoon tea. Merlin, being able to use magic whenever he wanted was so convenient, thought Fred as with just a few flicks of their wands, the tea was prepared, and a nice plate of biscuits was ready. Levitating the cups, teapot, sugar, milk, and biscuits to the table, they took their seats at the table as well.

“Now, tell us all the sordid details of this breakout and don’t hold anything back,” said George firmly, reaching across the table and grabbing a biscuit.

Fred listened intently as Sirius began his story, grabbing a cup and preparing Hermione’s tea. She seemed surprised when he set the cup in front of her and even more surprised when she took a sip. The younger witch shot him a curious glance before taking another sip and grabbing a biscuit as well. What? Did she not think he remembered how she took her tea? wondered Fred before making his own.

By the end of his story, Sirius was smiling widely, Hermione was blushing furiously, and Fred and George were staring blankly. Ron, who had joined them halfway through, looked bored having already heard the story before from Harry and Hermione.

“Blimey,” said Fred, unsure of what else even to say. “Do you ever stop getting cooler, Hermione?” Fred’s ears grew hot in embarrassment, but the small smile Hermione gave him cooled the heat slightly.

“I’ve always been cool, Fred. Maybe you’ve just been too thick to notice.”

Fred gave a small chuckle, joined by the rest of the table. Just like that, the heavy weight of tension that had been present between him and Hermione since the moment she arrived lifted slightly.

“So, is anyone going to explain to me where I am exactly and what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess it at some point?” asked Hermione, looking around her with an exasperated look.

“I’m sorry kitten, I thought Arthur told you,” said Sirius.

Fred prickled. He didn’t quite like the way Sirius called her ‘kitten’.

“This—” Sirius motioned to the space around them “—is my childhood home. Left to me as the last living heir to the Black fortune. I volunteered it to Dumbledore for the Order.”

“The Order?” Hermione scrunched her brow in confusion.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Ron chimed in, as if the name alone would be explanation enough.

“We’re like Death Eaters, but for the good side,” added George with a grin.

“Not yet you aren’t!” exclaimed their mum, striding into the kitchen with a scowl on her face.

Fred huffed in annoyance. He and George had been keen to join the Order ever since they learned about it, but their mum was adamantly against it. “Come on mum, we’re seventeen! It’s not your choice anymore.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You watch your tone with me Frederick Weasley. As long as you live under my roof, you do as I say. Is that clear?”

Fred and George rolled their eyes, turning back towards the table.

“There’s an Order meeting tonight Hermione,” said George. 

“You can learn all about it after. Most of the members usually stay for dinner,” added Fred. 

“In the meantime, don’t you want to check out your room?” George stressed the question, widening his eyes and tilting his head towards the door leading to the entry hall.

“Do I?—” Hermione gave them a confused look before her eyebrows lifted in realization “—I mean, yes, of course.” She stood from the table, moving to follow Fred and George out of the kitchen before stopping at the door and turning back to the table. “It was so lovely to see you again Sirius. Shall we catch up more later?”

“Absolutely kitten. Have fun…checking out your room.”

Fred grabbed Hermione around the upper arm, pulling her from the kitchen and back into the now silent entry hall. The portrait of Walburga Black was once again covered by the old sheet, but he watched as Hermione still gave it a wide birth. “Hold tight,” he said to the witch in his grasp before apparating them both up to his and George’s bedroom.

Hermione landed next to him, gripping the front of Fred’s shirt tightly in her fist as she doubled over, breathing heavily.

“Alright ‘Mione?” asked Fred, trying not to focus on the way she held onto him.

“You absolute BERK!” She released his shirt, reeling back to slap him across the chest. It stung a bit, but Fred laughed all the same, figuring he deserved it. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to apparate someone without telling them first?! It’s incredibly—oh god, I think I may be sick.”

“Come now, Hermione. That doesn’t sound like someone who time traveled and helped a convicted felon escape from authorities,” said George, walking past the two of them to open their trunks and begin pulling out products.

“Where did you even get a time-turner in the first place? Aren’t they regulated by the ministry?” asked Fred, walking over to gather his notes for Hermione.

“Professor McGonagall got it for me. She had to write a lot of letters to the ministry about how I was an exemplary student and wouldn’t use it irresponsibly. I signed up for every class, you see, and so the only way to take all of them was to use the time-turner.” Hermione had now straightened up. She looked a little less green as she walked towards them and peered down at products spread out across the bed.

Fred laughed. “If that isn’t the swottiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Watch it,” Hermione warned casually as she picked up a pair of extendable ears with equal fascination and revulsion. To be fair, the accurate imitation of flesh was a bit much, but that’s what Fred and George loved most about them.

“Speaking of swottiness—” George gave Fred an impish smirk before leaping forward and grabbing the large stack of parchment from Fred “—Fred made you this. It’s all our product designs, some of them old, some of them new, some of them not yet tested.”

“No notebook?” Hermione asked, exchanging for Extendable Ears for the stack of parchment, and looking at Fred with a teasing smile.

“Now, why would I give you my notebook? No, these are your copies,” admitted Fred, looking intently at Hermione’s face as she sorted through the pile.

“You made me copies. I’ve never known you to be so…fastidious Fred. Wow, you two really have been busy,” said Hermione in amazement as she continued to sift through the large pile of parchment.

“Yes, well, that’s about seven months of missed inventing time, Miss Granger. A lot happens when you’re not going about snogging professional quidditch players,” stated George.

“I was not going about snogging Viktor!” cried Hermione in indignation, turning the color of a ripe tomato.

“You weren’t?” Fred found himself asking, before he could stop himself.

Hermione looked back to him shyly, running her hands over her hair to flatten it down. Fred kept his eyes trained on the girl’s face, fighting very hard to not let them drift down to view the magnificent way her sweater stretched when she lifted her arms. “I mean…” Hermione drifted off, earning a wolf whistle from George who she promptly sent a scathing glare at.

Fred felt the all too familiar sinking feeling in his stomach return, but this time mixed with the overwhelming urge to take Hermione in his arms and kiss her till all thoughts of Viktor Krum were gone from her memory. He looked away from her, distracting himself with the products on the bed as he tried to process his reaction. It wasn’t his place to be jealous. Hermione was a free and single girl – she was more than welcome to snog whoever she wanted – and he had a girlfriend. He shouldn’t be jealous. He really shouldn’t be jealous. But he was.

A knock on their door pulled the three’s attention. The door opened to reveal Ron looking mildly annoyed.

“This isn’t your room ‘Mione. Yours is down the hall,” he said, crossing his arms and looking suspiciously at Fred and George.

“Hermione—” Ginny’s voice sounded from behind Ron “—come on! We’re sharing a room. I’ve got your bed all made up and everything.”

“Oh right. Fred and George were just showing me their summer homework,” Hermione replied, holding up the stack of notes in her hands.

Ron gave an obnoxious snort. “Sure. Come on, then. Before Ginny has a conniption.”

“Coming—” Hermione turned back to Fred and George “—I’ll have a look at these tonight.”

She turned, following Ron out of the room, and shutting the door behind her. It was silent in their room for a few moments as Fred stood staring at the place Hermione had just been.

“Merlin, did you see the baps on her!” George cried, sounding relieved to finally be alone just the two of them.

Fred couldn’t help but laugh against his better judgement, body shaking with chuckles as he turned to his twin who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“Come on now mate. It’s Hermione. Have some respect,” said Fred, flopping onto his bed and propping himself up against the headboard.

“Believe me, I have nothing but respect for them—” George followed his lead, lying down on his bed as well “—and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a single bloke. I’m allowed to look. Couldn’t help but notice you paying your respects earlier. What’s your excuse?”

“I suppose I was rather surprised is all. She was fit before—”

“Was she?” George questioned, giving Fred a cheeky grin.

“I mean—” Fred stuttered over his words “—yeah, a bit.”

“But now she’s more your type?”

“I’m not answering that.” Fred rolled over on his side, facing away from his twin.

“Oh, come on Freddie. I’m a simple question.”

“No, it isn’t. Not when you’re leading me on – trying to weasel a specific answer out of me,” accused Fred. The whole conversation was like watching two trains headed towards each other on the same track. He could see the inevitable ending from a mile away but could still do nothing to stop it.

“Me? Weasel? Never. I’m just curious as to whether Hermione’s new shapely form has you wishing you’d asked her to the ball, instead of Angelina. That’s—”

“George, stop it.”

“—all. I’m sure now that she’s all filled out, she’d make a more than suitable girlfriend. The tits and ass would surely make up for her annoying bookish—”

“Oi! You’re my brother but say shit like that again and I’ll give the thrashing you deserve. You hear me?—” Fred turned over, glaring daggers at his brother in the bed beside him “—‘Mione’s got more to offer than just her body and in case you haven’t noticed, you benefit quite a lot from her annoying bookish personality. So just shut it.” He marked his words with a final sneer before turning back over and facing the door.

“Hmm, you’re right brother. My apologies.”

Fred didn’t need to see the smug expression on George’s face to know that he’d played right into his twin’s hands. He shouldn’t have let George’s goading get to him. He should have known that George was only saying those things to get him to slip up and admit something. George liked to play on Fred’s short temper. Always did. Staring hard at the dull dark wood grain of the bedroom door and the ornate trim that surrounded it, he wished more than anything he was in the comfort of their brightly colored bedroom back at the Burrow. At least there he could storm out, take his broom, and fly until he cooled down. But here, in the dingy, dark, confines of Grimmauld Place, he was trapped with his annoyingly perceptive twin one side of the door, and Hermione Granger on the other.

    Hermione took in the sight of her shared bedroom in Grimmauld Place with perplexed curiosity. The ancestral Black home was unlike any other wizarding home she’d ever seen. Albeit she’d only ever been in one wizarding home before – the Burrow – and that, she was told, wasn’t necessarily “normal” as far as wizarding homes went. But still, the rich, dark atmosphere of Grimmauld Place and the things that inhabited it spoke depths on the history, ideals, and opulence of the Black family. She ran her fingers along the intricate carvings on the sleigh that was now temporarily hers.

“So, this is yours and my room! I made sure to get a bedspread you’d like and did my best to clean up. You wouldn’t believe the amount we spend cleaning these days, and the place still looks dirty all the time!” Ginny threw her hands up into the air in exasperation, walking over to her side of the room and kicking a dirty jumper into the corner.

“How long have you been here?” asked Hermione, sitting down on her trunk, which had already been placed at the foot of her bed.

“Pretty much since the day summer started. It’s been a real drag. I hoped to do a bit of flying this summer, you know, play a bit of quidditch. But this place only has a small garden and because we’re in the middle of muggle England, we can’t go too far in case we’re seen. I’m so glad you’re here now though, it’s nice to have another girl around besides mum, and Tonks on the occasion,” said Ginny, collapsing onto her bed and pulling a licorice wand out of her pocket. She took a large bite off the end of it and chewed it aggressively.

“Who’s Tonks?”

Ginny gasped dramatically, sitting up and turning over to face Hermione on her stomach. “She’s an Order member – auror for the ministry. She’s so cool. She’s a metamorphmagus so she can change her appearance to whatever she wants and she’s young so she’s always turning her hair purple or blue. Plus, she listens to the coolest music and wears the coolest clothes.”

“Sounds…cool,” said Hermione, flatly, brain still hazy from her interactions with Fred earlier. She certainly never expected to spend so much time with him from the moment she walked through the front door. Seeing and speaking with Sirius had been a nice distraction, but there was still how Fred made her tea perfectly and the way he quite literally pulled her from the room. To top it all off, he presented her with an itemized list of his invention notes. Was he purposefully trying to drive her crazy? He must be, she thought in exasperation, considering he looked even more handsome now than the last time she’d seen him. While his long hair was gone, she found the new professional cut to be even more handsome, despite her preferences. Then of course, there was the ridiculously sexy way in which his t-shirt hung on his biceps. Merlin help her, maybe she should have just gone to France with her parents.

“Hermione!” Ginny’s voice brought Hermione out of her mental fog. Looking up, she found Ginny giving her a curious look.

“What’s got you all lost in thought?” Ginny asked mischievously. “Is it a boy?”

“Why would you possibly think it’s a boy, Ginevra?” scoffed Hermione in indignation.

“Because you had this big dopey look on your face like you were fantasizing about Professor Lockhart in second year.”

“I did not!” Hermione picked up a pillow and threw it at Ginny who artfully dodged it.

“Yes, you did! Now, who could it be…not Viktor surely, since you dumped him royally at the end of the year.” She tapped the end of her chin in thought.

“I did not dump him. We parted ways amicably.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say. Do I know the person?”

Hermione nodded weakly, unsure as to why she was playing along.

“Neville?”

Hermione shook her head no.

“Harry? It’s alright if you do, seeing as I’m going with Corner now.”

Hermione shook her head again, this time more aggressively.

Ginny gasped, “It’s not one of my brothers, is it?”

Hermione hesitated for a second too long, resulting in a gleeful exclamation from Ginny.

“Well let’s see. It’s not Bill or Charlie since you’ve only met them once, it can’t be Percy because you do have some taste, Fred’s currently halfway up Angelina’s arse, so that just leaves George and Ron!” Ginny smiled widely, clearly pleased with herself.

“I—” Hermione began but was cut off swiftly by Ginny.

“It’s Ron, isn’t it? I knew it! You know, I’m pretty sure he’s keen on you as well. Wouldn’t shut up about how you should be here while we were clearing the pixies out of the parlor.”

“He wouldn’t?” asked Hermione, caught off guard by Ginny’s offhand comment.

“Oh yeah. I think that’s why mum finally sent you the letter – to shut him up,” said Ginny, taking another bite from her licorice wand.

Hermione bit the inside of her lips and tried to come to terms with the fact that Ron might actually like her now. When had that happened and why hadn’t it been before she’d developed the biggest crush on one of his older brothers instead?

“I could help get you guys together, if you want.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione looked up at Ginny is surprise.

“You and Ron, while you’re here I could be like your wingman or something,” Ginny explained further.

“No, I understood what you said. Absolutely not Ginevra. You will not be doing that.”

Ginny held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, suit yourself. No need to pop your top,” said Ginny, tossing the last of the licorice wand in her mouth and standing from her bed. “I’m going to see if there are any leftover biscuits from tea. I’m assuming you’ll want some too?”

Hermione smiled widely at the ginger haired girl, answering enthusiastically, “Yes please. You’re super cool.”

Ginny exited the room, holding up a middle finger at Hermione’s teasing.

Hermione chuckled lightly to herself, standing and opening her trunk. She began to unpack, realizing it was best to get a clear and organized environment if she were to be there for the remainder of the summer. She started with her clothes – taking each piece out carefully and placing them either in the free drawers of the room’s dresser or in the wardrobe next to Ginny’s few blouses and dresses. Her new clothes, while very pretty, were definitely out of her comfort zone. Her usual clothes were so large and relaxed that she practically swam in them and she liked it that way. They were comfortable. But her mother insisted that she was becoming an adult now and so she needed clothes that actually fit her. She was able to save a few of the pieces from her old wardrobe, like her favorite sweatpants, favorite striped sweater, and of course, Fred’s cardigan. But the rest had been sacrificed and replaced by the fitted, tailored pieces her mother picked out for her.

Picking up Fred’s cardigan from the bottom of her neatly packed clothes, she brought it to her face and marveled in the fact that it had somehow kept his scent. It shouldn’t still, after all those months, but it did. Feeling a chill run down her spine, Hermione glanced out the window and noticed the sky had turned a dark grey and the trees on the street leaned heavily in the wind. Great – a summer cold front followed by a storm. England sure did have fantastic weather, thought Hermione sarcastically. Without even thinking, she slipped her arms into the cardigan and wrapped it tightly around herself before returning to her unpacking. Ginny reappeared a short while later, bringing a plate piled high with an assortment of biscuits, and what looked to be two pumpkin pasties. Hermione grabbed a pasty, nibbling on it as she organized her books on the spare table in the corner. She finished her unpacking and was chatting idly with Ginny about Michael Corner when Ron knocked and entered.

“Well, it must be serious, Gin, if Dumbledore is getting the Order back together,” said Ron, shoving a biscuit into his mouth.

“Of course, it’s serious, Ron, You-Know-Who is back. Harry said so himself and he’d have no reason to lie about it,” said Ginny.

“I wish the rest of the ministry agreed with you on that. Have you seen the vile things they’ve been saying about Harry and Dumbledore in the Prophet, Hermione?” asked Ron.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, yes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say You-Know-Who already had his fingers buried deep in the ministry and the prophet, but I don’t know how true that is,” she said, crumbling a biscuit in her hand.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ginny curiously.

“Well, it’s quite clever what they’re doing. Isn’t it? Instead of coming right out and saying that Harry and Dumbledore are lying, they’re giving the readers subtle reasons as to why they should believe them to not be credible. A small jab here, a snide remark there. Throw in a few jokes and next thing you know, everyone’s laughing at dramatic, fame-seeking Harry Potter and his crazy aging mental mentor Albus Dumbledore.” The cookie was officially powder in her hands as she finished her theory. It had been circulating in her brain since the first time she’d seen signs of turning in the Prophet. It was another reason she felt so on edge these days.

“Dad says it’s Fudge. Says he doesn’t want to accept that You-Know-Who is back,” sneered Ron. He rolled his eyes and rubbed at the freckles on the side of his nose. Hermione stared at the spattering of brown for a moment, trying to find the same thrill in them as she did Fred’s, but only came back with disappointment.

“Fudge is an idiot. Everyone knows that,” spat Ginny, rolling her eyes as well.

“Who’s an idiot?” a voice popped in, the door opening slightly. George’s head came into view, peaking into the room from the neck up.

“Surely not us,” said Fred, his head popping up now too, just below George’s.

“Don’t rule yourself out so quickly,” said Hermione, sharing an impish smile with Ginny.

“Can you believe the cheek on this one?” asked George, striding fully into the room, followed closely by Fred.

“We just came to say order members started arriving five minutes ago,” said Fred, eyes flick back and forth from the hallway through the door and Hermione’s torso. Glancing down, Hermione saw his cardigan and wondered if he might finally want it back now. Was it inappropriate to wear another girl’s boyfriend’s cardigan?

“What?!” Ginny leapt to her feet, nearly knocking the plate of biscuits onto the ground. Luckily, Ron caught them before they could slip off the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Ron, standing as well, and placing the plate of biscuits onto the table before darting out of the room behind Ginny.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” said Hermione, looking between Fred and George.

“We’re not allowed to attend the meetings, you see—” explained Fred.

“—so, we have to take what we can get from watching members arrive and listening to their conversations as they walk into the kitchen,” continued George.

“We usually watch from the top of the stairs and sometimes mum forgets to cast a silencing spell and we can use the Extendable Ears to listen in on what they’re saying.” Fred pulled a bundle of fleshy string connected to two life-like ears from his pocket and waved it in her face.

Hermione scrunched her nose, remembering the disgusting items from earlier that afternoon. Exiting her bedroom, she took a seat on the ground near the railing at the end of the hall. The spot looked perfectly over the stairs and the entry hall that she had walked through earlier. Silently they watched as a string of wizards and witches entered Grimmauld Place – some Hermione recognized and some she did not.

“Blimey, it’s Dumbledore,” said Ron.

Hermione turned her attention away from a vibrantly pink-haired woman, who she assumed was Tonks, to the door where, sure enough, Dumbledore stood. “Why is that a surprise? Isn’t he the founder of the Order?” she asked.

“Well he doesn’t show up to a lot of these meetings. He’s a busy man, Dumbledore. Only pops in when he has something really important to share,” said George, looking down at the silver-haired headmaster in contemplation.

“Albus, we weren’t expected you—” Mrs. Weasley greeted the elder wizard in surprise “—will you be staying for dinner?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid Molly. No, I heard you’ve invited Miss Granger here for the rest of the summer. Is that correct?”

Ron, Ginny, and the twins turned their heads to stare at Hermione curiously. Hermione shrugged, just as surprised as they were to hear their headmaster speak of her.

“Yes, yes. She arrived this afternoon. I hope that was alright. I know Ron really wanted a friend here with him and Harry might—”

“It’s okay Molly. You’ve done nothing wrong. I was actually just hoping to speak with her and Ronald before the meeting began. If that’s alright?”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other for a moment. She wasn’t sure if Ron had come to same conclusion as her, but Hermione was almost one hundred percent positive that if Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak to them both, then it was probably about Harry.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Weasley answered sweetly, before titled her head up and calling out to Ron and Hermione.

“What do they want with you two?” asked Fred, frowning slightly.

“Can’t be too certain, but it’s most likely about Harry,” said Ron with a shrug of his shoulders.

“It always is,” replied Fred and George in unison.

Ron and Hermione made their way down the stairs slowly, until finally they were standing in front of their headmaster. No matter how many times she spoke with the man, Hermione always found him incredibly intimidating. It never lessened.

“Ah! Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore greeted them politely.

“Professor,” Hermione greeted him with a small nod.

“I was hoping I could have a quick word with the two of you. Perhaps, in the parlor?” Professor Dumbledore turned to Mrs. Weasley with questioning eyes.

“Yes, yes. It’s all cleared out now,” said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them to the parlor on the second floor before leaving them alone with their ever-intimidating headmaster.

They watched as the man circled the small space, inspecting the tapestries and portraits on the walls as his vibrantly purple robes dragged on the stained, emerald carpet. Hermione was beginning to feel as though she were responsible for starting the conversation, when Professor Dumbledore finally seated himself on a settee, so moth-eaten and threadbare, the springs were starting to peak through. He motioned for the two of them to take seats as well in the two parlor chairs opposite him.

“Now, I’m sure both of you are wondering why I wanted to meet with you.”

They nodded.

“Yes, well, as both of you are here now and will no doubt soon know most of the Order’s business, I thought it important to have a chat with you,” explained Professor Dumbledore with a small smile. He always smiled liked that, thought Hermione, like he was laughing at some small joke only he knew.

“We won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, besides Harry, we’re the only people we talk to during the summer,” promised Ron.

“Ah – well that’s exactly who you cannot speak to about this,” said Professor Dumbledore, adjusting his half-moon spectacles.

“I’m not sure I quite understand, Professor,” said Hermione, pursing her lips.

“I’d be impressed if you did, Miss Granger. Even with your intellect, it is hard to understand something that has not been explained fully. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the ministry and the Prophet are not acknowledging Voldemort’s return—” Ron flinched at their headmaster’s use of You-Know-Who’s name, but Professor Dumbledore continued unfazed “—Fudge is growing increasingly paranoid as the days go by, I’m afraid. I would like to ask that neither of you tell Harry about where you are, and what you’re doing this summer until you can speak to him in person. It’s exceedingly important that you do not write to him about any of this. Harry has been through a lot in the last few months; best to give him less to think about for a while.”

“You’re not worried about the ministry intercepting our letters, are you Professor?” asked Hermione, realizing the severity of the situation if it were true.

“Ah, you see Miss Granger, that is exactly what I’m worried about. So, for now I ask that you keep your correspondence with Harry brief and to a minimum. Can you do that for me?”

“Absolutely Professor,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, of course Professor,” agreed Ron.

Professor Dumbledore released them after that, disappearing into the kitchen to the dining room where she was told the meetings were held. The rest of the evening was a blur, Hermione’s mind a clouded, foggy mess as she processed what Dumbledore had told them. For as little as he said, the implications behind his words spoke volumes. Fudge wasn’t just denying You-Know-Who’s return, he was growing paranoid. A paranoid, denial-ridden minister in a time such as this was a dangerous thing, thought Hermione.

“You look knackered ‘Mione. Perhaps you should go to bed?” a voice whispered lightly from beside her as she sat in the nearly empty dining room, staring into the roaring fire. Hermione looked up, vision slightly blurred and dotted with floating white orbs from staring too long into the flames. She blinked a few times, seeing Fred’s vision come into view. A small yawn escaped her lips and she nodded, looking around her to see what remained of the Order. Ginny and Ron laughed heartily as Tonks morphed her appearance into all kinds of silly things – she’d been doing it all night and yet the novelty of it had not worn off. Professor Lupin and Sirius were telling some story from their younger years to an entranced George, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen cleaning up.

“Come on, I’ll walk you,” said Fred, standing and offering his hand to Hermione. Hermione hesitated for a second, looking at the lines of Fred’s long fingers, before nodding and taking his hand. She supposed she was tired. More tired than she’d been in a while. Perhaps she might be able to get some actual sleep. The nightmares had been getting worse. Unsurprisingly, they’d picked back up the moment she’d started spending less time with the twins and more time worrying about Harry’s ability to survive during the tournament. Then, after the final task, after seeing Cedric’s lifeless body sprawled out on the grass as his father cried, they’d only gotten worse. The time spent at home only amplified it as well. It had been almost a month since she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. But, with the amount of time spent with the twins that day, she was almost positive that sleep would come easily and peacefully once again.

Hermione and Fred walked up the stairs to the third floor where their rooms resided. She was grateful that he did not apparate them straight up like last time and almost voiced as much. But instead, she opted to stay silent, allowing the soft, comfortable silence between them to last a little longer. This was nice. It almost felt like old times – when things weren’t so complicated and her and Fred were simply friends. When they reached her bedroom door, Hermione faltered, unsure as to why her feet kept her in place. She turned, looking up at Fred in the dimly, candle-lit hallway. The warm light of the candles turned his red hair to flames itself, igniting it in fiery reds and yellows. Harsh shadows streaked across his face, as the flicker of the flames passed his hazel eyes periodically. The goodnight she’d meant to give him, stuck in her throat and instead all she could do was stare up at him and marvel in how handsome he was.

“Thank you, Fred,” she finally managed to force the words from her drying throat.

Fred smiled down at her, reaching up and tucking one of her curls behind her ear. His touch lingered, the rough pads of his fingertips grazing the side of her cheek and sending shivers down Hermione’s body. She swallowed thickly.

“You know—” Fred began, pausing as if he was reconsidering his words “—you never told me how you can always tell me and George apart. Mum and dad almost never get it right and even our friends can’t do it. Merlin, even Angelina sometime—” He stopped, a pained expression on his face that gave Hermione’s heart a little jolt. How horrible it must be for everyone to always be confusing you for someone else. She wondered, for a moment, if he felt much like Ron did – forgotten, living in a shadow. Reaching up without thinking, she placed a hand to his cheek. Fred stiffened at her touch momentarily, but then relaxed into it, leaning his face ever so slightly into the palm of her hand.

“Well, it’s quite obvious really. Your eyes sit straight across, while George’s left one tilts down ever so slightly—” her fingers traced under his eyes lightly “—then of course there’s the line of your nose. Yours is straighter and you have a freckle, here, on the tip that George does not. And one here as well, above your top lip that George doesn’t have either.” Her fingers brushed across each of the freckles, her breath hitching when she got close to his mouth. Fred caught her wrist in his hand, holding it as he stared down at her with an inscrutable expression. Memories of his kiss all those months ago, flashed into the forefront of her mind and how she’d used that kiss to measure every kiss with Viktor. Nothing compared. Often times she’d lie awake at night and wonder if she’d be comparing every kiss for the rest of her life to the one she shared with Fred.

“You noticed all of that?”

“Of course,” breathed Hermione, pulse quickening.

“Why?”

This was all too much. She was getting too worked up over something she couldn’t have. She needed to get ahold of herself. Pulling from Fred’s grasp, she cleared her throat and looked down at Fred’s cardigan she still wore.

“I suppose, I really should give this back to you,” she said, hoping to break the spell between them.

And it did. Fred took a step back, creating space and looking down at the cardigan as well. He shook his head with a small smile before answering, “You’ve had it long enough now. I’d say it’s as good as yours.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione.

“Of course. I have loads. Looks better on your anyways—” Fred smirked, taking another step back “—Goodnight Hermione.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione mumbled, watching as Fred disappeared down the hallways and into his own room.

Hermione slipped into her bedroom and quickly changed into her pajamas, before sliding into the soft sheets of her bed. While they held a slightly musty smell from disuse, she could tell they were expensive. Sleep took her quickly. Visions of snow, lights, smart dress robes, and elegant dresses floating through her head as she dreamed. Good dreams.

But it was only a mere few hours later, in the early moments of the morning, before the sun even rose, that she sat up straight – heart beating wildly and brow sweat-slicked. With labored movements, she quietly slid out of bed, careful not to wake Ginny. She grabbed Fred’s cardigan and the pile of notes he’d made her before tiptoeing out of the room in search for a place to work. Surely in a house this size, they were bound to have a library.

Chapter 15>>>

Taglist: 

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@sjh-07-10

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#fremione #fred weasley #fred x hermione #hermione granger #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #romance #mutual pining

[ellie-writes-things]

The Lemon Tree (memoir)

As a child of about six or seven years in age, my father owned a little red piglet.

Though mis abuelos had six of their nine children in San Jose, California, they moved them all back to Ajijic, a city in Jalisco, Mexico where mi abuelo owned land and livestock, even a mercado, as I’m reminded periodically when my father and I discuss family. Abuelo trained Arabian horses to dance in the shows there, and there was an instance where he beat my father when he lost one of his prized stallions for the day.

But, my father had a small pet pig.

He has told me this story several times, over the course of my life. I was about fifteen years old when he first mentioned this piglet. We sat in an IHOP, surrounded by his replacement family, my step-mother to his left hand my new siblings around me like bookends made of flesh. I fidgeted in my combat boots and fishnets--a decision made in haste to spite my father--my pale face flushed under the layers of foundation I wore, aware of my otherness compared to the vibrancy of the newly formed clan. The smattering of Spanish and English blended to buzz in my ears, and I felt dizzy.

The first Spanish phrase I remember learning from my father is, “Enrique es mi héroe.”

Despite the ritual retelling of the tale, I never remember how he managed to acquire this tiny ungulate. He never told me what he named it, either

He cared for this pig. He massaged it, bathed it, and fed it corn and cornmeal. After some time passed, the pig grew to a considerable girth and adored my father.

He has told me this story a dozen times.

On his way home from school, my father walked past the town’s butcher, where his gaze caught on an animal skin on display in the window. The skin reminded him of his pet at home, but he did not think much of the coincidence at the time and continued to walk along the cobblestone and dirt roads with the sun beating down on his diminutiveness.

He arrived at the large double doors of his family’s house as the sun dipped low on the horizon, drifting down into the earth. His pig did not greet him in the foyer, and he searched out his mother, who he found in the kitchen. She busied herself with ordering my two aunts, who were old enough to help with household chores, on how to serve dinner. He asked his mother, in Spanish, if she knew where his pig went.

Abuelita only rummaged her hands in her pockets and produced, for a child, a rather significant sum of money and handed it to him. She said something to him to the effect of, “This is your cut.”

Every time my father tells me this story, he says that the only thing he asked her is if he could get another pig. And he laughs.

My father, a man named Enrique--though most of the world knows him by the Anglicized Henry--works at Santa Clara University as the Head of Fire Safety. My parents, at this point, have been divorced longer than they were ever together, and I am the only lasting product of that union. Even the house they purchased together in Santa Clara has since been gutted and remade in the image of my father’s current family. I have scant memories of my parents married, and the few I have are tinged with the haze of sentiment or bitterness. I talk to my father once, maybe, a month by phone. We text more often. Once every couple of weeks, to make sure the other is alive, though I rarely initiate a conversation. If we were to stand side by side, we have the same eyes, the same features, the same unfortunate Roman nose that, while attractive on a man, stands out and appears garish on a woman.

I could be his doppelganger.

We both enjoy trivia and telling bad jokes, and, at times, delight in others’, and our own, misfortune. We’ve also both been emotionally absent in nearly all of our relationships. “Almost no one in our family has ever been married less than three times,” my father jokes, often, slapping me on the back afterward. I point out his older brother who has been married for over 50 years and my dad shrugs.

I visited my father recently with my partner and drove the three-hour trip for a visit that lasted two hours. We sat on the loveseat, Rory and I, backs straight and shoulders stiff as I spoke, my voice high and thready and the sound of it reverberated through the room. My dad nodded along and Rory left for the restroom, abandoning the two of us in each other’s company. My father inquired about my schedule, and I remarked I recounted my work and school schedule. He nodded again, humming along to the tune my words set. I sighed and asked how work was going for him. Last we spoke he confessed to being fearful of getting fired. He assured me things smoothed over. I told him he was just paranoid. He mentioned that my step sister and her family finally moved out of his spare bedroom. I rolled my eyes and exhaled through my nose, the force of it tickling my upper lip. He grew quiet and settled back down into the sofa. By the time Rory returned, my father and I looked at the television screen, where one of his old westerns played. Something with John Wayne, I think. I crane my head to gaze at the photos that lined the walls, out of habit more than sentiment. An old picture of my step-sister, Adriana, the one closest in age to me and who recently vacated my father’s home, at her quinceanera; a couple photos of Esmeralda, my stepmother, from her younger years; their wedding photo, just the two of them; two family portraits from the same day; and my photos are conspicuously absent among the throng of photos that detailed their lives together.

I did go snooping, one time, a few years back, and found my senior portraits jammed behind the printer stand, a thick layer of dust covering the frame.

I never asked about it.

The house, otherwise, still remains the same as it ever was. White walls, muted colors, blinds without curtains, and the laminate flooring that replaced my mother’s polished planks. The living room is neat, tidy. Not too different from how it appears in my old family albums, but a world apart.

My father’s shoes laid against the leg of the coffee table, propped at an angle, and flecks of dried mud dotted the sides of the rubber soles. His glass of water dripped condensation onto the surface of the table on which it rested, creating a ring on the glass. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, and whispered, after he glanced down the hall towards the master bedroom, “Are you guys doing okay with money?”

“God, yes, Dad. We’re fine,” I bit out. Rory nodded next to me and I struggled to keep from sniping at him as well.

He dug through his pocket and pulled his wallet out. He told Rory to move closer and shoved a pile of gift cards into Rory’s palm. He stammered a thank you to my father, the tips of his ears glowing. I crossed my arms and said, “Ditto.” Rory leaned into me, nudging my arm with his elbow and I shrugged away from him and scooted closer to the opposite edge of the love seat, clutching my purse on my lap.

In the bedroom, I heard my niece, Esmeralda’s granddaughter, move around, the bedsprings creaking and the sound of the sheets rustling echoing down the small hallway as she roused herself from sleep. Sixteen years old, she is the daughter of my oldest step-sister, but she resides full time in my father’s house while my sister lives somewhere in Fremont with her younger two children. There, too, are photos of my niece that line the wall opposite of the family portraits. Soccer, softball, school portraits that show the same girl in ascending ages grinning, wide and toothy, at the camera.

Smaller photos, in paper frames, are lower than that from various trips to San Francisco. The type of photos you get after you take the Red and White tours at the Embarcadero out into the Bay and listen to someone drone into a headset, listing the various sites of historical interest and how many people died building the Golden Gate Bridge, that is discarded immediately after boarding the boat because you’ve heard the guided tour enough times to recite it word for word.

I would sit and gaze out the window, the skyline in constant view and wondered what it would have been like for the people who first arrived to San Francisco, to see the city for the first time as they stood above on the deck of the ship, with salt and mist lashing at their cheeks, leaving them inflamed.

Before his new family arrived, and before my father trusted me enough to stick by his side on a trip to San Francisco, we fed the ducks together at whatever park we decided to go to for the day. One--whose name I cannot for the life of me recall--we frequented more than the others. There was a large man-made pond and mallards would flock to it in droves, likely to the dismay of the property owners nearby. My father ignored the signs that I now know tell passersby to desist from giving the ducks bread, and we would go to the nearest 7-11 and he purchased a discounted loaf of Wonderbread and gave me carte blanche to do as I willed with it. This usually involved me eating one slice and then ripping the remaining slices to shreds, laughing when the ducks surrounded me.

One instance stands out more than the others, perhaps because it was the last time we did this, but I cannot know with any certainty as the memory of a five-year-old is fickle: The clouds lay low above us, and the breeze carried a taste of warmth in it. My father’s mustache and beard tried to make another appearance at this time, as they did periodically through my childhood, and he wore his large aviator glasses for his near-sightedness that shielded the eyes that were like my own. We walked along the side of the pond, my pink-clad legs burning as I kept up with his strides. My father picked me up and swung me around over the water. My heart pounded within my ribs and I begged him to put me down, waiting for his grip to slip and struggling to hold onto the sleeves of his windbreaker with my hands that became slick with sweat. He laughed and told me that he saved me when velocity and his arms brought me back into his body. My lungs hurt and I felt like I swallowed sand, but I wrapped my limbs around his torso and felt his hand rub circles along my back, the fingers pressing into the knobs of my vertebrae.

When his then-girlfriend-now-wife moved in with him, we ceased doing anything alone together. Any trip after that needed to involve her children as well, as they all needed to be treated the same. Occasionally, we made it to San Francisco alone. Somewhere, long since lost, there are photos of my father and I, at various ages, much like the photos that hang on his wall today. As we both grew older, along with Esmeralda’s children, the time we had shortened and, eventually, it ceased. I still came over to his house for a while still, but Adriana was involved as well. Sometimes Vicente, the youngest.

There was a night, when I was seven or eight, and we just finished my father’s weekly ritual of scratching off lotto tickets. I won five dollars out of the fifteen or so cards he purchased. The house was still being remodeled, so the floor was scuffed and there were gaps between the rooms in the floor, showing the concrete interior. Outlets were exposed, and I felt the grit of construction dust under my nails every time I went over to his house. I kept my sneakers on, anxious that I would step on a nail, or get a splinter, and I stayed to the one area of the floor that appeared the cleanest. I wanted to go to the movies that night, but no one else wanted to go, or they didn’t want to see the movie I wanted to watch, so we stayed in for the evening and indulged in my father’s whim. At the end of the night, before my dad took me home, he went to hug me but I shrank away and crossed my arms in front of my chest, and wrapped them around my ribs. My father shrugged and hugged Adriana. He turned to me and said, “See, Adri loves me? Why don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything else to him, I just sat down in the front passenger seat in his Honda and waited for him to take me home while I bit the insides of my cheeks, the tang of copper weighing my tongue down.

As a child, I was fraught with emotions that felt too large to be housed in my body that scratched and tore at my flesh and crawled out of my mouth and eyes like serpents slithering down my face and form. More than once, my mother scolded my father for saying the wrong thing to set me off and would spend an hour or so consoling me by rubbing my shoulders as they trembled and shook. He eventually started paying me to tell my mother we had fun.

I took the money and told my mother the truth anyway.

My dad laughs at something on the screen: a baby food commercial. He turns to smile at me, and my face twitches in response, baring my teeth when my lips pull back.

“You know,” he began, “When you were that small,” he cupped his hands in front of his body, “I used to take naps with you just laying on my chest like this.” He leaned against the sofa and patted the center of his torso a couple times. My stomach roiled, the acid sloshing against the lining of the walls, and I nodded, shooting a glance to my partner. His lips twitched. I let out a puff of air. I itched, my clothes tight and bunched around my body. I tugged at them to relieve some pressure, and crossed and uncrossed my legs several times. My hair felt greasy despite washing it that morning and my skin felt heavy. I ran my fingers through my locks to smooth them down and I asked my father if Esmeralda felt alright and we could always leave if need be. He shook his head and stated that she’s just taking her time and last night was rough for her. I hummed and leaned forward, my legs bounced on the balls of my feet as my breath came in several deep inhalations. Across from me, my father sat back, his fingers tapping the beat of an unheard tune. He coughed, every so often. Rhythmic wheezes escaped his mouth as he cleared his throat, while my own tickled in response and I swallowed against the spasms of my diaphragm. The noise that emanated from the television hung in the air, filling the room and clogging my ears with static.

My father refuses to install an air conditioner in the house and chooses to keep the doors open and instead lets the aroma of grass waft through the home, sticking to the walls and furniture.

I swallowed a lungful of summer-perfume air and the band that knotted itself around my esophagus shifted.

Rory moved his hand to my knee and rested it there: a hot weight that clamped onto my leg that I tried to extricate myself from, but then patted his hand with mine for a couple strokes before disentangling completely. I flashed him a smile, a grimace, and scooted a bit further away, the fabric of the loveseat grabbing my pantlegs. The sound grated on my ears and I winced at the racket my body made in the echo chamber living room. Rory said something to my father, and he responded, voice pressed and rushed. He asked questions about work to Rory, asking him if he’s thought about doing IT consulting for the university he works for. I stifled the groan that bubbled up in my throat, and told my dad that Rory’s family lives in the exurbs of Placer County, so it would be hard to move with his family life and my school. He said that he knew, but it was a thought. Business is bigger in the Silicon Valley. I told him my life is in Sacramento.

I can’t keep uprooting myself.

Before Rory and I left, we said our goodbyes to the inhabitants of my father’s house, and he walked with us outside. He shook Rory’s hand, and I let him press me in an embrace. I squirm, my skin prickling while I hold my breath. He chuckled and asked me, “I guess I won’t see you for another year then?”

I shrugged away from him and ducked my head. “We’ll try to get back down here sooner. We’ve just been busy. You know how it is.” I scuffed my shoes against the sidewalk.

He stared at me for a long time, the lines of his face more prominent outside under the sunlight. The light glints off the thinning, greying hair that has started to make an appearance. His eyes followed the contours of my face, and I brought my hand up to smooth back my hair again, my fingers catching on the knots there. I swallowed and laughed and turned to Rory to say we better get going so we don’t get caught in traffic.

Rory turns on the engine to let the air conditioner soothe the balmy interior of the vehicle. The air is thick and clogs my lungs. I turn my gaze out the window as Rory puts the car in drive and creeps away from the sidewalk. The sun washes the landscape out and reflects off the stuccoed exterior of the house. My father forms a stark silhouette against the brightness of his abode. An empty place exists in the front lawn, an indentation with little growth in the otherwise verdant lawn, where the lemon tree he planted to celebrate my birth once stood, its roots growing and coiling around each other for years. Chopped down a couple summers ago because of an infection it got that he didn’t want to spread to the other plants. The hedges that line the house and the roses my stepmother planted years ago bloom and rustle in the breeze, their leaves catch the sunlight as their branches wave along to those who visit, but never step inside.

#original work #ellie writes #original content

[dumturtle]

new year, old habits → quirtle

TAGGING → Quincy Davis (@quincydavis) & Turtle Dum

TIMELINE → New Year’s Eve 2020

SETTING →  A Wonderland Party

SUMMARY → Quincy tags along with Sydney to Wonderland for the new year, and as the countdown to midnight winds down, finds herself spending time with an old flame...

Turtle tended to view New Year's Eve differently than most of his friends did. It was a year's birthday, but just like birthdays, he didn't feel the need to view it in such a strict box. A new year could begin whenever he made a conscious decision to reset some part of his life, as far as he was concerned, but his views didn't stop him from enjoying celebrating in the more traditional ways. He'd been particularly glad when he'd heard that Quincy would be joining them for the holiday as Sydney's guest; he didn't see how he could possibly end up letting the calendar force him into starting something new when he was ringing in the holiday with someone old. She was his favorite presence from his past, though, and as midnight drew nearer, he found himself scooting closer to her on a couch, drink in hand and curiosity on his mind. "You wouldn't have rather spent a night celebrating the new with your potential new beau?" he asked. He hadn't checked with her to see how things had been progressing on that front, but her aura had been clouded when she'd spoken of it before, and even after she'd broken his heart all those years ago, he'd never been able to stop himself from worrying for her peace of mind.

Quincy was the type of person who loved any excuse to dress up, drink something bubbly, and spend time with friends and family, and so of course New Year's was one of her favorite holidays. Sure, Halloween had fun opportunities for fun, sexy costumes, and Christmas meant lots of presents, but New Year's represented a fresh start, which was something people always needed, Quincy's best friend included. Sydney had been going through a draining, emotional year which had come to a particularly turbulent climax, and so when the opportunity to spend part of the holidays with Sydney arose, Quincy took it without a second thought. She loved her family but there was something extra fun about getting to spend the day with her best girl and get herself pretty so that she could get compliments from more people than just her father. Like Turtle, for example. If she could get a compliment from her ex turned friend who was just a little too pretty for his own good, that would be ideal. As he joined her on the couch, she smiled on instinct, but that smile froze at his question. She chewed on her lip for a second and then shook her head. "Nope! New Year's is kind of a big one for me, I'd rather spend it with two of my favorite people," she smiled, reaching out and touching his knee at the word 'favorite' so he'd know she meant him. Touching him was a bad idea though. Turtle was already needlessly hot, but with how much Quincy had been needing physical intimacy lately, breaking the touch barrier was enough to make her pull back her hand and sit on it. "And besides, he's nice and it's been fun, but not seeing him during this break made me realize that... well, if I'm being honest with myself, I might have been letting my desire to rip the band-aid off and start dating again, and my hormones, make the bulk of my dating decisions for me," Quincy admitted with a laugh, taking a sip of her champagne to cover up the fact that she was embarrassed by oversharing.

Turtle hummed thoughtfully under his breath at Quincy's words; it was a familiar tune, one that had developed over the years and that often came to him when he wasn't sure what to say about a specific topic. It had never really cleared his head before; it simply let him pause, instead of letting himself become confused by lingering too long on a topic. Quincy's love life had never been a great one for him anyway. He hadn't yet found someone else that made him feel the same kind of completeness he felt when he was here in Wonderland, and he'd known the whole time she was with Emmett that the way they fit together wasn't harmonious. It was too soon, though, to know if he should agree with her assessment of Khalid, or if that was just a sliver of past selfishness snaking its way into his present. "Absence didn't make the heart grow fonder," Turtle finally concluded, sensing Quincy didn't want eyes on her as she talked about it, so letting his eyes follow the bubbles rising in her champagne flute instead. "Some people are just meant to be the tea you enjoy at a party, some are meant to be the cup you keep using your whole life," Turtle shrugged, not judging her in the slightest for chasing that feeling. It wasn't as if he hadn't done the same thing before himself. He waved his hand towards an upside down clock in the corner, its hands rapidly approaching new years. "A new start comes for me whenever I want it, but for those of you who subscribe to the calendar... your fresh start comes in just a few minutes, he told her, raising his own champagne glass towards her to clink in a toast. "Maybe that's the sound of a reset for me," he proposed, letting his glass tap against hers again. He didn't actually want to start over just yet, but he did like the idea of maybe seeing Quincy smile f he said the right thing. "A new chapter beginning with a favorite person of my own, even if I'm getting a slight head start."

Quincy could've hummed along with Turtle's pensive hum, but she didn't. She knew the sound well though, and usually right after he did it, he let loose some morsel of wisdom. It wasn't often Quincy conceded that people were smarter than her, but in all honesty, she probably thought Turtle was the smartest person she'd ever met. She hadn't even realized how much she needed someone to tell her that her wanting to cut Khalid off after only a few months wasn't selfish or crazy until she'd started ranting about her current date-mate to her ex. Which, yes, she did realize was rude of her, but Turtle was more than her ex at this point, right? He was one of her best friends, and he knew her better than just about anybody. If he thought she was being too rash, he'd tell her. But he seemed to agree and she let out a little sigh of relief. "No, no it didn't," she said quietly, swirling her champagne glass. "And I guess sometimes you don't know until you drink for the cup." She looked up to him with a smile on her face, already feeling better and validated about one of her first big decisions in the new year. She was glad she'd tried with Khalid; it meant she was ready to try again, and that she knew what she wanted and what she didn't. Her eyes followed his hand towards the upside down clock and her grin grew wider -- how very Wonderlandian, to have an upside down clock. "To a fresh start," Quincy nodded, clinking her glass against Turtle's. She laughed when he proclaimed he had a new year's start ahead of her own and she swatted his knee with her free hand. "Wait, no, that can't be it! A new year is totes special! You need more of a moment, to really mark a new chapter! If it's not when the clock strikes then it has to be, like, something else!" She paused for a minute and cocked her head to the side before asking, as casually as one possibly could, "Like, I don't know, do you kiss somebody at midnight for the New Year down here? Or is that just an Auradonian thing?"

Turtle had always been introspective, and tonight, he wasn't under any sort of outside influence yet, sans a few sips of champagne. That meant his mind was almost too clear, was vibrating on a frequency he wasn't used to. That frequency couldn't help but make him wonder if perhaps he had any sort of ulterior motive for not wanting Quincy to continue dating Khalid. He didn't think so, though; he simply wanted what was best for her, and the energy coming off of her whenever she talked about him wasn't as bright and vibrant as he knew Quincy could be at her happiest. Still, perhaps a person more normal than him would think they didn't want to see an ex they still cared so deeply for with someone else, particularly someone who seemed to be more of the same. He shrugged, letting his gaze move from the clock to the portrait beside it, a collage of eyes that he always felt like was staring at him. The eyes didn't seem to be boring into him, though, so his assessment of his own motives must be correct. "The first high of the year usually comes with the caterpillar," he told her, wracking his brain for other traditions that he could possibly share with her when her question stopped him in his tracks. "Tweedletown and Wonderland are part of Auradon now," he replied instantly, not sure why the words flowed out of him so readily. They didn't tend to do things the same way here by any stretch of the imagination, but perhaps a kiss to start the new year wasn't the worst of Auradonian offerings. Perhaps it could be cleansing for Quincy, after a failed attempt at a new relationship, to fall into a sort of time warp towards an old one. One that had taken him entirely longer than it had taken her to let go of, granted, but... "Lips, I think, are the second or third most used bodypart for most people, depending on whether or not you enjoy having conversations with your eyes closed. It's only fitting that they get to be one of the first parts to celebrate an ushering in of something new."

Quincy loved feeling smart and like things made sense to her, but she also enjoyed trying to figure out something that didn't follow the type of logic she was taught; for example, the first high of the year coming with the caterpillar was a sentence that left her delightfully grasping as pieces to put together and form a puzzle. Even more simultaneously confusing and happy-making, though, was Turtle's placement of his home as part of Auradon. In the context of the traditions they were talking about, it sent an anticipatory tingle up Quincy's spine to settle on her smile. Not that she automatically assumed Turtle would want to kiss her as the clock struck midnight. Just because it wouldn't be out of sorts for a Wonderlandian to do didn't mean Turtle has to do it, or even that he would with her. For all Quincy knew, he was two seconds from getting up and finding someone else in the festivities to share that moment with, but ever since Turtle had sat down next to her, all other people around them had lowkey vanished to Quincy. Maybe it was just because he always made her feel like she was right to believe in herself, maybe it was because he was insanely hot and she hadn't gotten much in a while, or maybe it was because deep down something about Turtle had always calmed her and excited her at the same time, but either way, kissing him felt like it would be the perfect way to begin a new year. Just one kiss with an old friend and then everything would be off to the best start it could have. "Right? I totes agree. And as someone who talks basically, like, all the time, my lips are more than ready to jump into the new year," Quincy said softly, her eyes looking over at the clock. Midnight was basically any moment now and if she was going to get a kiss, it was now or never. Normally she would be a little more direct and aggressive but taking her history with Turtle into consideration, kissing him out of the blue was lowkey a no-no. She wanted permission before she made her move. "Do you think yours would want to celebrate with mine?" she asked, taking a quick sip of champagne.

Turtle supposed that, if he were the sort of person to follow linear logic, he could see where Quincy's question came from. Typically, though, his thoughts didn't go in a straight line; lines swirled around and around in circles, creating beautiful patterns, instead of going from one spot to the next. Dots didn't connect, they usually collapsed, one on top of the other, until a flat piece of paper in his mind contained a dot that, should it become 3D, would stand exceedingly tall at this point from how often he'd grouped them together instead of drawing lines between them. Still, though; just because his brain wouldn't have gone there on its own didn't mean he didn't like the path that Quincy had proposed for them. Turtle loved the feelings of his brain on a high, and physical contact usually brought a high with it. In fact, back in the day kissing Quincy had felt better than any drug ever had, and he didn't know if their new status quo would allow for such an intense feeling anymore... but he also couldn't picture how it wouldn't still feel nice, all the same. "Wonderland wouldn't be a very welcoming place for you if I said no to that," Turtle told her, draining the last of the champagne from his glass in preparation for bidding 2020 goodbye. He could only choose so many old things to bring into the new year with him, and if the chance to kiss Quincy was traveling to 2021, then he certainly didn't have the space to bring in old, 2020 bubbles as well. He set the glass aside, licking his lips to make sure they weren't dry or cracked from smoking earlier, but all he tasted was sweetness from the champagne. And then, before he had time to think anymore, to wonder one last time if this was a good idea... people were counting, the upside down clock was chiming, and Turtle's hand was cupping Quincy's cheek, then sliding into her hair, as he guided her mouth towards him, ready for the celebration of lips she'd proposed.

It was hard not to cheer when Turtle ended up saying yes -- especially when he easily could've said no, he'd have had every right given their history -- but how happy Quincy was about it made it feel like a big deal, when it sooooooo wasn't. No, it was just exciting that she would be sharing such a nice moment with her sups hot awesome friend, that's all. Her sups hot awesome firne who's fingers across her skin make her cheek feel like it was on fire, and then his hand was in her hair and their mouths were touching and her hand found its way to his chest, clutching onto his shirt. She could hear the cheering around them as midnight came and went but everybody else sounded a million miles away as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, craving closeness as her whole body thrummed with a runaway heartbeat. Her other hand settled on his thigh as her tongue roamed, making itself at home in his mouth and claiming his air for probably far too long before finally pulling away, her face red at how overeager she'd been.

"Um...my lips were well taken care of, so I guess my tongue really wanted to celebrate too. And my hands," Quincy giggled, wondering how to explain herself, but it was hard to think too straight when her brain was still thinking about how good he smelled and how strong he felt under her touch. It was like she'd tripped down a rabbit hole of Turtle -- the only thing to do was fall, and so she blurted out "Does, um, any of the rest of you feel like celebrating with any of the rest of me? Because all of me feels like celebrating with all of you. Somewhere more private?" before she could stop herself. She really didn't expect the first thing that she'd do in 2021 to be shooting her shot with her ex but now here she was, and all she could hope was that no matter what happened next, she hadn't royally messed up their friendship in the new year.

The world held an infinite number of possibilities, some more likely to occur than others. Some much more likely to occur than others. 2020 Turtle hadn't foreseen this sort of thing occurring, couldn't have seen Quincy clutching onto his shirt or sliding her tongue into his mouth or even resting her hand on his thigh... But 2021 Turtle couldn't stop seeing it, couldn't think of anything but, really. His tongue deserved to celebrate, too; his hands wanted to reach out and touch her, or at least to urge her hand to explore more freely. It was a new year, a blank slate, and Wonderland was a place where anything could happen... And even before Quincy's words told him she wanted this to happen, his body was in agreement, wanting it too. "Definitely somewhere more private," Turtle agreed, surprised by how breathless he was already. He gestured towards the eye painting on the wall, the one he'd been inspecting just before midnight; now, he felt like it was watching them, staring at them, maybe even judging him. "The painting's been ruder than usual this year, he doesn't deserve any sort of show," he offered as way of explanation, but it was more than that. He knew that he couldn't stop now; he was like a bottle that had been uncapped, and he needed to be consumed, to be enjoyed before he could go flat. He didn't want this to go to waste, and he didn't want to share it, either. He didn't want prying eyes to make it more than it was, or roaming hands and eyes and everythings to find someplace they fit that wasn't on him. Turtle stood from the couch, thinking to extend his hand to Quincy and guide her off to a private place... then a part of his spirit that he hadn't connected with in some time made him scoop her up in his arms instead, whisking her off towards his room where they could continue this party on their own.

Somehow she hadn't actually expected Turtle to say yes but once he'd agreed to find somewhere more private, it was like Quincy's whole body sprang to life, all at once. All of it except for her brain, anyway, which was trying desperately to reach her and remind her that she had come to this party with Sydney and hadn't seen her in a minute, or that she deserved better than a one-night stand, or that whatever was about to happen could still totes end up messing up their friendship. However, her body was simply too loud as it cheered her on in and drowned out that good sense. After all, Sydney was here with her boyfriend; Quincy would hardly be missed. And as for it being a one-night stand, how could it be when Turtle would be around in her life for much longer than one night? They'd made it through weirder and worse in the past than giving in to how much their bodies wanted each other and come out friends on the other side, they could make it through this. "He really doesn't, especially considering how much of a show it's going to be" she practically purred, not even looking at the painting in question. To be fair, it was an unfair ask for anyone and anything but Turtle to hold her attention right now. The only way a wall could be interesting at all this deep into the unraveling of her deepening want was if Turtle pinned her against one. Her thighs ached to close around him just thinking about it. She was completely prepared to take his hand and follow him into whatever happened next, but she let out a gasp of delight and excitement when he swept her up in his strong, comforting arms to a night in Wonderland that she already knew she'd never forget.

#para #para:quincy #asuquincy #quincydavis #//i'm bad at titles don't @ me lol

[schleierkauz]

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 11

Here it is! Enjoy! Thanks @bluejayfiredancer! I’m gonna go wash my hair!

Chapter 11: Such Beautiful Pictures

Her Ugliness. That had been the title Violante’s subjects gave her when her father, the Adderhead, put her on the throne of Ombra. She truly was not beautiful but these days Ombra’s citizens had other names for her: Violante the Kind. Violante the Brave. Violante the Well-Beloved.

Fenoglio had never written about her, but he often wished he had invented her. What a fantastic character! But just like her father, the Inkweaver had overlooked and underestimated the unhappy, unremarkable girl.

Violante of Ombra was proof that we can invent ourselves.

The morning Orpheus‘ revenge made the Inkweaver and all the others disappear started just like any other. Violante climbed the steep spiral staircase which led from her sleeping chamber to her library to welcome the new day with a book in her hand.

No one was allowed to interrupt her during these early hours, not even Monferrata, the old maid who had been with her since her tenth birthday and who helped her into her clothes every morning, brushed her hair and, with a sullen face, anticipated her every wish.

Monferrata did not understand Violante’s passion for books, but in the past she had sometimes brought her a few from her terrible father’s library. Books had been Violante’s only friends. They had given her words, words for her most secret fears and desires, words that gave her the home she had never known, security and hope, love and friendship.

Violante still felt as though books could understand her better than people could. But they had not taught her to be a better mother. The Black Prince had done that, by allowing Jacopo to travel with the strolling players and bringing her back a son who laughed and dared to be a child. He no longer seemed like a copy of her awful father. For a few months, she and the Prince had even been more than just friends. Barely anyone knew about it, it had been a fleeting love, but the Prince had helped her leave behind the nightmare of her childhood and gave her what she needed to understand Jacopo.

Now she took rides with her son and watched when he practiced his sword skills with the castle guards, but she still visited her books by herself.

The rising sun painted the sky as if someone had scraped it bloody. The light reddened even the white pages of the books and it filled Violante with an unease that later seemed like a premonition of oncoming doom.

Antonio, the librarian who had already cared for the books of her father-in-law, welcomed her, like every morning, with a respectful (if slightly stiff) bow before silently bringing her the book she was currently reading. His hair was gray but his love for the books he cared for gave him the smile of a boy and he opened the book for her exactly where she had closed it the day before.

It was filled with the travelogues of a Venetian merchant who had trekked many thousand miles east and came back with stories of faraway lands and wonders the likes of which had never been seen before. His tales had been illustrated by a Persian illuminator the merchant had met at the court of a sultan. Violante was careful not to mention it in front of Balbulus but she loved the pictures, even though they were very foreign to her.

Just as she was looking up from an impressively realistic portrait of an elephant, she noticed another book lying open on one of the other tables.

That was strange.

Antonio didn’t usually leave books on the tables and certainly not open ones. Violante worried whether the old librarian was getting forgetful. He struggled to climb the ladders to the highest shelves these days, didn’t he?

She approached the table. The cover of the book was made of blackened leather. That was strange as well. The Bluejay bound all her books in wine red leather and as she stepped closer she wondered if Mortimer had wanted to surprise her. Maybe he had dyed the leather such an off-putting color because the book contained dark tales.

On her instruction he decorated the covers of all her books with lavish golden stampings of leaves, flowers or butterflies but the books laid out in front of her was plain. The only exception was a small heart on the front cover. It was surrounded by flames and there was an O stamped into the middle of it, so deeply it looked as if there was a hole torn through the heart.

Usually Violante’s finger couldn’t wait to open a new book but to her own surprise they seemed to hesitate with this one. The pages following the soot black endpapers had definitely been illuminated by Balbulus and Violante immediately realized that she was looking at his best work so far.

She was unfamiliar with the text that was framed by his paintings. It seemed to be one of the folk tales that were popular in this area. But Violante forgot about the words when she recognized the figures Balbulus had adorned the initial at the top of the page with. It was an O – and Mortimer Folchart and his wife Resa looked back at Violante. They both seemed so real, she thought she could hear them breathe. But what shook her even more than the uncanny likeness was the sadness on their faces. The two of them had always been so happy these last few years.

The words following the initial made no mention of the Bluejay or his talented wife. They didn’t seem to have anything to do with the other pictures on the page either. Balbulus was usually very proud that his pictures, as he liked to say, made the words visible.

The initial on the next page was filled with nothing but a few masterfully painted wild flowers. But when Violante reached an R, she found the portrait of Mortimer’s daughter Meggie with her fiancé Doria, just as true-to-life as her father… and just as sad.

She kept turning the pages, faster and faster. The Inkweaver looked at her from a P, the wrinkly cheeks damp with tears. In a P she spotted the only woman in Ombra who loved books even more than she did – Elinor Loredan, alongside her librarian Darius. And there! In an E, Roxane and her daughter Brianna, Violante’s maid and closest confidant! Brianna’s eyes were wide with horror.

Violante recoiled. What had gotten into Balbulus?! She would take away his paints and throw his brushes into the fire!

She spun around when she heard footsteps approaching outside. Hesitant, fearful footsteps. They stopped.

No one bothered Violante in her library, even though they called her Her Kindliness these days. Everyone knew that she had inherited her father’s fiery temper.

The knocking on the door was quiet but insistent. The morning light falling through the windows was still red.

“What?“

Violante pushed down her anger by remembering her father’s foul temper. Nothing motivated the Adderhead’s daughter more than the desire to never be like him.

The girl who stepped through the door was one of the maids. She stared at the books that filled the room as though she expected Violante to throw one of them at her.

Stupid girl.

If anything, she would have thrown her shoe, not one of her beloved books. Violante had to admit that that had happened in the past. Inescapably her father’s daughter.

But Rosetta, that was the maid’s name, feared Violante’s books for a different reason. She was afraid of letters and words because they could be used to curse human beings and livestock. That was what her mother had taught her, at least.

“I-I’m so sorry, Your Highness,“ she stammered. “I know we- we aren’t supposed to bother you here but… It’s so terrible!”

She held up her hands. They were as red as the sky.

“What is that?“ Violante snapped. “Is that blood?“

Rosetta looked at her with the same horror Violante had seen on the painted faces.

“It’s everywhere, Your Highness!“ she stammered. “S-so much blood, everywhere! Even his brushes-“

Rosetta started crying. For a man who had treated her and the other servants with less respect than he’d shown Violante’s horses. But Balbulus’ paintings had explained the world to her. One didn’t have to be literate to understand pictures. They were the words of the poor. And that was why Rosetta shed tears for the Great Balbulus, even though he had always shooed her away with harsh words whenever she had forgotten her duties over his art.

Balbulus was still lying in his own blood when Violante followed the sobbing maid into his chamber. It wasn’t as bright red as he had painted it for his pictures. Death had dyed it a filthy brown and the illuminator was forever still in his stained clothes as if the colors had left him along with his life.

(Next chapter)

#the color of revenge #cornelia funke #ly dont look #inkworld #alright i know we all wanted to hear from dustfinger #but this chapter is still A Lot #like... #okay first of all #every time i think i couldn't stan the prince harder #he goes and Does That #NOT ONLY asking if jacopo needed a father figure and not waiting for an answer #but also having an affair with her mom just long enough to give her therapy??? #*his mom lol #did this man just spent the last peaceful 5 years fixing everyone's problems???? #incredible. iconic. please come cure my depression. #also orpheus.....omg... #i'm not even gonna say anything we can discuss that later i have to go to bed #good night!

[goldenlionimagines]

"you are my new pillow" with hubie pleassee he deserves some netflix and chill for once in his life

yess, Happy Birthday Hubert! He deserves many snuggles today.

Fluff Prompt: “You are my new pillow.”

Word Count: 2,517

 There are moments where you expect to die. You wonder if anyone will care if you do. You realize your life has been meaningless. You never even made it to the Officer’s Academy last year. What a sad and useless existence.

 Those are the thoughts Y/N had while sitting in a closet in Eastags Manor. It was currently being stormed by the Imperial Army. Why they would want that land was obvious. They were on the border of the Kingdom and Empire, as well as being a sturdy stone fortress. If not headed by her Father and Brother, it would have actually been easy to defend.

 That night, they had been drinking while the Imperial forces used a Thunderstorm as cover to get close. The heavy rain served a purpose in their plan. Y/N was hiding, holding a sword she barely knew how to use. 

 She heard the door creak open, and then heavy footsteps. Whoever it was must have known this was someone’s room, and for good reason. It was covered in Black Roses Y/N had grown by herself. Why black? Maybe because of the war. Maybe because she liked them.

 Whoever it was, they were standing in front of the closet. She was trying not to breathe. Maybe they wouldn’t realize she was there. A lost dream, she realized, as the door ripped open. Shit. Of course, with her luck, this was bound to happen, wasn’t it?“Ah, Hubert Von Vestra. What’s an Imperial General like you doing here? I haven’t even cleaned. Do you want some flowers? Maybe some coffee or tea?” She asked nervously. He sighed, seeing the sword in her hands.

 “What is your name?” He asked. “And don’t consider lying. It will get you nowhere.” His voice was pretty intimidating. Yeah, her sword skills were going to get her nowhere with the Imperial General. She placed it on the ground beside her.

 “Y/N Eastags. I don’t have a crest, if that’s what you’re going to ask. Are you going to kill me?” She asked. She didn’t know why she was asking, as she didn’t really care.

 “Your father told us that none of his children had borne a crest. Not yet. I believe your father is attempting to work something out with the Emperor. Neither of us are really taking him seriously, however. This may be the ending of your life, I’m afraid.” He said. “I’m supposed to escort you to the rest of your family, if you’ll accompany me.”

 He held out a hand to her, which she took hesitantly. She had been training that day, and Hubert took note of her dancer attire. She saw him looking. “I was training to be a dancer for the Kingdom. My teacher left about an hour ago.” She stated.

 “It suits you.” He said. They were walking down one of the longer hallways, the one which held the shrine for Y/N’s mother. Above it was the Eastags’ Holy Weapon, a sword that her mother had been able to wield. 

 In the rain that night, Y/N decided that her life wasn’t just going to go out. Maybe it was seeing her mother’s portrait. Maybe it was the sound of her father and brother proposing stupid  agreements down the hallway. Whatever it was, she grabbed the sword off the wall. 

 While she had meant to take on a fighting pose, she didn’t she couldn’t help but look at the weapon in shock as it reacted to her crest. She held it in her hands, a slight smile on her face. Had her father really never had her tested? Or had he just lied to her?

 “Emperor Edelgard!” Hubert called down. Y/N had almost forgotten the situation as she heard the Emperor’s name. It was so strange, getting into an attack position with that sword. She had never seen the Emperor before, and the woman just seemed to look right at her.

 With this sword, for the first time, she felt seen. She saw her father come up the stairs, ready to apologize for her, but even he seemed impressed for once. “Y/N,” Edelgard began, “How do you feel?”

 “Alive.”

-

 A deal was worked out that evening. Y/N even agreed to it. She and the Holy Weapon would travel to Embarr, where she would live and train as a member of the Imperial Army. In the meantime, her family would continue business as usual. They would serve the Empire, while serving as a space to house Cornelia while she prepared to use troops to take the Faerghus throne. 

 Of course, Y/N was expected to leave as soon as she was ready, and not to pull any stunts. So, Edelgard left her with her most intimidating general. Someone she couldn’t imagine Y/N trying to stop. That being Hubert. They got into a carriage together, she still being in her dancer clothes and him helping her with her bags.

 He watched her lay across some of the seats, seeing her smile for the first time as she stared out of a window. The rain was still pouring down. “In all of the daydreams I had about getting away from here, I was never being escorted to Embarr by an Imperial General. Instead, I was a stowaway.” 

 “You wanted to get out of here?”

 “Did half of my dad’s ideas involve my death?” She gave a sad laugh. “He’s been like that since mom died. Not that he ever liked me, but it was better with mom. He insisted I never get tested for a crest, because where my brother failed I shouldn’t succeed. I’m sure he hates me even more now, since he has to work with the Empire.” 

 “I take it your father doesn’t like the Empire then?” Hubert asked. “My father wasn’t an especially… Happy story either. He was committed to making sure I was a good servant to Lady Edelgard. But, he was also a corrupt Lord.” Hubert explained. 

 “People like us find each other because of that.” She said. “At least you didn’t spend your life believing you were useless.”

 “Without Lady Edelgard, I am useless.” He said.

 She sat up. “Are you kidding? You’re, like, the scariest name in the Empire. I heard your name from my father at least as many times as I heard Edelgard’s.” She said. “You’re nowhere near useless.”

 She didn’t see it, but he smiled slightly.

-

 Two months. Y/N’s name around the palace had become synonymous with happy. After any battle, or any meeting, she could even Bernadetta smile. Well, she never saw Hubert smile. Edelgard would send her out into battles, and her dancing would help inspire soldiers to keep fighting. She was a dancer almost as good as the students had seen at the Academy.

 Hubert knew that a girl already close to the Emperor and so… well… like her, would have many suitors far better than him. So, he would simply stay out of her way, just as he had used to for Edelgard. Better to be simply a helper behind the scenes than centerstage.

 Of course, when he heard her dancing tapping against the floor in a usually empty room in the palace, he couldn’t help but peek in and watch. He loved moments like these, where he could watch her dancing by herself. All the practicing she did… it was no wonder she was so good. And her outfit…

 “I can see you, you know. I like this room because it has that big mirror on the wall.” She laughed a bit. The laugh enchanted him further. He stepped in, seeing she had stopped and was watching him in the mirror.

 “You shouldn’t be in here without permission. You are still only a guest here.” He explained. “Yet, you’ve seem to come to believe you are more than that these past months. You’re lucky Lady Edelgard likes you so much.”“Are you trying to scare me?” She asked. “Because if you actually come here to tell me off, you wouldn’t have been watching me dance for as long as you did. I don’t really take you to be someone who wouldn’t interrupt me if you had something you needed to say.” She crossed her arms as he came up closer behind her. “And you don’t scare me.”

 “I am not attempting to scare you, but only trying to remind you that you are a guest here. You do not truly have status in the Empire, other than your new friends here who tend to be in higher standing.” He stated. “And if you aren’t afraid, you should attempt to make eye contact, rather than staring into a mirror.”

 She turned around to face him, looking him in the eyes. “The way you speak makes it sound almost like I should join the family of someone higher than myself.” She thought for a moment, before smiling. “Perhaps the Von Vestra family? That name seems to get a lot of attention here.”

 Hubert blushed as Y/N laughed a bit. “Apologies, that suggestion was not my intent.”

 “I know, I’m just messing with you. Besides, if I did marry someone from the Empire, it would drive my father off the deep end.” She said. “How about we get something to eat? I seem to have lost track of time and missed lunch.” She went over and started grabbing a bag of things she had brought with her.

 “I will accompany you for a meal, if that is what you are asking. Just know I cannot prevent any strange looks you might encounter for asking me to do as much.” He said. 

 “I don’t mind. You’re my friend, not them.” She said happily. 

 He watched her for a moment, comparing her to the girl he had met not too long ago. Had being in the Empire really made her this happy? If so, was the war they had been fighting at Edelgard’s side worth it? Had it all been worth it… Because he got to meet Y/N and see her smiling?

 “Are you happy you’re here?” Hubert asked. She looked at him, her smile not fading away.

 “I told you when we met. I always daydreamed about leaving home, and now I’m here. I love getting to be here.” She said. “You all have been so kind to me. If you all are waging war against Fodlan, there’s no place I’d want to be other than fighting at your side.”

-

 On Hubert’s Birthday, he had to admit he felt a little disappointed. He had gifts and hugs and everything like that… Enough bouquets to decorate his room for months. Of course there was only one person he really wanted a bouquet from… and that bouquet had never come.

 Or maybe it had. He wouldn’t know. He had apparently been avoiding her all day. She was in none of her usual rooms, not even her own. He hadn’t even seen her at lunch. Why? Had he done something wrong?

 He was so tired from the day, he didn’t bother going to dinner. He instead told the Emperor he was going to his room, and of course she said okay to Hubert getting some rest. Dorothea and Ferdinand seemed to giggle as he walked by. Did they know something? It was none of his business.

 Why was his room unlocked? He was so particular about locking it. Had he forgotten that morning. Or worse… Was someone in there? He stepped in cautiously, looking around the dark room. He then saw one of his candles light on his desk, so he looked over.

 “Sorry, I know you’re tired, but I knew it was your birthday, so I had some things for you.” He saw Y/N, wearing a piece of Dancer’s attire that left… Very little to his imagination. She had a cake next to her, as well as a bouquet made of her own Black Roses. “The cake is flavored after the coffee beans you like so much. Ferdinand helped me get them.” 

 “And I assume Dorothea helped you with your outfit. Would that be correct?” She nodded as he stepped closer to her. “And here I thought you had been avoiding me. Turns out, this is quite the opposite.” He stated.

 “It is.” She smiled. “I chose the outfit since you seem to like the other one so much, do you enjoy this one as well?” She was blushing, obviously not used to wearing such revealing attire.

 “Indeed. However, I would like to see you dancing in this attire as well.” He stated, examining the cake a bit. “Did you bake this?”

 “I did. It’s what took me all day. Maybe I’ll dance in this some other time, but you should try the cake. I want to know if you like it.” She said. He took a fork from next to the cake, using it to take a bite. “Is it good?” 

 “It is. Would you like a taste?” He asked, stepping in front of her.

 “I would.” She said. She quickly felt his lips on her own, trapped in a passionate kiss with the dark mage. His arms found her back and waist, holding her closely. When they parted, they still stayed close together. “Is your birthday sufficient yet?” She whispered.

 “Not quite.” He whispered back.

-

 The next morning, Hubert had the new sensation of Y/N lying on his bare chest. One of her arms was strapped across him, while his found it’s own place softly rubbing her back and side. It was a perfect moment… one he wanted to have over and over again.

 “Y/N.” He whispered.

 “Yes?” She whispered back. “What do you need?”

 “For you to marry me. To become a Von Vestra.” She sad up, and so did he. They looked each other in the eyes, and Y/N didn’t speak. “Have I managed to find you speechless?”

 “Yes.” She said. “Mainly because in my head, my immediate answer was yes. I was already to the part where my father rips his hair out.” They both laughed briefly, before kissing softly for a moment. It was such a nice morning. “I have a condition, though. If you want me to marry you, anyway.”

 He laid back down, and she resumed her position on his chest. “What is your condition?” He asked, having seen her smile when she had spoken the words, meaning it probably wasn’t anything too ridiculous. 

 “You are my new pillow.” She said, attempting to place a serious tone in her voice.

 “You sell yourself short. You had enough of my attention to ask for anything.” He said. “But I’ll consider it.”

 “Consider it?”

 “I don’t know if the Emperor would be permissible to the idea of me sleeping in with you every morning.” He teased her.

 “I do not sleep in every morning!” She complained. “Only most of the time. Oh, and that reminds me, I reserve the right to call you Hubie whenever I need.”

 “... I may need to reconsider my proposal.”

#hubert von vestra #fe3h hubert #fe3h #fe3h imagines #fluff prompts #happy birthday hubert

[missjosie27]

Year 2 Part 10- New Revelations

Well, my friends this is it.

Year 2 is in the books. And after year 3 (due to JC's milking of this game for all its worth) the years will get steadily longer and the chapters more varied. But for now, we've finished two years and I really hope you guys liked it. As always, comment and review! Send a kudos!

I already have a head start on Year 3 so be on the lookout for it within the month. Until then, stay frosty!

Year 2 Part 10. New Revelations

For the span of about twenty four hours, David almost thought he got away with breaking into a cursed vault without any higher authority discovering so. Hogwarts was still settling down from the ice attack, which thankfully had abated. As he suspected, the ice immediately disappeared upon the defeat of the Ice Knight and their entry of the vault. Dumbledore had also returned, and his presence immediately restored order. Where he had been, however, remained the subject of speculation.

The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been postponed to the following weekend which meant that the primary focus for the student body was exams, much to their chagrin. For himself, David wasn’t looking forward to the Transfiguration test as he could barely look Professor McGonagall in the eye. He wondered whether or not she knew about their little excursion into the vault. The answer to that question came rather quickly.

He and Rowan were walking back from Charms the following Monday when his head of house stood right in front of the fat lady, eyeing them with an extremely stern gaze. It certainly did not give the warm and fuzzies, a sentiment echoed by his best friend.

“I don’t like that look,” Rowan whispered.

“Yeah, you don’t say.”

“David Grant,” McGonagall called out to him in her usual brisk tone. “Last weekend was not the first time cursed ice has appeared at Hogwarts, it is also not the first time it has suddenly disappeared. Can you explain this?”

The question was a rhetorical exercise. He resisted the urge not to gulp as it was abundantly clear what she was getting at. When he didn’t answer she continued.

“Up to your common room Mr. Khanna, I need to speak with Mr. Grant, alone.”

The Indian lad didn’t have to be told twice, uttering the password and scurrying up the stairs faster than a jackrabbit, as McGonagall continued.

“Like the previous instance, it seems to have appeared when someone tampered with a Cursed Vault, and disappeared when the door was opened. I’m sure you can guess who was responsible for opening the door the last time.”

“Jacob,” David breathed out.

“Precisely. We don’t yet understand how the vault reappeared, or who first tampered with it this time. Truth be told, there is still much we don’t understand about the Cursed Vaults, but I’m not going to bother to ask if you were responsible for what occurred last weekend.”

He wanted to make a joke, but he knew better than to do that in front of a woman such as Professor McGonagall. Therefore, he stayed silent.

“You are the only student who has shown the interest, recklessness, and talent to do such a thing.”

You’re forgetting Merula Snyde, David thought to himself. She fits all three of those categories…except for talent maybe. Hehe

“We know that you, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Haywood were all involved in this. Therefore I will be taking one hundred points from Gryffindor. Mr. Weasley in particular was adamant of your innocence which was noble of him…”

“He had nothing to do with it,” David quickly interjected. He could take losing house points, but it was common knowledge that Bill also desired to be a prefect the following semester when he entered his fifth year. If he had to take the blame for all of it, he would. “Penny didn’t either.”

A strange look of respect appeared on Professor McGonagall’s face, temporarily softening her strict stance.

“It is good to see such strong bonds between you and your friends, Mr. Grant. Miss Haywood’s punishment is not up to me. But rest assured that Mr. Weasley’s prospects of becoming prefect have not been damaged by this incident.”

David gave an inward sigh of relief. He would not have been happy with himself had his actions jeopardized Bill’s higher goals.

“But that is not the end of the matter for you,” his head of house continued to admonish. “You will speak to Professor Dumbledore about this matter. He may not be so forgiving.”

Resisting the urge to hang his head in defeat, all David could do was utter a solemn, “Yes, Professor,” and begin to make his way towards the Headmaster’s office.

“Mr. Grant? You may want the password. It is ‘lemon drop.’”

They always did say he was a bit mad, he commented on the password being named after a muggle sweet. But it made no difference. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most, if not the most powerful wizard in the world; a man who held the power of his schooling in the palm of his hand.

It was not a comforting thought, but either way he had to face the music.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Upon saying the password, the gargoyle jumped aside revealing a spiral staircase which led to the confines of Dumbledore’s office. When he reached the top, David was immediately struck by how vast and intricate the place was. It was like no other room in Hogwarts he’d ever seen. To describe it took a lot of words that weren’t coming to him at the moment.

There were many elaborate and intricate looking instruments placed unevenly around the shelves and tables that adorned the room. Some looked vaguely familiar to David while others defied comprehension. Surrounding the vast semi circular space were also legions of portraits, some of which looked as though they belonged in the Middle Ages while others were more modern. Up above on a railing was a giant blue sphere that looked like a globe and an attached telescope for the purpose of astronomy. And then of course, there was the center of the room which housed the desk of the Headmaster himself, who was dressed in rich, purple robes. Perched above him was also a strange, red and gold bird of unknown origin.

Talk about an impressive setup, David thought to himself as he approached the centenarian, who was currently writing a letter of some sort.

“Professor?”

“I will be with you in a moment, David,” came Dumbledore’s light response, though he did not look up from his current task. “I’m sure you can understand why I have pressing matters to address…”

I know, because of me

“…in the meantime, please feel free to look around as I finish this last task.”

David did so, staring at some of the metal instruments but having enough sense not to touch them as he did not want to break anything. However, he did bend down and look at one of the most peculiar of all: a gigantic bowl with a shiny, silvery substance on the inside. It practically hypnotized him and as he peered closer he swore he could see images floating through the silvery liquid, some of which seemed familiar…

“Any closer and you’ll be in more trouble than you already are, brat,” a snide voice called out from above.

David snapped out of his trance and looked up to see one of the portraits sneering down at him, a thin, bearded man with a pointed hat topped with silver, green robes. He disliked the portrait immediately.

“Oh yeah? Who the hell are you?”

“Phineas Nigellus Black, Headmaster of Hogwarts from 1892 to 1925. And I must note your distinct lack of manners, young man. Were this my day, I could have you physically whipped for such disrespect.”

David narrowed his eyes and replied in a bored tone.

“Yeah well that’s why I’m alive and you’re six feet under, you git.”

“Insolent-”

“That is enough Phineas,” the firm voice of Albus Dumbledore interjected, coming over to the scene. “Though David I must ask you to step back from the pensieve, as entering it would cause you to see things I do not feel are appropriate.”

“A pensieve,” he repeated, obliging the elderly man. “I’ve heard of those but never seen one in person.”

“You may find that they are useful for old fools such as myself, who have far too many memories and enjoy indulging in the past when useful to the present moment,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “But for a young man as you are, I doubt they would serve much purpose.”

“There are some things I’d like to forget…others I’d like to remember more clearly.”

“A unique observation for someone your age, however, we both know that is not the reason for your presence here today.”

They had come to it at last, and David supposed there wasn’t any use in putting it off much longer.

“It’s not. What was that you were writing, though?”

A noise of disapproval could be heard from Phineas, but Dumbledore ignored it.

“Questions. Questions that I hope will finally provide answers.”

The answer was vague, but David did not press the matter, and began using a more formal tone of voice.

“Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me, sir?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied, placing an arm around his shoulder and leading him away from the pensieve. “It would appear you discovered the source of the mysterious cursed ice. You revealed a vanished staircase using advanced transfiguration beyond your year, explored long forgotten corridors of this school and broke an ancient curse on a vault that many refused to believe existed despite overwhelming evidence.”

So he did know everything. There was no point in denying it then. If nothing else, he had to explain to the Headmaster the reasons for his actions even if it was an exercise in futility.

“I’m sorry I entered the vault without telling anyone, Professor. But there was no time. The ice was spreading everywhere, and I was the only one who knew where the vault was located. I had to do something before the entire school froze over. People were trapped.”

Dumbledore’s eyes peered deep into him, however, as if waiting for him to reveal the full truth he was not telling.

“I’ve heard my brother’s voice both outside and inside the vault, sir. I saw visions of the ice and more.”

“Visions like the one you just described are very rare indeed,” Dumbledore explained to him, placing his hands directly underneath his chin. “You might ask yourself whether what you perceived is something else entirely.”

“I’m not sure what to say, sir,” David admitted. “To be honest, this whole experience my first two years has been…a lot.”

“Quite understandable, especially with the recent adventures and a history such as yours. Is there anything you can say for yourself in the meantime?”

On the surface, Dumbledore’s words suggested punishment and explanation but knowing the Headmaster by now it was also an invitation to ask more than what could be expected from a normal authority figure. That being said, there were so many thoughts spinning inside his head he barely knew where to begin.

“Sir, I promise I didn’t purposefully try to subvert your authority or anyone else’s. I didn’t go looking for this vault at first, it’s almost as if it found me. There’s so much I still don’t understand. I asked you last year what the vaults were, but this year raised so many more questions. Why do they exist in the first place? What is their purpose? And why do I keep hearing my brother’s voice? Am I mad?”

A regretful, almost sad look passed on the Headmaster’s face, as though he were empathetic to the young Gryffindor’s plight but unsure on just how much to reveal.

“I believe you, David. However, as to your questions I’m afraid my knowledge is still barely beyond yours. Why these vaults exist within the Institution of Hogwarts or what their true purpose is, I do not know. I do have theories, but that sort of speculation is too dangerous and implausible to indulge until we know the truth. Regarding your brother, I have a much more concrete theory, but I cannot confirm it until I have further information.

“What I can say is this: Jacob Grant was an extraordinarily perceptive person and had a sixth sense about most things. The connections between family members, magical or not, are still active and real. Far from being mad, I believe that your hearing his voice suggests he is very much alive, both figuratively and literally.”

Dumbledore stood up and looked towards the window.

“As for the vaults, I’ve been attempting to locate someone who may have the answers. But for now, I am awarding you one hundred house points for your heroism in breaking the curse and once again ridding Hogwarts of the cursed ice.”

Hardly daring to believe he was being rewarded a second time, David had to keep his eyes from popping out of his sockets.

“One hundred house points?!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Thank you, Professor.”

There was still twinkling in the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, but his voice gave off a sternness as well.

“Thank me by leaving the search for your brother and the remaining cursed vaults to me. We will talk at the end of your third year, and I would like to discuss something besides curses and your frequent involvement in these vaults.”

David nodded emphatically (it was amazing how the power of this man could corral him into behaving like an angel) though in his heart he wondered if truly would be able to heed the Headmaster’s warning. As he stated before, trouble at Hogwarts always seemed to find him, not the other way around.

“Now then, I believe you have exams to study for and a Quidditch match to attend,” Dumbledore beamed underneath his thick, white beard. “I must say, I do hope the contest is much more even than it was last year. I’ve heard wonderful things about young Charlie Weasley on a broomstick.”

For his part, David Grant could only grin widely.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The end of the 1985-86 school year brought on a bevy of good news and celebration for David and the rest of the Gryffindors.

For starters, the greatest Gryffindor Quidditch Team in a decade pulled the hat trick, defeating Ravenclaw 550-460 in a high powered shootout that went on four hours and featured over eight lead changes. The Bronze Eagles had pulled ahead by sixty points when Charlie Weasley, in his greatest feat yet, swooped in and caught the snitch right underneath beater Erika Rath’s left foot just before she connected with a bludger. The celebration that night in the Gryffindor common room was so enormous and so merry that even Professor McGonagall didn’t bother to stop it. Her joy of winning the cup, though subdued, was just as great as anyone else that day (including Blishwick and McLaggen, who ended up passed out in a tide of alcoholic, yellow vomit).

The victory also allowed Gryffindor to edge out the Slytherins for the House Cup, which was also the catalyst for another wild party (though this one McGonagall later put a stop to). On top of that, David found out that his marks had indeed been able to surpass the previous year’s in most subjects with the exception of Charms, a subject that had always been up and down for him. But overall, he figured his parents would be pleased with his academic effort this year.

The cherry on top of all these positive moments came on the second to last day of Hogwarts. The seventh years were already preparing for graduation while the rest of the school packed their things and enjoyed the free time they had in the sun. That morning, however, as the last day of mail came in. It was a normally sparse load- very few owls swooped in but to David’s surprise he received a thick, white letter with no return address, an oddity to say the least.

“Check this out,” he said to Rowan as he passed the letter to him while eating his cornflakes.

“No return address. Maybe it’s from an admirer of some sort.”

“Wouldn’t there be something to indicate that?”

“I don’t think you should open it,” Ben said nervously, setting down his toast. “If you don’t know who it’s from it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Come on, Ben,” Rowan laughed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Could be your parents sending you a surprise gift for your birthday.”

David narrowed his eyes at the letter.

“Rowan, my birthday was almost six months ago.”

“And?”

“And ....” a cocky, monotone voice interjected. “For once, I think the scaredy cat is right. I know a laced parcel when I see one.”

Jae Kim swooped in and snatched the letter before anyone did anything else.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later, Khanna trust me. You do not want to open this.”

David knew that with Jae it was usually best not to ask anything further of him but his curiosity was stronger this time around.

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve smuggled in contraband hundreds of times,” Jae responded, dangling the letter from his thumb and index finger as though it were a dead rodent. He gave it a small sniff. “I also can tell when someone is trying to send an anonymous prank. The most common of which is undiluted bubotuber pus. And this thing reeks of petrol.”

“But that’s crazy. Who would want to send David a laced letter?”

David titled his head slightly sideways and was able to get a look at the Slytherin table. A group of the younger ones were huddling around, looking in his direction as though waiting for some reaction. At the center of that group was none other than Merula Snyde, who was smirking as though she had won a lifetime supply of chocolate frogs.

“Methinks a certain Slytherin girl is seeking to do you in,” Bill chuckled as he took a seat next to them.

“Then I guess it’s only fair that I return the favor,” David said with a sly grin. “Bill, if you need to excuse yourself in order to keep your chances of being prefect, I understand.”

“What’s that now? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the eldest Weasley said with a wink.

David grinned and turned back to his second year house mates.

“Ben, charm this to fly over back to the Slytherin table. Rowan, tell me when they’re not looking. Jae, can you make this explode on impact?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

A few spells and a flick of Ben’s wand later, a white envelope airplane soared its way towards Merula Snyde and her gang of Slytherins.

“Hey Merula!” David called out.

“What?!” she snarled, unaware of what was about to happen.

“Catch.”

The paper airplane took a nosedive and landed directly in front of her with a mighty *thud of an explosion as green and yellow smoke filled the air, causing her whole posse to cough and cover their faces and mouths. It didn’t take long for painful sores and boils to start dotting all over their skin. Positively furious but with nowhere left to go except Madam Pomfrey, the Slytherin girl and the rest of her mates took off running but not before Merula called out one last time.

“I HATE you, Grant!”

The Gryffindors laughed at their misfortune, enjoying the spectacular backfiring of the attempted sabotage.

“Will you look at that, she really does care,” Bill teased, giving him an elbow.

David snorted, flipping more bacon into his mouth.

“Don’t you start.”

“I’m with David,” Rowan chuckled. “Breaking the curse on that vault is going to make Merula crosser than ever. She’s probably coming up with a scheme as we speak.”

“Yeah, well she’ll have to clean the bubotuber pus from her hands first.”

More laughter ensued.

It truly was a good day to be alive.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The train ride home was uneventful as David, Rowan, Ben, Jae, Charlie, and Bill swapped chocolate frog cards and played several rounds of exploding snap. In his second year of experience, it always seemed to David that the train ride home was always shorter than the trip to Hogwarts. He wondered if there was a reason for the inconsistency in that perception of time. Either way, it was far more difficult this year saying goodbye.

“Have a good summer, mate,” Rowan beamed at him. “You’ll have to write me this time around.”

“Me too,” Ben pipped up. “I…uh, don’t have an owl but my parents are starting to learn more about how the magical world works. I’m sure I could persuade them.”

“You know I’ll be in touch as best I can,” he assured them both.

“At some point we need to have you round for tea at the Burrow,” Bill said, clapping on the back. “Charlie’s already told mum all about you and she’s talking of knitting you a sweater for next Christmas. Hell, the twins already think you’re a celebrity.”

Charlie rolled his eyes as he unloaded the last of things off the train.

“Gee, Bill, make our family seem loonier than they already are, why don’t you.”

“You’ll get over it, Quidditch hero. She’s going to have a cake ready for you when you get back you know.”

The last to say goodbye was Penny, who gave him a big hug and the most radiant smile he’d ever seen from the blonde.

“I’ll see you next fall, Hero of Hogwarts,” she beamed at him. “I hope you’ll write me.”

“You know I will,” David said with a lopsided grin.

“And I can’t wait to see what kind of adventure we go on in our third year.”

“Maybe we could just have a normal year for once?”

Penny gave his hand one last squeeze.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be the case. Not with you around, anyway. See ya, David!”

As she turned and ran to a blonde woman that looked like her mother, David did the same. Saying the last of his farewells to his friends and scouring the platform for his parents. They wouldn’t be hard to find, even among this crowd.

When he did, however, the reaction wasn’t at all what he expected. Dressed adequately in muggle clothing (a suit for his dad, and a cardigan/sun dress combination for his mom), David saw that their expressions were grim and not at all pleased. His mom, a blonde woman with blue eyes and a height of about 5’5 was giving him a stare only a mother could give her son. His father, who resembled him in looks and hair color, was less severe in his expression but underneath that neutral exterior was also a man who probably was equally as upset as his mother. Though they had different ways of expressing it, David knew whatever was going on wasn’t good.

“Err…hi, guys,” he tried to greet cheerfully, bringing up his luggage from the rear. “Happy summer?”

“David John Grant,” his mother stated.

His full name. Not a good sign.

“Come along. We need to have a very long talk.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #writing #david grant #merula snyde #penny haywood #bill weasley #charlie weasley #rowan khanna #ben copper #jae kim #minerva mcgonagall #albus dumbledore #parents #gryffindor #quidditch #erika rath

[mysticsparklewings]

Fire Flower

Note: I originally made this painting and typed most of the description towards the end of March. I meant to upload this sooner, but things happened it obviously got pushed way back. Oh gee, would you look at that. It has somehow been 8-9 months since I last made a full acrylic painting... But! I have a video for this one to make up for it! Link: youtu.be/8IgVvgTiZjM I promise I've been trying (and failing) to come up with ideas to do more with this medium. Acrylic paint just isn't my thing. I swear I said this somewhere before, but I have no idea where; It's just hard for me to commit to an acrylic painting when I know I can get the look I want usually much faster and much more easily with other supplies. Acrylic painting just takes so much more time, set up, and patience. This very painting I know I probably could've had done in half the time using primarily watercolor instead, for example. So why is this an acrylic painting instead of something quicker and easier? Because my dear Sparklers, I made this painting and filmed it as a bit of a blending demo for a friend. They tried their hand at an acrylic painting with a sky going from red to yellow...except they lost most of the yellow in the process, and even they weren't really sure how it happened. So since I'm in sort of an art teaching/mentoring position to them, I decided I'd pull out my paints and take a shot at a similar look. Now, to be fair, my end result is very different from their's intentionally. They painted a boat on the water during sunset, I wanted something different and more me, so after some browsing around on Pinterest, I settled on this flower silhouette. I made my own job harder because the reference image had a blue and orange background with lots of black, almost like a vignette, so once I got past the stage of putting the base background colors down, I had a lot more work cut out for myself in trying to replicate that. Speaking of which, you can see most of my process in the video, but a recap just in case: I started by picking out my paint colors, and to be fair I could've gotten away with less or slightly different colors, but I got extravagant and picked a total of nine colors from my Liquitex Basics set (also known as currently the only decent acrylic paints I have):

• Mars Black • Ivory Black • Titanium White • Cadmium Red Deep Hue • Cadmium Red Light Hue • Portrait Pink • Naples Yellow Hue • Cadmium Yellow Medium Hue • Primary Yellow Why the two blacks? Mars Black is a "denser" black so to speak, it's more opaque (less transparent/see-through). The Ivory Black is less opaque, and it's a bit warmer in color than the Mars black. I used the Mars black in areas where I wanted a total and complete black and the Ivory black where I wanted some of the colors from the background to leak through a bit. It's subtle, more of a "feeling" to the eye than something you can clearly see. Also, I used the Portrait Pink, which like the name implies is a very pink flesh tone, and the Naples Yellow Hue (think a shade similar to Yellow Ochre...or fancy Mustard if "yellow ochre" doesn't help you visualize) primarily for blending and not so much for the colors themselves. And the Cadmium Red Light Hue is much more of a reddish-orange in person than it is red, which is why I picked it. It's also pretty transparent (yellows and oranges often are in acrylic paints, especially more student grade ones like the Liquitex Basics) so it also got lost in the mix fairly easily and I had to build it up a lot. In the video, you can definitely see as I start that I do indeed do a lot of back and forth with the paints, blending and layering to my heart's content to try and get the right color balance while also getting a smooth transition. And this goes on for quite a while; the background was definitely the part that took the longest. Initially, I did sketch in a couple of lines as markers for roughly where I needed certain parts of the gradient to begin and end, and with the paints, I went in and got down the base of red and yellows so I could then start working on marrying the two together. And I have to admit, even I let my yellows get a bit lost/pushed down more so than I would've liked. It's a difficult balance to strike; red is already a strong color that easily overpowers yellow. It's even easier when the yellow and your transition colors are more transparent while the red is more opaque. And even more so when your painting has a vignette feel to it. But once I finally had something I was comfortable with and blocked in most of the black (which was a pain in the butt to blend out, by the way, as I'm sure is obvious by how much I go back and forth with it in the video, misusing a fluffy watercolor brush as a mop brush to blend), I then took my outline for the silhouette that I'd already prepared on another piece of paper and used a Faber Castell Gelato (first a gray, then later I'd use a black) on the back to be able to transfer it on the canvas by tracing it with a mechanical pencil with the point pushed in. Personally, I really do think the Gelatos are the best method I've tried for making faux-transfer paper. They're soft so they transfer the color without much fuss without making a powder smudge-y mess (like charcoal, chalk, or pastels might), and they're also water-soluble so they play nicely with the wetness of the acrylic paints, especially if you've thinned them with a bit of water. Then I got the lovely challenge of trying to paint and blend out a nice bright setting sun on top of the blackish mess I'd made.  (It actually wasn't that bad; the Titanium White is pretty opaque so once it mixed with the yellow and I got a couple of layers on it really didn't have any problem covering the darkness that it had to.) After that, I transferred again some of my lines I'd covered up and then got to work on the black silhouette parts. I did have to alter the look slightly because I wasn't quite as careful with lining up the placement of my "transfer paper" that second time and also because the brush had different ideas about how much black should be in some places than I did, but it wasn't too much of a hassle. And then, of course, the real challenge of blending the black up to meet the silhouettes without completely covering up my sun or messing up my other blending. Although, this also wasn't as tricky as I had thought it would be. Ironically, I think by the time I got this far I was finally starting to get a handle on the acrylics after having been away from them for so long.   Believe it or not, this tiny 4"x6"  painting took well over two hours to complete. I had at least two hours of footage that I trimmed down and sped up like four times, and that doesn't include the dry time in between two background layers, the background and the sun, and then the sun and the silhouette. I'd say it was probably closer to 3 and 1/2 hours total, although technically longer because I kept getting interrupted by things and I had to figure out how to set up the camera and everything before I actually started painting. Once I was done with the painting, I also had to actually edit the thing together, which took many more hours than I bothered to document or care to admit. (P.S. Whoever decided all free video editors that don't come pre-installed on a computer either must have stupidly low export limits and/or super obnoxious watermarks, I hate you.) Yeah, there's a reason it's been almost a year since I last posted an actual video of me making art... It just takes so long to edit everything together and I also have to make an extra effort to get stuff set up before and after for filming...Like, maybe it would be different if I had the space and resources to have an area where I could just leave everything and have a camera set up that doesn't move, but right now when my space is limited and my phone is my camera it's just so much easier to...well, to not. At any rate, here's one. One acrylic painting, and one video. A two-for-one special! Sort of! And I think both turned out pretty okay in the end, at least for someone that 1. Doesn't acrylic paint and 2. Doesn't make videos regularly. I call that a win, wouldn't you? Although, I have a few canvases stockpiled. I really should work on trying to squeeze more acrylic paintings into my art regimen somewhere to use those up, if nothing else... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[hexlikesramennoodles]

15 or 27 on the 50 kisses list + harringrove please

15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick; 27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Author’s note: this takes place in the same universe as my fic This Jelly. I hope that’s okay with you, Anon.

“It’ll be something in the roof,” Billy announced. He ran his finger around the edge of the windowsill, over the places where rainwater had soaked through the plaster, browning the paint and flaking it away. “A loose tile, I’m willing to bet.”

“Huh,” Steve said. He was only loosely paying attention; Billy’s jeans hung low on his hips, and his chest was bare save for the chain from which his AA medallion swung. Steve had missed that medallion. He missed the sight of Billy’s naked chest even more. It had only been about four days since they’d last seen each other, but somehow the time felt much longer.

“I can go up there later, if you’ve got a ladder. Wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck.” Billy stepped away from the window, trailing stray paint flakes from his fingers. “Sound good?”

“Huh?” Steve startled, blinking and wetting his lips. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, man.”

Billy sidled closer, cocking his head. He had this weird obsession with being clean—meaning clean hair, clean nails, and clean-shaven skin whenever he saw Steve outside of work. He steam ironed his shirts, and wore cologne that made Steve’s eyes water with how strong it was. Steve knew it went deeper than Billy simply wanting to look nice for their dates—he also didn’t want to become his father. Neil Hargrove had let himself go long before he remarried. He smoked, ate badly, and didn’t brush his teeth. His breath had smelled like he was rotting inside. I don’t want that to be me, Billy had told Steve once. I’ll fuckin’ kill myself before I become what he ended up becoming.

Steve didn’t know how to tell him. After a long morning on the construction site, Billy smelled of sunshine and sweat—not dirty sweat, not how Steve’s gym socks used to smell after three nights of basketball practice, rank and in definite need of a good wash—no, this smell was somehow deeper, purer in its base notes. Animalistic. His skin had taken on this lovely, bronze sheen, mixed in with the chalky dust of crushed gravel, and Steve didn’t know what it was—black magic pheromones, body chemistry—whatever the fuck was seeping from Billy’s pores in place of his usual soap and cologne, it smelled downright fucking erotic. God, Steve had missed him.

“Anything else?” Billy said, his head still cocked.

“Uh.” Steve stared around his bedroom, his tongue feeling as large as a golf ball in his throat. He pointed to the wall socket next to the nightstand. “Yeah, uh, I think there’s something wrong with the electricity. My phone—it’s plugged in, but it’s not—”

Billy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, it might help if you turned on the power first, pretty boy. Like this.” His knees creaked as he bent down, flipping the switch above the socket. Steve did not have the grace to feign shame; the new angle gave him a perfect view of Billy’s ass. “I’m still on the clock. Is there anything else you need before I—”

“My pipes,” he blurted wildly. “My pipes aren’t, uh, working.”

Billy’s eyebrows shot up. “Your pipes?”

He rose so quickly from where he was kneeling that Steve took a step back, his thighs hitting the edge of the bed. “Steve,” Billy said slowly. He closed the distance between them with an outstretching of his hand, flicking Steve gently between the eyes with his fingertip. “Did you remove the roof tile on purpose?”

“Wha—” Steve scoffed. “No—"

Billy’s finger flicked him again. “You know, if you wanted to see me that badly, you coulda just called me?”

“Calling isn’t the same as seeing.” He caught Billy’s hand in mid-air before it could chastise him a third time, turning it over and splaying his fingers across his palm. Most of Billy’s tattoos were, by his own admission, dumb—the product of a teenage boy’s poor impulse control and complete lack of regard for the self. Others were more personal. A grayscale portrait of his mother on his chest. His grandmother’s birthdate above his hip. A row of coordinates printed across the underside of his index finger, the skin around it still red and half-healed. Billy’s mom had been born in Central Valley, but she’d died in L.A. Those coordinates were her birthplace, the side of Billy’s family he’d never known.

Steve had wanted to be there for him. He’d assumed he would be there, as Billy’s boyfriend. It hurt, realizing that he hadn’t seen Billy for four days, hadn’t heard shit from him, and in that time frame Billy had gotten the tattoo without saying anything. It had made Steve feel stupid—humiliated.

He didn’t know how to tell Billy that, either. They’d only been together for three months. They hardly knew each other. If Billy had been Nancy, she would call Steve controlling. She would sit him down, and give him a long, sharp lecture about a woman’s right to choose.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “I feel like I never see you. You don’t visit after work, you don’t come into the bar …”

Billy made a pained noise. “Baby, you know I can’t spend too much time in bars. You know I want to, but—”

“I know.” Steve’s throat was tight with an all too familiar dryness; he knew what it meant. “I’m sorry. I know. I just—”

“You’re just upset,” Billy spoke over him. “Because I work too much. And because I’ve been neglecting you. Haven’t I?”

Steve’s current streak was three months, the same amount of time they’d been exclusive.

It wasn’t without struggle. Instead of the closing shift, Steve was now bartending at the Hideaway during the day. Instead of staying out with Robin until the early hours of a Sunday morning drinking and smoking and talking absolute shit, he spent his Saturday nights at home, doing whatever he could to distract himself from the paranoia that came with going cold turkey, the tightness in his throat that made him want to peel his skin off. In the first month, Billy had been that distraction. He would wait for Steve to come home, they would fuck, and Steve would sleep the whole night through without needing a glass of wine to wash it down. He’d been too smitten to consider the logistics of the arrangement he’d stumbled into. He was still smitten, but as far as he could tell, Billy had gone cold.

He was a workaholic. They both were; idle hands, so to speak. Only now Steve was working three days a week instead of six, which meant he had a lot more time to miss Billy when he wasn’t there. A lot more time alone with the paranoia. Billy worked upwards of twelve hours a day, and more often than not he was too exhausted to do anything at Steve’s apartment aside from pass out on his bed. He didn’t feel like Steve’s boyfriend anymore. He felt like a roommate, sexless and distant. Steve fucking missed him.

Sobriety offered an unpleasant reality. In it, Steve was convenient. Little more than a motel that Billy could crash overnight when he was too tired to drive. Billy had liked the chase initially, the back and forth, but now that he had Steve, he was complacent. Bored. This new reality wasn’t entirely removed from the old one—Billy was pretty. He was surrounded by men all day, most of whom were married—but even the married ones had to have noticed how pretty he was. From a distance, it would be all too easy to mistake him for a girl. Steve hadn’t realized he had a type, until he met Billy. He hadn’t realized how little he knew about himself—his wants and his needs, his likes and his dislikes, his passions and his hates. That was just Billy. He walked into a room and smiled at everyone, looked into their eyes when he spoke to them. He made people feel special, even when he wasn’t trying. Even when he couldn’t care less.

“Steve,” Billy pressed. “Are you upset?”

He had that look in his eye. That look that made Steve feel particularly stupid, airless, like his throat had closed over and he couldn’t remember what he was going to say next. It occurred to him that he might be in love with Billy, and that without his former mechanisms of coping—talking shit with Robin, self-medicating with wine and cigarettes—there to bear the brunt of uncomfortable emotions, he was feeling them all at once, much too strongly. That look coupled with that voice Billy used when they were alone—low and breathy, coaxing Steve to c’mon, sweetheart, that’s it, be good for me—the look that plainly said, resistance is futile.

“What were you gonna do?” he said. He squeezed Steve’s hand, his mouth twisting like he was trying to hide a smile. “Flood your whole goddamn apartment?”

“I mean. It was enough to get your attention.”

“For future reference, I prefer flowers. Less, uh, mess.”

“I like flowers,” Steve said defensively. “Maybe you should think about getting me some, the next time you decide to disappear for, like, a week.” Slow down, he told himself, but the more he thought about it, the less he could hold the words in. “You know, sometimes I feel like we’re—we’re in a long-distance relationship? Even though you work right fucking next door?”

“You are upset,” Billy sighed, rubbing his jaw. His eyes stayed crinkled at the corners as he looked Steve up and down, his expression fondly irritated. “How long has it been since you last had a drink, huh?”

“Three months.”

“Three …” Billy stopped, then licked his lips. “The whole time?”

Steve set his jaw, and nodded. There was a long, loaded pause.

“You should’ve called me,” Billy said finally. “I didn’t know—Steve, why—?”

“Because I had to. You said it didn’t matter, but—but if I can’t see you because you can’t be where there’s alcohol, because you might relapse, then … what’s the point?” Steve flattened his palms over Billy’s chest, quelling the urge to squeeze his nipples until they hardened and turned red. “Haven’t you ever thought about how different our lifestyles are?”

Billy’s hand fell away from his face. He licked his lips, studying Steve’s palms with soft fascination. His voice was noticeably smaller, more unsure when he asked, “Cigarettes, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “So if it’s okay with you—yeah, I am upset that you’re working a lot. You’re never here, Billy. You’re not … present. And I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Flowers,” Billy said at once. “That’s what you signed up for. Flowers, and chocolates, and candlelit dinners. Fuck. Fuck.”

“That comes later. Ideally.”

Billy let out a high-pitched, slightly giddy laugh. His hands dropped to Steve’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. He walked Steve backwards, until Steve found himself sitting on the edge of the bed with Billy’s thighs planted on either side of his hips. “Tonight,” he suggested, his necklace tangling in Steve’s hair. “Six o’clock. Enzo’s. I’ll make sure I finish early. And …”

“And?”

“And when we get back, I can take a look a look at your, uh,” Billy paused, his eyes crinkling and his mouth turning into a real smile as he pressed a chaste kiss below Steve’s ear, “pipes.”

He nosed over Steve’s neck, kissing his way back across to his mouth. The effect was shamefully instantaneous; the anxiety that had been plugging Steve’s throat dissipated, and he found himself spreading his legs to allow Billy to settle more comfortably between them. Billy’s mouth was rough when it reached his lips, the way he knew Steve liked it; he pulled on Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth, then soothed the bite with a rasping lick of his tongue that had Steve shuddering and spreading his legs wider, not wide enough.

“Five minutes,” he said breathlessly. “Can you stay for five minutes?”

He’d thought what he had with Nancy was love. Nancy had never kissed him the way Billy was kissing him now, though. He rocked against Steve’s crotch, threaded his hand through his hair so that Steve was forced to lift his chin to look at him, could see the way his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dazed, dark circles. He kissed Steve’s mouth, kissed his eyelids and his nose and his temples, and said, “Make it ten.”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my writing #i still have 2 more of these to write so if you're one of the anons who sent me a prompt and i still havent responded #i am getting to them! slowly slowly #modern!au #inbox #writing prompts