#got a book called Black Rights White Wrongs coming for a friend who studied history as well haha books all round

[tremendouscreationperson]

So are there any fics where people just assume Arthur is batshit crazy?

Bradley who isn't called Arthur in this timeline was always a promising young lad, his parents helped him with his somewhat odd hobbies of archery and fencing and even just playing strategist games with him

He is fascinated by the Greek and Roman Gods, Ancient Egypt and Camelot

His dad takes him to book stores and he becomes somewhat of a history buff

One day (idk say he's like 22-25) he gets these odd dreams and at first it's just the odd comment "no Gwen was black not white" he has no proof, no evidence, but he knows his dreams aren't wrong

They become more vivid and eventually lead to a breakdown because he is confused about his place in this modern world

He doesn't know why but he drives to Wales, he has to, something is calling him there

Merlin had decided this time around he was going to be a doctor, he had studied when he lived in Ireland (even picking up the accent again) but had stayed too long there and people weren't believing he was 40

Moving to South Wales wasn't the worst idea because he got to visit his lake

The lake

It wasn't his

It hasn't been his for longer than he dare think

Merlin had settled his way into a medicinal career, having been a hacker of sorts to not exactly falsify information

He WAS trained, just under a different name

Merlin hated being back in Wales

He missed everyone

Even Uther

Even Morgana, even after the turn

He just felt so hopeless

Lonely

Just plodding through the new world, learning new skills to distract himself from that

He was perhaps overqualified for the entry level job but who would believe a 20 year old had 30+ years of experience?

The younger he pretended, the longer he could stay in one area

He had made a few friends but always stuck to himself, what was the point in friends these days?

Fingerprints on an abandoned rail

He trudged into work receiving a few "hello Colin"s

He was a carer

Essentially a glorified Merlin

But he'd take it for a few years before he could start mental and physical therapies

Was this a stupid idea

No

He had just plonked his bag into his locker and placed his lunch in the fridge before he was officially late on the ward

"Col' there's a new patient coming in today." Becky told him between scribbling notes "a fighter, from what I've been told, be careful"

"okay, any other information?"

"no, just a breakdown, probably a few months in here with some meds and he'll be gone." She looked up. "He's not actively hurting himself, but he wanders, he was found just walking into some lake. Obsessive behaviour with history too."

Merlin nodded, it wasn't unusual

He'd seen worse

The patient in question did arrive when Merlin was dealing with Mrs Davies, she had had an episode and needed sedation

He didn't like manhandling a 70 year old but she could punch when needed

He just exited her room when he heard a familiar voice

Becky was informing the new patient of the rules and that number 12 was his room

Merlin thought it only right to say hi whilst he's standing right there

She introduced him to the man, who actually had his back to them and was staring out the window

"Bradley, this is Colin."

"Hello, I'm one of the nurses in charge of your health, be careful of your neighbour in number 13. She's a handful." Queue the awkward chuckle

Merlin had spoke as his brain processed what his eyes were seeing

The man was so familiar

The shoulders

The hair

Even the posture

Curse him for standing Infront of the window because when he turned he was haloed by the golden sun

Merlin's heart stopped

"Merlin?"

The recognition in Arthur's eyes broke Merlin's heart

He was quick to stop himself from running up to the King as Becky was examining the patient's reactions

"hello." Merlin nodded to Arthur "Becky I'm just gonna ask some questions," before mouthing "he thinks I'm part of it"

She gave a look but there was always so much to do so if Colin was offering to finish Bradley's orientation so be it

Once she had left and the door was closed Merlin smiled so widely at Arthur

"you took your time, clotpole"

Tears pooled in Arthur's eyes, "I knew I wasn't crazy. Merlin where have you been?"

Merlin sat on the neatly made bed, Arthur following suit, and explained the past thousand years

He ended it with "had to wait for my King."

Arthur placed a hand in Merlin's knee, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I acted back then, I'm sorry that you had to hide yourself, why are you here? You're a warlock?!"

Merlin did chuckle at that. "Doesn't exactly pay the bills. I mean it helps but there's also boredom."

Arthur smiled back, the visible ease he had with Merlin vs Becky was comforting

"I'll help you survive this place, you'll be out soon."

"thank you, I don't know why but I kept having these memories, I drove from London to Wales, went to the lake and then I was being pulled out by strangers. I don't remember getting into the water."

"has anything happened like that before or since?"

"no."

"then that's fine."

"why am I back? Why did you stay?"

"Our lives were never our own. Destiny was woven through us. I don't know what we do but we are needed." Merlin hoped Arthur didn't read that as the cop out it was

"you'll stay with me? Even after this place?"

"of course."

"good."

#merthur #merlin tv #merlin #arthur pendragon #arthur x merlin #prince arthur #gwenivere #morgana #uther pendragon #sir uther #lady morgana #modern au #merlin bbc #fic #king arthur

[youneedasoultraveller]

Is the popular headcanon that Nicky was illiterate, stupid and barbaric fitting in the stereotypes about Southern Europeans / Mediterraneans ? I’m guessing it’s from the American part of the fandom that’s choosing to not respectfully write Nicky since he is white while being virulent towards anybody that doesn’t perfected and accurately write Joe because he is MENA.

Hello!

Mind you, I am neither a psychologist, a sociologist nor a historian, so of course be aware these are my own views on the whole drama.

But to answer your question, yes, I personally think so. It definitely comes from the American side, but I have seen Northern Europeans do that too, often just parroting the same type of discourse that Anglos whip out every other day.

There is an abysmal ignorance of Medieval history – even more so when it concerns countries that are not England: there is this common misconception that Europe in the Middle Ages was this cultural backwater full of semi-barbaric people that stems unfortunately not only from trying to (correctly) reframe colonialist approaches to the historiographies of non-European populations (that is, showing the Golden Age of Islamic culture, for instance, as opposed to what were indeed less culturally advanced neighbours), but also from distortions operated by European themselves from the Renaissance onwards, culminating in the 18th century Enlightenment philosophes categorising the Middle Ages as the Dark Ages.

Now this approach has been time and time again proven to be a made-up myth. I will not go into detail to disprove each and every single one misconception about the Medieval era because entire books have been written, but just to give you an example: there was no such a thing as a ius primae noctis/droit du seigneur; people were aware that the Earth was not flat (emperors, kings, saints, etc, they were depicted holding a globe in their hands); people were taking care of their hygiene, either through the Roman baths, or natural springs, or private tubs that the wealthier strata of the population (and especially the aristocracy) owned. The Church was not super happy about them not because it wanted people to remain dirty, but because often these baths were for both men and women, and it was not that in favour of them showing off their bodies to one another. Which, you know, we also don’t do now unless you go to nudist spas. It was only during the Black Death in the 14th century that baths were slowly abandoned because they became a place of contagion, and they went into disuse (or better, they changed purpose and became something like bordellos). And, lastly, there was certainly a big chunk of the population that was illiterate, but certainly it was not the clergy, which was THE erudite class of the time. It was in monasteries and abbeys that knowledge was passed and preserved (as well as lost unfortunately often, such as the case for the largest part of classical literature).

So what does this mean? According to canon, Nicolò was an ex priest who fought in the First Crusade. This arguably means that at the very least he was a cadet son of a minor noble family (or a wealthy merchant one) who was part of the clergy. As such, historically he could have been neither illiterate nor a dirty garbage cat in his daily life.

Let’s then talk geography. Southern Europe (and France) was far, far more advanced than the North at the time and Italy remained the cultural powerhouse of the continent until the mid-17th century. Al Andalus in the Iberian Peninsula, the Italian States,  the Byzantine Empire (which called itself simply Roman Empire, whose population defined itself as Roman and cultural heirs of the Latin and Greek civilisations): these places have nothing to do with popular depictions of Medieval Europe that you mainly see from the Anglos. Like @lucyclairedelune rightfully pointed out: not everyone was England during the plague.

Also the Middle Ages lasted one thousand years. As a historical age, it’s way longer than anything we had after that. So of course habits varied, there was a clear collapse right after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, but then things develop, you know?

Anyway, back to the point in question. Everything I whipped up is not arcane knowledge: it’s simply having studied history at school and spending a few hours reading scientific articles on the internet which are not “random post written by random Anglo on Tumblr who can hardly find Genoa on a map”.

Nicolò stems from that culture. The most advanced area in Europe, possibly a high social class, certainly educated, from Genoa, THE maritime superpower of the age (with…Venice). It makes absolutely no sense that he would not be able to speak anything past Ligurian: certainly Latin (the ecclesiastical one), maybe the koine Greek spoken in Constantinople, or Sabir, or even the several Arabic languages from the Med basin stretching from al Andalus to the Levant. Because Genoa was a port, and people travel, bring languages with them, use languages to barter.

And now I am back to your question. Does this obstinacy in writing him as an illiterate beast (basically) feed into stereotypes of Mediterranean people (either from the northern or the southern shore)? It does.

It is a typically Anglo-Germanic perspective that of describing Southern (Catholic) Europeans are hot-headed, illiterate bumpinks mindlessly driven by blind anger, lusts and passions, as opposed to the rational, law-abiding smart Northern Protestants. You see it on media. I see it in my own personal life, as a Southern Italian living in Northern Europe for 10 years.

Does it sound familiar? Yes, it’s the same harmful stereotype of Yusuf as the Angry Brown Man. But done to Nicolò as the Angry Italian Man (not to mention the fact that, depending on the time of day and the daily agenda of the Anglo SJW Tumblrite, Italians can be considered either white or non-white).

Now, the times where Nicolò is shown as feral are basically when he is fighting (either in a bloody war or against Merrick’s men) or when Yusuf is in danger. Because, guess what, the man he loves is being hurt. What a fucking surprise.

Nicolò is simply being reduced to a one dimensional stereotype of the dirty dumb angry Italian, and people are simply doing this because they do not seem to accept the fact that both he and Yusuf are two wonderfully complex, flawed, fully-fledged multidimensional characters.

So I am mainly concentrating on Nicolò here because as an Italian I feel more entitled to speak about the way I see the Anglo fandom treating him and using stereotypes on him that have been consistently applied to us by the Protestant Northerners. I keep adding the religious aspect because, although I am an atheist who got debaptised from the Catholic Church, a big part of the historical treatment towards Southern has to do with religion and the contempt towards Catholic rituals and traditions (considered, once again, a sign of cultural backwardness by the enlightened North).

I do not want to impose my view of Yusuf because there are wonderful Tumblr users from MENA countries who have already written wonderful metas of the way Yusuf is being depicted by non-MENA people (in particular Americans), especially (again) @lucyclairedelune and @nizarnizarblr.

However, I just want to underline that, by only ever writing Yusuf as essentially a monodimensional character without a single flaw, this takes away Yusuf’s canon multidimensionality, the right he has to feel both positive but also negative feelings (he was hurt and angry at Booker’s betrayal, allegedly his best friend, AND HE HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE – and I say this as a Booker fan as well).

I have not been the first to say these things, it is nothing revolutionary, and it exactly complements what the MENA tumblr users in the TOG fandom have also been trying to say. Both of us as own voices people who finally have the chance to have two characters that are fully formed and honest representations of our own cultures, without stereotypes or Anglogermanic distortions.

And the frustration mounting among all of us comes from the fact that the Anglos are, once again, not listening to us, even telling us we are wrong about our own cultures (see what has happened to Lucy and Nazir).

What is even more frustrating is that everything in this cursed fandom – unless it was in the film or comics – is just a bloody headcanon. But these people are imposing their HCs as if it were the Word of God, and attacking others – including own voices MENA and Italians – for daring to think otherwise.

I honestly don’t expect this post will make any difference because this is just a small reflection of what Americans do in real life on grander scale, which is thinking they are the centre of the world and ignoring that the rest of the world even exists regardless of their own opinions on it.

But still, sorry for the length, hope I answered your question.

#i am also expecting to receive lots of shit for this but can't say i care #the old guard #tog discourse #nicolo di genova #the old guard meta

[missdawnandherdusk]

Fairytales

Hufflepuff!Reader x Draco

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life

Chapter One     Chapter Two    Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Summary: Is Umbridge the worst thing you have to face? Is there a silver lining or something much darker lurking underneath? 

A/n: Y’all are going to love me, then hate me. I’m serious. You guys love my fluff writing, but for those who have been with me for a while know I’m the goddess of angst writing. But it’s also +15k words so... Also this gets slightly PG-13 but nothing too risque. So, there’s that. Let me know what you think! I love seeing all the messages/comments from you guys!

Draco quickly found you in the halls, your silvery cloak setting you apart from the masses of black. If his aunt Bellatrix was out from Azkaban, so were a lot of other Death Eaters and he had gone about frantic the past few days not knowing if you were alright.

Paranoia wouldn’t leave him alone. Someone had to know what you meant to him. Maybe his father found out. Maybe someone told from the school. Maybe his aunt had seen you that day on winter holiday. There were too many variables.

But you were there smiling beside your friends waving at him. He pulled you into a quick hug and quickly slung his arm around your shoulders, his eyes darting around the halls as if he were expecting a Death Eater to jump out and take you away.

“Draco,” You chided softly. “I can hear you worrying,” There was a soft smile on your lips.

“Ten Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban,” He hissed into your ear and watched the color drain from your face.

You were quiet a moment, then you nodded.

“We knew this was coming,” You sighed softly. “Here it starts”

He huffed, not enjoying that he knew you were right. Up until recently he had been waiting for this moment, this rise to power. But things changed. You changed him. In his paranoia he had looked into your family history and felt comforted that you were a pureblood, but he knew that Abby was a half-blood, and a few of your—his—friends were mudb—muggle born.

Now a war was brewing, and he didn’t know where to stand. He promised he’d keep you safe, and he would. But he also knew that you would stand for what was right, what was fair. It wasn’t fair to condemn muggle borns. They were people too. It had come to a point that he had a respect for a few muggles as well—the author of your books to begin, and then you showed him muggle music and he loved that too (even if he wouldn’t admit that to you).

You remained quiet and thoughtful throughout the first week back. Sometimes he thought he’d see something in your eyes that held doubt or fear, but your smile would return, and you’d lay your head on his shoulder and it would all be a distant memory.

Despite the war lingering in the backs of everyone’s minds, O.W.L.s were still approaching for the both of you. And with Umbridge’s regime tightening by the day it left Draco practically desperate for a quiet moment with you that didn’t involve studying or hiding from an annoying shade of pink. He hated the color.

So, you started to join him for Quidditch practice. As far as he knew D.A. was still going on, which meant you would be alone without Abby for the night, and though both he and Abby suggested you go back, you shook your head and the subject dropped.

He’d watch your figure in the stands—most time nose in a book— as he trained and ran drills. Your proximity comforted him. The small waves and bright smiles you offered were enough to keep him going.

Until you didn’t show one night to his practice and Ernie nearly ran to him afterwards, out of breath.

“You need to come, quickly,” He panted out.

He dropped everything, stripping his quidditch gear and tossing his broom to the wayside and ran after your fellow house prefect, wand in hand, ready for anything and everything.

His heart broke when he found you crying in Prefect’s bathroom alone. You were curled up under a stained-glass window, sobbing into your arms. Ernie slipped from the room and Draco locked the door behind him. Panting, he made his way to you carefully, as not to slip and fall.

“Darling?” He called softly.

Your head raised, tears streaming down your cheeks. You buried your head back into your arms and started to cry harder, curling up tighter.

“What happened?” His voice was gentle as he came to sit beside you.

“She... she said... I was lying about my father...” You sniffled out the words. “That he wasn’t killed by a Death Eater... and I... I just wanted the attention...”

Draco’s heart froze, thinking about the secret that your mother had shared with him. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t tell you, not now.

“Who?” He demanded, “Who said you were lying?” He spat the words, fury boiling in his stomach.

“Umbridge,” You squeaked. “She made me... I got detention... It hurt so bad...” You uncurled your left hand from where it gripped at your sweater and he could see angry red gashes into your skin: I must not tell lies was written in your handwriting.

“She did this!?” Draco took your hand, becoming more careful when you hissed in pain.

Draco had to forcibly calm himself before he went and did something stupid. Really stupid. Justified. But stupid.

“She... she has this quill... made me do lines and it appeared...” You cried into his arms as he held you close.

You backed away slightly and wrinkled your nose, your tears all but forgotten, “Quidditch?” The word held a soft smile.

He rolled his eyes and stripped his shirt throwing it to the side. Wiping away your tears he stood, turning the faucets for the master roman styled bath and gestured for you to pick a sweet- smelling soap. You reached out turning the green faucet handle and the blue one, making the water a soft turquoise.

_______________________________

I watched as Draco stripped to his underwear and stepped into the soapy water. I couldn’t stop myself from following the tone of his back and the creamy white skin that stretched tight over lean muscles. He dipped under, the turned back to me.

“Are you coming?” There was an amused smirk on his face.

“We’re going to get in trouble.” I argued weakly.

“From who? The door is locked, and we’re both prefects,” He pointed out. “Scared Y/l/n?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, striping as I had in the summer when we swam and entered the silky water and into his arms. The warm water welcomed my skin and the pain on my hand. The winter chill faded from my bones. I loosely hung my arms around Draco’s neck. Butterflies fluttered in my chest. The detention was all but forgotten.

“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?” His lips were just below my ear, pressing the words softly to my skin. “Because if I haven’t, I’ve been doing it all wrong,”

A warm smile reached my lips. My eyes slipped closed as I curled my fingers in his hair. His hands supported the backs of my legs as they curled around his waist. His lips trailed down my neck, making me shudder involuntarily. I felt his smug smile against my skin.

I bit my lip before three words slipped out that I wouldn’t say but desperately yearned to.

My eyes fluttering open, I nudged him, drawing his lips to mine in a soft, gentle kiss. His hot breath mixed with mine in a familiar comfort. His hand dipped from the water, curling into my hair, leaving warm water drops trailing down my neck and shoulders. A soft sound escaped at the sensation. He hummed in response. The kiss stayed slow and lazy. All of my cells relaxed and reached a tranquil state that I never knew was possible.

I broke the kiss and rested my forehead against his, breathing softly, my eyes closed. Again, I stopped myself from uttering those three words.

I felt him nod as if he knew what I wanted to say and acknowledged it. But maybe it was just my imagination.

He set me on one of the bath outcrops, ascending from the water and grabbing two warm towels that were rolled on a rack next to the bath. I watched him, memorizing every part of him that I could. Towel in hand, I rose from the water and I could feel his eyes doing the same.

“Get changed, and wrap your hand the best you can,” He ordered softly. “Meet me outside your portrait.” His fingertips brushed down my arm, making me shiver again.

In a sweater and fuzzy socks, Draco met me in the halls, a soft smile in his lips. Being careful about my hand Draco led me down the hall toward Snape’s office. I didn’t quite know why though.

Pausing at the door, Draco tried it, but it was locked. He knocked, huffing irritated. 

“Professor?” He called; I could hear the frustration in his voice.

My hand reached out and slipped around his waist, a calming effort. The door unlocked and opened, and instead of meeting Snape, green eyes and wild black hair met us.

“Potter,” Draco spat.

“Malfoy,”

“Oh, can we not do this now?” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Draco gritted his teeth and pushed past Harry, pulling me in with him where he paused, Snape at his desk.

“Mr. Malfoy, Miss Y/l/n, what do I owe the pleasure?” Snape greeted politely, a smile not touching his face.

“She needs Essence of Murtlap. Or if you’ve got any of my vials left...” Draco spoke softly and lowly.

“Murtlap,” I clarified. “I don’t want to take his,”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco scoffed, his blue eyes piercing mine. “It’s fine,”

“Murtlap,” Harry muttered softly; I had forgotten that he was there. “Umbridge?”

I turned, my eyes meeting green ones. I felt Draco’s grip on me tighten but I paid him no mind.

“Yes,” I confessed softly, my eyebrows pulling together.

Harry presented his hand where fading still were the scars reading the same words that mine did. I pulled from Draco’s grasp and went to look at Harry’s hand, slowly unravelling the bandage from mine. Other than the differences in our handwriting, it was the same sort of magic that pierced our skin.

Draco touched my shoulder softly, a vial in his hand that I had seen once before. A time when I had to take it because of the boy with the same scars as mine in front of me.

I started to argue with Draco about not using his potion, adamant about not giving away why he needed it in front of Harry, which left me having to give in and take the Healing potion. I watched as my hand stitched itself back together, leaving nothing but pink skin in its wake. Draco pressed a soft kiss to my hand, not caring that Harry was watching us keenly.

“Y/n,” Harry started, but paused when Draco tucked me behind him.

“Yes?” I prompted him to continue, taking a step in front of Draco, giving him a look.

“I’m sorry,” Harry rushed out. “For... what happened at the match, and... everything else,”

“Mr. Potter, please apologize on your own time,” Snape sneered. “We have work to do,”

“It’s okay,” You whispered, looking down and moving into Draco’s arms, “Just remember who the real enemy is.”

I grabbed Draco’s and pulled him out of Snape’s office and into the hall. He was sulking and no doubt wanted to go back in there and give Potter a piece of his mind, but my gentle look stopped whatever he was thinking.

“That goes for you too.” I chided softly. “Remember who the real enemy is,” 

With an eye roll, a smile touched his lips and I knew the storm had passed.

“Thank you,” I reached up and pressed my lips softly to his. “You didn’t have to give up your Healing potion for me,”

“No one hurts you,” He narrowed his eyes, pressing another kiss to the back on my healed hand that was back to normal.

Merlin, he was protective, I thought, but stars if it wasn’t the most attractive thing.

 ______________________________________

Draco loathed the fact that it wasn’t the last time you came to him with the angry red words on the back of your hand. He thought about writing to his father about the matter then chuckled darkly at the thought: Father, Umbridge is calling Y/n Y/l/n a liar and physically punishing her because Umbridge doesn’t believe that a Death Eater killed Y/n’s father, could you please clarify the situation.

You looked at him, your eyebrows raised asking what had made him laugh in the middle of study hall. He just shook his head and pulled you into his lap, not caring about the stares it got him. You weren’t complaining.

With February moving into Hogwarts, the weather became warmer and rain replaced the snow. Draco watched you squint up at the rain one day like it offended you personally.

“Hard to fly in the rain,” You spoke softly, taking his hand. “Throws my senses off.”

He slipped his hand into yours and pulled you inside the castle, where you seemed more at ease. As it rained, you tended to stay inside more. The weather really seemed to affect you, or perhaps Pinnae and in turn you. Your wardrobe turned into darker muted colors. Draco wasn’t sure if you were doing it purposely or not. Your sweaters were traded for the same t-shirts you had worn over the summer but paired with school sanctioned skirts and pants rather than cutoffs that he found himself missing. Your robes still draped over your shoulders, so he couldn’t complain too much about the lingering chill in the air.

“So, Valentine’s day,” Abby asked pointedly one night at dinner as you all took your seats at the Hufflepuff table.

“What about it?” You asked.

“There’s a Hogsmeade trip,” Pansy finished Abby’s train of thought.

Of course, Draco knew that. He had been trying for days, if not a week, to figure out what to do for you on Valentine’s Day. Most of what he thought of was stupid and muggle, and he didn’t know if he wanted to stoop that low, but he didn’t want to show up empty handed. Then there was the pressing matter of your birthday that was a couple weeks after the fourteenth.

“Well, we were thinking about having a double date,” Abby looked deliberately at him.

Oh, he was so in Abby’s debt for thinking of this. A smile touched his lips at he gave an amused smirk to you.

“Would you care to accompany me?” He murmured softly in your ear, watching you face flush.

“Okay,” You stammered, suddenly very interested in your half-eaten dinner, your lips darting between your lips distractingly.

Later in his room that night as you read him The Phantom of the Opera, he asked how you really felt about the idea of Valentine’s Day. Before he always scoffed and rolled his eyes at it, thinking it was ridiculous, but he knew that you had a bit more of a romantic heart than he did.

“I mean,” You started, putting down the book. “If you wouldn’t buy me, I don’t know, flowers or chocolates or whatever on any other day, why should I make you do it then?”

“Do you want me to buy you flowers on a regular basis?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No,” You laughed. “I mean if you really want to, but...” You shrugged. “I don’t want you to do it because I think you should, or because it’s what society says... but because you want to, if you want to...”

“Well, you’re going to have to give me some sort of idea here sweetheart,” He chuckled, “It’s not like I’ve done this before,” The confession made his heart flutter because it was true: he normally had the answer to everything and knew exactly how to act, but this? He had nothing.

“Oh, come on, Dray,” You rolled your eyes moving to straddle his lap. “You know what I like more than anyone else. Well, maybe not Abby, but it’s a close call,” You giggled pressing a kiss to his nose.

His hands went to your waist and snuck up under your oversized band t-shirt. You scrunched your nose playfully and sat back.

“If you want to buy me flowers and chocolate and ridiculously expensive things, pretty rich boy, then I won’t stop you,”

“Maybe I will,” He drawled, propping up on his arms. “Pretty boy, huh?” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes and pushed his chest playfully so that he fell back laughing. You dissolved into giggles on top of him. His hands slid up the soft skin of your back, the warmth singing under his fingertips. You head laid on his chest, your fingertips tracing random lines on his arm and shoulder.

He had a week until Valentine’s Day, but you were right: if he wasn’t going to get you flowers on a normal day, why would he on a specific day?

So, with some help from Pansy, who was better at Charms than him—only slightly—he sent you notes every day, enchanting them to turn into flowers when they reached your hands. He did it in the classes that you didn’t have together, knowing it would make you blush deeper as the other students watched you. He felt an extra layer of satisfaction when he knew that Harry was also accompanying you in class when he sent you flowers—not that he’d ever admit that.

It was Wednesday when he got a note back—folded in the shape of an owl. When he opened it, it was a drawing of his profile and the flowers that he had sent that day framing his face.

I quite liked the sunflowers today,

He smiled at the note, not particularly paying attention to Snape as he droned on about Bellum Amoris.

The rest of the week passed, and a soft kiss ended his Friday night before the Hogsmeade outing tomorrow with you—their date. He was excited to take you out properly. But it was because he wanted to, just to see you smile and call him ridiculous and watched everyone else get jealous. Because you deserved the world, and he was going to do everything to give it to you.

Pansy burst into his room early Saturday morning, looking unkept and frantic. 

“Draco... Y/n is in trouble.” Was all she panted out.

Draco dropped everything and followed her down the stairs, through the common room and down the halls, both running towards the hospital wing.

“What happened!?” He demanded, rounding a corner.

“We’re not sure, but she didn’t wake up this morning, no matter what we tried. Abby just got her down here.” Pansy explained, panting.

“Where is she!?” He snarled, his eyes scanning the rows of white linen beds. 

“Draco!” Abby called, drawing his attention. “Please, she needs you,”

He saw you laying on a hospital bed, eyes closed as if you were asleep, but something was off. Madam Pomfrey was dabbing your forehead with a damp cloth. You looked sickly.

“What happened?” Draco demanded, taking your hands and clutching it in his.

Your hands were ice cold. Your eyelashes didn’t flutter open. Your lips didn’t smile.

“She was cursed, and we can’t undo it.” Abby whispered, your other hand in hers.

“What do you mean you can’t undo it!?” He roared. “Fix her!” He glared Madam Pomfrey down. “Get Snape! Get Dumbledore! I don’t care. Just fix her!”

“Mr. Malfoy!” The nurse scolded. “I have kept her alive this long! But I cannot undo what has been done. I fear you are the only one who can.”

“What?” He backtracked. “What do you mean me?”

“The curse,” Abby’s voice was so broken, Pansy was now behind her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. “It was Bellum Amoris. It doesn’t have an antidote... But... well we think that...”

“What!?” Draco demanded. “Tell me!”

“You need to kiss her. It should break the curse.” Madam Pomfrey finished.

“Are you bloody joking me!? This isn’t some fairy tale! This is her life on the line!”

“I know that!” Abby stood. “And I don’t want to lose her either! Now will you shut up and listen to me! You need to break the curse fast or she is going to die!” Her face was red with anger and Draco had to admit that he was impressed at her defense of you.

“But me?” He whispered. “Why me?” He looked down at your colorless face and the shallow breaths that seemed to lull with each moment.

“True loves kiss,” She stared as if it were obvious. “Bellum Amoris is a love-based poison...”

“But... she doesn’t love me. I’m... me.”

“Oh, the two of you!” Abby groaned. “Of course, she loves you! Why else would I put up with you if she didn’t? She sees who you are Draco. And though I will never truly understand it, she loves you. Don’t you love her too?”

He paused. He wanted to say of course he loved her but... did he know what love was? 

“Yes,” was all he could muster. “Please just... give us a minute,”

“She doesn’t have much time,” Abby whispered, taking Pansy’s hand and the two of them left him alone with you.

Draco reached out and stroked your cheek, tears in his eyes. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his thoughts spiraling. He remembered meeting you, and how sweet it was. It seemed like things were meant to be... but was it true? Did you love him? Did was his love strong enough for this to work?

“Oh, why did you have to go and do this?” He whispered through tears. “It was to spite me wasn’t it? To prove that I could love and be loved?”

You didn’t answer but he desperately wanted you too. He wanted to see your smile again. You were just so good, and he wasn’t worth much with morality. His heart raced, wanting to believe that this would work, but if it didn’t? Nothing would tear him apart more if this was just a fluke.

Could he be your Romeo? Your Wesley? Your Raoul?

“Come back to me,” he murmured and pressed his lips to yours.

Pulling away, nothing happened. His heart plummeted to the depths of Tartarus. It wasn’t true love then. He wasn’t enough. It was just a mistake. He was unlovable.

He sat at the edge of your bed and hung his head, muffled cries escaping his lips. They were always right. He couldn’t be loved. He was nothing more than a carbon copy of his father. A Slytherin. A villain.

“Draco?”

He froze turning to you, meeting your warm eyes once more.

“Why... why are you crying?” You sounded so concerned.

And he knew, of course you loved him and how had he ever not loved you?

Scooping you up, he pressed his lips to yours forcefully and kissed you like he meant it. He kissed you like everyone doubted him. He kissed you like the way you loved him. He kissed you like the way he loved you.

Your hands were gentle as they curled into his hair and pulled him closer.

“I love you,” he murmured, pulling away. “Merlin, I love you Y/n,”

“I love you too Draco,” you gasped and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ve loved you for so long,”

He gripped at your, his fingers curling into your shirt as he buried his face in your shoulder inhaling deeply.

He was loved. You loved him.

_______________________________

“What happened?” I asked meekly. “I... I don’t remember...”

“Someone slipped Bellum Amoris into your drink,” He gritted out, cupping my face, searching for something that I wasn’t aware of, but it seemed to calm him.

“Bellum Amoris? But who would... why would anyone?” My eyebrows furrowed. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” He assured me quickly, drawing my into his arms. “You didn’t do anything,”

“Wait, the antidote for Bellum Amoris is...” I blinked, looking up at him, a smile growing on my face.

He grumbled and pouted slightly.

“Oh, my stars,” I breathed out. “You... you really do love me,”

“Of course, I love you,” He snapped. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“That you’re healing,” I rubbed his shoulder softly. “I never thought that I would be the one...”

“How could you not be the one?” He gave me a gentle look. “Do you think I’d skip Quidditch practice for just anyone?” There was an amused smirk on his face that had me laughing.

“I love you,” I said again, just because I could and pressed my lips to his. “I love you Draco Malfoy,” It was euphoric, finally letting the words fly free. Giggled tumbled from my lips.

“Y/n?” Another voice rose.

“Abby?” My eyes snapped up as Abby and Pansy came back in, the former looked like she had been crying.

“Merlin, Y/n don’t do that to me!” She shouted, pulling me in for a hug. “What were you thinking!?”

“She didn’t do it, babe,” Pansy chided. “Glad to see you’re awake Feathers,” She offered me a smile.

“Only I get to call her that,” Draco snapped.

“Okay,” I drawled. “Let’s all just take a deep breath. I’m fine. No one is to blame. Everything’s okay,” I tried to pacify the air around us.

“You were just poisoned!” Abby retorted, mixing with Draco’s same declaration.

“Okay, yes, but I don’t want to worry about that right now,” I breathed out. “It’s the weekend, I have my best friends with me, I just want to go to Hogsmeade, and have a ridiculously overly done Valentine’s Day,”

“I think we can manage that,” Pansy grinned. “Draco you’re gonna have to let her go,” 

“She’s not going anywhere yet,” Madam Pomfrey strode over. “Until I give her clearance,”

Abby and Pansy backed away, Draco just moved over, not letting go of my hand as Pomfrey checked my pulse, reflexes, and asked a few questions as to how I was feeling.

“I love you,” I whispered into Draco’s shoulder as he hugged me one last time before we parted ways to get ready for Hogsmeade and Valentine’s Day.

“Oh, my Merlin he loves you!” Abby squealed as we flitted around our room getting ready. “Like, true love! Y/n!”

“I know,” I grinned and sighed, hugging a pillow.

“You lucky son of a bitch,” She laughed, and I knew she had been spending a lot of time with Pansy as the curse rolled off her tongue almost naturally—a habit Pansy also had. “All those stupid fairytales and you found your own, I should have known,”

“Do you think the dress is too much?” I asked off hand, running my hand over the dark magenta fabric of the simple dress. “Maybe I should just wear jeans,”

“Y/n, he bloody loves you, wear the dress,”

Well that was a good a way as any to shut up my anxiety. And maybe when I threw a cardigan over it and paired it with boots, it wasn’t so dressed up. It was casual. Like I wasn’t trying to hard.

Draco and Pansy met us at the portrait, and we headed down to the small village that sat at the bottom of the valley with our small group of friends. We passed Harry and Cho walking together on the way down. Cho waved at me and I waved back. Draco didn’t shout anything at Harry, so I counted that as a win.

“At least Cedric was better looking,” Blaise muttered. “Don’t know why she’s with Potter,”

I fumbled in step and Draco caught me before I could fall. I had forgotten that Cho and Cedric had been together. I thought I had gotten over Cedric’s death too, well, as much as I could at the current moment. Guess I was wrong.

“Bugger off mate,” Draco snapped. “How stupid can you be?” He draped his arm around me and pulled me away from the group a bit, sitting me on the wall of the bridge. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Just caught me off guard,” I explained. “I’m... I’m okay.” I nodded again, taking his hands. “I have you,”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You look lovely, if I haven’t mentioned,” 

“I don’t think you have,” I smiled, knowing what he was doing, and I let him.

Abby and Pansy lingered behind from the rest of the group and we rejoined with them, walking along. Pansy hissed and Abby stiffened upon entering the village.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come,” Abby muttered, seeing the faces of the escaped Death Eaters staring us down.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that all of the Bellatrix photos were glaring me down, hurling silent accusations. It made me huddle closer to Draco.

“No,” Draco decided. “We deserve a day out.”

His confidence surprised me more than it should have. I had never seen him so... carefree? So bold that he deserved something good? It was like the Draco I saw when we were alone was finally shining through. It made me smile and agree with his words. We did deserve this.

Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop was filled with other couples today, just like us. I caught sight of Harry and Cho again and did my best effort to smile at them. Rodger Davies and Hannah were here too. They waved.

Taking a pair of tables in the corner of the small shop, I shrugged off my cardigan, not needing it in the warm atmosphere.

“I’ve never actually been in here,” I thought aloud. “It’s cute,”

“Bit frilly for my taste,” Abby muttered. “If one of those cherubs throws confetti on me, I’m hexing them,”

“That’s my girl,” Pansy grinned.

Draco was quiet beside me and I knew he was lost in thought. My mind ran through a list of things that he could be thinking about—the Death Eaters, Harry and Cho, Cedric, the frills of the shop, what to order, the fact that not hours ago we professed our love to another.

“Love?” I called softly, pulling him back to the present.

He hummed an acknowledgement, his blue eyes almost silver as they met mine. I nestled closer to his shoulder, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm circled around my waist, his other hand thrumming a beat on the table with his fingers.

“They look a bit awkward, don’t they?” Abby muttered, nodding to Harry and Cho.

“Give him a break,” I chided back. “Poor kid’s been through enough,”

“Just saying,” Abby shrugged.

“If he’s going to take a girl out, at least he should do it right,” Draco chimed in. “Bloke’s got no idea what’s going on,”

“Oh look, now she’s crying,” Pansy snickered.

I huffed and stood.

“Are you going to help me or not?” I snapped at Draco, gesturing to Harry and Cho.

“What do you want me to do?” He shot back. “Harry and I aren’t exactly simpatico at the moment,”

I opened my mouth to say something, but he had a point. Sighing, I kissed him quickly and raced after Cho who was heading out into the rain. I casted a quick shielding charm and ran over to her, calling her name.

“What do you want?” She asked, miserable.

“To know if you’re okay,” I held my wand between us so that the makeshift umbrella was over the both of us.

“No, I’m not,” She sniffed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Harry is...”

“He’s not the brightest no,” I admitted. “But Cho, he’s a guy. It’s what guys do. They’re all stupid and hopeless,”

“Cedric wasn’t,” She whimpered.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“No, he was great, wasn’t he?” I whispered out, fighting back tears.

“At least you have Draco now,” She wiped away her tears. “It’s nice to see him with you. Makes this whole D.A. thing kinda worth it. That maybe there is hope after all. I wish you’d come back,”

“Thanks Cho,” I placed my hand on her shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly. “And... if you ever wanna talk about Cedric, I’m here,”

“You’re the best of us, Y/n,” Cho hugged me, and I almost dropped the shielding charm. 

“Do you want to join us?” I offered.

“No, you go have fun on your double date, I think I’m gonna head back and get some homework done while I can. We have Snape’s essay due Monday and I haven’t started it.” She drew her wand and cast her own shielding charm. “Thanks Y/n,”

“Anytime,” I waved, watching her walk towards the school.

Back in the small shop, I made my way back to Draco. Harry was gone. I sighed and shrugged mentally, letting myself enjoy Draco’s company.

“Always the Hufflepuff,” He teased.

“Better than Slytherin,” I drawled.

Rolling his eyes, he pressed a kiss to my temple. 

“You two are something else,” Pansy muttered. 

“Yeah,” I sighed contented.

The rest of the day was dampened by the rain so much that we all ran for cover and ended up in the Hufflepuff Common Room curled up on the couches. Draco’s hands played absentmindedly in my hair as I continued to read The Phantom of the Opera. Abby was flipping through my vinyl collection, showing Pansy how the record player worked, a lesson Draco learned not long ago.

I paused from reading when the song shifted to a new one—Abby chose one of my dad’s Bob Segar records. My eyes closed and a smile stretched across my face as I started to sing the words to the familiar song. Setting my book down, I pulled Draco off the couch and Abby followed suit and pulling Pansy into her arms as we began to dance.

I laughed and let Draco spin me around as I sang to the classic rock legend. Draco was laughing at my antics and Abby turned up the volume, the lyrics encompassing every inch of the Common Room. Others were soon drawn to the rock song and there was a makeshift dance floor in the Common room to my dad’s record.

The next song was slower, letting Draco pull me in as we swayed back and forth softly. With my head on his shoulder, I murmured the words to the song. After a while, Draco began to hum to the repetitive melody. I never heard him hum before, let along sing. It was comforting, a soft deep sound that drew me in.

“I love you,” I whispered softly.

“As I love you,” He responded, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

Though the hour was young, my senses began to drag me under, shutting me down. I leaned a bit more against Draco and he took notice, leading me back to a sofa, letting me drape across him under a blanket. His hands went back to playing with my hair and it wasn’t fair that he was so comfortable and warm. My eyes slipped closed, knowing that I was safe.

When they opened again, Draco was still beside me, but we were in a bed—his bed. Thinking nothing of it, I rolled over. He grumbled something and his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back to him, his chest against my back, his legs tangling with mine. His soft breaths on the back of my neck were steady enough to lull me back to sleep.

_______________________________

Draco woke, and you were sleeping peacefully beside him, a small smile on your face, as it always was when you slept. He pressed a kiss to your neck and your eyes fluttered open, squinting up at him.

“Morning,” He grinned.

“Why are you a morning person?” You grumbled, dismayed, hiding in his arms from the morning light.

“Not all of us are night owls,” He toyed.

“I am an owl,” You mumbled, causing him to laugh.

“That you are, my dear,” He chuckled, pulling you onto his chest, brushing your hair from your face.

You squinted at him again, pouting. He pressed his lips to yours, and your pout was forgotten as you kissed him back sleepily. His hands ran up your back, causing you to shudder.

“Not fair,” You mumbled against his lips. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” 

“Maybe I do,” He mused, tracing up your spine, triggering you to shiver again. 

“Draco,” You whined, laying your head on his shoulder. “Stop being mean,”

“I’m never mean,” He scoffed, false dismay in his voice.

You didn’t answer and he could see that it was because you were fast asleep again. He continued to rub your back soothingly, pulling the blanket around you both. Draco watched you sleep in the morning light, knowing that he loved you and that you loved him. It made everything else sort of fall away.

“Is she awake?” Pansy’s voice piped up from his doorway. 

He shook his head.

“Ugh, that girl can sleep,” Pansy whined.

“I told you,” Abby chimed in pushing through the door. “She’s not a morning person. She never has been,”

“You guys are loud,” Your voice slurred grumpily.

“Well, you should be awake,” Abby countered. “Rise and shine Feathers,” 

“Only Draco can call me that,” You pouted into his shoulder and he chuckled.

You were absolutely precious in the morning. He wondered how many mornings he’d have with you and if he could have them all. You yawned and he decided that he was going to fight for them all.

The week passed with gentle ‘I love you’s and nights in the Hufflepuff common room listening to records and reading books. To be fair, you two did study as well, getting ready for your O.W.L.s but there was something sacred in the quiet nights that belonged to the four of you.

“Whatever you’re planning,” You and Draco walked up to the table in the Great Hall where your friends group went very quiet all of a sudden. “Don’t. I don’t want anything for my birthday.” Your eyes narrowed on Abby.

“We were just talking strategy for the Quidditch game,” She lied with a smile.

“Sure,” You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. “I mean it. Don’t let them plan anything. No party, no cake, no nothing,”

He chuckled and sat beside you, giving Abby a knowing look. There was no way they were going to let your birthday slide. However, they were better at keeping it a secret. All he had to do was keep you busy until after the Hufflepuff Gryffindor Quidditch match the Saturday before your birthday. Which means he had you the entire day.

You pouted when he showed up in your common room that morning. 

“What’s that for?” He teased, reaching down to kiss you.

“I know what you’re planning,” Your eyes narrowed and for a moment he thought you did, but your pout returned, and he knew you were clueless.

“All I’m doing today is spending time with you. Just like every other weekend. And maybe we’ll even do some homework,” He grinned. “No birthday stuff. No party.”

“Good,” You huffed sitting next to him on the sofa.

The morning passed, and he did actually end up getting some homework done and you practiced your Transfiguration spells. You were getting quite good when you focused, not that he was helping with that.

“Oh, actually,” He looked into his bag after you both returned from lunch, grinning when he saw the anger on your face. “Will you calm down, seriously,” He chuckled. “These are from Pansy for your album, she just got them developed.” He handed you the envelope with the photos in it.

Was it a birthday present? Totally. Was he going to tell you that? Nope. You were precious when you were upset and suspicious. Grumbling, you disappeared to your room and returned with the photo album you had gotten for Christmas and took the time to transfer the photos and dates from the back onto the unused pages.

Christmas December 24th

New Years, Jan 1st

DADA Training, Malfoy Manor, Jan 3rd 

First day back, Jan 13th

Draco and Y/n dancing, Feb 14th

Valentine’s Day, Feb 14th

The last photo was taken at the tea shop and held four smiling faces as one of the cherubs did throw confetti on you all. It was one of Draco’s favorites of the four of you.

“They’re planning something, aren’t they?” Your voice was soft as you placed the last picture in the album. “I know it is my birthday, but... celebrating,” You shrugged and sighed, leaning against him. “It just doesn’t feel right with everything looming,”

“I think that’s why they want to, love,” He rubbed your shoulder softly. “We all don’t know how long we have left to be kids,”

“I wish it would all just go away,” You confessed, thumbing you locket open, the Narnian lullaby playing softly as your eyes focused on the small dancing circle of mythical creatures. “Wish we could just run away to Narnia,”

Draco gathered you into his lap and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He wanted to run away too. Away from family feuds and wars and Dark Lords and Death Eaters. Back to a time when the biggest thing he had to worry about was who won the next World Cup.

“Let’s get out of here,” He decided. “It’s not raining, why don’t you let Pinnae out? For your non-birthday-day.”

Your smile returned and he headed out to the tree by the lake, broom in hand, waiting for you to fly down. Sure enough, you came swooping down, slicing through the air. He mounted his broom and joined you, feeling the brisk breeze of the end of February on his skin. Draco jerked when you cut dangerously close to him, banking in front of him, chirping a laugh.

“You did that on purpose,” He sulked, chasing after you.

You noticed and drove straight down towards the lake. It was almost too easy, and you were much bigger than a Snitch. Just as he reached out, inches from the water, you plunged in and he was forced to swerve up, hovering above the water.

Pinnae shot up from the water, showering him in little droplets soaring into the sky. He laughed and chased after you once more. Your game continued, he’d pursue you and you’d do something to escape his grasp. Until with wings outstretched you landed on his broom, morphing back.

“You’re such a cheater,” He steadied the broom, balancing it.

“I think you’re just mad because you lost,” You grinned cheekily pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve never actually flown on a broom before.”

“Really?” He was shocked; it was one of his favorite things to do.

“Well, I mean in first year, but that was it.” You shrugged, your eyes looking at the world that seemed so small below you.

Draco shifted you so that you were sitting more securely before he began to coast down towards the lake water then back up, enjoying the ride with you in front of him. He eventually landed on the riverbank, letting you down, watching you stretch. A smile fell on his face.

You laughed and rolled your eyes, noticing his stare. He continued to marvel at you.

And he might have forgotten the time, or what he was walking into then he entered the Hufflepuff common room with you and a cheer went up at your arrival.

_____________________________

I froze, staring at all of my friends, classmates, and housemates. It seemed like everyone was there, from every house. There were banners printed in Hufflepuff colors as well as ones that had “Happy Birthday Y/n” plastered across them with enchanted letters and moving images.

“We won!” Abby exclaimed running up to me. “And happy birthday,” She grinned. 

“I told you not to—” I started but she cut me off.

“You said no nothing, so...” A mischievous look was on her face.

“It’s an expression,” I uttered in despair, turning to Draco.

He was smiling at me, raising an eyebrow, and no matter how much I might have hated that he kept this from me all day, and maybe all week, his words from earlier laid on my heart: “We don’t know how long we have left...”

“Thank you,” I turned to Abby, hugging her. “I guess I can’t really complain, can I?”

“I mean you can...” Abby drawled.

“But you won’t,” Draco came up behind me and held my waist. “Because we know you,”

The party, a mix of birthday and Hufflepuff victory went on for what seemed like hours. Draco and I fell into a sort of familiar pattern, the one we had started what seemed like forever ago at the Ball: mingle, say hello, and take breaks when I became overwhelmed. It seemed like all of D.A. was there including Harry, Ron, and Hermione. It was a tense conversation between the five of us, and even more so when Pansy and Abby joined. Hermione tried to alleviate the tension and it worked to an extent. Harry was pleasant, wishing me a happy birthday. Ron mumbled about the same before breaking off to join his twin brothers, who I thought were having a good round of “never have I ever” with fire whiskey. I avoided that section of the room at all costs.

Draco and I ended up in a corner near the fireplace. I swayed slightly to the music whose bass beat seemed to thrum through me. Draco’s hands were still on my waist and had become a lot more affectionate now that he seemed comfortable with the company around us. It was hard to keep a blush off of my face with the things that he whispered lowly into my ear. Or that his hands became a bit bolder when they held me.

As curfew neared, the crowd thinned until it was our normal group of friends. Pansy was draped across Abby’s lap, nursing a glass of fire whiskey. Ernie was looking very cozy with Taylor, his hand toying with her tight brown ringlet curls. I was in Draco’s lap, in a similar fashion to Abby and Pansy. Draco’s hands had slipped up past the hem of my skirt, but I didn’t really care because we were under a blanket. I couldn’t lie, he looked inviting: his tie loose around his neck, the few top buttons of his shirt undone, his hair disheveled and out of place.

“Happy birthday,” He murmured into my neck, leaving soft kisses. “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” I smiled up at him.

His lips pressed to mine, and I could taste the sweetness of cake on his tongue. My hands knotted into his hair, pulling him closer. His fingers pressed into my skin, drawing me flush against him, moving me so that I was straddling his waist. Excitement and desire fluttered in my chest. Using my advantage, I kissed him hard, pressing him back into the couch, grinning when he fought back for dominance. A low sound emitted from his chest, warning me to give in. I hummed back, as if to scoff.

“Get a room,” I heard someone behind us.

Draco pulled back and grinned mischievously. I don’t know how it happened, but soon we were in his room and he had me pressed against the door, kissing me again. His hands slipped into my shirt, running up my sides. The warm feeling started to spread from my chest to the rest of my body as I became putty in his hands.

“Draco,” I breathed against his lips.

“Trust me,” He replied, his hands moving to stroke my face gently. “I’ve got you,”

I nodded, looking up at him through my eyelashes. He took my hand and led me to his bed, setting me there before closing and locking up the rest of the room. Our own little safe haven. A new sort of anxiety rose in my chest.

His lips were soon on mine again as he pushed me back into the bed, crawling over me. His mouth wasn’t gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. He didn't stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips didn’t leave my skin, they just moved to my throat and down my neck. The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave.

My fingers found his shirt in the dark and undid the rest of the pesky buttons. He took only a moment to strip the shirt before his hands were on me again. I pulled his mouth back to mine, and he seemed just as eager as I was. Little whimpers left my mouth to his deeper growls.

“Can I?” He panted onto my lips, his hands lingering at the top button of my shirt.

“Can you?” I grinned against him, feeling him return the gesture and he unbuttoned my shirt, desire and anxiety creating a beautiful creature inside of me.

With my head resting on his pillows, hands gripping at the smooth skin of his back, his lips and tongue explored the canvas he had uncovered. His name was a whisper and plea at my lips. It felt like every nerve ending in my body was a live wire.

“Draco,” I moaned softly, drawing him back up, his blue eyes meeting mine.

My name came softly through his lips, with so much affection, I thought that my heart would burst. “Are you okay?” He murmured, soft concern on his face as he brushed a hair from my face.

I nodded, my heart warming that he was so nervous. His mask had gone, and I could see him, the real him. The kindness, gentleness and selflessness that he hid rolled off him like waves.

“Do you want this? Do you want to keep going?” He asked softly.

I wanted to say yes just as much as I wanted to say no. Stars, I wanted him, and I wanted to chase this feeling, but I knew I wasn’t ready for it. I knew that he wasn’t ready for it. It would be easy to say yes, but just as important to say no. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say no. I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to lose this; him, being here and close, no walls, just us.

I heard him chuckle, as he kissed my jaw and neck while I thought. 

“Hmm?” I asked, really not trusting my voice.

“We’ll wait,” He whispered softly against my skin. “I promised I’d do this right,” The smile that I fell in love with came back to his lips. “And if you can’t give me a yes undoubtedly, then we won’t,”

I nodded and reached up, brushing his hair out of his face. It had grown longer over the few months, almost shaggy and unkept. A small streak of rebellion.

__________________________________

Draco’s heart felt like it was going to burst. You were panting and so innocent underneath him that it made him want to claim you so that no one else would dare to think that they could have you.

But he would wait for that. He would wait for you. He would wait for himself.

Regrettably he left you in bed to take a quick—cold—shower and gave you the space to collect yourself. You were in one of his old t-shirts tucked under the covers when he came back. Your fingers were toying with your locket, your eyes closed peacefully.

Draco slipped into bed beside you. As if you were a magnet attracted to him, you shifted and curled up beside him, your head on his chest. Your fingers traced abstract patterns on his chest and Merlin, he loved you. The two of you spent most of the night talking about nothing and everything: childhoods, favorite foods and sweets, spells, future dreams...

The morning of your actual birthday, there was hardly an attention on you at all. Every student seemed to have their hands of a copy of the Quibbler and whispering about Potter again. Your eyebrows furrowed as you read the pages of the outrageous magazine and went quiet.

“It’s nothing we didn’t know,” You sighed softly, showing him the interview from Harry. “Your father is mentioned... so are Vincent’s and Gregory’s. This could get bad,”

He skimmed the article, seeing that you were right. Harry had named his father as well as some others as Death Eaters. He tossed it to the next student, wrapping an arm around you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, knowing that hearing about his father and the Dark Lord would throw you off balance.

“I think so,” You nudged a few strawberries around your plate. “Are you?”

He nodded, feeling the stares of the students on him once more. Like they were waiting for something to happen. Then he had a sinking feeling: they were waiting for you to react to the news about his father.

“Heads up,” Abby nodded to the monstrosity in pink clicking down the walkway of the Great Hall towards Potter. “That doesn’t look good,”

Pansy cursed as Umbridge turned towards where you all were sitting. The copy of the Quibbler that he was reading not moments ago was long down the table, so he didn’t worry too much.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Umbridge snapped with a false sweetness.

Draco clenched his fists, his hand going to his wand in his robes.

“Good morning,” There was your mask of politeness.

“I was not aware that being a prefect placed you above the rules,” She tutted. “All students are to sit with their House Tables at all meals.”

“This is the Hufflepuff table,” Pansy shot back. “And no one follows that rule, it’s ancient and wrong,”

“Watch your tongue Miss Parkinson,” Umbridge’s eyes still didn’t leave yours.

“Oi,” Draco called. This time Umbridge’s eyes did flicker to his. “Pansy and I are both prefects, I don’t see what qualm you have with Miss Y/l/n here when she has done nothing wrong,”

Umbridge tilted her head, her smile becoming more forced.

“I expect more from you Mr. Malfoy. It is one thing for you to show such disrespect, but another thing to fraternize with a delinquent like Miss Y/l/n,” She talked about you like you weren’t sitting beside him, tucked under his arm.

“My apologies,” You stood, “Abby,” You looked at your friend who stood with you and the two of you rushed from the Great Hall.

Draco started to chase after you, but Pansy held him back.

“Think about it Malfoy,” She hissed. “Umbridge can write to your father.”

The thought made his blood run cold. His eyes trailed your retreating form as you turned towards in the direction of the hospital wing. Then he turned to glare at Umbridge. Never had he hated someone more. His eyes met curious green eyes from across the way.

To no one’s surprise, the Quibbler was banned before the first class could get out. Not that Draco particularly cared, he had watched students all day charm and transfigure the magazine to hide it from Umbridge’s tyrannical rule. It almost made him smile that Umbridge was being defied by every student in the school.

As soon as his class got out, he went to find you. He doubted that you went to Herbology this morning, but Abby told him you had gone and stayed behind because you were in love with a bowtruckle. Draco sighed and laughed, thinking of how much you amused him. He found you, with a Ravenclaw student, a small bowtruckle crawling up your arm. You were giggling at it, rotating your arm to keep the small thing from falling. All of your worries and hurt from this morning was absent.

“I told her you’d worry,” The Ravenclaw spoke up in a dreamy voice to him. “She didn’t seem to notice with the bowtruckle. She named him Steve.”

You looked up from Steve(?) a sheepish smile on your face.

“Look!” You glowed, beckoning the bowtruckle into your palm and holding it out to him. “Professor Sprout just got them in, aren’t they precious?”

He wondered if Sprout really just got them or if the professor had been saving them for a day like this for you. Setting his bag down, he took the stool next to you, offering his hand to one of the small leafy creatures. One hoisted itself onto his hand. He much preferred these to mandrakes or anything else he had encountered in herbology.

“Very good at lockpicking,” The Ravenclaw nodded, about six bowtruckles on her shoulders. “Social creatures.”

“Luna, we’re not using them to lock pick,” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, I know. There’s a spell for that. I’m just glad they’re not Nifflers, they’ll steal anything shiny.”

Draco finally placed why there was something familiar about this Ravenclaw student: it was Loony—Luna Lovegood.

“I don’t think he likes me much. He’s the one who started my other name you know.” Luna didn’t look up from Steve in your hand.

“He doesn’t like anyone much,” You smiled up at him. “Only a few.”

“I suppose you like him though. Seeing you became an Animagus and all for him,”

Draco froze and he felt you tense next to him. Both of you gazes were transfixed on Luna, who was nonchalantly picking up another bowtruckle.

“How did you know that?” You demanded. “How... who told you?”

“No one told me, but the signs were there. Silent for a month, you don’t really mind cold weather, and you have the mark. I’m surprised the bowtruckles like you, normally owls prey on them,”

“What mark?”

“All Animagi have them. You can’t see it though without having been kissed by a gnome you know the name of.”

He watched your face go through different stages of disbelief. At the moment all he was worried about was your safety.

“You can’t tell anyone,” He hissed. “It would put her life in danger.”

“No one believes what I say,” Luna’s large blue eyes met his. “I suppose I have you to thank for that,” It wasn’t a threat, but it guilted him. “And perhaps Granger to an extent.”

“Luna, this is serious, no one can ever know.” You pressed, setting Steve on the workbench. “Not Harry, not Neville, no one.”

_____________________________________

I was too preoccupied with Luna knowing my secret that I didn’t realize that Steve had crawled up my arm and to my shoulder until Draco’s hand carefully caught the bowtruckle and placed him back on the work bench.

“I won’t tell anyone if it means that much,” She smiled at me sweetly.

“Thank you,” I breathed out.

“Your father is a Death Eater.” Luna’s large eyes looked to Draco. “It must be difficult,” 

“I... um... yeah,” He stammered, thrown off balance by the kindness that Luna offered. 

“We should get going,” I whispered.

Waving to Luna and saying goodbye to Steve, we headed back towards the castle. Now that Umbridge was animate about keeping all of the students at the proper house tables under the watchful eye of herself and Mr. Filch, Draco and I only sat together in one class: Potions.

Being away from him gave me a strange sort of feeling. I had gotten used to him being by my side. Knowing that I would be alone left me more anxious than I had been in months. I was forced to keep a vial or two of Anxiety or Thoughts potion in my bag just to make it through a day. Draco always seemed to have them on his person as well, slipping me them between classes or at night when I’d spend countless hours in his dorm room: studying, talking, kissing, lamenting.

It was the beginning of April when things seemed to go from bad to worse. Draco, Pansy, and I were heading back from the library on a night that D.A. was occurring. A large group of students—that I recognized immediately as D.A.— were rushing down the hall and scattering. Abby grabbed my hand and pulled me away from Draco causing me to run with her or face falling.

As I rounded the corner, I saw Draco and Harry sprawled on the floor in what seemed like a collision in the fervor. Both boy’s eyes were locked on mine, a streak of pink standing over them as I disappeared around the hall and ducked into the Owlery.

“What the hell?” I panted at Abby.

“We were outed. Merlin, Y/n are you okay?” She panted.

“Are you?” I asked, checking her over. “I’m going back out there,”

“You can’t! Umbridge will expel you!” Abby protested.

“She can’t expel and owl,” I grinned and hugged her quickly, morphing into Pinnae.

“Be careful!” She called as I soared into the night and towards the tower that held Dumbledore’s office.

Perched on a window, I saw the entire scene unfold. Not that I particularly cared—I was just looking for Draco, to make sure that he was okay. About to fly away, I paused upon hearing Draco’s name.

“He was heading back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Umbridge. There was an indecent excitement in her voice, the same callous pleasure I had heard many times before. “The Malfoy boy cornered him.”

“Did he, did he?” said the Minister of Magic appreciatively. “I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter . . . I expect you know why you are here?”

That was good wasn’t it? Not that Draco had meant to crash into Harry allowing Umbridge to grab him, but... maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. I hoped that Umbridge didn’t catch sight of me in the hall. I flew from the window and to an opened window where a blond-haired boy paced the floor. I morphed mid-flight into his room, landing on two feet with a soft thud.

“Merlin, Y/n!” Draco exclaimed drawing me into his arms. “Look I didn’t mean to get Harry caught, I didn’t! He ran into me, and stars,” He was frantic in his explanation.

“Draco, Dray, calm down,” I soothed brushing his hair from his face. “Everything’s okay.”

I sat him down on the bed and explained everything that had happened in Dumbledore’s office. He listened quietly, nodding and slowly calming down, his eyes not leaving my hands that were encased in his.

“I should get back,” I whispered. “Abby’s probably freaking out...”

He nodded. My heart fell because I knew I had to leave him when it seemed I needed him the most. I pressed a soft kiss to his lips and took off into the night. Abby was freaking out when I got back, but in a happy manor.

“I summoned a Patronus!” She told me excitedly. “It was the coolest thing! It was a badger! Like our house!”

I tried to share her excitement, but I couldn’t. I was too emotionally drained to. She caught my energy level quickly and simmered down. I told her about what happened in Dumbledore’s office, and she cursed Marietta. I changed into pajamas and drew the curtains to my bed. I spent the night staring at my locket’s magical scene, the lullaby lulling me to sleep.

The next day, Umbridge was appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts and it took everything in me not to leave on the spot. I met Draco’s eyes from across the dining hall and his grim expression matched mine.

Then came the Inquisitorial Squad.

“What in Merlin’s name possessed you to join her squad!?” I paced the floor of the Hufflepuff common room where the four of us were at a standoff. “Are you serious!?” I snapped at Draco.

“Y/n, please, I had to.” Draco stood, stopping me in my tracks. “She’s reporting to my father. If I didn’t join...”

That sapped all of the fight from me.

“Okay but that doesn’t explain you!” Abby spat at Pansy. “What were you thinking!?”

“You act like I didn’t join to keep you safe too!” Pansy shot back, almost snarling. “If Draco and me are on her squad, she thinks she’s won! And we get to see everything she plans firsthand!”

I sighed and rubbed my face. Pansy was right, and so was Draco. No matter how much I loathed the idea, it was smart. My hand reflexively went to the back of my hand where the memory of pain from detention with her lingered. Pansy and Abby were still bickering, but I didn’t pay them any mind. Draco hesitantly reached out for me.

I took his hand and exhaled softly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered softly. “It was smart. I’m sorry I yelled.”

He nodded and drew me in.

“I hate it too, but with her here, it’s like my father has eyes and ears here. Sometimes I wonder if he already knows.”

“Do... Do you think we should...?” I hated even considering the idea. It made my stomach churn and heart fall to the depths of hell.

“No,” He answered immediately. “I’m not giving you up. The safest place for you to be for both of us is with me. I’ll go senseless with worry and you’ll get anxious and it will just fall apart.”

I nodded and looped my arms around his neck.

“I love you,” I offered weakly.

“As I love you,” He brushed away the escaped tears on my cheeks.

It was hard to stay bleak though, as the Easter holiday was this weekend and cut into next week. I returned home, and though I didn’t see Draco over the short holiday, we wrote to another daily. The small break offered some solace from Umbridge’s dictatorial administration. A break from Hogwarts in general.

The day I returned, I had to go and see Professor Sprout about future plans and career choices under the watchful eye of the horror in pink.

“Have you considered Muggle Relations?” Sprout offered. “Work for the Ministry?” Umbridge tutted.

It took a lot of willpower not to snark about the way the Ministry had gone down the drain, but Sprout caught my sentiment and switched tactics.

“How about a Healer?” She suggested.

“Too much anxiety,” I gave. “I did consider it though, but I’d never make it,” 

“Quite right,” Umbridge muttered under her breath.

I pursed my lips, glaring at her. Sprout scoffed with discussed then faced me again.

“Well, my dear, you excel in a great number of things, it may be time for you to find which one impassions you the most and pursue that,” Professor Sprout smiled. “I have no doubt that you will succeed in whatever you try.”

I left with a bunch of different pamphlets of different jobs that I could pursue, and they were shoved into the bottom of my bag as I went to find Draco.

“I think I want to become and Auror,” He said thoughtfully as we studied for our Charms exam. 

“An Auror?” I looked to him, a smile on my face. “I could see it,”

“Really? Snape didn’t seem too pleased when I mentioned it in passing. I’ve got the grades for it... and after everything... maybe I could do some good in the world,” He fiddled with his quill, staring down at his notes.

“You’d be a great Auror,” I encouraged, taking his hand.

Another beacon of hope that the next few weeks offered was Fred and George Weasley, who a week after setting off a hoard of fireworks in the Great Hall, hexed an entire floor as a swamp and rode to victory on their broomsticks right out of Hogwarts. We all cheered them on then scattered before Umbridge or Filch could throw a detention our way.

Things seemed to simmer down through the rest of May and the four of us found a new sort of normalcy. It wasn’t what we wanted it to be, but it was better than fighting with each other or getting caught by Umbridge so... it would have to do.

Draco’s birthday was in the middle of review week, so Abby, Pansy and I couldn’t plan much, but Pansy did manage to sneak a bottle of fire whiskey, Abby found a way to get into the kitchen so that she and I could spend a few hours baking. With the cupcakes cooled and frosted we headed to the Slytherin common room.

“Happy Birthday,” I grinned.

“Oh, come on, we have to study,” Draco pouted, defeated.

“You have time for one cupcake,” I wrapped my arms around him from behind, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I made them myself.” Abby cleared her throat. “Okay, we made them, but come on Dray, you deserve a little fun,”

He gave in and set down his quill. I cheered victoriously as a makeshift party formed. It was nothing like the rave that occurred in late February, but I didn’t think Draco wanted anything but the four of us together. Well, four plus Ernie, Hannah, Vincent, and Gregory. Pansy had shoved a handful of frosting in Abby’s face, who retaliated and now they were both licking frosting off the other shamelessly. I looked back to my own cupcake and licked the frosting timidly. Draco laughed beside me at the shenanigans that occurred around him, victim to the whiskey and need to unwind.

And for a moment, the weight of everything around us lifted from his eyes and features. That was worth everything.

___________________________________

Two weeks of O.W.L.s and Draco thought if he had to write his name one more time or hear Umbridge recite the same script of rules, he was going to hex her. He had spent his nights with you, studying and practicing spells.

Despite the looming exams, you seemed almost at ease. Draco could tell that you were anxious, you had been for weeks before the exams, but you walked into each exam with your head held high in confidence. You later told him that you had a technique to taking exams that kept you calm: either you knew it or you didn’t, and there was no need to have a panic attack about what you didn’t know.

After his astronomy exam, he found you with Abby in the halls talking to Ginny and Luna. They went quiet as he approached, and he tried not to take it personally. You took his hand.

“We need his help.” You pressed. “We’ve got to make it look like you all are captured, get Umbridge out of the way, then you guys can go!” You insisted.

Ginny glared him down and Luna looked like she didn’t have a care in the world, so the norm.

“What’s going on?” He interjected.

Ginny huffed. “Fine, tell him.”

“Harry thinks that Sirius has been captured by Death Eaters and they want to go and save him, but they can’t with the wicked witch in pink prowling the halls,” You explained quickly.

“So,” Abby picked up. “You go and ‘capture’ the ones who want to go, bring them to Umbridge, Hermione will get Umbridge out of the way, and then let them go,”

You looked up at him, a pleading look on your face. He took you aside, out of ear shot of the others.

“You want me to help Potter save a convicted felon?” He snapped. “Have you gone mad?”

“Look, I’ve met Sirius, and Hermione told me about what really happened, and Draco please, if someone had captured my father, I’d—” Your eyes became glossy with tears.

“When did you meet Sirius?” He demanded.

“Look, it was about a week into being Pinnae. Harry attached a letter to me and...” 

..............................

Late September...

I looked at the letter tied to my ankle and suddenly I felt a pull in my chest and my wings spreading. It was as if the letter itself possessed the magic to direct me to the recipient. Knowing that I couldn’t fight against it, I gave in and let the magic guide me.

I came to a place in London. A house. I fluttered to a window and chirped. A man with long brown wavy hair greeted me at the window. He was familiar, somehow. Then it dawned on me.

Sirius Black.

The escaped convict from Azkaban.

He peered at me, his gray eyes seeing right through my Animagus and into my soul. As if he knew what to look for in an Animagus.

“Come inside and rest for a bit, it’s a long flight back, there’s tea and biscuits downstairs” Was all he said after taking the letter.

I gaped after him, such a human gesture that I slipped out of form instantly. “H-how did you know?” I stammered, chasing after him, any fear towards him fleeting.

“Takes one to know one,” He muttered, lumbering to the kitchen table and sitting at the head seat. “So, who’d you do it for?”

“No one,” I covered quickly.

He gave me a look that told me he wasn’t convinced.

“Look, kid,”

“Y/n,” I gave.

“Y/n,” He rolled his eyes, unamused. “Becoming an Animagus is hard work and it take true dedication and devotion to a cause or person. So, I’ll ask again, who’d you do it for?”

I sat down in one of the chairs, a few seats away from him and looked down at the table. My gaze flickered to his as he waited expectantly.

“You’re close with Harry, yeah?” My eyes flitted to the note and back to steady grey eyes. 

He gave a seldom nod.

“And the stuff they say in the papers isn’t true, is it? My mother’s always defending you,” 

“Your mother?” He mused.

“Elizabeth Y/l/n,”

A smile touched Sirius’ lips.

“I knew her, back in school. Slytherin as they come. Until she met your dad. Then everything changed. It was so unnatural.” He was lost in a memory and I was holding onto his every word.

“I never met my father,” I said crestfallen. “He... He died in the war,” 

“He was a part of the Order you know,”

“The Order? Like Star Wars?”

Sirius barked out a laugh, his eyes shining for a moment.

“The Order of The Phoenix,” Sirius clarified. “Merlin, you’re like your father,” 

My smile dropped a bit. “The Order?” I asked again.

“An opposing group during the war. Voldemort had his Death Eaters; we had the Order. And still do,”

I nodded. “You said my mother was a true Slytherin, but that changed when she met my father...”

“Quite right, take a certain heart to get through to a Slytherin,” “Malfoy,” I whispered to the table. “I did it for Draco Malfoy,”

“So, you’re the Hufflepuff Harry goes on about,” Sirius leaned back in his chair, not giving away any emotion other than nonchalance.

“You can’t tell him that I’m an Animagus,” I rushed out pleading. “It would jeopardize everything,”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Sirius smiled. “Malfoy,” He scoffed. “No wonder Harry is so livid whenever someone mentions the either of you. James used to get so mad about your parents being together,”

“There is good in him.”

“There’s good in almost everyone,” Sirius mended. “The question you have to ask yourself: is it enough to be worth it?”

“That’s not my call to make,” I snapped.

An amused smile grew on his lips.

“And you’re sure you’re not a Gryffindor?”

I scoffed at the mere thought. “Bunch of stuck ups who think they’re always right. No thanks,” 

“You got spunk, kid,” Sirius chuckled. “And a good heart. I’m rootin’ for ya,”

“Really?”

“Sure,” He shrugged. “I told you, becoming an Animagus takes dedication and devotion. Even false hope is still hope,”

..............................

Draco gaped at you as you rushed to apologize for not telling him. And to be fair, there was a lot going on back then as there was now. He huffed and ran a hand through his hair and nodded.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

You jumped up and hugged him, beaming. He held you close before releasing you, going to round up the rest of his Squad to set the plan into motion. He did his best to act like the arrogant Slytherin that Umbridge took him for as she grilled Harry for information. When he was told to fetch Snape, he filled the professor quickly in on what was going on before putting on his act once more.

Hermione gave him one look then burst into tears, unveiling her plan to get Umbridge out of her office. And it was quite brilliant. He never really noticed before, but Hermione was quick on her feet. The kind of cunning that a Slytherin would envy.

When Umbridge, Harry, and Hermione were out the door, he had his friends release the small band of rebels.

“Here,” Draco pulled Harry’s wand from his robes, to a confused Ron and Neville who were about to full on brawl. “Now get out. Quickly.” The others were released, and his Squad flocked behind him, Pansy at his right-hand side.

“What in Merlin’s name?” Ron stammered.

“He’s on our side!” Ginny explained quickly, grabbing her brother’s arm. “Now let’s go,”

Dumbfounded, Ron staggered from the room with the others. Luna smiled and waved as she left, hand in hand with Neville. Sagging and rubbing his face, he stormed from the office, ripping the Inquisitorial Squad badge from his robes, leaving it in the hallway. The end of term was two days away and he felt as if after tonight, the entire Wizarding world was about to change.

There was the same fear and anticipation in your eyes as he gathered you into his arms and pressed a kiss to your lips harshly. You didn’t complain, instead you let him push you against the nearest wall and let him kiss you aggressively until all of his fears and doubts melted away on your lips. Pulling away softly, you looked up at him through your eyelashes silent reassurances in them.

And they waited. All night.

You were wrapped up in his arms as he, you, Abby, and Pansy lounged across his bed. You had tried to read aloud, but your voice got too shaky and too quick and jumbled. You gave up and sighed, pulling out your locket, thumbing it open and watching the Dawn Treader sail on the sea waters.

It was the early hours of the morning when an owl came fluttering to the window. He recognized the family owl and took the letter from its grasp with shaky hands. You were beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. Pansy and Abby must have gone, because he was alone with you.

Finding the courage he could, Draco opened the letter and distinguished his mother’s handwriting.

~

Draco,

Your father has been captured as well as Crabbe and Goyle and a few others and sent to Azkaban. They were sent on a mission to find a prophecy and it went awry.

Bring Miss Y/n back with you when you come home. I’ve already arranged it with her mother. 

Take heart my love,

Narcissa Malfoy,

~

His hands started to shake as he read the words over and over again, trying to make sense of them. Trying to wish them unreal. Draco let you take the paper from his hands as he let out a strangled cry. You were right there. He collapsed into your arms, terrified for what came next.

________________________________

Draco and I ended up on the floor. He clung to me, letting silent tears and gruesome cries escape. I bit back my own tears and consoled him the best I could. I took deep exaggerated breaths, knowing he needed a steady pace to match his own. I kept a rhythm as I rubbed his back. It might not have been a potion, but I knew how to get him through a panic attack. I repeated the same words softly: it’s going to be alright, I’m here, I love you.

Over the weekend, I had packed up my things, ready to leave, and moved into Draco’s dorm for those few days. Anyone who dared say anything to him, taunting or jeering, got a hex to the face.

On the rare occasion that I was without him, I ran into Harry who was coming from the Gryffindor common room.

“Y/n, look,” He started, “I don’t know how to tell you this but Draco’s—”

“Father is a Death Eater, yes I know.” I said firmly. “And he’s in Azkaban right now. I know that too.”

Harry looked at me, shocked.

“But... then... you’re still...” He stammered.

“Yes.” I folded my arms, but my demeanor softened. “And... I’m sorry about Sirius,”

He stiffened, his fist clenching.

“So, you knew that it was a trap! I bet Draco knew! That’s why he decided to help us!” He spat at me.

“What? No!” I defended quickly. “He had no idea! Neither did I! Harry, you’re being ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous!? Me!? Look at you! You’re delusional to think he actually cares about you! He’s using you! That’s what he does!” His words were a slap to the face.

“No that’s what you do!” I shouted back. “I’ve tried to be nice Harry! I’ve defended you time and time again and you’re still just as cruel! Just like Draco used to be! But you know what he changed! You might be a hero, but you’re acting like a real asshole!”

Harry drew his wand, glowering at me. I drew my own wand.

“Do it Potter,” I spat. “Come on. Scared of a Hufflepuff?” I twirled my wand. He raised his wand.

“Stop!”

We both turned, seeing Snape come down the hall, Draco and Abby right behind him. I didn’t lower my wand even though Harry did.

“What do you think you’re doing Potter?” Snape hissed, glaring down Harry. Draco and Abby were at my side, their wands out. I rolled my eyes and put my wand away. 

“Nothing,” Harry bit out, glaring at me. “He won’t always be around to protect you.” “He doesn’t need to protect me,” I scoffed.

Harry left muttered under his breath. Snape turned to the three of us.

“Miss Y/n,” The professor started.

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” I mumbled.

“I was only going to suggest that you loosen up on your wand a bit and center your stance,” Snape had a small smile on his face. “No need for you to get knocked over in a duel,” And with that he left, his robes billowing behind him.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, stroking my cheek.

I nodded. “Just Harry being Harry,” I gave an amused smile. “Come on, we’re going to be late,”

At the End of Year feast, Draco sat by my side. Now that Dumbledore was back, we were allowed to sit together. I was also allowed to wear my muggle t-shirts again. I realized that it was also the small things that had worn me down over the year as well as the bigger things.

I sat with Draco on the train ride back as well. The compartment only allowed the four of us in it. Draco took the window seat and I stretched out beside him, curling up with The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. I had found the right balance of asking him if he was alright, pressing for answers, and letting him have space to think on his own.

Narcissa greeted us both at the station, hugging me and stroking Draco’s face softly. Saying my goodbyes to Abby and promising to write to her, Draco and I set off, hand in hand. We walked

through the marvelous front door of the Manor. Draco sighed and set off to his room, trailing me with him.

“Draco, whose wand is this?” I asked, picking up the wand from his bedside table.

The wand seemed to hum at my touch, and it was familiar somehow.

“No ones,” He answered quickly, turning from his trunk.

I could see the lie for what it was and frowned. When did he lie to me?

“Draco?” I pressed softly. “What...?”

“Just leave it.” He demanded. “It’s not important.”

“I’d say it’s pretty important,” My voice started to raise without my permission.

“Y/n, it’s not what you think,” His voice hardened. “Just leave it.” It was nearly a snarl.

“Draco,” I snapped. “Whose wand is this!?” His gaze dropped to the bed, his hands clenched tightly into fists, shaking slightly.

“Your father’s,”

Whatever I had thought, whatever explanation I tried to find, it wasn’t that. I took a small step away from him.

“Why do you have this?” I hissed, gripping it tightly.

“It belongs to me,” his voice was soft and void of emotion, his eyes still didn’t reach mine.

“It belongs to me,” I snapped, tears rushing to my eyes. “What... why... how could you!?” I stammered, now yelling at him. “You kept this from me!? As if you had a right to it!” My blood boiled with anger.

“I do have the right!” He argued back, snarling, his cold blue eyes finally snapping to mine. “My father killed your father. My father forfeited the wand and now it belongs to me!”

I froze, staring at him. Trying to process his words and his harsh tone he never used at me, my mind reeled with pain and betrayal. What else had he been keeping from me? How long had he kept it from me? Was this all just a ploy? My mind thought of everything we had been through and I started to doubt it all.

“You have no idea the world you live in!” Draco sneered. “All you do is run away to stupid books and fairytales! They don’t exist Y/n! It’s time you grew up and faced the real world!” It was a slap to the face.

“The real world?” I shrieked. “What that your father is a Death Eater!? That he’s working for Voldemort!? That he murdered my father!? That you’ve kept it from me all this time!?” I could barely see him through my tears.

“Because you’re taking it so well!” He shouted. “How do you think I’ve felt!? Knowing what my father did to again darken the Malfoy name!? Knowing that you’d never forgive me for this!? Did you ever stop to think!? No! You only care about yourself! As long as you get to play messiah! As long as you get to run away to a fairytale!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my lip quivering in hurt and anger. I dropped the wand to the floor unceremoniously and slipped the familiar weight of the locket from around my neck. I threw it onto his bed.

“Take them then,” I barely spoke. “And have fun with reality,” My face held an emotionless mask.

I met his eyes one last time. Then I turned and Pinnae flew out into the night.

I flew fast and far. Towards my mother’s house. I stumbled a few times in the air, my human emotions overriding my bird form. I made it home though. A miserable mess of tears, but home.

“Y/n?” My mother asked. “I thought you were with Draco,”

“How long have you known!?” I yelled, storming in through the front door. “How long have you known his father killed mine!?”

“Y/n, honey,” My mother cooed, rushing to comfort me.

“No! I want an answer! How long!?” My voice waivered as my faith in what I really knew started to crumble. I pulled out my wand and wielded it against her.

“Since he died,” My mother took a deep breath in. “I told Draco at Christmas. I gave him your father’s wand. It belongs to him,”

“You... you didn’t think to ask me!? Or tell me!?” I screeched. “How could you!?”

“I was keeping you safe!”

“By lying to me!?” I shot back. “All this time! My whole life!” Then it hit me. “I thought Draco knew from the beginning... but it was you! You kept it from me! You did this! Why would you do this!?”

“To keep you safe!” She shouted back. “His father killed my love! I didn’t want to see the same fate to my daughter!”

“So, you set the whole thing up!” I gaped at her. “You knew that I would get mad Draco! You knew I’d...” I took a step back, the weight of the situation crashing around me.

I didn’t know who to trust.

“Y/n, please, you have to understand—”

“No,” I spat. “You just cost me the most important thing in my life.”

“Family is the most important!” She threw the accusation at me. “Are you going to give that up for a Malfoy!?”

“He was my family! He was my home! I love him!”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I backed up to the door, and again, Pinnae flew out into the night. I didn’t know where to go. I had just lost everything. That was the reality I had to face. I wanted to go back to Draco. I wanted to apologize. I didn’t intend to get so angry and hurtful. I didn’t mean to walk out.

I glided over the countryside and found myself in a familiar place that I visited a few times a year. Surrounded by headstones, I phased back, walking towards a known gravestone.

“Oh Papa,” I sobbed, falling at the foot of the stone. “What did I do?”

I cried and cried, my tears falling and wetting the marble stone. I pleaded to him. I begged him to come back and tell me what to do. I just needed to hear his voice. Knowing I never would, I started sobbing harder. Just wishing he was somehow here again. Just so he could tell me what to do.

Sitting back on my knees, I gazed around at the stone angel statues and mausoleums. It seemed all wrong for the memories of my father, the cold stones that surrounded me. He was warm and gentle.

“Why did she have to... Why can’t the past just die!?” I sobbed out, hugging my knees. “Papa,” I whimpered. “Teach me to live...to forgive... give me the strength to try,” I buried my face in my arms and cried.

It was agony. I had no one. I had nowhere to go. I wasn’t going back to my mother, and Draco no doubt hated me. I couldn’t even be upset that Lucius killed my father because it wasn’t the worst betrayal I had faced today.

I had given everything up. 

I was truly alone.

.

.

Chapter 6

.

End note: I did apologize right?

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[beasback]

What We Deserve Chapter 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Word count: 1506

Warnings: Angry/Depressed Dean

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Dean? Sam squinted slowly peeling his eyelids open. Dean was up awfully early for school. It wasn’t like him, unless... 

“Any word from Dad?” Sam yawned.

Dean smirked while tying his shoes on his mattress. Sam was always observant. Perks of being a hunter.

“He called this morning, said he doesn’t know yet. Could be a few hours, could be another week. We weren’t supposed to be here this long.”

Sam sat up stretching in arms above his head. “At least you've got Amanda. She’s cool.”

Sam didn’t really know Amanda. She was a senior and popular. Barry made sure to tell Sam he thought Dean was cool when he saw them sneaking out of the janitor’s closet one time.

Dean groaned, “Dude, she wants me to meet her parents. I don't do parents.”

Sam snorted.

“Besides, you have Y/N and what’s his name? The kid with the glasses.”

“Barry,” Sam rolled his eyes seeing the empty bed beside him. “Where’s Y/N anyway?”

Throwing his brown leather jacket over his shoulder Dean replied, “I drove her home this morning so she can get ready for school.”

Sam nodded in approval. Sure Dean complained out loud about Sam and Y/N always hanging out in the motel but he always took care of them. 

“Careful Dean, you might actually convince everyone you’re a good guy.” Sam joked.

Dean didn’t find the joke humorous though. Sam realized that when a pillow hit him in the face.

“Get ready.” Dean growled.

Dean’s left hand came up to rest on his latest conquest’s cheek deepening their kiss. The brunette’s right hand trailed down Dean's chest. The omega jumped, grasping Dean’s wrist as someone knocked at the door.

Dean pulled away calling out to the janitor on the other side of the door, “Five more minutes, Jerry.” before bringing the omega in for another kiss.

It wasn’t his first time making out in the janitor’s closet. Dean had been to different schools, in different places, with different girls. Truman High was no exception. Usually he met Amanda, a blonde senior beta in the closet but ever since he turned alpha he started to crave the touch and smell of a sweet omega.

The door creaked open behind Dean letting light flood the small closet. The young alpha released the omega and spun around, his eyes wide at the sight of Amanda standing in the doorway.

“Amanda, hey!”

The brunette’s eyes peaked at Amanda before returning to Dean. She knew Dean and Amanda had a thing but he was an alpha now. Amanda’s eyes searched Dean’s for an explanation after she caught the omegas brown eyes staring at her.

Dean turned to the omega asking “Uh, Gettysburg address, 1863, right?” He then turned to Amanda who simply blinked back at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

The omega pulled her lips into a thin line. This was awkward. Shoving her hands in the back of her jeans pockets she bowed her head not daring to look at Amanda nor Dean as she exited the closet.

“History test next period. We're studying.” Dean weakly replied.

Amanda shook her head and spun on her heel. Dean frowned following Amanda out into the hall. 

“Come on, baby. She means nothing to me. Don't be mad.”

Amanda spun around, her friends sauntering down the hall stopping behind her to watch the scene unfold.

“I'm not mad, Dean. I thought maybe... underneath your whole "I could give a crap," alpha bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on.” Dean stared at Amanda in disbelief. He expected her to yell at him, hit him, to do something out of anger. “I mean, like the way you are with your brother.” She shrugged, “But I was wrong. And you spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool, but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad... lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.”

Dean’s gaze dropped briefly. He could see Amanda’s friends behind her whispering. People in the hall watching. He knew he was a sad lonely little kid. Despite the beta’s calm demeanor, her words cut him like a hot knife through butter. Maybe making out with the omega in the janitor’s closet was a cry for help. Sure as a teen alpha male his sex drive was high but he was also hot-headed and angry. He was looking for a reaction from someone, anyone.

Hurt and infuriated, Dean’s voice became cold. “You feel sorry for me, huh? Don't feel sorry for me.” Amanda scoffed, turning on her heel to join her friends. “You don't know anything about me. I save lives. I'm a hero.” Dean watched her blonde hair bounce with every step she took away from him. She was leaving. It was a stab to the heart much like her words, but isn’t that what he wanted? “A hero!”

The beta’s friends inspected Dean from head to toe scoffing.

“What?”

The three females raised their eyebrows at Dean pressing their lips into a thin line. He knew he saved lives, he didn’t need their approval. Any other day Dean wouldn’t have said anything. He would have kept his mouth shut about the family business like his dad insisted. Any other day but today. As the women walked away from Dean he noticed a few people lingering in the hall.

“What?!”

Sam shuffled down the crowded hallway, both hands clutching the steps of his book bag on his back. Between the mass Sam’s hazel eyes met Y/N’s Y/E/C. She waved Sam down and without missing a beat Sam pushed through the crowd to meet Y/N halfway. 

“Good job buddy” an upperclassman called out. “Sam, great job with Dirk the jerk” another shouted as he slapped Sam’s hand. He could see Y/N high fiving a couple people from the other end of the hall and the corners of Sam’s mouth twitched upward. Sam wasn’t used to all of the attention. He finally felt normal, he didn’t feel like a freak. 

Watching from the middle of the hallway Dean wanted to praise Y/N and Sam. To Dean, Y/N always seemed to fit in yet she chose to hang out with Sam and himself on occasions. He imagined this would be her life when they moved on from this town. It’s better to be popular in high school anyway. It’s for the best. They would be gone and she would be taken care of.

Sam was a different story. Dean was proud watching Sam fit in and he could see Sam getting out of this life, going to college, living the white picket fence life. Despite his happiness for his little brother, he still felt consumed by his rage, he felt like he was drowning. His life was crumbling around him and he couldn’t wait to get away from it all.

Walking through the hall, hands in his leather jacket Dean felt his phone vibrate. Glancing at the caller even though he knew only one person called his phone.

“Dad?” The hunt was over and John was on his way. Goodbye Truman. Dean was getting a chance to start over, to climb out of the hole he had been digging himself in. Dean sighed in relief, “Finally.”

Sam sat on the wall by the steps as Dean paced back and forth in front of the school.

“How’d Y/N take the news?” Dean asked?

Sam shrugged.

Y/N knew Sam and Dean were passing through town, they weren’t staying long. At least they weren’t supposed to. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months Y/N formed expectations in her head. She thought they would at least end the year together. She would get to sit next to Sam and cheer on with him as they watched Dean graduate. She thought they would spend the summer together, they would find a place to live permanently, Dean would go off to college and her and Sam would walk through Truman High’s doors once again next year.

Dean stopped pacing his hands in fists in his jackets pockets. “I can't wait to get the hell out of here. This place sucks.”

A horn followed by the unmistakable rumble of the 67 Chevy impala had Dean spinning around. As the sleek black car rolled to a stop Dean practically sprinted to the car. When he noticed Sam not following he called over his shoulder not stopping, “Come on, Sam.”

Sam huffed moving for the first time since he sat on the wall. He slung his backpack over his shoulder making his way to the impala. Glancing up at the window Barry waved weakly to Sam with a frown on his face. Sam smiled in return before climbing in the back of the impala. He would always think of Y/N, Barry, his teacher Mr. Wyatt and his time at Truman fondly, a time when he was normal.

Taglist: @vicmc624​ @sesamepancakes​

#alpha!dean x omega!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #alpha!dean #alpha!sam #dean winchester #sam winchester

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 4

3rd Person POV

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers follow Harry from the moment he and Ron left their dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms standing on tip-toe to get a look at him. Harry wishes they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were the doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, Harry thinks, because it all seems to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and (Y/N) and Hermione were sure that the suits of amour would walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist when you were late to class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!" The only person that Peeves seemed to get along with was, strangely, (Y/N). When she would pass by him in the halls, he would ask how her day was going. The first time, (Y/N) was shocked, looking surprised at the poltergeist, then she nodded saying, "Uh, its going pretty well."

Even worse than Peeves, Harry thinks, if that was possible, was the caretaker Argus Filch. Harry and Ron manage to get on the wrong side of him on their first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, he was sure that they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing by.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone – except perhaps the Weasley twins – and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick. Marvel, (Y/n)'s black and white kitten had taken to attacking the dust colored feline whenever she had the chance.

Then, once you manage to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

(Y/N) enjoyed Wednesday nights where they went out to the tallest tower and learned the names of different planets and stars. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class, in (Y/N)'s eyes, was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns hand been very old when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while the students scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Hermione had told (Y/N) that she actually liked the class, and (Y/N) looked down at her.

"Honestly, Hermione," (Y/N) teases, "I'm not surprised."

One of (Y/N)'s favorite classes so far had to be Charms. Professor Flitwick was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class, he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight, (Y/N) rolling her eyes.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she tells them. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then, she changes her desk into a pig and back again. They were very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon they realized that they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After they take a lot of complicated notes, they were given a match and told to start turning it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger, and (Y/N) (L/N)-Granger had made any differences to their match. Professor McGonagall shows the class how they had gone all silver and pointy and gives the two a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turn out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, hand been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnegan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell goes pink, and starts talking about the weather. For another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards.

There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron, the two had managed to find their way to the Great hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asks Ron as he pours sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron answers. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them – we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us," says Harry. Professor McGonagall was the head of Gryffindor House, but it didn't stop her from giving them a huge pile of homework the night before.

Just then, the mail arrives. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She would sometimes fly in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she flutters down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and drops a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tears open the letter at once, and it says, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry, borrowing Ron's quill, scribbles, Yes, please, see you later on the back fo the note, and sends Hedwig off again.

(Y/n), who was sitting across from Harry and Ron, and between Hermione and Fred Weasley, had just received a letter herself.

Dear (Y/n),

My name is Remus Lupin. You mother named me as you godfather, and I was good friends with both your mother and Harry Potter's parents when I was at Hogwarts.

I left you a box of presents and letter in you Gringotts vault, in a large wooden box. I didn't know if you had picked it up or not, but I decided that it was time that I sent you a letter at school. I hope you're doing well.

Love,

        Uncle Remus

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry got the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry – he hated him.

Potions lesson took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call and like Flitwick, he pauses at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he says softly, "Harry Potter, our new – celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle snigger behind their hands. Snape finishes calling the names and looks up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made (Y/N) think of a dark tunnel.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," the Potion Master begins. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence follows this little speech. Harry and Ron exchange looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione and Iliana were on the edges of their seats and Hermione looks desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" says Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glances at Ron, who looks as stumped as he was; Hermione, Iliana, and (Y/N) had all raised their hands.

"I don't know, sir," Harry says.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't anything."

He ignores Hermione and (Y/n)'s hands, his gaze flicking between Harry and (Y/N)'s hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Snape asks.

Hermione's hand stretched higher into the air, as far as it would go without her leaving her seat and (Y/N) leaves her hand into the air.

Harry didn't have to faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir," Harry answers.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape taunts, (Y/N) frowning slightly.

Harry forces himself to keep looking into Snape's cold, dark eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?"

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's hand, still glancing between Harry and (Y/N).

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape asks, and (Y/N) and Hermione's hands remained in the air, Hermione standing up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon's ceiling.

"I don't know," says Harry quietly. "I think Hermione and (Y/N) know, why don't you try them?"

A few people laugh; Harry catches (Y/n)'s eye, and she winks at him. Snape however was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snaps at Hermione, "(L/N), answer the questions," Snape says, his head snapping to look at (Y/N).

(Y/N) straightens her back, clears her throat. "Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, but they also go by aconite. A bezoar is a stone taken from a goat that will save you from most poisons, and asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so strong that it is called the Draft of Living Death." (Y/N) rattles off, Harry and Ron exchanging shocked looks.

"Correct, ten points to Gryffindor," Snape says to (Y/N), before snapping at the other students, "Well, why aren't you coping that down?" There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment, and over the noise, Snape says, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor because of Potter's cheek." At this, (Y/N) turns around from her place in front of Ron, and smiles sympathetically at him.

Things didn't really improve much for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape set the first-years into pairs and set them to mixing a potion to cure boils, sweeping around in his black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush shake fang, criticizing everyone but Malfoy and (Y/N), whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at how well (Y/N) had stewed her horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing fills the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools wile Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moans in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarls Snape, clearing the potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpers as boils start popping up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the Hospital Wing," Snape snaps at Seamus. Then he rounds on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd made you look good if helot it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Harry thinks this is so unfair, he opens his mouth to argue, but Ron kicks him from behind their cauldron.

"Don't push it," Ron mutters as (Y/N) turn around to look at him, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As the first years climb the stairs out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racking and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week – why did Snape hate him so much? At least (Y/N) had won those ten points for Gryffindor.

"Cheer up," Ron tells Harry, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?" he asks.

(Y/n)'s POV

Hermione and I are walking up from the dungeons behind Harry and Ron after the end of Potions Class.

"I noticed something strange," Hermione says.

"What?" I ask.

"Professor Snape seems to like you a lot," Hermione says, looking at me with her brown eyes.

"That was kind of weird," I agree, looking forward, then back at Hermione.

"Maybe he was wondering how you got to be so good at Potions," Hermione suggests. "You were the only one of us with a perfect potion."

"Yeah, that must have been it," I say as we enter the Great Hall.

After lunch, the two of us walk outside to sit by the Black Lake. I see Ron and Harry walking down to Hagrid's Hut, and I hear a faint barking coming from the same direction.

"Hello (Y/n)," comes one, well two, voices.

I look up to see the Weasley twins standing above me and my sister.

"Hey Fred, George," I answer cheerfully.

"Whacha first years doing out here?" Fred asks.

"Well, the first week of school is over," Hermione begins, her frizzy hair blowing in the wind.

"So we're enjoying the last of the summer air," (Y/n) finishes for her sister.

"(Y/n), we have a question for you," George says.

"What?" I ask curiously.

Fred and George look at each other before saying in unison, "Do you like funeral marches.

Hermione bursts into laughter at the question, and Fred and George sit down beside the two of us.

"Well, of course," I say, grinning. "It's my favorite song," I begin to hum a slow funeral march, and the Weasley twins join in, Hermione exchanges a look with me, shrugs, then joins in.

Word Count: 2887 words

Well, I'll see you see on the next chapter.

See y'all!

Love,

           Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#hermione granger #hermione granger x sister reader #harry potter various x reader #harry potter #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley

[collecting-stories]

The Break - ep. 03 - Georgia

Summary: Hershel and Annette find out that Maggie has been dating Glenn behind their backs.

A/N: I took a lot of liberty with Hershel the first time I wrote this so I wanted to align him more with his character when he was first introduced.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“Annette you gotta talk to him! Please!” Maggie begged, standing in the kitchen as Annette prepared dinner for the family.  

“Margaret. What your father says is law in this house, you know that as well as anyone. And he’s told you how many times that you are not permitted to date unless-”

“I know!” Maggie groaned. “Unless you both approve of the boy. But that was never gonna happen. Ya’ll wouldn’t let me date Glenn and I knew that!”

“Well I’m sorry you felt like that but going behind our backs was deceitful and wrong. You can use this time to reflect on your decisions and whether what you did, lying to your family, was pleasing to God.”

Maggie groaned, slamming her hand on the counter and then rushing out of the house, toward the barn. Anytime she had gotten into an argument with her dad and stepmom before she always went to the barn for some fresh air and clarity.  

Beth had come home Friday night from a playdate with a friend to tell her dad two very important things. One, that she had seen you with ‘someone’ outside the diner when she was leaving with her friend’s family and two, that Maggie was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully for you the someone Beth saw was no one she recognized but the instant Hershel and Annette heard that Maggie wasn’t exactly where she said she would be on the night she said she’d be there they had looked through her room and her cellphone log.  

And when she came home that night after her date they were waiting at the dining room table, Hershel with his stern pastoral face on and Annette looking unnecessarily near tears.  

“It’s not like you’re hanging out with Daryl Dixon.” You’d told Maggie later that night on the phone as she cursed both her parents out of existence over the entire ordeal.  

“I tried to reason with Annette and she won’t even talk to him for me. Told me he’s doing the right thing for everybody. Just cause Glenn isn’t Baptist.”

“And cause he’s Korean.”

“It ain’t like that.” Maggie argued. On more than one occasion you and Glenn both had told Maggie that her parents were walking the line of racism pretty thoroughly. They did the thing all churches looking for new members did, masking their doctrine with a welcome sign for all creeds and cultures and backgrounds and people. And it was fine if the majority white church had some Hispanic, black, or Asian patrons. All were welcome. But all were not welcome to date Reverend Greene’s daughter.  

“It’s like that.” You replied. “You can be friends with whoever you want Maggie but they aren’t about to let you date someone who isn’t white and Baptist and from a family they’ve known since the creation of the earth.”  

“Will you call Glenn for me? Tell him what happened?” Maggie requested, “I’m trying to talk some sense into daddy but I’m grounded expect for church and school. They said not even youth group!”

“I’ll call him.”  

“I really love him, ya know? I know we’re in high school but I really think he’s the one.” Maggie admitted.  

“I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.”

-

Nothing came of Maggie begging Annette to talk to Hershel. She was insistent that Maggie listen to her father and abide by his rules and his rules were that she wasn’t permitted to date a boy that didn’t go to the church. The ‘what if he did’ argument got her nowhere either, Hershel simply reminded her that he didn’t and he would never and even if Glenn started to now out of the blue they would all know why and it wouldn’t be earnest.  

When Beth told them, over the dinner table the first official night of Maggie’s grounding, that she had been on the phone with you, all her phone privileges went out the window too. She would go to school, pick up Beth and Sean, come home, do homework, and go to bed. On Saturdays she would help around the farm and on Sundays she would go to church and that was the end of it. There would be no social life. Even a few of her teachers had been informed that she was not to speak to Glenn Rhee.  

“You know what I hate about small towns?” Maggie questioned, sitting on the swings beside you. The playground was fenced in, right beside the addition that had been added to the church some 30 years prior so that people could send their kids to a Baptist preschool. It was through church donation and preschool tuition that the playground had been kept up but it was still outdated compared to an actual schoolyard.

“No.” You replied, positive that she would tell you.

“That everybody just knows everything! And listens to everything daddy says! All week we were pulled apart, Mrs. Frasier told everybody that we weren’t allowed near each other!”  

“I know. We go to the same school Mags.”

“But it ain’t fair! He’s not God, why’s he get a say in my personal life?” Maggie questioned.  

“Just think, soon we’ll be in college. Then we can hang out with whoever we want.” You replied.  

“I don’t think being in college will make your parents okay with the idea of you spending time with Daryl Dixon.” Maggie said, grinning, “where do they think your car is anyway?”

“At Dale’s. I told them Dale always comes by the diner and I knew he would give me a good deal. I just left out the part where it’s at Daryl’s house.” You laughed. “Speaking of, I kind of told him I’d stop by today.”

“Now?” Maggie asked. “This is the only social life I get all week.”

“Did you ask Annette if you could go dress shopping with me tomorrow after school?” You asked. “It’s the only day I have off. I switched shifts with Lori, she has another date.”

“Oh my god!” Maggie stood up from the swing suddenly. “Oh my god!”

“What?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t tell you!”

“Tell me what?”

“Daddy said I’m not allowed to go to the dance.”

“What?” You paled at the information. The only thing that wasn’t making the entire experience of going to the dance completely awful was the knowledge that Maggie and Glenn would be enduring it with you. But if they weren’t...if Maggie wasn’t going...then you would be sitting there in a hideous dress listening to Aiden bullshit with his football buddies.  

“They both said, no dance.” Maggie said, dropping back onto the swing.  

“I can’t believe it. Do you think they’ll change their minds?”

“If I can find a time machine and make them forget that Glenn and I are dating.”  

-

Daryl was already working on your car when you showed up in his driveway. The cold weather had you in a white long-sleeved turtleneck and a nice skirt, tights keeping your legs warm. Your parents were one step away from becoming crazy fundamentalists but thankfully they only made you wear dresses and skirts on Sundays. You came into the car port where Daryl was, waving at him when he looked up from the car.

“Hey, hope it’s okay I stopped by.” You said, coming over to stand beside him.

“Yeah, ‘s fine.”  

“Patricia won’t let me work on Sundays and Maggie is only allowed to hang out during church so...” you trailed off as you sat down in the lawn chair. You’d brought your backpack with you to church with the intention of going to Daryl’s afterward.

“So ya figured ya’d come antagonize me?” He asked, the hint of a grin.  

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise!” You replied. “I brought homework anyway.”

While Daryl got back to work on your car you pulled out your history homework, balancing the textbook and notebook on your lap and wedging the pencil case between your thigh and the lawn chair. For the most part you focused on your notes for the Atlantic Revolution while Daryl worked though every few paragraphs you would look up. You found that you liked watching him, it was almost calming in the way he worked on a car but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable and you knew how weird it would seem if he caught you staring. There wasn’t much else to see from where you were sitting.  

Behind your Jeep was Daryl’s truck and parked on the sidewalk outfront was a rust bucket of an old sedan that you guessed belonged to his father. It hadn’t been there on Halloween but it had been there the last time you stopped by. The backyard, from what you could see, looked as messy as the carport.  

“Do you have any water?” You asked, standing up and putting your books on the chair.  

“Thought ya were gonna be quiet as a mouse?” Daryl sassed.

“I am, I swear.”

“There’s water in the fridge.” He waved his hand over toward the refrigerator the sat beside the steps.  

The fridge was closer to the back of the carport and gave you a better glimpse into his yard. There was a pop-up camper parked in overgrown grass and a shed in the far corner by the chain link fence. A picnic table sat in front of the camper along with a small grill.  

“That’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” Daryl asked, saying the word like it was an insult.

“The camper...I like how it’s all set up.” You said, “my family goes to this Baptist camp every year and there’s this family that has a camper like that. They put string lights on theirs.”  

“I ain’t putting string lights on my camper.” He said.  

“It’d be so cute.”

“Yer not so good at being quiet are ya?”  

"Sorry.” You grabbed the bottle of water from the fridge and went back to your seat. “I’ll be quiet.  I promise.”

“Ya keep promising.” He pointed out.

You sat down and held your books up as evidence that you were getting back to work. As you resumed studying Daryl went back to working on the car, glancing up every once in a while, to make sure you were alright. Or so he convinced himself that was why. He thought you looked pretty, not that he didn’t always think that, and he couldn’t figure out why you kept coming around. He thought maybe you didn’t trust him with your car but then you weren’t hovering and you didn’t seem too worried about what he was doing to the car while you were there.  

“Ya know ya don’t gotta come around every time I work on the car.” Daryl mentioned.

“I like hanging out with you.” You shrugged, looking up from your notebook.  

“Well I ain’t here ta babysit ya.”  

“I could give you an extra $5 an hour?” You teased, “and snack allowance. I prefer goldfish.”

“Ya always like this?”

“Like what?”  

“A pain in the ass.” He deadpanned.  

You pouted, “fine, I won’t come by next time. I’ll go hang out with Glenn or something...Reverend Greene found out him and Maggie were dating and now she’s grounded until she’s like thirty.”

“That the Chinese kid?”

“He’s Korean.”

“Ain’t surprised the Greene’s wouldn’t want him around they’re daughter.” Daryl replied.

“You don’t even know Glenn. He’s so nice-”

“Hey, I ain’t saying anything against the kid. Just saying, they’re old school. Most people ‘round here are.”

“It isn’t an excuse.”

“I ain’t disagreeing with ya, I’m just saying...they ain’t gonna change their mind.”  

“Well anyway, I can go hang out with Glenn, so I don’t bother you.” You said, back on the topic from earlier. That you were a nuisance, which was the exact opposite of the effect you wanted to have on him.  

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, “I didn’t mean ya had ta go. Just meant, if yer worried ‘bout the car I know what I’m doing.”  

“I’m not worried about the car.”

“What?”

“I’m not worried. You said you could fix it and I trust that you can.” You replied.

“Than why ya hanging around?”

“Its not the goldfish.”

“I’m being serious.” Daryl said, leaning against the Jeep.  

“I like hanging out with you.”  

Daryl didn’t say anything else, just turned back to look at the car before you could see the blush on his cheeks. He scrunched his nose and bit at his thumb as he focused on the engine and tried not to think about what you just said. He wasn’t completely friendless in the world. He had Rick, and occasionally Rick’s friend Michonne came around from the police academy, but he’d never had someone outright say that they liked his company. Especially not a someone like you.  

-

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#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon au #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl imagine #daryl fanfic #daryl fanfiction #daryl fic #the walking dead au #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fic #twd au #collecting stories imagine #georgia series

[artificialqueens]

Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 1 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄

Summary: For as long as she can remember, Jan has been in love with her baseball teammate. The only problem is that he always likes an Angela, a Pamela, a Sandra or a Rita better… As years have gone by, she couldn’t get those feelings behind and as a college freshman, she starts noticing more and more things that set her apart from “the other girls”, the ones her crush seems to prefer. She can’t help but think that “maybe if she was prettier, maybe if she was more like them…” things would be different. However, the more she gets to know those girls she also realizes how wonderful they can be; especially a certain girl named Jackie who works in the copy room and who keeps helping Jan unconditionally.

A/N: hi! this is my second chaptered fic -I wrote a little note on ao3 in case the concept of the story sounds off for anyone- but still, I hope you like it and thanks for reading it <3

-Prologue-

When Jan turned ten –to her chagrin- she received a Barbie doll with a lovely dress full of ribbons as her birthday gift. Her older brother -whose birthday had been just two months ago- got a brand new baseball bat and even when she had begged for over a year she could get one, all she got was a plastic lady with blonde hair and pink lips that didn’t look like her at all. It wasn’t fair, she had to play with his worn-out chipping bat with sticky duct tape on the grip when she was way better than her brother. Why couldn’t she get a bat too?

Luckily, Jan being the stubborn she was, had a plan. If her parents weren’t going to gift her a new bat to play baseball, she was going to get it by herself. She spent all summer selling lemonade on her front yard to raise money –hey, if life gives you lemons…- delivering newspapers and doing some other little tasks in exchange for some coins. Even when she worked hard and put her heart into everything she did it wasn’t enough to pay the full. She was about to give up when her grandfather showed up with a late birthday present –a book with a couple of bills hidden inside- not only she could get that new bat, she also got a couple of new balls that had the other kids in the neighborhood green with envy.

Jan had always been the kind of kid that was restless in class, she was a chatterbox and often her teacher had to remind her to be sat during a lesson but in the sports field it was different, she could run, play and win games like no other and she was celebrated for that. She was better than most kids her age and her team had always emerged victorious when she batted, so yeah, baseball was a big deal for her.

It was also around the time she met Nathan.

He was the new kid in school who didn’t talk much with other kids but one afternoon her classmates had asked him to join their team. Jan, who was always picked first with her messy ponytail and bruised knees, didn’t consider that scrawny kid to be a threat. Yet, he proved her wrong as he was the first person to strike her out of a game in ages. Everyone was in disbelief. Jan was competitive and after that humiliating defeat, her new goal was to beat her classmate. The only problem was that he was better than she expected and it took her a while to match his skills.

And with the years, what had started as a rivalry became a friendship. Jan was the only girl in her class that didn’t mind playing in the dirt or hanging out with the boys all day. In high school, the difference was even more noticeable since she never felt she belonged with the other girls, and with her sports passion, she could get a college scholarship if she kept pushing and winning games. During the senior year, she couldn’t care less about proms and fancy dresses when she was just one step ahead of making her dream a reality, playing in varsity.

Nathan was already signed by a few schools as well and whenever he was going, she was going as well. Not only he was her best friend, she had developed a crush on him when they grew older, she knew many things could change in her life but he was a constant and she’d do what it would take to keep it like that. The only problem was that Nathan was a handsome guy and he always liked an Angela, a Pamela, a Sandra or a Rita better.

He couldn’t see that Jan was in love with him, not yet at least.

But if she could still be a part of his life in the years to come, that would be enough for her. She’d stay in the shadows until she got her shot and she knew the day would come. She only needed to be patient. He was going to notice her and he was going to realize she was the one for him, she had always been.

It was a joyful day when she got accepted into the same university with a partial scholarship –her parents could afford the other half- she was ecstatic, the little girl from New Jersey with a bat was now going to play in the girls’ team and even when she wasn’t going to be in the same team than Nathan, she was going to be close enough.

Yes, everything would work out.

-1-

College is hell.

That was the first thing she thought the first day of school, even after going through orientation, she didn’t seem to find any of her classes, the classrooms were in different buildings, her schedules were all wrong and on top of all, she hadn’t seen Nathan in all morning.

To make things even worse, around noon she got called by one of the secretaries of the administration center, apparently, there was a problem with her papers, one of her forms got lost in the mail and she needed to present it before the end of the day.

If only she could find the copy room to get that form…

She kept going up and down stairs without complaining until she found the room at the end of a deserted aisle. She got a soda from the vending machine outside and then got inside. It was almost lunchtime so most students were at the cafeteria, only one girl was getting some book pages copied and she was paying by the time Jan walked in.

“Have a nice day.” The person behind the counter greeted her.

It was Jan’s turn now.

“Hi!” She approached the counter. “I- uh, I need this form…” Where was the paper the secretary had given her? “Wait for just a second, I had it here.”

Jan knew she looked like a train wreck, she had her books and notebooks in one hand, the soda can in the other, she had to empty her pockets with a barely free hand and held her phone under her neck.

“Do you need a copy of the form H-23?” The girl from the copier asked.

“Uh… I think so… Yes!” She found the paper. “H-23… that’s the one.” She smiled brightly.

The girl from the copier seemed calm and collected enough to make Jan feel a little better. She had silky brown hair tied in a half-updo, chocolate eyes framed by a pair of glasses, a knitted mustard sweater with a shirt underneath, a platted brick skirt, and high brown boots. She looked like what a college student wants to look like, in full control.

She was also really pretty.

“You’re like the fifth person who came today asking for that form…” She said while pressing some computer keys to set the printer. “Many students had a problem with the mail system for what it seems.”

“Yeah… I got notified just now and I’ve been running around all day.” She put all her things in one hand and stretched the now free hand. “I’m Jan, by the way.”

“Jackie.” The other girl shook her hand. “You can put your stuff here on the counter if you want. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Ah, thank you.” She did as she said.

“Freshman?” Jackie asked raising an eyebrow.

“Is it too obvious?” Jan could feel her cheeks getting colored.

“Just a little… you look like you still have a soul.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” She smiled at Jan.

Jackie’s kindness made her feel warm inside. It had been a rough morning and for the first time that day, someone was being genuinely nice to her.

“Do you study here too?” Jan asked while the brunette stapled her papers.

“Yes, I’m an Art History major. Junior.”

“Oh wow, that sounds sophisticated.”

“Girl… it’s not… there’re a lot of white men and my mother surely would’ve loved me picking something more… profitable. What about you? Have you declared your major yet?”

Jan nodded. “Economics, kind of boring, I know…” She rested her elbows on the counter. “I’m actually here with a sports scholarship.”

“That explains the baseball shirt.” She pointed at Jan’s outfit.

“Right!” Jan instinctively touched the fabric of the shirt. “Go, team!”

Being completely honest, Jan had forgotten she was wearing that. Early in the morning, she was more worried about showing up on time to orientation –clearly in vain since she kept getting lost- and because of that she hadn’t put a lot of thought into her fashion choices, instead, she picked a black tank top, a pair of jeans, sneakers and the baseball jacket with her lucky number –eleven- on it.

“Are you this excited all the time?” Jackie handed her the form.

Jan’s face lost light suddenly. “Is that bad? Because I’ve been said that I can be too much sometimes and-”

“No! I didn’t mean… no.” The brunette moved her hands in the air frantically. “It’s refreshing. I don’t think I’ve met someone like you before.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She rummaged through her things until she found a couple of coins. “Here, for the form. Thank you so much for your help.”

She beamed and it was dashing enough to compete with the sun.

“T-Thank you.” Jackie stuttered while picking the money.

“I hope you have a nice day.” Jan slid all her things into her backpack.

“You too… see you around.” The brunette waved.

Jan copied the gesture and on her way out of the copy room she almost bumped into someone. It was Nathan.

“Hey!” She felt her pulse racing. “There you are! I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Janie! How are you doing?” He held the door open. “I’ve been around, you know? Getting used to all of this.”

“I know, right? I still can’t believe we’re here!” She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm.

Jackie, in the background, lowered her glasses and observed them in silence.

“I’m sorry I can’t chat right now, I need to get this form for the administration office and it’s a pain in the ass…”

“No way, they lost mine too… it must be New Jersey’s post service.”

“It really sucks. I better hurry up then or the place is going to get crowded.”

“Here.” She extended the paper without hesitation. “You can have mine, I haven’t filled it yet.”

“You don’t mind?”

The girl shook her head. “I can get another one.”

“Whoa, thank you, Janie. Wait, let me pay you.”

“No problem. You can give it back to me later.” She nervously touched her hair.

“Ah, I owe you one. Thank you. I was worried I wouldn’t get in time to have lunch. I just met the most gorgeous girl on campus, she’s stunning, I’m telling you and I was afraid I was going to miss my chance to speak with her because of this. You’re a great friend.” He patted her shoulder. “See you later.”

“Sure…” She mumbled.

He got out and closed the door without looking back.

With her slumped shoulders and drooping head, she looked back to where Jackie was.

“Do you think you could make another copy?”

The brunette who had witnessed the entire scene had her jaw clenched but she nodded and pressed print once again.

Jan shuffled back to the counter, she was grateful that the other girl didn’t say a word.

“Here you have, don’t lose this one.” Jackie smiled at Jan hoping that she could lift her mood a little bit.

“Thank you.” Her tone was barely audible. “I appreciate it.” She gave her some more coins and turned back.

Jackie knew she was going to regret it but she couldn’t let that girl go in that state of sadness. It wasn’t correct, it didn’t feel right.

“You know, I’m about to take my lunch break… would you like to join me?”

Jan looked at her for a moment that felt like an eternity.

“You don’t have to do it just because…”

“No, I don’t have to, I want to.” She assured.

“Okay…” She raised her voice a little. “That’d be nice.”

“Yeah. Nice.” Jackie grabbed her bag and held the keys of the room in her hand. “Let’s go.”

At that moment, a faint smile appeared on Jan’s face and Jackie knew for sure, she was going to regret this.

Freshmen were like little ducklings waddling around, imprinting on the first person who showed them a little affection –that was how they always ended up joining clubs and sororities on day one-, they were naïve, full of fears, expectations, and questions… they surely had a lot of questions. Jackie did her best to avoid them at least for the first couple of weeks. She was over the nervousness, the stutters, and sweaty palms –she had had enough during her first year.

However, this girl…

This one girl.

With her giant puppy eyes, her light brown hair falling all over her face whenever she tried to pick something that fell to the floor, the way she talked fast like she was going to forget what she was going to say if she didn’t say it quickly; she didn’t do it on purpose but a part of her body was continuously moving whether it was her fingers drumming on surfaces or her feet and she had this somehow chirpy personality even when odds weren’t on her favor.

Of course, Jan was straight. Jackie had seen it before, girls like that falling for douchebags and getting their hearts broken in multiple pieces. She saw it in her face on her body language when that guy showed up in the copy room, the way it was painfully obvious she was in love with him, and yet he treated her like a little sister taking advantage of her generosity.

She couldn’t just let her go back into the world like that, devastated.

The words escaped her mouth before she could give it a second thought.

And now she was having lunch with this girl, she kept explaining sports stuff to Jackie as if she had a clue what she was talking about and yet she listened to her because it was mesmerizing to watch.

“…that season was tight but we won within the last minutes even when the other team had their bases loaded.” She took a bite of her macaroni.

Her energies had been renewed the moment she started talking about baseball; she had listened to Jackie attentively when she explained the system of the cafeteria, how to activate and use her student card but the moment she gave her rise to talk about what she did before getting into college, she went directly to that point.

“Am I boring you? I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was talking too much I-”

“No! Please stop apologizing, it’s cool. I think it’s really cool that you’re… so passionate about something.”

“Really? I didn’t mean this to become a monologue, sometimes I get carried away.” She scratched the back of her head. “Anyway…”

Her gaze followed a figure in the cafeteria, it was the guy from before and he was having lunch with a large group of people but his attention was clearly focused on one girl next to him. Jackie noticed Jan taking a deep breath and then faking a smile trying to resume the conversation.

“What’s with that guy? Is he your boyfriend?” She asked, unscrupulous. Her salad was long forgotten in front of her.

“Nathan?!” She was like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… He’s… he’s a friend from New Jersey. We used to play in the same baseball team until we got separated by boys and girls in high school.” She started blushing gradually until her face turned entirely red. “We’re friends, we have always been friends…”

Jackie arched an eyebrow. Interesting.

“So you like him.”

Now her face turned from red to burgundy.

“What?! No! I don’t… He’s… We’re… That’s ridiculous. I don’t like him he’s… a friend.”

The other girl didn’t say a word.

Jan sighed. “It’s never gonna happen… He just doesn’t think of me that way.” She looked at Jackie, there was something melancholic in her eyes. “I’m happy with being part of his life regardless.”

Something inside Jackie was shattered. She couldn’t help but feel deeply sorry for that girl who was hopelessly devoted.

“Jan, it’s not-”

But she was abruptly interrupted by the voice of another girl.

“Well, Miss Cox you didn’t tell me you were going to be here today.”

She didn’t even have to turn around to recognize who it was.

“Hello, Heidi.” She massaged her temples. “How are you?”

The girl didn’t wait and sat with them in a heartbeat.

“Betrayed, clearly. I just passed by the copy room and you weren’t there.” Her eyes moved to the girl in front of them. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

“Jan, this is Heidi… Heidi, Jan.”

“Heidi, nice to meet you. Jackie’s friends are my friends.” She extended her hand.

“Hi! I’m Jan.” The girl shook Heidi’s hand vigorously.

“Easy honey, I need that arm.”

Jan shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Jan is a freshman from New Jersey and she plays baseball.”

“Oh, that explains the inhuman super strength.” She moved her arm in circles to readjust it.

Jan giggled. “I don’t know my own strength.”

Heidi gave Jackie a look that the brunette ignored.

“Anyway, Jan, don’t forget to submit your form, the secretary can get really cranky if you find her on a bad day.”

“Oh, right! I still have to fulfill it.” She found a pen somewhere inside her backpack.

“Well, I’m going to leave you, ladies.” Heidi waved goodbye. “Jackie, I’ll drop by later I need some copies for Professor Brown.”

“Sure, my break is over in like ten minutes.”

“Alright. See you around.” She looked at Jan who was still going through the form. “Have a nice first day you…”

“Thank you!” She smiled and with that Heidi was gone. “I think I’m done.” Jan showed her form proudly.

“C’mon then, I’ll walk with you back to the office.”

“Oh my God. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I got lost so many times today.”

“Wait, didn’t you get a map and everything during orientation?”

“Yeah, but still… it’s very confusing.”

“Do you have it with you?”

Jan dug through her backpack once again until she got the binder with the things freshmen were given as their welcome package.

“Okay,” Jackie unfolded the piece of paper until it became five times its size. “give me a pen.”

The younger offered the same pen she was just using.

“You gotta have the important extra information they don’t give you. For example, these stairs…” She drew an x over them. “Are always full of people and if you’re in a hurry, I don’t recommend it… so instead, you get to use these.” She circled the point on the map.

Jan listened to every word she said.

“Now… this is where we’re heading, the administration office. You wanna know where it is because, if there’s any problem with your papers, you have to go there fast… best way to get to this building is passing by next to the library and using the elevator that will take you there directly. Do you get it now?”

“Jackie…” She reached for the brunette’s hands. “You’re the best… I could cry right now.”

“Please don’t…” Jackie said, flushed. She cleared her throat. “Do you think you could lead the way? The copy room is nearby.”

“I’ll definitely try.” Jan was excited.

She put all her things back in her bag and followed Jackie after leaving their trays and throwing the trash. As soon as they reached the hallway, it was Jan’s time to guide them. She took the map and used the cafeteria as their reference point, after that, she traced a route. Jackie had to bite her tongue to refrain from helping her because she knew that was the only way she could learn. In the end, she did a really good job.

“We’re here. This is the administration office and right upstairs is…”

“The copy room.”

“Correct.”

“Yay!” She celebrated clapping. “Thank you so much, really… I don’t know what I’d have done without your help today.”

“Don’t even mention it.” Jackie smiled at her.

“Can I go visit you later? After my class…? Maybe I could bring you some snacks for being so nice to me.”

“There’s no need… really.”

“But I want to.”

There was no way Jackie was going to say no to her, that was already established.

“Okay, sure. I like Snickers.”

“Noted… see you later, Jackie.”

“Good luck.”

She started walking away but had a last glimpse of Jan before taking the stairs.

Her heart started beating faster.

Oh for goodness sake… what have you done Jackie Cox?

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #jackie cox #jankie #college au #lesbian au #slow burn #pretty in pearls #plastiquedoll #concrit welcome

[saudadeonly]

burn my heart out: last breath calling out (Chapter 3)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 4 chapters.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

Catching up in the middle of battle shouldn't be as much of an art as Marlene and the others have made it to be.

Word count: 2827

___

Marlene is upon Sirius moments after he's stepped back from James and for several seconds everything else fades away. There is no battle to be fought, no wounds to be healed - only them, two friends properly reuniting after years, and Marlene doesn't want to let go. Even the weight of the encounter with the Dementors seems to have eased.

“It's good to see you,” she mumbles into the dip of his collarbone.

He sounds like ash and dust but he gives her a faint smile when they part. “You too.”

When they completely break away from each other, Gideon's wand is pointed at Sirius's chest, his eyes hard. His crooked fingers, one of the remaining marks left from the torture he and Fabian suffered when they were caught by Death Eaters two years ago, are wrapped so tightly around his wand they've turned white. If Marlene didn't know who did it to him before, she’s sure got her confirmation now. Her heartstrings stretch thin between them, between their different shades of grey.

Sirius lifts his hands placatingly but with no sense of urgency. “I know you intend to keep your promise,” he says in a low voice, brows furrowed down over his eyes, “but you'll have your chance if we live to see the morning.”

“Gideon,” Marlene murmurs, reaching out with feather-light fingers against his arm. The pain inflicted on him was, unlike hers, real but its memory won’t lessen if he kills Sirius – not now, not later.

A muscle in Gideon's jaw ticks. A moment passes, then two, before he jabs his wand into Sirius's chest and lets it drop back down to his side. “This isn't over, Black,” he growls.

Sirius's hands, too, fall. His mouth settles into a grim line. “Believe me, I know.”

The edge of danger in the air around them dulls a little. James looks between Gideon and Sirius and then between Sirius and Marlene. He swallows and runs a shaky hand through his hair. It has to be different now, with the shock wearing off, to try and forget that for all Sirius has done to keep them safe, there is still a path between them that he paved with their pain. Marlene has had months to come to terms with it, to go over every horrible, cruel thing he has done and love him despite it; sometimes even because of it, because of how he poured enough blood out of himself to make up for the lack of theirs. James has had neither the insight nor the time to deal with it and probably won't get either for a while. Marlene doesn't know how to help him or Dorcas and Gideon past it.

Dorcas narrows her eyes at Sirius. She's always kept her words about him sharp and then doubly so when he had them all convinced he was a Death Eater but she remains the only one that has been able to fully separate herself from their shared history and treat him as simply one of them – until the night that, as far as she knew, Sirius went for Marlene. Then her vengeance became a single-minded fury, a driving point honed to precision. With anyone else, it would have been admirable; with Sirius, it became the centre-point of Marlene's helplessness. “The ransom was your idea, wasn't it?” Dorcas asks, eyes flitting between Sirius and Gideon, the brilliant mind that Marlene adores working tenfold.

The sum of money offered by Lucretia and Gideon Prewett in exchange for the lives of their nephews was a bolder offer than anyone had tried to make in the decades of war but perhaps the more surprising fact was that Voldemort accepted it. It couldn't have been anyone else other than Sirius that made him see reason in it.

Sirius studies her for a moment, then nods. “You always were the smartest.”

“And yet I couldn’t figure you out.”

“If only that had been my plan.”

“Thank you,” James says suddenly, breaking through the tension that suffocates down over them, “for the Map.” He presses his mouth into a line, fingers twitching by his side, and then opens it again. “Lily and Harry –”

“Don't tell me anything, James,” Sirius cuts in, turning to look at him with a determined line cut between his eyebrows. “The less I know the better.”

He's right. They all know he's right. It doesn't diminish the pain of the fact that he deserves to know as much as all of them do – even if their own knowledge is scarce.

With a grimace, Sirius reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather-bound book, pushing it into James's hands. Marlene catches the edge of an antler pressed into the cover and remembers James's last Christmas gift to Sirius. He jerks his chin at the gash running down the length of Gideon's arm and says, “Lestrange came up with some nasty curses. Try the spell on page seven.” He pulls out his own wand and steps toward Marlene.

This time, it's Dorcas who points her wand at him. “Don't touch her.”

“Dorcas,” Marlene says softly before Sirius can ever open his mouth. She meets her eyes, dark and lovely, and sees the question there, a painful one that neither of them wants to have asked or answered. It's been there longer than it should be, probably since Dorcas cursed Sirius all those months ago and Marlene went to pieces over it. “It's alright.”

Dorcas frowns but nods and lets it go. She watches with sharp eyes and a hand in the pocket where she keeps her wand as Sirius taps the wound on Marlene's head and intones the healing.

“I thought we were supposed to have until sundown,” James says absently, staring at the edges of Gideon's wound that slowly stitch themselves together. Marlene's own wound itches as it heals and leaves behind half-dried blood.

Sirius looks up, catching the light from the torches all around, turned on just now after the sun's set. “So did I. He changed his mind.”

Marlene would ask why but the question itself remains in Sirius's voice. The others must sense it too because Gideon frowns down at the book in James's hands and says, “These are the same spells Aunt Lucretia had when she was healing me and Fab.”

“Are they,” Sirius answers without looking up, eyes now trained on his own scraped-up hand as he touches the tip of his wand to it. New skin blooms up across it and it's not until it's fully healed that he looks up at Gideon. Lucretia loved them both, her nephews, Marlene had years to see it. “You think I don't know the limits of my own magic?”

Gideon holds up his hand, waggling the misshapen fingers.

“Some appearances have to be kept.”

“You little –” Gideon starts as he jerks forward but James stops him with a hand on his chest and the sentence dies in his throat. “Fabian,” he continues instead but a booming sound far below, harsh enough to make the floor underneath their feet tremble, all the way down to the foundations, renders him silent again. Sirius sucks in a breath.

They exchange wide-eyed looks. The corridor they're in might be empty of actual Death Eaters but the rest of Hogwarts certainly isn't and they've allowed themselves to forget it. “The common rooms,” Dorcas says, pressing a hand over her collarbone. “Hardly could be anything else.”

Gideon runs a hand through his hair, all anger gone from his face, now white as a sheet. His oldest nephew, Marlene remembers, started at Hogwarts this past September. “Come on.”

They start down the corridor and get all the way to the top of the staircase before a silver streak shoots up before them, materialising into a silver cat. “They are retreating,” McGonagall's voice says, hurried but alive. “We are gathering in the Great Hall.”

When Marlene looks at Sirius, relief is trickling into the corners of his mouth, curving them up softly. He murmurs a quiet, thankful word. In the next moment, he's turned into a large dog that follows them down to the Entrance Hall, silent-footed and with eyes careful on their surroundings.

The Entrance Hall is half-ruined but by no means empty; there is a groaning woman caught beneath a pile of debris and a couple of students huddled over a shaking body. James and Gideon break off towards the woman and Dorcas toward the students, all murmuring their reassurances before they’re even within earshot.

Marlene goes to follow them but Sirius catches his teeth in her sleeve and pulls her into a small alcove behind the wreckage. He shifts back to himself and muffles their conversations to prying ears, then spins some sort of illusion that makes the world outside go all blurry. He rolls up his sleeve and shows her the Mark writhing across his skin, summoning him, demanding his presence by its master's side.

Marlene looks up at him, heart hammering its way into her throat. “You're joking. Sirius, you just attacked some of his most vicious soldiers. If they manage to make it back to him –”

“They won't.”

“But if they do –”

“They won't,” Sirius insists, just as stubborn as Marlene remembers him in this very building, just as infuriatingly confident in his abilities. He shrugs with one shoulder, a little helplessness cutting through the determination on his face. “What else do you expect me to do? Just walk into the Great Hall, full of people whose loved ones I tortured and killed?” At Marlene's wince and her pained expression, he adds, “Just a couple more hours, Mack. It hardly makes a difference.”

Except you might not survive this time.

“Sirius.” Marlene grabs onto his wrist, the digits of her fingers digging into the soft, blue-veined skin there, the proof of a life still bleeding beneath. At the point in her life when she thought she'd die it was him who kept her anchored to life, on his knees against everything that he was supposed to be standing for. It's her turn now. “You've done enough. Let go.”

Sirius shakes off her hand and covers the sides of her face with his warm and calloused hands. He blinks at her, slow and steady, familiar as childhood. He won’t listen and that’s familiar, too. “Don't let the others show the truth, okay? I might have some use yet.”

It's something about the set of his jaw and the rigidness of his shoulders, something about the line his eyes make and the way he doesn't fit. She thinks of the boy he was, raised between cold walls and loving warm despite it, and the man that he's become and the prints of himself he left behind, so harsh he ripped too much of his soul away, so much, too much –

“Sirius –”

But Sirius slips out of her reach and vanishes into the darkness drawn over the courtyard. His goodbye cuts itself into her ribcage.

Marlene steps out of the alcove, skin burning cold. Following him would be foolish at best and suicidal at worst. She tries to remind herself that he's been doing this for years, for longer than she's known about it. The thought is horrible but he's the only one that knows Voldemort well enough to outwit him. There’s nothing else she can do but let him go. She turns away.

In the defiant hum of the Great Hall, she sees the others at the very end of it, where the professors' table has been pushed back to form a sort of protective brace. Dorcas is leant over the dark-haired woman from the Entrance Hall while Gideon is talking to a faint-looking boy. James is off to the side, deep in conversation with Remus, oblivious to the way Remus is frowning at the book in his hands. Fierce relief crashes through Marlene at the sight of him, tawny hair ruffled and skin drained but without a scratch otherwise. He's safe, at least for the time being, which means that Harry and Lily, whom he was meant to accompany to the edge of the Apparition line, are probably okay, too. Now they only have to make it out of Hogwarts unscathed.

Between one blink and the next, a house-elf appears in front of the two of them. It takes Marlene a moment longer than Remus and James, both pulling out their wands, to establish that the house-elf means them no harm, judging by the way James’s face lights up and Remus’s eyebrows knit together in concern. Marlene quickens her step and arrives within earshot several seconds later, just in time to see James's mouth fall open again and hear him, with his voice on a breaking point, say, “My mother had something to do with it?”

“Something to do with what?” Marlene asks when she's close enough. Now that she is, she can see the house-elf, with big brown eyes and soft-looking ears, is none other than Linsy, the one James had to let go when they started moving around for Harry’s safety. She’s wringing her hands and gives Marlene an unsure bow.

Remus's head shoots up at the sound of her voice, the shock still very firmly in place on his face when he explains faintly, “Regulus sending Kreacher to tell Linsy to get Harry and Lily out of Hogwarts apparently.”

“Regulus Black?” she repeats incredulously. It shouldn't make sense, is the thing, but if Sirius got to Marlene in time why wouldn't he have got to his own brother, too? Or maybe – maybe Sirius isn't the one behind it this time and this is all about to go from bad to worse very, very quickly.

“I'm just as lost as you are.”

If they had time, Marlene could probably tell him all the different ways that sentence doesn't exactly track but they don't so she doesn't; besides, it might even be true at this moment.

“You can be lost after you tell Linsy here where Lily and Harry are, Mr Lupin,” McGonagall says as she strides up to them. One of her glasses' lenses is cracked but it does absolutely nothing to ease the severity of her piercing eyes as she measures them out. At the sight of her, Linsy's ears go flat along her head. “Mr Potter,” she continues as she turns to him, with absolutely no regard for the way Remus stares at her, “I believe that book would be better used with people actually doing any sort of healing.”

“Did you not hear the part about Regulus and Kreacher?” Remus asks with more doubt in McGonagall's judgement than Marlene would have dared to openly show.

“I very much did.” McGonagall straightens her glasses. “But I fail to see the importance of it when Linsy is here, completely devoted to saving her family.” She favours Linsy with a short smile that Linsy returns a little shyly.

A strangled sound escapes Remus. “Have you lot lost your mind?” he asks with wide eyes, voice rising a pitch. He points to James. “He asks me where's Sirius like that's something normal to do and you want me to give up life-threatening information to someone sent here by a man apparently risen from the dead after three years who was also a Death Eater the last time we heard of him. What is wrong with you?”

Marlene holds in a wince. Given how seriously Remus lacks any sort of context, the beginning and end of which they cannot afford to outline right now, it isn't strange he must think them all to be under Imperius or worse. But here's what's she's gleaned from his words: Lily and Harry aren't out of the woods yet, they are still somewhere here and in the light of everything, Linsy is probably the safest and quickest way to get them out. Now, Marlene isn't stupid enough to blindly have faith in the good intentions of Regulus Black but she does trust McGonagall.

Marlene points her wand at her. “When you came to visit me in the hospital, what did you make me promise?”

Without a second's hesitation, McGonagall says, “That you would tell no one what Sirius did.”

Marlene could have used a better memory for it but in the wake of recent events, it was the first one that resurfaced. She turns to Remus, willing him to understand by the sheer determination she puts in her words. “Remus, listen –”

The voice that cuts over her makes the entirety of the Great Hall flinch and turn around in search of it. “We have Harry Potter,” it says, the high, raspy pitch of it unmistakably Voldemort's. It surrounds them, getting their hearts into an ice-cold grip, no source to it, only bone-deep dread. “Those of you who wish to come kneel before me and accept my triumph will be received graciously. Those who still plan to oppose me will die where you stand.”

#marlene mckinnon #sirius black #james potter #gideon prewett #dorcas meadowes #minerva mcgonagall #original character #death eater sirius black #death eater sirius #not really #but technically #dorlene #battle of hogwarts #post hogwarts #first war with voldemort #harry potter fanfic #harry potter #in a world three degrees north #tag yourself #im remus #losing my shit with everyone around me

[noir0neko]

Crime and Creation | m

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15.5k

Summary: The Crow Club. One of the University of Ketterdam’s secret societies aimed at recruiting the finest students who want a taste of more than just lectures. Meet Kaz, the founder and president, whose self-made millions come from his dealings on Wall Street. Nina, a girl who is aching for more than the fortune and husband her family has laid out for her. Inej, whose observant nature and ability to be invisible makes her the perfect spy. Jesper, a childhood friend of Kaz’s who can’t resist getting into a little trouble joined by his boyfriend, Wylan, son of the University dean. And Cataleya, an Upper West side journalism major who has a special way with words. When Kaz finds out the Crow Club’s dealings have been infiltrated by an unknown rival, his crew enlists the help of outsiders to ruin reputations, throw lavish parties, and do what the New York City Crows do best: heist. Until something goes very wrong. 

Characters: Cataleya (OC), Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Aleksander Morosova and honorable Leoni mention.

Warnings: Death. Highly detailed emotion and inner thoughts that have memories of parental abuse and self harm, nothing very detailed. Mentions of murder, drugs, and illegal activity. General debauchery and scheming. Some romance, mostly implied, light kissing, fondling, and the use of expletives.

A/N: You do not need to have read any of the books in this world to understand this fic! I spent so much time and poured my heart and soul into this story and the development of my original character and building these characters into a new, modern world. Please read it and give me your thoughts! This piece was written for the @grishaversebigbang. Also, check out the art work made for my fic by these amazing artists: @corpsecro, @nantosuelta-art, @discountscoobygang, @lady-ekatherina-de-mika and @mikanviola! It is such an honor to be a part of something like this and I had so much fun! I encourage anyone and everyone to read the Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone series by Leigh Bardugo! It’ll be on Netflix soon!

I used to love cats. 

Until one showed up dead on my window sill. 

I’m still not sure how it got there. Perhaps it climbed the fire escape and lept from the metal railing onto the ledge. But once the animal had the orange pollen and poisonous petals of the lilies sticking out of my window in its mouth, it was only a matter of time before it died. I had the good sense to keep my crying quiet, at eleven years old, so that my father would not stumble in to yell or push the cat hundreds of feet to the street below. I did not know he was already gone. That I was alone.

I hid the orange tabby in my backpack and went to bury her in the backyard garden the next chance I got. 

But when I used my small children’s shovel to dig into the earth, soft from the recent rain, it wasn’t what I went to bury that changed my life. But what was already buried there. And right then, with my cheeks stained with tears and hands shaking with anger, I swore to never stop hunting. To never stop chasing the people who ruined me. 

That was one promise I kept. 

I haven’t kept many others. 

Sitting in the foyer with the rest of the Crows, wind coming in from the autumn afternoon and the scent of freshly made waffles mixing with dusty books, I don’t know if I can keep this one either. Kaz looks at me pointedly, waiting for me to answer. I glance at all of them, Nina, Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. It is rare that anyone outright refuses Kaz on anything, especially not with his position or to risk the weight of his disapproval. Nina once told Kaz to go to Hell and she paid for it with two weeks of silence and banishment from the Crow Library until she relented to do her assignment. 

Jesper clears his throat, trying to relieve the awkward vibe getting thicker with each passing moment of silence. I can’t help but allow a small smile to reach my lips, grateful for him trying to save me from the tension that I could slice with a knife. Swallowing and meeting Kaz’s dark eyes, I sigh. 

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m in.” 

The strain dissolves from the space and the other Crows break into smiles and start to chatter. Relaxing back in my chair, I watch Inej spring up and take her place next to Kaz, her lithe frame complimenting his perfectly. Kaz moves around his large oak desk, gaze fixated on something in the distance. Definitely scheming face. Best to wait it out until he speaks first.

The Crow Library is lit with the afternoon sunlight, warming the leather of our chairs and illuminating the dust gathering along the rows of books. Shelves line the walls beneath the window, behind Kaz’s study area, and underneath the stairwell, which leads to an upstairs reading room and parlor area. Nobody has bothered to read any of the books, weathered and dusted with age, but they lend the room an air of sophistication and a homey comforting smell. Kaz’s desk is littered with papers, the dark wood barely visible beneath the jumble of stock investment deals, new heists, and class assignments waiting to be done. On the front face of the desk, a large crow is carved into the surface, black and red paint covering the indentations in the wood. 

Inej puts a tender hand on Kaz’s forearm, her lips moving quickly and silently, as if whispering to him. Inej has her hair down today, an unusual occurrence from her braided coil, and the dark strands spill like silky oil over her shoulders and her waist. She must have come from the studio, sweat still gleaming on her brow and black leotard disappearing beneath dark navy leggings. Her lithe frame seems to be floating, always so modest and reserved, yet her brown eyes are intuitive and unrelenting as she studies Kaz. She has been with him since the founding of the Crow Club, never missing a beat between helping him, chastising him, watching out for him, and caring for herself all the same. It’s no wonder she’s been able to double major in both Global History and Ballet, two completely different worlds, but complimenting each other perfectly for Inej. 

And Kaz. What an interesting man he’s proven to be. 

Business major. Self made millionaire. First student to be admitted into the University of Ketterdam - UOK for short, without a full high school education. A man full of mysteries. 

Jesper moves to perch himself on the arm of Wylan’s chair and adjusts his Queen shirt, the old black leather groaning under his weight. Jesper says something quietly to his boyfriend before running a hand through Wylan’s curly red hair and kissing his pale pert nose. Jesper has his hair buzzed short to his scalp, dark arms lean with muscle and legs long, his jeans riding up at the ankles to reveal bright yellow socks and black high tops. Wylan releases a wide smile, looking up at Jesper with untamed admiration. Wylan has on a pair of pressed dark wash jeans, his collared shirt maroon red with small white dots, accentuating his bright hair and pale skin. 

It just reminds me of blood. 

They are quite a pair. Wylan, being the son of the University dean and Jesper, one of the most intelligent and talented students in the Economics department. He is studying Game Theory, an extremely intense and complicated subject full of strategy, confidence, and risk: coincidentally Jesper’s three favorite words. 

Wylan, much to his father’s chagrin, is an Art History student with a hidden passion for chemistry and physics. I often find him gazing at the long since forgotten portraits on the walls of the Crow Library upstairs, reminiscing of a different time, of discovery and excitement. Of different people with different secrets. Wylan usually seems lost in thought, often internally reflecting rather than being outwardly vocal like the rest of the Crows. He is another mystery, especially because of the tenuous relationship he has with his father. 

Jesper’s brown skin glimmers in the sun, inclining his eyebrows in mischief before taking a toffee from the bowl next to him and flinging it across Wylan’s chair to Nina. 

Her tongue flicks out as it hits her arm, thick lips smirking before unwrapping the plastic wrapper and popping the candy in her mouth. Nina is one of the only Crows who was forced into attending the University of Ketterdam. Her parents, with her father being an extremely rich and powerful Russian politician and her mother, an aristocratic woman supposedly descending from ancient Russian royalty, had been raising Nina to marry a high ranking Scandinavian commander since she was eleven. The marriage was supposed to secure better relations between the two nations, as well as provide Nina with a life of security, wealth, and status for her and her children. All her parents want for her. 

In true Nina fashion, this is unacceptable. 

Her family said the marriage could wait if she wanted to go to school and get a degree, which may better serve her husband and their families prestige in the future. Seeing no other viable option, especially because she did not want to marry a “white haired barbarian” as she called her husband-to-be, she enrolled in a prestigious university as far away from Russia as she could get. Despite her parents beliefs that she is a culinary student - “because a good wife knows how to cook”, according to her parents, Nina has been studying Performing Arts and Theatre. A perfect major to fit her personality and her beauty, with her tall, curvy frame and piercing green eyes. Today, she is wearing an olive bodysuit, the neck low cutting and her legs hugged by a pair of black flare jeans. Casual and entrancing. Her style seems to change depending on her mood, from modest foreigner to vivacious party girl to preppy student. New each day. 

“We will need others,” Kaz mumbles to Inej, furrowing his dark eyebrows in thought. 

I have only been with the Crows for a few months, but I already know how unusual that is. Kaz rarely asks for help, especially from those outside of the Crow Club. But whatever he has planned seems to be a lot more serious than the other jobs, more personal than merely ousting insider trading, or infiltrating various museums and mansions, or spying on the Upper East and West Side elite to gain intel and use it to our advantage. 

Each of us has a unique purpose to Kaz. His investments. And while it has been easier to see where the others’ talents fit in, I am still baffled by my own. I adjust the sleeves of my lavender shirt, the ruffled material smooth on my shoulders. 

I had known the Crow Club existed before I set foot on campus. As a journalism major, secrets have always intrigued me. Not just the secrets. The challenge of uncovering them, of working from the inside to reveal some of the deepest and darkest parts of humanity. I had always heard whispers of the club amongst the Upper West side elite, whispers about Kaz Brekker and his Crows. Always watching. Always ready to catch you red-handed. But I didn’t even need to go out of my way to find the Crow Club.

Kaz found me first. Called me an asset. He and Inej invited me to join starting the summer before my second term. I have surprised myself by warming up to the rest of the Crows so quickly, even the ones who aren’t active members and are just extra recruits for Kaz to call if he needs them. We all mean something here, we all have a purpose, more than what the world is trying to force upon us.  

A family. Especially since most of ours are broken or nonexistent. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Kaz snaps to attention and we follow suit, like trained soldiers, eager for him to share whatever small slice of his plan that he decides to. His crisp suit is pure black, a small crow brooch pinned to his lapel. The shaved hair on the side of his head is beginning to grow out, the top slicked back with a deep, oaky smelling gel. He always looks like he is dressed for a business meeting, even when it’s just us. Inej always muses that there is an irony to it, but how, I don’t know. I suppose everything is business to Kaz. 

“Okay,” he begins, voice gruff and deep. “This is what we’ll do.” 

----

Nina and I weave our way through the busy streets, blessing the cool wind as it kisses our faces in the dying summer heat. Her hair is down, the sun illuminating the many shades of brown running through the waves and her dress is high on her thighs, the red cotton fabric hugging the curves of her waist. Being in America has done wonders for Nina, brightened her complexion, improved her spirit, and turned her from a wafer-thin girl to a full-bodied, thick thighed woman. Everywhere she goes, people stare. She is otherworldly, like a saint on Earth. 

“Where did Kaz send us this time?” Nina complains, sucking the dripping strawberry ice cream from her fingers before chucking the cone into a nearby trash. 

“He didn’t,” I grin, dodging a guy with suspicious looking flyers on the sidewalk. “He gave us his card and very vague instructions to find a wardrobe for the event.” 

Nina’s eyes sparkle, cleaning off the rest of her fingers before she entwines her elbow in mine. New York City seems to breathe with our every step, the wind moving, the heat unfurling, and the trees swaying. Taxis and cars whiz by on the avenue, the honking of horns and the laughter of tourists crossing into Central Park filling the air. Everything about New York is alive, even the concrete holds stories it’s waiting to tell. 

“Then let’s go down Fifth,” Nina begins, mischief in her tone. “I know a few places.” 

“I bet you do,” I flash her a smile, crossing the street so we walk parallel to the park. 

We trek down the street, stopping into a macaron shop in the Plaza Hotel to get a bright blue bag full of sweets for us to eat on our journey. Nina and I are bouncing on our heels, excited to have a day to ourselves, away from the Crow Club and the University and being responsible for buying dresses for not only ourselves, but for Inej, Alina, and Zoya, as well. 

Kaz had three extra students brought in for this assignment, all a part of the secret network of Crows that don’t sit in regular meetings. First is Alina, who has an international reputation for rebuilding schools and orphanages across the world since she was thirteen, and who has been a Crow since her first step onto campus. She transferred here as a graduate student from some extremely prestigious school in California to complete her PhD and teaching credentials. Every time I have seen Alina, she has been so kind and so helpful, always eager to teach, serve, and build in any way she can. It’s beyond me why she wants to be a part of these operations. Maybe every good girl has a naughty streak. 

Zoya, on the other hand, seems like the opposite of Alina. A close friend, confidant, and suspected girlfriend, of another one of Kaz’s network of Crows, Zoya is an overly intelligent, intimidating, and obscenely beautiful law student. Her hair is always smooth, a jet black slate against her back and her eyes are always piercing, judging and observing in their ice blue. Her skin always looks perfectly tanned, a deep brown that makes the pink of her lips more enticing. Her grades are pristine, her ability to argue is unparalleled, and if there were ever a force to be reckoned with, it is her. It’s a lot more obvious to understand why she agreed to join the Crows, for the prestige, the knowledge, the power. But truly puzzling, is her relationship with Nikolai. 

Nikolai, or Nik, as I like to call him, is one of the best - and funniest, Crows. Clever, self-deprecating, friendly, handsome, the list goes on. His blonde hair is a shaggy mop of artsy goodness, his skin is creamy, his style completely unmatched and his wealth bottomless. Nik and Kaz are always butting heads; most of the time it’s the only comedic relief the Crow Club has when they’re together. Nik met Zoya during undergrad, in a political science course, where apparently their discussions were lively enough to earn them A’s and lengthy enough to last entire class sessions. Nik has one of those family names that are revered in every elite social circle, making him an obvious addition for Kaz’s team and from what I have gleaned from Nik, he decided to join the Crows to give him something interesting to do besides follow in his father’s footsteps. I wish I wanted to be a Crow out of boredom. 

“God,” Nina groans, shoving her phone back into her five thousand dollar purse. “If I get one more message from my parents asking if I’ve heard from that white-haired, rule-following, stick-up-his-ass, Scandinavian inbred, I am going to drown my phone in the Hudson River.” 

“Wow,” I clap for her, avoiding the incredulous gapes of tourists at her language. “So many adjectives and I don’t even think you’ve ever said his name.”

A man opens up the glass doors to Bergdorf Goodman’s, where cool air and white marble greet us. Immediately, we drift to the dress racks, combing through all of the latest trends.

“Matthias,” she almost growls. “His letters are so proper, telling me that he has heard of my exemplary womanly skills from my parents. That he would delight to see my drawings and sewing and hear me play the piano. It’s ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things by choice.” 

I stifle a laugh. “He seems very… traditional.” 

“Seems?” She throws her hands up, shoving a silk dress back onto the rack with too much force. “He is the definition of the word! And worst of all, he’s attractive! He has snow white hair and is built like one of those huge wrestler guys that people watch on TV.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Because his complete lack of competence makes him a barbarian! A man who thinks the perfect wife is silent and docile. He’s going to have another thing coming when I show up.” 

“He comes from old money in an old country,” I begin, wondering whether I need to tread lightly. “Don’t you think he’s just taught to think that way?” 

She sighs, holding up a stunning evergreen gown against her figure. “I know he is. That’s what’s even worse. I know that everyone where he is from has been taught those values. So even if he came to love me, to understand me, no one on the outside would. His station, his reputation, his fortune, all of it is dependent on how I perform. How I reflect him.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I muse, holding out another red silk dress for her. 

“Money isn’t fair.” 

I blink, surprised at her words. Money is just an object. It has no preference, no deference, no opinions. But I guess the idea of money is more important and tangible than the paper itself. Money has value and expectations beyond the faces staring back at you from the press. It expects manners, it breeds tradition and hierarchy and perfect wives who aren’t allowed to make any. I wonder if Nina will end up bending to those wills, to the one’s she has been raised to. America is such a different place, but I guess money everywhere is the same. It controls you. 

“This.” 

I turn around, face breaking out into a huge smile at the dress Nina is holding. It is a deep purple, with sheer shoulder sleeves and a deep plunging neckline covered in diamond flowers. The waist is cinched, belted by more glittering gems, before it falls and flows in layers of purple silk and satin to the floor, flowers and vines curling around the skirt. Nina’s hair and eyes and skin would look angelic in the dress. I nod fervently, unable to cap my smile as she waves over an employee to open the dressing room. 

While in the dressing rooms, Nina and I talk through the divider. 

“Where was Wylan off to earlier?” I ask, taking off my clothes and folding them neatly on the small leather bench. “He never really seems to be around these days.” 

“Yeah,” Nina says, with a grunt. “He’s been trying to rekindle his relationship with his father, studying a lot. You know, the usual dysfunctional family stuff.” 

I laugh. “My family wasn’t dysfunctional in that way.” 

“I would say you were lucky,” Nina begins and I can hear her zipper up as mine does. “But I know you weren’t.” 

At the same time, we step out of the dressing room, identical smiles breaking open our faces before we clasp our hands together and squeal with happiness. The dresses look perfect, we look perfect, everything looks perfect. 

And now we just have to find dresses for Alina and Zoya. 

With these price tags, Kaz is going to regret lending us his credit card. 

----

“Something Kaz Brekker doesn’t know how to do,” I tease a few days later,“drive.” 

He shoots me a healthy side glare, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel. The sun is shining through the left side of the car, illuminating his high cheeks and arched brow bones with dazzling light. If Kaz weren’t so… him, I’m confident he would have made an amazing Calvin Klein model. Especially because his lips are always relaxed in a bit of a natural pout and his resting stance is so relaxed, yet also confident. He is striking. 

And he doesn’t belong to me. Nor do I think he ever will. 

Despite their claims and attempts to put distance between their relationship, it has become common knowledge in the Crow Club that Kaz and Inej are a package deal. And it doesn’t take a trained Journalism major to read between those lines. It is blindingly obvious in the subtle ways she touches him, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her. She is the ice to his fire, and when needed, he is the same for her. A complimentary pair in every way, even if it seems unlikely on the surface. 

“Okay,” I begin, gesturing to the automatic gears between us. I explain what each of the letters stand for, instructing him to move the clutch into reverse and slowly ease up on the brake. With a bit of a jerk, Kaz obeys, turning the wheel to back us out of the spot in the empty parking lot. It had taken a bit of a road trip to find this place outside of the city. I had driven Kaz and myself into New Jersey, where the early morning dawn had just begun to crest, giving our driving lessons an advantage. Kaz had immediately, and somewhat reluctantly, urged me to teach him, claiming we would need it for this assignment. Inej had pushed him along with the conversation, rolling her eyes at how his own pride blocked up his request. 

“Now go back into drive,” I say, lurching forward when he does and pushes his foot down too forcefully on the gas pedal. He turns in circles around the empty lot, taking care to avoid the lamp posts. On every straight away, Kaz seems to hit the gas with a little more force, graceful turns giving way to concussion-inducing races. It seems he has the turning part down, but the lurching and jerking of the car would get him pulled over quickly. 

And although Kaz will no doubt be having a new fake I.D. made by one of our extra Crows, the risk of involving a police officer is not one any of us want to take. 

“Slow down there, Nascar.” I laugh.

He eases up, taking his time to get used to the ebb and flow of the vehicle. Where he got the car is beyond me, but I am also beyond questioning Kaz’s ability to secure random and often, complicated, objects for our heists. He has become my biggest puzzle, my biggest mystery to solve. And if it hasn’t been one hell of an adventure trying to figure him out. Observing him and listening and learning his subtle tells when he is angry or pleased or scheming. Lately, though, it feels as if the obsession for uncovering his truths have blossomed into something else, something that makes my heart race a little faster and my palms sweat. Something I haven’t been able to control. And how I hate not being in control. 

“Turn out onto the street,” I instruct, forcing myself to speak and get out of my own head. 

He obliges, the car absorbing the bumps in the curb as Kaz makes a graceful right turn. His black gloves glide smoothly along the steering wheel, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his pale wrist. My mind begins to wander again, to whether or not Inej has touched them, if she has held his wrists down as she gracefully slid on top of him. I wonder if she has kissed him, if he whispers her secrets to her like some sort of sexy spy pillow talk. 

“Cataleya,” Kaz is saying, the four syllables of my name like chimes from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” I shake my head, swallowing and casting him a glance. “What?” 

“Where are we going?” He repeats, monotone and bored. 

His driving has already gotten smoother, his feet steady on the brake and gas as I tell him to pull onto the dirt on the side of the two-lane road and turn around. There are still no cars out here at this hour, an Amtrak just beginning its morning route on a station in the distance. I can see the outline of the city beyond the valley, half blocked by trees and tall grass. The skyscrapers are haloed by the rising sun, like a safe haven calling me back home. 

“Who taught you to drive?” Kaz says, his raspy voice surprisingly light. 

“A friend I had growing up,” I reply, surprised.

“That’s a nice friend,” he comments, voice taking on an edge I don’t understand. 

I snort. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any family to do it.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly and if I weren’t observant I probably would have missed it. The way he tenses up. The way his jaw clenches and the car begins to move a bit faster as his foot locks onto the gas. “Me either.” 

“I found my mother dead.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Kaz’s gaze shifts a bit, but he keeps his focus on the road as I continue. “I went to bury a dead cat in my mother’s old garden. We never touched it, my father never tended to it, or let me, after he said she left us. But when I went out to the garden and began to dig, I lost track of time, I dug far deeper than I intended. My father wasn’t home, I wanted to be there, in that garden, and away from him if he came home, for as long as possible. I didn’t realize how far I had dug until,” I swallow, inhaling and turning to Kaz. “Until a hand began to form beneath the dirt, and then an arm, and I saw the wedding ring, the bruises, the blue of her dress…” 

Kaz’s lips part, the only admission of emotion he gives. 

“The coroner said she had been dead for four months. Four months,” my voice broke, splintered on the fragments of my memories. “That she had been beaten and buried there. They couldn’t… couldn’t prove it was my father. He had money, lots of it. And he paid a lot of people to keep quiet.” 

“Is that why you love journalism?” Kaz asks, slowing the car to ready his turn back into the empty lot. “Exposing them? Making them pay with more than their blood money and with plain blood?”

I inhale, lips curling back in more of a snarl than a smile. “Everyone I knew. Everyone I knew who was involved. I have made them pay. In some form.” I throw Kaz a true smile, a devilish gleam in my eyes. “Although I suppose you already know that. It’s why Inej noticed me in the first place.” 

“One of the many reasons,” Kaz replies, words back to being clipped, tight. 

With a smooth arc of the steering wheel, Kaz turns the car into the same spot as before, hitting a little too hard on the brake before coming to a stop. My hair moves in front of my face at the jolt, a blessed curtain separating me from him. I can feel him thinking, churning over my words, assessing me. 

Kaz hardly seems fazed as I peek at him around my hair. His dark eyes are far away, his gloved hands slack on the wheel. I still myself, hearing the purr of the car engine, hearing Kaz’s breathing, shallow and uneven, as he goes into the place he so rarely dives. His eyes are almost glazed, like he’s been drinking, completely lost in his own thoughts. I know some of his story already. From Nina. From Jesper. From my research. 

“Your brother,” I murmur, soft and low. 

His hands tighten on the wheel until they are bone white, staring straight ahead at the tree lined landscape. “Jordie,” he pushes through his teeth. “His name was Jordie.” 

My spine straightens. Kaz has never said anything about his brother, and has never allowed any of the Crows besides Inej into his life in this way. And I wonder how far he has even let her in. I swallow, questioning if I should press or let it be. I am just about to get out and switch places with him to take us back into the city, when he opens his mouth and to my bewilderment, continues to speak. 

“My parents were mixed up in some bad stuff before we came here. We lived in the countryside, with a bit of land and no one around us for miles. My brother was older than me, only by four years, but enough to know how to keep me from looking where I shouldn’t. From keeping me happy and sheltered.” A muscle flickers in Kaz’s jaw, his pale skin going ashier with each word, “I didn’t know what was happening when they came. The thugs my parents had been hopping between towns, cities, and states to avoid for over a decade. Jordie took me, the remaining cash from the safe, that my father had stolen, and fled to New York City. He hoped we would be invisible among so many people.” 

I don’t know I am holding my breath until I release it, low and shaky. Kaz is silent again, staring off, flexing and unflexing his fingers against the steering wheel, like a silent reminder that he is here. 

“Are they alive?” I ask, voice so silent it’s almost nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Kaz admits. “But we never heard from them. I’ve never heard. So I can only assume not. And I don’t think I would want to see them if they were.”  

“And Jordie…?” I venture, terrified to hear more, but also terrified he’ll clam up. I am desperate for more. Desperate to know him. 

“We weren’t safe here. They found us. Or, found Jordie. While I was gone.” Every single syllable from his lips are forced and painful, laced with self loathing and regret. Survivor's guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but Jordie had sent me away. On an errand down in Brooklyn. He knew we were trapped, and wanted me to live, if he couldn’t. If Jordie could convince them he was alone and I had been shipped somewhere else... ” He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, focusing on some point in the distance. “They ruled it as a suicide. He had cut his own throat, only his DNA on the knife, only his blood… I don’t know if he did it before they came. Or if they staged it. The not knowing. The guessing. That’s what makes it worse.” 

“So you look for control in other places.” I say. “In the market. In investment. In the Crows. I do the same thing.” 

“The Crows stand for the same thing you do, Cataleya.” Kaz says, looking at me with an intense stare. “Exposure. We want things to be different. We want people to pay, truly pay, for what they have done. Instead of buying silence. Buying lies. We want the truth. Only the truth.” 

His words pierce me, his black hair stark against his forehead, shaved sides longer than he normally keeps them. His eyebrows are set in a hard determined line, lips closed, and jaw locked in determination. I know he made those people pay, the ones who took his brother from him. I can see it on his face. 

“How did you survive?” I begin, “without him?”

Kaz licked his lips and let out a low chuckle. “Our money was gone. But we knew some people. Kids we met on the street. They made me a fake to get into bars with; I was barely sixteen by that time, but I looked older. Rougher. I had a skill for counting cards and made a small fortune quickly by playing in run down joints and eventually, working my way into larger, more expensive establishments. It was hard, I lived and breathed revenge, for Jordie. I wanted to have him back. To have something that was mine. I built up a small fortune, studied the market, and began investing. By the time I applied to the University of Ketterdam it didn’t matter that I only had my GED and no family, my self-made fortune was enough.” 

“But why here?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Why school at all?” 

Kaz continues to look at me, eyes blazing. “Because we had a dream. Jordie and I. We had a dream that we would never forget what happened. That we had to run. And that when we were older, more settled, we would build something here. In New York City, something that would last. Something with a legacy. Like Crows, Jordie had said, symbolizing death but themselves being alive. We were dealt bad luck and would bestow it on others who deserve it.” 

“Thus, The Crow Club,” I finish his sentence, gaze roaming his face. “A secret society at one of the world’s best universities that would have a legacy. Have prestige. Have a family.” 

“Something that is mine,” Kaz’s lips part, wet from his tongue. 

“Yes, yours.” I echo. 

We are both silent for a few moments. Weighing our words. Our truths. Even the trees outside seem to stop in the wind, leaves quiet and branches unwavering. Kaz has opened up in a way I have never seen before. Never expected. He has been through so much. So much like me. Dealt with death. Loss. Life. We aren’t so different. None of the Crows are. 

“What about the others?” 

“Those aren’t my stories to tell,” Kaz responds, voice returning to its detached state.

I nod, once, accepting. I know a few of them already. Nina. Wylan. The new recruits. But Inej and Jesper are mysteries. Complete and whole geniuses shrouded in questions. I don’t like questions. Especially ones I can’t answer. 

“How did you survive? With him?” Kaz’s voice rings again, reflecting my earlier question. His words are too big for the small car, inhaling deeply through my nose as a small smile graces my lips. His long fingers move the shift into reverse to back out of the spot to drive us back to the city himself. The true test of his skill on the Manhattan streets.  

“That friend. The one who taught me how to drive,” I reply, a bit of wistful nostalgia filling my tone. “He helped me. Took care of me. Looked after me.” 

“Past tense?” He inquires, feet smooth as he presses on the gas pedal. 

“We are still friends,” I say. “I think. Things are just… different.” 

“Different. That’s an understatement.” He replies, voice drenched with irony. “Everything is different, isn’t it, depending on how you look at it.”

I nod and laugh, giving him a compliment on how swiftly he picked up driving before we settle into a comfortable silence. Crows. Allies. Friends. If we can call ourselves that. 

I hope we can. 

----

Today, I am supposed to meet the enemy. 

Kaz told me yesterday he set up a rendezvous at one of the campus coffee spots and that there would be someone waiting for me there. Someone he wouldn’t name. Someone that I am supposed to gather information from. Someone who thinks we are on a date. 

I had almost hit him when he pulled up his phone to show me the fake dating profile that was made for me. Pictures of me smiling, laughing, most of them pictures I didn’t even remember taking, all glowed brightly at me, accentuated by a bio that said I liked my men tall, dark, and tortured. 

How cliche. 

“Nina made it,” Kaz had shrugged then returned his phone back to his pocket. 

“And you would be surprised by how many matches you made,” Inej’s voice was laced with humor, lilting into the room without a trace. 

“She’ll walk you over,” Kaz said, gesturing around the room to her unknown location. “Like any dutiful girl would for her best friend about to go on a date from an app. Then, you’ll just need to proceed as normal. Ask him about his life, his job, his degree, his connection to UOK. All the basics. The main concern is reading him out for a vibe, his family has had a lot of influence in some shady shit and he’s from another society here.”

So that’s what this was about? Some sour deals that probably put Kaz out of some easy money and a rival society that was challenging Kaz’s position in the control of campus secrets and his standing legacy? I don’t feel like that is the whole story, but that’s all that Kaz was willing to give me at the time. 

And he hadn’t said anything this afternoon when I had gone into the Crow Library to meet Inej. He acted like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t revealed some of his darkest secrets to me. Like we hadn’t shared a moment of… something. He barely looked at me from his desk, hair rumpled and face flushed from stress, in my tight long sleeve dress and tights, combat boots laced up around my ankles in case this random guy got the wrong idea. 

The air outside had turned to autumn, giving us an unusually cold and windy day. I was puttering around and trying to think of something to say to Kaz, when Inej came down the staircase with silent feet, dressed in a pair of black leggings and a cream knit sweater. Her hair had been mused in the back and her face also looked a bit red. I had almost laughed, looking between her flushed state and Kaz’s slightly red cheeks, before giving Inej a knowing quirk of my eyebrows. 

And now, outside of the library and alone, walking across the cobblestoned campus paths with autumn leaves falling around us, I turn to her. “Do I even want to know?” 

“It’s college,” she replies, so quiet it’s almost to herself. “Things happen.” 

“Things don’t just happen with Kaz Brekker.” 

She looks at me, face breaking out into a blinding smile that splits her beautifully baked face. “They do when he’s in a rather… compromising position.” 

“Inej!” I release the laugh I’ve been holding, the now pulled back coil of her hair showing off the reddened tips of her ears. Since I have known of Inej, she has always been rather modest. Sure of herself in a quiet way. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need reassurance or shields. Inej herself is a shield, a force of silent secrets she keeps hidden beneath the unsuspecting lithe of her dancer’s frame. 

We take a right turn down one of the main campus paths, small walkways opening up into a large courtyard. Students mill about, sitting on statues, kissing underneath the garden archways, reading books on their way into classes. The University of Ketterdam has always been such an eclectic place, not only because of its location in New York City, but because of its campus. Lush, green, beautiful. An ode to history and architecture and modernity all the same. The programs here are some of the best in the world and while tuition isn’t cheap, the value of a Ketterdam degree is worth it. 

“Is it bad that I kind of do want to know though?” I begin, not even sure what I’m saying. 

“No,” Inej says, voice thoughtful and not defensive in any way. This is why I love Inej. So honest and unafraid. “I think everyone wants to know about Kaz. Everyone wants to be the hero that solves the mystery or the lover that turns a prince from darkness.” She pauses, looking around at the students, seeming lost in thought. Her dark eyebrows crease together, as if in thought or sadness. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

I can tell she’s referring to Kaz. But I’m not sure if I agree. I think everyone can be saved. I think darkness lives in everyone and all a person needs is a bit of light to show them through. People weren’t born into darkness, or evil, they were made that way. Through that, they could be unmade. And Inej has enough light and strength in one of her hands to see any person through the blackest of tunnels. I think of what Kaz had said to me, in the car, about his story, about his desire for revenge. For retribution. Maybe I want to believe we can be saved from the darkness because I want to be saved. Because like calls to like. And there is a deep chasm within Kaz that sings to me. 

Inej moves her head to look at me, a full and unabashed gaze that somehow makes me uncomfortable. Like she can see straight to my soul. Like she can see every lie I have told or every promise I have broken or every secret I have kept. Like she can see my desires and my shame and my longing for things I can’t have.

“But we love them anyway, don’t we?” She finishes, giving me a contemplative look. 

I think of the people I love, the people I did love, when there were still people in my life that were capable of receiving such a thing; people who were dark and painful and I still loved them anyway. Love can be such a blinding thing. Blinding and binding. 

“Yeah,” I echo, her reflective tone rubbing off onto my voice. “We do.” 

The both of us descend into silence as we continue to walk across the quad. I begin to feel my stomach turn, my palms sweat. No matter how many times I have done this, not dates, but encounter new people, this feeling returns. Every time I have to meet someone new, report on something, present something for a class, I would feel anxiety grip my insides and twist. When I was younger, that anxiety was terrifying, it made me cower, it made me scared. But as I got older, I began to use it and cling to it. I began to form it into an entity that gave me courage instead of taking it, something that would ground me to myself and propel me into my fears. 

Inej begins, “Kaz texted and said he’s outside. Reading. Good luck.” Then she’s gone.

Steadying my breath, the smell of coffee hits my nostrils as I round the library steps to the small path beside it. The coffee shop is nestled into the side of the huge, brick building, almost like a tumor sprouting from the side. Inej has completely disappeared, only leaving the familiar scent of herbs in her wake. She is supposed to be going up the library steps to find a good vantage point from one of the many windows facing the coffee shop on the building’s side. Students move around through the cafe windows, in and out of the doors, little bell ringing to signal both arrival and departure. 

But I am not paying attention to any of them. 

Because there is a boy. A man. Sitting at one of the tables outside, his long legs stretched underneath the opposite chair, wearing a pair of leather sneakers. His long fingers are thumbing through a novel, covers worn and pages yellow with age. He can feel someone there, looking, sitting up and turning in that little metal chair to see who. To see me. 

It’s Alek. 

I blanch, mouth going dry and jaw slackening. I know him. I more than know him. I- 

“Cataleya,” his voice is pure night, laced and dripping with stars. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, not even phased. Not that I have ever seen him look surprised. I flash back to that day in the garden, to his hands on my face, wiping my tears, to his arms around me, murmuring condolences, to the face that I could see through my blurred tears. Dark hair, pale skin, beautifully big gray eyes. I had barely known him, barely seen him despite our houses being right next door, despite our windows being on opposite sides of the alley and me being able to spy on him when his curtains were parted at night. 

“Aleksander?” I stand a little straighter, gathering my shock and shoving it deep down. 

He smiles, standing up from the chair on the patio of the coffee shop. He is so tall, taller than I remember. His dark jeans are fitted against his legs and the black long sleeve button down he is wearing shows off a large portion of his impeccable chest. I don’t remember when the last time I saw him was, but I definitely don’t recall feeling the pulsing and intense heat that flashes through my body when I look at him. I suddenly feel naked. And stupid. 

Is Kaz trying to kill me?

Swallowing thickly, I scan the windows on the side of the library for Inej, wondering if she has already found a perch to play spy. The sun reflects off of each glass surface in the afternoon light, making it impossible to see through any of them. Blowing a breath through my lips, I attempt to quell the storm brewing and churning in my stomach. 

“What a wonderful surprise this is,” Alek starts. 

I catch the edge in his voice, the way the tone lilts at the end. A tell of how much this encounter is not a surprise. For him anyway. But I smile, I nod and I watch as he fluidly closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms. 

I hate how I exhale. 

How my whole body relaxes. 

I hate how good it feels. 

Like coming home. 

He smells like winter and barren tree branches, like snow and absence of light. Like a dark night wrapping me in its embrace and taking away the pain that days bring. Peaceful and mysterious all the same. Just as I remember it. Just as I remember him. 

“Since when did you start wearing all black?” I joke as he pulls away, gesturing to his outfit. “Are you some kind of darkling now?” 

He gives me a blinding grin, chuckling under his breath. 

“Something like that.” 

He gestures us back over to the table and I sit across from him, back rigid and legs crossed. I feel like a mannequin, still and stoic, despite the intense pounding of my heart and rush of blood through my veins. 

“How have you been?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “I must say I was very surprised when your profile popped up Tinder.” 

I clench my jaw, working my teeth against each other. “Yeah, so was I.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Alek studies me, eyes unabashedly roaming from my face to my chest to my waist, to my legs visible on the side of the table. I swallow, trying to clear the unfamiliar lump in my throat before I speak. 

“But I’m good. Great, even. But I didn’t even know you are here. That you went here in the first place.” 

“It’s a temporary thing,” Alek responds. 

“Temporary?” I push. 

“I’m just getting a business credential for the semester,” he says, airy and dismissive. 

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he can feel the suspicion and annoyance radiating from my look. He drums his fingers on the table, weighing my stare with a measured, even gaze that infuriates me further. I always hated when he did this when we were kids. Always challenging me. Always trying to get me to back down. Luckily, our time apart has sharpened my detective skills and my comfort with confrontation. 

Alek sighs, blinking slowly. “Fine. I’m here because of you.” 

My jaw slackens. 

Because of me? 

“I missed you,” he whispers, in a rare display of vulnerability and affection, before reaching across the table to take my hand. 

Fire lashes up my wrist and arm, chills spreading in its wake. His touch is electrifying me, his skin like a hot branding iron pushing into me with delicious pain. Alek’s jaw is set, the hard lines on his chin lined with stubble. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to feel him against me and get lost in the impossibly deep gray ocean of his eyes. 

“Where were you then?” I venture, pushing down the pressing anxiety. 

“I had a lot to deal with after my dad died,” he responds, voice detached and noncommittal. “I’m really sorry I let our relationship fall away, but I didn’t want to drag you down into my grief. You’ve always had enough on your plate.” 

“You helped me through grief.” My tone steadies. “I wanted to help you.” 

He huffs, “I didn’t want your help.” 

The words are like a slap in the face, pulling my hand from his with a start. His dad’s death had been very abrupt and unexpected, launching Alek into a world of unknown wealth and property and an accumulation of other assets he wasn’t even aware his father had. His death was ruled under suspicious circumstances, but no leads were ever found for a murderer or any other sort of foul play. And with Alek’s mother long gone to cancer, he found himself newly eighteen and alone in the world. Except he wasn’t alone. He always had me. 

Alek releases a breath, eyes softening as he leans back in his chair, aware of the mistake in his harsh words. He pushes a hand through his hair, the dark waves parting for his hand like a saint in the sea. 

“I don’t mean it like that. I wanted you to be there, Cataleya. But some things you have to do on your own, you know? I had so much to figure out and sort through and… it was overwhelming.” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Alek was never the kind of guy to ask for help, especially not from people he is close to. He always did things alone, always felt weak for not building his own empire, his own legacy, his own destiny, without anyone else. But two years, I haven’t heard from him in two years and now here he is. In front of me. Asking for some sort of forgiveness. Is there anything to forgive? The pit in my stomach says yes. But my throbbing heart and other throbbing parts of me say no. 

“I missed you, too.” 

A small smile blossoms across his face, the sight beautiful and stupefying. 

“I can’t help but notice you walked here with Inej Ghafa,” he starts and my alert senses begin to tingle. “Isn’t she a part of Kaz Brekker’s Crow Club?” 

“How do you know about that?” I ask before I can help myself.

“Anyone who is anyone knows about Kaz,” he responds, almost spitting his name. 

“Okay…” I begin, unease settling into my stomach like a stone. “But why do you?” 

“He has something I need.” 

The stone becomes a boulder. 

“Are you-” I stop, then start again. “You’re the one that this is for.” 

“If by “this”, you mean whatever scheme he is planning to trap me in, then yes.”

“But why? How do you even know him? Don’t you know who he is and what he does? What are you thinking going against Kaz?” I ask urgently, struggling to keep my voice low. 

He pins me to the chair with a dead look. “He has debts he needs to pay.” 

“You’re going vague again?” I shake my head, irritated with his bipolar intensity then flippancy. “You need to back down. Or you’re going to end up hurt.” 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, “Your lack of faith in me is really inspiring, Cataleya.” 

“It’s not that,” I retort, exasperated, crossing my arms. “Kaz is really powerful. With more networks and connections than you know. If you don’t stop whatever crusade you have on him, you’re the one that’s going to end up indebted.” 

He laughs this time, a full and deep laugh that surprises me. “Has he really dug his talons that deep in you? That you’ve forgotten how wide my own connections spread? How cunning I can be?” 

“We haven’t spoken in two years,” I respond, pettily. “I don’t know you at all anymore.” 

He leans forward, eyes incredibly dark and face serious. “You know that’s not true.”

I hold his stare, raising my eyebrows, feeling satisfied that I made my point. Alek reaches across the table and places his palm up on it in invitation. I can see the veins of his inner wrist, with dark ink snaking across the blue and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any tattoos when I last talked to him. My fingers itch to push back the fabric and see them. His secrets. Like Kaz’s, they are so plain on his skin yet hidden through metaphors and signs. 

Licking my lips, I push out a breath and put my hand atop his, feeling his eyes follow mine to where the ink is displayed. Without saying anything, he pushes the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, stopping at the inner crook of his elbow. 

Inhaling and holding, I blink at the constellation on the inside of his forearm. A night sky, swirling with black and dead space, with creatures in between zombies and ghosts with huge demon wings flying through it. There is a ship at the base of his wrist, a small stern gliding through dark sand, a tiny speck compared to the massive size of the creatures flying above it. It is dark and torturing and incredibly impassioned. I let the pads of my fingers drift softly up Alek’s arm, watching goosebumps form on his skin. 

“What are they?” I ask. 

“They’re called volcra,” Alek says. “Beings that live in darkness and are afraid of light. They feed on those who come into their path, who are unable to see or defend themselves in the black sea of sand.” 

“It’s so… intense.” I search for the right word to describe it, coming up short. 

“I want to remind myself to not be afraid of light. Of happiness. That the things that I may think make me weak, really make me strong. I need to find more light, to find my light. I have been full of darkness for a long time, Cataelya. I’ve lived in a thousand moments of it.” 

I tilt my head, fingers pressed into the inside of his elbow and looking up at him through my lashes. His eyes are trained to the spot where our skin is meeting, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed a bit in the middle. I resist the urge to flatten it with my thumb, letting the wind and the sound of other students fill the silence between us. 

“You were the only light in my life for a long time,” I say to him, tracing the volcra’s deformed bodies with my index finger. “I had nothing. I had no one. You pulled me from that nothingness. From the darkness. And held me in your arms. Brought me up to somewhere better. Where I can hope. Where I can not only see light, but make my own. That is invaluable to me.” 

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Can you help me, then? Can you bring me back my light, too?” 

My breathing stalls. I know what he’s asking from me. I know it’s more than just offering a flashlight through the tunnel. I know it’s more complicated than I can currently imagine. Alek stands up, coming around the table to kneel in front of my chair. Some students stare, wondering if they’re about to witness a proposal. I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on Alek’s imploring gaze. I know in this moment, I will give him the world, the moon, and all of its stars. I will give him all of my sun and then some, I will summon everything I have to fill the darkest parts of him. 

He takes my face in his hands, palms impossibly soft on my cheeks. Subtly, slowly, I nod, watching his face break a part into a smile. Without pausing, Alek leans forward and kisses me. His lips are smooth and plush, completely stunning me into inaction as he runs his fingers along the sides of my throat. I sigh into his mouth, body realizing what is happening just as he is pulling away. Parting my lips, I stupidly sit in my chair as he gets up in one flowing movement.

Alek looks down at me with a smile. “I hope to see you soon then, Cataleya.” 

Just like that, he scoops up his book and walks away. Gone as quickly as he appeared. 

----

The room is completely aglow with light, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lit around the room. Everything has a soft, burnt hue, like the room is on fire from below and the blaze is lighting the space. It must be the size of the University of Ketterdam quad, with hundreds of people talking, dancing, eating, and drinking. I recognize some students and faculty, but most are a blur of unfamiliar gowns and tuxedos. 

“They know how to throw a party,” Nik says appreciatively. 

“If they didn’t, no one would take them seriously.” Zoya retorts, leaving Nik’s side without so much as a glance to drift into the crowd. The smell of honey and sweet drinks spreads through the room, long tables lining either wall stacked with a massive spread. 

“That’s where I’ll be,” whispers Nina. 

I smile at her, gathering my dress in my hands and descending the few flat stairs to the main rooms. The floor is a beautiful tile, mosaics and colors that I can’t decipher flowing from the entry way beneath the mass of bodies. There is something magical about it all, something historic, like stepping into a time machine. The walls are lined with thick tapestries, with small halls leading into different areas of grandeur. I shouldn’t be surprised that wealth like this still exists, but every time I see it, I am. 

Scanning the space, I see Alek from across the ballroom, near one of the food tables, his gaze drifting across my body before a smile forms on his lips. He is wearing an all black suit, lapels crisp and smooth, with a single blood rose pinned above his heart. It mimics the read of my dress, the stain of my lips, the seduction in his eyes. He cocks his head slightly, dark hair falling over one of his beautifully arched eyebrows. 

I hold his stare, letting the bubbling pit of fire burn deeply in my stomach. The pit that forms when he looks at me, seated low and hot. The pit that would cackle and seethe if he would touch me, if his pale hands would settle on my hips and his lips would touch the shell of my ear, whispering sweet nothings and dirty everythings into my ear. Snaking my tongue between my lips, I watch as Aleksander tracks the motion, his posture straightening ever so slightly. 

And then Kaz is there. In my line of vision. 

The fire sputters out, replaced by something else. Something that grips my lungs and forces my heart to beat faster. His suit is a deep navy, bringing out the smooth pearl of his skin and accenting the night of his hair. He looks like a shooting star, dark and light at the same time. I wonder who picked it out for him, or if he selected it himself. I can’t imagine Kaz in a tailor’s shop, trying on suits and drinking bourbon with the upper elites with him. 

But then again, maybe I can. He is a business man after all. And great at faking it. 

Kaz catches my stare, tipping his head up in greeting before disappearing into the crowd. Nina and Nik dissolve from my side as well, going to observe and mingle before the drama begins. Alina is the only one left next to me, her golden dress sparkling in the chandelier light. She turns to me and sets her hand on my arm gingerly, sun earrings dangling from her ears. 

“Be careful,” she whispers. “He’s not who you think he is.” 

I open my mouth, about to ask her what she means before her hand is gone, and so is she. I watch her move into a group of people, hugging a man in a dark gray tuxedo from behind before giving him a kiss. Must be Mal. I don’t feel right, especially after what Alina said to me. I feel like something is amiss, but I don’t know what. 

I spot Kaz again, whispering something to Inej along the back wall. Her dark eyes drift to me, cementing the feeling in place. 

Alone, I cross the space to Alek. I had seen him twice since our fateful coffee date and both times had been very formal and full of business. Full of me trying to help him get his light back. Through some sort of grand scheme, it seems. One that required me to also recruit Nik, Alina, and Zoya to help Alek while seeming like they are helping Kaz. Sort of like a double agent, except I don’t know which side I want to be standing on at the end. 

“How are you?” Alek asks, tone casual to an untrained ear, but clipped enough for me to hear the true question behind his words. 

“Something’s wrong,” I respond under my breath before I loudly declare my happiness.

He lets his gaze linger on my face for a moment, schooling his features into neutrality. 

“Can you handle it?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, dropping my fake smile. “I might need help.” 

Vague enough, but he clearly gets the message, rolling his shoulders before giving me a dazzling grin. Alek reaches a long arm to stop the waiter passing by, grabbing two flutes of sparkling gold champagne and extending one to me. As if this is only our second time meeting. As if we both happened here by incident and he is looking to get lucky.

“I could never refuse such a beautiful woman.” 

I return his smile, throwing back the entire drink for some liquid courage. It tastes sweet and fizzy against my tongue, a faint acidity coating the roof of my mouth. Alek takes a long and thoughtful sip of his own champagne, much more graceful than me and folds my arm into the crook of his elbow. He begins to lead me from the ballroom, towards the Crow’s meeting spot. I look behind my shoulder, searching for their familiar faces. But all I see is Nina, already watching, her eyes focused intently on the joining of my arm with Alek’s while she pretends to listen to Nik, whose lips are moving with passionate fervor. Her mouth parts ever so slightly as she catches my eye. 

“Careful,” Alek mutters, forcing me to turn my head back in front of me. 

Dread and fear coil in my gut. I have never seen Nina look that way. I have never seen her look at me and not see me. I still don’t spot any of the other Crows at their reported positions around the room, where they were supposed to stay until I could get Alek alone and before I could lead Kaz to Alek and they could duel it out and I could decide who to side with then.

 I swallow, mind racing, trying to calm myself by believing that there’s a reason for their absence. 

 Alek seems to sense my trepidation, holding my arm a bit tighter as we meander from the crowded room into a near empty hallway. 

“Something’s wrong,” I repeat, trying to unravel everything quickly. Too quickly. 

Kaz, pushing everyone into this heist with such force. The others, more quiet than usual, less pressing for Kaz to give them details. Kaz, letting me teach him to drive, letting himself be vulnerable for me. Inej, barely talking to me a week into our plan. Nina, completely open and honest and warm until she saw me with Alek. Jesper, less happy than usual, less enthusiastic, more solemn and quiet, often excusing himself when I came into the room. And Wylan, always seeming to be off rekindling his relationship with his father. 

I didn’t need to help them with appearances at all. 

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. 

“It’s a trap,” I breathe, clenching my jaw and letting my stomach pit out inside of me. 

“I know,” Alek replies, cool and distant. 

My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, “I know”?” 

He doesn’t respond, turning right down the hallway that leads to a back patio exit, and not to the left, to that private seating area where the Crows were supposed to be waiting. Alek increases his pace ever so slightly, giving me a glazed and lusted look when people come out of the rooms to pass us by, too high or drunk or exhausted to care. 

I try to stamp down the panic in my bones. How could I be so stupid? How could I get so caught up playing both sides that I didn’t see what was right in front of me? This is not the part where things are supposed to go wrong. I am supposed to get to choose. I am supposed to see them interact, gauge my feelings, myself, my words, and decide which side I want to be on. If I want to be a Raven or a Crow. If I want to be crime or creation. Of course, Alek is one step ahead. And so is Kaz. 

“We need to be more casual, less uptight,” Alek states as he pushes through the glass doors leading into the large mansion courtyard at the end of the corridor. “If any of them are watching, they’ll hurry things along if they sense we’re onto them.” 

“I think they already know,” I swallow, the night air turning cold and bitter. We hover on the cramped patio for a moment, not descending the small set of stone stairs into the gardens beyond. I can hear voices from inside, music drifting about, people laughing and heavy breathing from behind bushes. I wish I could have gone to this party with no other intentions than for fun. 

Maybe in a different life.  

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Alek shrugs. 

And then I am up against the thin black railing behind me, Alek’s hands settling into the curve of my hips. I can feel his warmth through the satin of my dress, bleeding fire into my skin, my heart, my core. He licks his lips and pushes me tighter against him. Our bodies are flush in all of the right places; hard and soft in all of the right places. 

“Kiss me, Cataleya,” he baits me, voice low and raspy. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

I surge forward, his lips plush and velvet against mine. He smells like winter, like snow and frosty tree branches and endless starry nights. I grew up with this smell, revelled in it, fell in love with it. His dark hair brushes against my forehead, the strands so soft and gentle in a way I had never known Alek to be. He is always pushing, moving, plotting. 

He reminds me of Kaz in that way. 

Kaz. 

Alek’s tongue slips along mine, sparks flying and thundering in my ears. Haven’t I wanted him like this for so long? Haven’t I imagined what this would feel like since our first kiss, being barely a peck? Haven’t I dreamed that he would want me? That he would have me in the way I desired? 

So why is this falling so flat now? 

Kaz. 

The voice reverberates through me, like a Crow picking from a dead body, peeling flesh from bone until I am stripped bare. My head begins to pound, a dull ache in the base of my skull. Alek runs his fingers up my bare arms, drawing goosebumps in his wake until I am shivering beneath him. 

“Cataleya,” he murmurs, deep and throaty. 

The old feeling returns, the burning desire, the expectant eyes. The little girl waiting for her master to approve. The little girl waiting for someone bigger, someone better, to grab her hand and drag her from the dirt. I feel ridiculous for not being able to squash it down, to tamper it. I don’t know if that feeling would ever die. The feeling of dependence. Of unworthiness. 

Alek seems as if he’s about to say something, but his head whips to the side. I follow the movement, the stone of dread in my stomach sinking deeper when I realize the courtyard has gone quiet around us. Not a single sound from behind the bushes, not a giggle or a whisper or a moan. Too quiet. The sound of death. 

The headache threatens to split my brain a part, eyes blurring as I watch Alek attempt to stumble down the stairs. He gets one step in before a figure blocks his path. My breathing becomes laborious, squinting through black spots clouding my vision before I can see who it is. 

Wylan. 

His suit is a forest green, dark velvet tailored for his tall lanky frame. The color perfectly offsets the ruddiness of his hair and his shoes are a deep brown leather, squeaky clean and new. Leave it to Kaz to outfit all of the Crows with his endless bank account. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, face truly betraying some measure of regret. 

The pieces click together, like a lock sliding into place. 

He hasn’t been working with his father all these weeks. He has been working on something else entirely. Something that would take lots of time, lots of care, and lots of studying. When Nina said those things I thought she was talking about how he was mending the relationship with his father. She was not. And not just that, but his studies most likely required more than himself for success. Probably Leoni, the incredibly kind and intelligent biochemical engineering major who Kaz sometimes recruited for special missions that required more stealth, less blood. 

Wylan was studying poison. 

And we had ingested it from the champagne. 

----

My head is throbbing when I come to, the sound of a car engine roaring in my ears. I don’t know how I got here. All I remember is Alek, his hands on me, his warmth leaving me to spin me into the arms of someone else. The shaved hair, the deep brown eyes, the palor of his skin, the stability of his grip around my waist. Then Alek again, his lips on mine, my back against the wall.

 I force myself to swallow, trying to see anything through the blindfold at my eyes. I am still in my dress, the silk smooth on my skin, and I can feel the car coming to a stop as I struggle to find the strength to say something. 

My bones feel like liquid, muscles weak and shaking. But Alek had been the only one who offered me a drink, he had been the only one I trusted enough to gulp heartily. Wylan. I remember Wylan. Standing at the ledge of the stairs in the courtyard. Me and Alek. 

Poisoned. 

The car’s back door opens and I feel a rush of the cold night air as two gloved hands drag me by my feet from the vehicle and out onto the street. Dread coils in my stomach and my skin pricks with goosebumps, the cobble stones ripping at my exposed ankles and arms. After being dragged a few hundred feet, hissing at the burn of scapes and tearing on my skin from the uneven street, I am forced onto my knees.  I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right. Where is Kaz? 

As if in answer, the blindfold is yanked down my face from behind, my eyes blurring and struggling to adjust to the dark light of my surroundings. I am in an alley, wedged between two buildings built of collapsing brick. I can hear the faint whiz of cars, but in front of me is only a few hundred paces of the alleyway and then trees. I am not being brought here to talk. It’s too secluded. Too quiet. And the smell, bark and sap and something else… I clench my jaw. 

A shadow fills my periphery and I struggle to stay up on my knees as a figure takes shape in front of me. The navy suit, clean white shirt, the black leather gloves, the hard lines of his jaw and set of his eyes. I know why I am here. I know what this is. His stare is furious, rage and ice and merciless vengeful eyes boring into mine. 

He made the choice for me.

“Kaz,” I rasp, voice cracking and broken. 

He snarls at his name from my mouth, shoving me up into the nearest building. I stumble in my heels, his movements fast and forceful enough to drive my back into the wall with no problem. The rough edges of the brick dig into my back, clawing at my skin. This is nowhere near the last experience I had against a wall, with Alek. Caressing me, kissing me, igniting me. I try to stay calm. I try to think. But all I can see is Kaz’s face in front of me, burning with hatred and disdain as he rams me harder into the unforgiving bricks. 

I try to hold in my scream as a knife plunges into my side from one of the roofs above, deep and intense pain bursting through me. I don’t know who threw it, I don’t know how many of them are up there and how many stayed behind. I don’t know how long they’ve been in on it, I don’t know if Kaz has been aware the entire time. But I do know that now he knows, they all do. And that I won’t be leaving here alive. 

I can’t move enough to take the knife from my side, the hilt small, but the blade curved and lodged deep above the bone of my hip. Blood seeps through my dress, the red becoming impossibly darker, and the drip drip of the liquid pings against the stone street as it runs down my legs. It’s the only sound between us besides my ragged breathing, pained and desperate. 

“This was all a test of loyalty,” he says evenly. “You failed.”

And I would die for it. 

Kaz’s hands close around my throat, gaze steely and intent. I try not to panic, my jaw locking and lungs constricting with the pressure of his grip. The warmth of the blood continues spreading and soaking through my side, red and sticky and filling my nostrils with the scent of copper. I can already barely breathe, trying and failing to make it through the pain. It makes sense how loose Kaz’s lips had been with me, all the questions he had asked to try and taunt me, to reveal my relationship to Alek, how he let me teach him; he thought I would be a dead woman soon. And dead women don’t spill secrets. Or give lessons beyond the grave.

“We knew it was you all along,” Kaz says in my face, tone even as he chokes me. “Funny. You didn’t even know he was here until we flushed him out for you. Until we set up that date and watched you become the person we suspected you were. Until you crawled back to him and pretended he was the only light in the pit of darkness that’s been your life.” Kaz’s gloved fingers are hot against my pulse and his hair is falling down his forehead, sides freshly shaved. I can see every prick of stubble along his chin, see the muscles feathering in his jaw. I’ve never been this close to him before. Not even in the car. A day that felt so long ago. Like a lifetime. 

“Don’t you know why we scouted you in the first place? We knew he would try to ruin us from the inside out and use you to do it, it was only a matter of time. But that game can be played by both sides.” His voice is low, a snarl that roars in my ears, my side throbbing. “Nikolai, Alina, Zoya… you thought that you were bringing in new recruits to then turn against us. We had them first. They were always Crows, not one of Aleksander Morosova’s ravens. They have even more of a reason to want revenge on him than I do. And I’ll bet they’re being even less pleasant with him than I am with you right now.” 

A pit burns inside of me, low and feral, deepening with each of his words. 

“But even before that, I wanted you.” 

And I know, at the tenor of his voice, it’s not the kind of want that I would ever seek. At how his voice drops, so no one else can possibly hear, that I will not like what he is going to say. 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you and your father’s face in the news. When I heard what he did to your mother even though no one would believe he could have done it. I knew he did.” He is seething, spitting on me as he goes on. “I knew that he was capable of ordering violence. Of committing it and buying people’s silence. I could see it in his eyes, I could see it in the way he held you against him. Possessive and consuming.”

I have gone completely still, the very blood in my veins seeming to stop, the pulsing at my side ebbing into a dull ache. His words are in a bubble, trapped between our lips. Each syllable pops and rebuilds it, over and over. Trapping me, over and over. 

“I didn’t leave the day they came to kill Jordie.” He continues, “I thought something was wrong, for him to force me out the way he did. I hid on the roof of our building and climbed down the stairs of the fire escape a few hours later. Then I saw him. Your father. Positioning my brother’s body on our couch, I saw him take the bloodied knife and place it on the floor, beneath Jordie’s fingers. I watched as he cleaned off any fingerprints, stole away any evidence. He had no blood on him and by the two men that stumbled onto the street and disappeared down an alley, I knew he hadn’t done the actual act...

“But what’s worse? Following an order for murder or sanctioning it?” 

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks, dropping like flies on Kaz’s gloves. 

“I followed him. Learned everything I could. I learned that he had been involved with an underground drug operation for decades. That my parents had been in debt with them due to some bad decisions in my dad’s twenties. And that your father had been sent to collect or kill. To send a message to the other debtors. Little did your father know that the victims had two children, that they escaped. And that they would be coming for him.” 

The air around me turns infinitely colder, everything still and quiet except Kaz’s voice. 

“I watched you too.” He continues, fingers losing their grip a bit on my throat. “I watched to see who you would be. If we would indeed become enemies, as our parents were. I observed you grow with Morosova, how he controlled you, how he led you away all those years, how he kept you quiet and kept you in the dark so you would never find out the truth and be killed, like your mother was.” 

His words stab me deeper than the knife, my heart in ribbons. Hearing him confirm my darkest fears unleashes the worst parts of me, the parts I tried so hard to keep hidden. Terrified. Insecure. Silent. Obedient. The little girl with an abusive father and dead mother. I hadn’t been her in so long, but Kaz is stripping me down. Shredding me. 

 Kaz’s voice drops lower, as if he’s telling me a horrible secret. “He knew about it, Cataleya. Aleksander,” he purrs the name like a curse, “he knew everything. His father was one of the men your father ordered to kill Jordie. Who was a part of the team dispatched to eradicate those who didn’t pay, eradicate my parents. Your parents were working together, how fitting that you and Aleksander would, as well. Fate is funny that way.” 

The world shatters around me, broken and splintering into a million pieces. Alek knew. He sat there and listened to me while I cried about my mother, how I had desperately wanted his help to look into what happened. He had warned me to want anything was to give myself up. That the only way for me to find peace was to move forward and never look back. That if I continued to want for closure, I would never find it.

 “The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.” He had said, over and over. 

How ironically true that had become. 

Kaz isn’t done. He continues to pick at me, the Crow in him unable to stop, his dark eyes burning with hate. “Where your own father failed, Aleksander’s father succeeded. He remembered seeing pictures in my house, of me and of Jordie. He remembered that there were two boys. And when I killed him by placing a bomb under his car to be rigged as an oil problem, his son stepped into the role to finish what his father started. To silence me too. But he didn’t and for me, for Jordie, I swore I would destroy them, brick by brick.” 

My breathing is coming out in short rasps, eyes blurred with tears of anger and embarrassment and white hot pain. I have been played. So horribly. By everyone in my life. Lied to. By every single person I had known. Even Alek. Alek, who had been the one person I thought would save me. Would be the one in the end to stand by me, to see me, to understand me. But he didn’t. He never did. He used me. Just like my father did. To be a sweet, obedient girl. 

In the few months I had known Kaz, he has seen more of me than Alek ever did. 

All we ever wanted, me and Alek and Kaz, was to feel safe and be loved. But we never trusted anyone enough to be either. So we fought and resisted and pushed. Into darkness. 

A whistle sounds from above, quick and melodic. Inej. Signaling Kaz that he needs to hurry. That enough is enough. But I can see it in his eyes. The hardness. The black pits of revenge and hatred and loathing he feels when he looks at me. It would never be enough. This retribution that he savored for years will never last as long as he wishes it to. I want to wither away into nothing under his stare. Not enough. Not his. Never his. Never a Crow.

“I know you love him,” he whispers so none of the others lurking can hear. “I know he’s the one who saved you. But he used you, Cataleya. He controlled you. You could’ve been so much better, so much bigger. It’s a shame the apple never falls far from the tree.”

I wish it had been you to save me instead. I think, shoving the words down my constricted throat. Maybe if it were Kaz, all those years ago, then things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then maybe I would have been more like Inej, graceful, strong, full of more purpose than what Alek gave me. Maybe I could have meant something. To someone. To the Crows. 

But Kaz didn’t find me. Alek did. Alek led me from the garden and held my hand. Alek stroked my hair and told me it would be okay. That I would be okay. Alek raised me to be unforgiving, to scheme and stab people in the back to fill the empty hole in my life. Control. Kaz had said. How he controlled me. How he deceived me. With love. Love. Fake. Love. Fake love. I want to cry or scream at all of them, shaking with rage. I have been a pawn this whole time. 

“We are all controlled by something.” I push out, my voice weak. 

I try to swallow and fail at the reapplied pressure of Kaz’s palms, drool and spit bubbling from my lips. The alley wall is hard against my back, the night sky black and endless above me. The smog cover is so thick I can’t see the stars, despite the bright spots beginning to dance in my vision. I feel something prick at my spine with the pressure of my position like a silent reminder, mind sharpening and resolve strengthening. Love or no love. I have to finish what I started. I have to complete my assignment. Even if it isn’t one from Kaz. 

Even if it is from a liar. 

Lies are all I have known. 

All I have to hold on to. 

I can’t be saved. From darkness. My own or from others. I have waded too deep, gone too far. I may not be a true Raven, but I am definitely not a Crow. No matter how much I wish I could be. No matter how much I came to appreciate them, to care for them, to trust them. 

Trust is the most dangerous weapon of all. 

Slipping my hands behind my back as if I am trying to scramble against the wall, I reach for the cool metal of the blade attached along the zipper of my dress, letting out a choking cry to cover the unsheathing of my knife. The movement burns my side, ripping open my wound further to pour more blood. It runs over Kaz’s dress shoes, stains my legs. I am losing it too quickly, too much of it ebbing from me at once. Kaz’s hands press harder to my throat, forcing me, willing me, begging me to die now that his speech is over. I know he doesn’t enjoy this. I know he doesn’t relish in murder. Neither do I. 

But love is love.

Control is control. 

And business is business. 

Kaz would agree on that. 

“If I’m going down, Kaz,” I begin, voice barely a whisper. “You’re coming with me.” 

Without wasting another second, I shove the tip of my knife deep between Kaz’s ribs, watching his face contort in pain and dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then furrow in agony. Almost immediately, I hear a scream tear from somewhere on the roofs above and feel a pang of sorrow course through me. Inej just watched me stab the love of her life. Inej, the strong, graceful warrior who had been through more than all of us. She had screamed. Wailed.

I hear her words echo around my brain. The autumn leaves. Her cream sweater. The weight of her stare. “Some people just can’t be saved. But we love them anyway.”  

My sight falters.

 Kaz’s grip on my neck loosens, then completely disappears as he stumbles back and I fall towards the concrete without him holding me in place. An arrow pierces my shoulder from above, Jesper no doubt. With that incredible skill for landing true. The impact pushes me forward into Kaz’s already falling body, his white tux shirt now stained with blood. 

The world spins, my head making hard contact with the street. 

“This action will have no echo.” The rough words leak from Kaz’s lips, voice faint and faraway. If I could cry now I would, remembering the meaning of those words that Inej had told me just days ago. We would repeat nothing now. No more harm. To ourselves or others. This is our repentance. Our forgiveness.

Kaz is close to me, for I can feel the warmth of his body and the slick of his blood as it mixes with mine and stains the concrete.

If someone told me nine years ago, when I buried that cat and found my mother buried instead, that this is where I would end up, I wonder how differently my life would have been. I wonder if I would have chosen a different path. One full of forgiveness and happiness. The one of creation instead of crime. Instead of revenge and retribution. The weight of those decisions hang over me like a cloak, protecting and exposing me at the same time. Using the last bits of my strength, I turn my head to the side to look at him. 

Kaz is on his back beside me, so close that I can reach out and touch him. Touch his hand that is limp with resignation, his side that is red with blood, his lips that are white with death. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Even as a small line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips and pings onto the stones. I let my eyes close, pretending the stars behind my eyelids belong to the sky and not to the Grim Reaper. Pretending the stars are his eyes.

We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all taken on assignments that were too big for us. We’ve all done things we regretted and we all leaned on each other too much for our own good while leaning on no one at all. We all let the ghosts of our pasts haunt us into our future. Especially Kaz. And that’s the problem with trusting ghosts, in the end you become one. 

You become transparent, empty, without an echo. 

“No mourners.” I manage to mumble into the night. 

“No funerals.” A disembodied voice murmurs back, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. 

And then there is nothing but darkness. 

---

~Admin Eggplant

#gvbb #gvbb20 #gvbb creation #grisha #grishaverse #grishaverse big bang #grishaverse fic #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #seige and storm #ruin and rising #king of scars #leigh bardugo #the darkling #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #alina starkov #matthias helvar #aleksander morozova #six of crows fic #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #leoni hilli #new york #modern au #fluff

[grubbyduck]

No Man’s Land - an essay on feminism and forgiveness

I have always proudly named myself a feminist, since I was a little girl and heard my mum proudly announcing herself as a feminist to anyone who would listen.

But I believe the word 'feminist' takes on a false identity in our collective imagination - it is seen as hard, as baked, severe, steadfast, stubborn and rooted. From a male perspective, it possibly means abrasive, or too loud, or intimidatingly intolerant of men. From a female perspective, though, these traits become revered by young feminists; the power of knowing what you think and never rolling over! My experience of being a feminist throughout my life has been anything but - it has been a strange and nebulous aspect of my identity; it has sparked the familiar fires of bravery, ambition, rage, sadness and choking inarticulacy at times, sure, but at other times it has inspired apathy, reactionary attitudes, bravado and dismissivness. And at other, transitive times, it caused me to rethink my entire outlook on the world. And then again. And then again.

In primary school, I read and re-read Sandi Toksvig’s book GIRLS ARE BEST, which takes the reader through the forgotten women of history. I didn’t feel angry - I felt awed that there were female pirates, women on the front line in the world wars, women at the forefront of invention, science and literature. I still remember one line, where it is revealed that NASA’s excuse for only hiring six women astronauts compared to hundreds of men was that they didn’t stock suits small enough. 

When I was 13, I tried to start a girl's rugby team at my school. I got together 15 girls who also wanted to form a team. We asked the coaches if they would coach us - their responses varied from 'maybes' to straight up 'no's. The boys in our year laughed at us publicly. We would find an old ball, look up the rules online, and practise ourselves in free periods - but the boys would always come over, make fun of us and take over the game until we all felt too insecure to carry on. I shouted at a lot of boys during that time, and got a reputation among them as someone who was habitually angry and a bit of a buzzkill. Couldn't take a joke - that kind of thing.

When I was around 16, I got my first boyfriend. He was two years older (in his last year of sixth form) and seemed ever so clever to me. He laughed about angry feminists, and I laughed too. He knew I classified myself as a feminist, but, you know, a cool one - who doesn't get annoyed, and doesn't correct their boyfriends' bulging intellects. And in any case, whenever I did argue with him about anything political or philosophical, he would just chant books at me, list off articles he'd read, mention Kant and say 'they teach that wrong at GCSE level'. So I put more effort into researching my opinions (My opinions being things like - Trump is a terrible person who should not be elected as President - oh yeah, it was 2016), but every time I cited an article, he would tell me why that article was wrong or unreliable. I couldn't win. He was a Trump supporter (semi-ironically, but that made it even worse somehow) and he voted Leave in the Brexit referendum. He also wouldn't let me get an IUD even though I had terrible anxiety about getting pregnant, because of his parents' Catholicism. He sulked if he ever got aroused and then I didn’t feel like having sex, because apparently it ‘hurts’ men physically. One time I refused sex and he sulked the whole way through the night, refusing to sleep. I was incensed, and felt sure that my moral and political instincts were right, but I had been slowly worn down into doubting the validity of my own opinions, and into cushioning his ego at every turn - especially when he wasn't accepted into Oxford.

When I was 17/18, I broke up with him, and got on with my A Levels. One of them was English Literature. I remember having essay questions drilled into us, all of which were fairly standard and uninspired, but there was one that I habitually avoided:

'Discuss the presentation of women in this extract'

It irritated me beyond belief to hear the way that our class were parroting phrases like 'commodification and dehumanisation of women' in order to get a good grade. It felt so phony, so oversimplified, and frankly quite insulting. I couldn't bear reading classic books with the intent of finding every instance that the author compares a woman to an animal. It made me so sad! I couldn't understand how the others could happily write about such things and be pleased with their A*. As a keen contributor to lessons, my teacher would often call on me to comment in class - and to her surprise, I think, my responses about 'women's issues' were always sullen and could be characterised by a shrug. I wanted to talk about macro psychology, about Machievellian villains, about Shakespreare's subversion of comic convention in the English Renaissance. I absolutely did not want to talk about womb imagery, about men’s fixation and sexualisation of their mothers or about docile wives. In my application for Cambridge, I wrote about landscape and the psyche in pastoral literature, and got an offer to study English there. I applied to a mixed college - me and my friends agreed that we’d rather not go if we got put into an all female college. 

When I was 19, I got a job as an actor in a touring show in my year out before starting at Cambridge. I was the youngest by a few years. One company member - a tall, handsome and very talented man in his mid-twenties - had the exact same job title as me, only he was being paid £100 more than me PER WEEK. I was the only company member who didn’t have an agent, so I called the producers myself to complain. They told me they sympathised, that there just wasn’t enough money in the budget to pay me more - and in the end, I managed to negotiate myself an extra £75 per week by taking on the job of sewing up/fixing any broken costumes and puppets. So I had more work, and was still being paid 25% less. The man in question was a feminist, and complained to his agent (although he fell through on his promise to demand that he lose £50 a week and divide it evenly between us). He was a feminist - and yet he commented on how me and the other woman in the company dressed, and told us what to wear. He was a feminist, only he slept with both of us on tour, and lied to us both about it. He was a feminist, only he pitted me against and isolated me from the only other woman in the company, the only person who may have been a mentor or a confidante. He was a feminist, only he put me down daily about my skills as a performer and made me doubt my intelligence, my talent and my worth. 

When I was 20, I started at Cambridge University, studying English Literature. Over the summer, I read Lundy Bancroft’s book ‘Why Does He Do That’ which is a study of abusers and ‘angry and controlling men’. It made me realise that I had not been given the tools to recognise coercive and controlling behaviour - I finally stopped blaming myself for attracting controlling men into my life. I also read ‘Equal’ by Carrie Gracie, about her fight to secure equal pay for equal work at the BBC in 2017-2019. It was reading that book that I fully appreciated that I had already experienced illegal pay discrimination in the workplace. Both made me cry in places, and it felt as though something had thawed in me. I realised that I was not the exception. That ‘women’s issues’ do apply to me. In my first term at Cambridge, I wrote some unorthodox essays. I wrote one on Virginia Woolf named ‘The Dogs Are Dancing’ which began with a page long ‘disclaimer for my womanly emotions’ that attempted to explain to my male supervisor how difficult it is for women to write dispassionately and objectively, as they start to see themselves as unfairly separate, excluded and outlined from the male literary consciousness. He didn’t really understand it, though he enjoyed the passion behind my prose. 

The ‘woman questions’ at undergraduate level suddenly didn’t seem as easy, as boring or as depressing as those I had encountered at A Level. I had to reconcile with the fact that I had only been exposed to a whitewashed version of feminism throughout my life. At University, I learned the word Intersectionality - and it made immediate and ferocious sense to me. I wrote an essay on Aphra Behn’s novella ‘Oroonoko’, which is about a Black prince and his pursuit of Imoinda, a Black princess. I had to get to grips with how a feminist author from the Renaissance period tackled issues of race. I had to examine how she dehumanised and sexualised Imionda in the same way that white women were used to being treated by men. I had to really question to what extent Aphra Behn was on Imionda’s side - examine the violent punishment of Oroonoko for mistreating her. I found myself really wanting to believe that Behn had done this purposefully as social commentary. I mentioned in my essay that I was aware of my own white female critical ingenuity. For the first time, I was writing about something I didn’t have any personal authority over in my life - I had to educate myself meticulously in order to speak boldly about race.

As I found myself surrounded by more women who were actively and unashamedly feminist, I realised just how many opinions exist within that bracket. I realised that I didn’t agree with a lot of other feminists about aspects of the movement. I started to only turn up to lectures by women. I started to only read literary criticism written by women - not even consciously; I just realised that I trusted their voices more intrinsically. I started to wish I had applied to an all female college. I realised that all female spaces weren’t uncool - that is an image that I had learned from men, and from trying to impress men. The idea that Black people, trans people, that non binary people could be excluded from feminism seemed completely absurd to me. I ended up in a mindset that was constructed to instinctively mistrust men. Not hate - just mistrust. I started to get fatigued by explaining basic feminist principles to sceptical men.

I watched the TV show Mrs America. It made my heart speed up with longing, with awe, with nerves, sorrow, anger - again, it showed me how diverse the word Feminism is. The longing I felt was for a time where feminist issues seemed by comparison clear-cut, and unifying. A time where it was good to be angry, where anger got stuff done. I am definitely angry. The problem is, the times that feminism has benefitted me and others the most in my life is when I use it forgivingly and patiently. When I sit in my anger, meditate on it, control it, and talk to those I don’t agree with on subjects relating to feminism with the active intent to understand their point of view. Listening to opinions that seemed so clearly wrong to me was the most difficult thing in the world - but it changed my life, and once again, it changed my definition of feminism. 

Feminism is listening to Black women berating white feminists, and rather than feeling defensive or exempt, asking questions about how I have contributed to a movement that excludes women of colour. Feminism is listening to my mother’s anxieties about trans women being included in all-female spaces, and asking her where those anxieties stem from. Feminism is understanding that listening to others who disagree with you doesn’t endanger your principles - you can walk away from that conversation and know what you know. Feminism is checking yourself when you undermine or universalise male emotion surrounding the subject. Feminism is allowing your mind to change, to evolve, to include those that you once didn’t consider - it is celebrating quotas, remembering important women, giving thanks for the fact that feminism is so complex, so diverse, so fraught and fought over. 

Feminism is common ground. It is no man’s land. It is the space between a Christian housewife and a liberated single trans woman. It is understanding women of other races, other cultures, other religions. It is disabled women, it is autistic women, it is trans men who have biologically female medical needs that are being ignored. It is forgiveness for our selfishness. It feels impossible.

The road to feminism is the road to enlightenment. It is the road to Intersectional equity. It is hard. It is a journey. No one does it perfectly. It is like the female orgasm - culturally ignored, not seen as necessary, a mystery even to a lot of women, many-layered, multitudinous, taboo, comes in waves. It is pleasure, and it is disappointment. 

All I know is that the hard-faced, warrior version of feminism that was my understanding only a few years ago reduced my allies and comrades in arms to a small group of people who were almost exaclty like me and so agreed with me on almost everything. Flexible, forgiving and inquisitive feminism has resulted in me loving all women, and fighting for all women consciously. And by fighting for all women, I also must fight for Black civil rights, for disabled rights, for Trans rights, for immigrant rights, for homeless rights, for gay rights, and for all human rights because women intersect every one of these minorities. My scoffing, know-it-all self doing my A Levels could never have felt this kind of love. My ironic jokes about feminists with my first boyfriend could never have made any woman feel loved. My frustration that my SPECIFIC experience of misogyny as a white, middle-class bisexual woman didn’t feel related to the other million female experiences could never have facilitated unity, common ground, or learning to understand women that existed completely out of my experience as a woman.

My feminism has lead me to becoming friends with some of those boys who mocked me for wanting to play rugby, and with the woman that was vying with me over that man in the acting company for 8 months. It is slowly melting my resentment towards all men - it is even allowing me to feel sorry for the men who have mistreated me in the past. 

I guess I want to express in this mammoth essay post that so far my feminist journey has lead me to the realisation that if your feminism isn’t growing you, you aren’t doing it right. Perhaps it will morph again in the future. But for now, Feminism is a love of humanity, rather than a hatred of it. That is all. 

#Feminism #yooo i have written a thesis lol #didn’t mean to do that it all kind of flowed out #intersectional feminism #forgiveness #carrie gracie #mrs america #why does he do that #lundy bancroft #equal pay #equal rights #literature #university #school #oroonoko #aphra behn

[amazingdriverfics]

Making up

Hey, I missed some Sackler and thought of this, surprise surprise, instead of sleeping. It’s currently 2 am where I live and here I am. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

Word Count: 3.6k 

Warnings: lil bit of angst, language, smut, bisexual reader

Pairing: Adam Sackler x Reader

Summary: the last time you had seen him made you wish you would never do it again

Sitting in the chair next to the play director, you waited patiently as the actors one by one performed for their audition, it was boring, frustrating and you were almost throwing a chair at the stage. God, when did actors become so fucking terrible at their jobs? A deep voice took you from your thoughts back to what was happening right in front of you. 

“Uh, hello. I’m Adam Sackler and I’m here to try for the role of George”. No way, this was not happening, there was absolutely no way that after all these years you were going to have to deal with him again, not after how things ended. As soon as you gathered courage to look at the stage your fear was confirmed, your ex-best friend was standing right there, and just by seeing the start of his performance you knew he would be the one to star it next to you. Adam always was an excellent actor, he could make you feel every single emotion he wanted, his every movement, facial expression and voice tone in character. Even in college, Sackler was simply explendid in what he did and that was one of the things you used to admire more in him.

6 years ago 

In your room, already dressed, you hummed a pop melody you had been obsessed with while you finished your makeup. You intended to look the best you possibly could, that night was the night you had decided to finally talk to the girl you had been crushing hard for a couple of months. You met Angie in your part time job in the book shop in campus, she was a History major student who worked with you at mondays and thursdays, she always engaged in small talks with you and you did your absolute best not to gag while talking to the purple haired girl. One of the fraternities was throwing a party and you had invited her to come with you and your best friend slash roommate Adam Sackler. 

You had moved into his place as soon as you went to college, the rent was something you could definitely afford, you would live 5 minutes away from the campus and with another acting major. At first, you found Adam very strange, the 6’3” foot man would get out of his room shirtless to have a drink of milk in the middle of the night and usually acted like you were not there while doing it, he would also engage in very strange topics, he hated when you brought any of your friends home and had very loud sex. You started to like Sackler when he helped you studying for a test, that was the first time the two of you had a decent talk. Ever since, you were inseparable, every night you would sit on the couch and watch some sitcom while judging the script and acting skills of the actors, you always went to bed with your tummy hurting from how much you had laughed. At the time, you had even developed a crush in the man, but he never gave you any signs that he felt the same so you dropped it, happy to call him your best friend. 

“Are you ready? Your crush is here” Adam said bringing his head into your room and taking your mind off your thoughts about the man himself. “Oh my God, I’ll be there in a minute” you said applying one last coat of mascara. “Wait, Adam” you screamed making his head appear again. “What is it, kid?” his eyes met yours. “Do I look good?” you asked spinning around and showing all of you. “As usual, you are stunning. Now, let’s get going” the man stated leaving you again. 

Slowly, you made your way to the living room watching as your best friend talked to Angie, her mere presence already making you nervous. She was so so beautiful, her purple hair was in a messy bun, she was wearing a tight black dress which hugged her body perfectly and high heels to finish the look. “H-hi, Angie, you are very pretty to-tonight” you gagged, cursing yourself for making a fool of yourself. As an attempt to calm you down, Sackler brought his right hand to your lower back. “You look very good yourself, y/n” your crush replied making your face become instantly red. “T-thank you” you replied as the three of you made your way out of your home to the party, Adam leading the way. 

Getting to the party was easy, you three walked for about six minutes and you were already in the place, the sound blasting with dancy tunes, booze smell all around and a few couples making out in the grass in front of the house. The start was pretty fun, Sackler was the first to go solo - as usual - probably meeting some of his classmates or, more likely, already sucking someone’s lips out of their faces. You, on the other hand, was finally alone with Angie. After getting some drinks on the kitchen, the two of you made your way to the dancefloor, her body sensually touching yours as she danced against it, her head on your shoulder, it wasn’t long before your hands found her waist pressing her even more to you. The woman turned around and her black eyes met yours as she closed the distance between your faces sealing your lips with a deep hungry kiss. Unfortunately for you, after a while of heavy making out, Angie had to excuse herself to go to the bathroom. Her absence was starting to get too long making you nervous and worried that something might be happening.

It wasn’t long before you found her. 

Angie’s purple hair was what instantly made you recognize her, she was kissing someone else and it didn’t take you much to recognize that someone as well, his black hair, tall and broad figure dressed in white shirt and jeans were impossible to mistake, you just couldn’t believe that your best friend was kissing the girl you had been talking about ceaselessly in the past months, Adam Sackler was such a jerk. Before you could stop yourself, you poked his shoulder forcing his mouth to disconnect with Angie’s as his head turned around to face you. You didn’t give him a chance to say anything since as soon as his eyes met yours, your hand hit his face making a loud slap noise muffled by the song. Shortly after, you were out of the house making your way back home. 

That night ended even more terribly, the two of you had fought and said very mean things about each other, in the following day you were out there as you moved to a common dorm. Until this very moment you had never seen Sackler again. 

Fortunately, as soon as Adam finished the audition and the director said she would call him to tell if he got in, the man left the auditorium, causing you to, instantly, feel lighter knowing that you wouldn’t have to deal with him today. 

Oh boy, you were wrong. You only found out how wrong you were the minute you left the theatre when suddenly a hand pulled you from the direction you had been going. Your face stopped just a few inches before colliding with a defined chest that for you had just seen a couple of minutes ago. 

“What do you want, Sackler?” you asked, your tone showing your discomfort with the situation. “Hello for you too, kid. After all these years you are still mad at me?” the familiar voice you had listened to so much years ago filled your ears. “After all that bullshit you said to me? What do you think?” you gritted through your teeth getting angrier by the minute. “I was a dick to you, I know and believe it or not, I’m sorry. I have an explanation for what happened that night” he replied with a pout and giving you the same puppy eyes he used to give you when he wanted you to cook dinner. You laughed, “This is going to be good, but we are not doing this in the middle of the street, come” you said unable to resist his supplicating face. 

Stepping away from the man, you started to walk to your car parked just in front of the theater. Not hearing his heavy footsteps following, you turned to face him once again finding out that Sackler was still in the same damn spot you had left him in. “Are you coming?” you asked. As a reply you got an nervous nod from your ex-friend that quickly was getting in the car with you. The drive was filled with an awkward silence, neither of you knew what to say, things had ended badly and even though it had been a long time ago, losing your best friend because he couldn’t keep his tongue to himself still hurted a bit. Thankfully, the theater wasn’t far from your place, a three store building you had been living for two years, ever since you got the job in the acting company. There wasn’t a garage so you parked right outside not waiting for Adam as you made your way to the building’s front door, climbing its dark stairs while you looked for your keys in the mix of throwed things inside your purse. By the time you were finally able to open it, he was by your side switching his balance in between his legs. 

As soon as you entered your living room taking off your shoes and letting your purse by the dinning table, you turned to Sackler anxious for what he had to say. In the months which followed the big fight, you had wished to speak to him a lot, but your pride just wouldn’t allow it, you had missed him a lot too, but eventually you gave up and finally let yourself leave what had happened in the past, however, seeing him in front of you took you right back to those months where you foolishly hoped that he would come to beg you for forgiveness or that you would gather the courage to confront the man and solve things. 

“You can start whatever it is that you are planning to do” you said, doing your best to keep your emotions from showing in your face as you grabbed a cup of water trying to prepare yourself for what was coming your way. Adam swallowed dry before his voice met your ears. “Hm. Well, like I said before, I was a jerk to you and I know it and I also know that I probably should have looked for you earlier to say this” he started, his voice kinda shaky from the nervousness you could see in his body language. “You swear?” you mocked, a dry laugh following it. “I deserve this. See, kid, I read in a newspaper last week a review about your performance in the last play you theater company did and the minute your face showed up I was like ‘fuck this is the incredible girl I, yet again, pushed away being a total dick who can’t express his fucking feelings’. And I-i knew that I had to fix it, sure, maybe it is too late to, but I had to give it a try, I thought to myself.” he stopped looking into your eyes waiting for a reaction which caused you to nod interested in what Sackler had to say. “So I enrolled myself for the next male role they were auditioning for thinking of meeting you. I wasn’t expecting to see you at the try out, guess I was lucky” he shrugged “Here goes nothing. You see, kid, when you moved in, the first thing that went through my mind was ‘this woman is fucking hot’, but I was also really scared of  being too fucking weird and end up pushing you away, I’m a master at doing this kinda shit, ya’ know, so I stayed away. That was until I saw you dying to pass in that dick Jefferson’s test and decided to help you out. You were sweet, funny and kind.” you still remembered the day vividly, it held a special place in your heart and knowing that it did the same to him, made you softer causing your indiferent facade to melt away.

“And shit, ever since then you were so fucking present in my day, helping me out with my shit, watching those stupid fucking sitcoms and judging them with me. I fell for you and it scared the shit out of me so I didn’t do anything. Then you started to talk about that Angie girl, and I didn’t even want to kiss her, but you were so fucking into the woman that the only way I figured out for pushing you away from her was fucking her. I don’t even know what the hell I was thinking, you know I’m not a very smart guy with feelings. When you catched me with her I could see in your eyes how much I fucked up so, as I made my way home, I built up some walls around me trying to keep the situation from hurting me, which didn’t work. So when I found you at our place instead of apologizing like I should’ve done, I screamed and called you names. When you left the other day I was so fucking embarrassed and heartbroken that I never went looking for you to have this stupid conversation I’m having now, six years too late.” Adam finished making you even more angry than you were before.

“Unbelievable. You are so fucking stupid, Sackler. You have zero emotional intelligence, for fucks sake. I wanted to kiss you so bad when we started to hang out, but you didn’t give any fucking signal back. Think for a second of how much easier all of that would have been. God dammit, you need to talk to people. If you had told me any of your feelings I would have never have fallen for Angie, your gigantic idiot.” you throwed up the words, mad at the man for causing a huge problem that should have never even existed. “You liked me back?” he said, voice above a whisper. “You bet your sorry ass I did, jer-”, you were stopped when his lips met yours all out of the sudden. 

At first, you didn’t kiss him back still mad at him, but the part of you that never stopped missing Adam eventually won. You closed your eyes and allowed your hands to embrace his neck, your nails slowly scratching the part where his hair met the skin. As a reply, Sackler’s hand grabbed your ass tightly, squeezing it hard making you moan into his mouth and sending pleasure to your core. “Eager, are we?” he said mocking your red face and the little grunts that ended up escaping your mouth and dying in his. “Shut up, Sackler” you replied embarrassed at your own need. “Your wish is an order” he purred next to your ear before taking your earlobe into his mouth teasing it with his teeth, up next, his mouth started to make its way to your breasts leaving a tray of purple and red marks along the way. “Let’s take this thing off” he said as his hands held to the bottom of your shirt lifting it up as quickly as he possibly could. When the piece of clothing met the floor, his eyes met your exposed nipples since you weren’t wearing anything under the shirt.

“Such a fucking slut, walking out there without a bra, begging for these to be sucked” he said, his deep voice dripping with arousal as his fingers teased your hard nubs. “I guess I’ll be the one to teach you some fucking manners”. As soon as the words left his mouth, he let go of your right nipple replacing his fingers with his tongue and slapping your ass hard making you squirm under his ministrations. Shortly after, his tongue gave espace to his teeth as he carefully bit your nub. “M-more” you whispered, your cunt aching for his touch. 

“More what?” Sackler replied his eyes with a mischievous glam looking directly into your as he gave your other ass check a hard slap making you groan. “Answer me, slut” he demanded, his roughness and dirty talk making you wetter. “More. Puh-lease, sir” your voice echoed through the room foreign to you since it was shaky from all the need and pleasure you were simultaneously feeling. “That’s more how I like it” the man stated taking all of his clothing of. “Undress and get on the couch” was all he said before starting to pump his length slowly, teasing its tip and gathering the precum oozing from it for lubricate his movements. 

Your body reacted before your brain could form a coherent thought, in instants, your pants and panties were on the floor connecting the way from the door to the couch and you were on your hands and knees in its comfy surface, your breath loud and heavy as you watched Adam touching himself, your anticipation killing you slowly. As he closed the distance between the two of you, his hands never stopped touching his big and hard erection. It wasn’t long before he was behind you, his index finger from the free hand slowly going up and down your folds never touching your sore stiff clit. “You are such a filthy thing. We barely started and you are already dripping. Your sweet pussy begging for my big cock to tear it”, all you could do besides moaning a serie of ‘please’s was nod your head several times hoping that it would encourage him to end your pain. “You want me to make you cum? Beg for it, slut” he purred, none of his hands quitting their movements. “Please, please, sir, make me cum, make me feel so fucking good, like only you can” you begged desperate for it. 

The reply you gave seemed to please him enough since his finger finally touched your clit causing you to release a relieved noise and allow your head to fall between your arms. While circling it, he took his other hand inserting two fingers in your slickery hole, curling them and hitting your g spot over and over again, following the same rhythm his other finger circled your clit applying just the right amount of pressure on it. Soon, your release was getting closer, your eyes started to close as you focused on every sensation Sackler made you feel. When your orgasm hit, you were sent to another dimension, pleasure coursing through your every atom as you moaned his name. 

After you recovered from your intense climax, Sackler took his fingers away from your pussy, substituting them with his thick and long erection, stretching you open in ways you had never been before, every inch making your feel fuller. When he was finally done, his filthy words filled the air once again “Y-you are so fucking tight, you are strangling my damn cock”. His sheer length was making you squirm already, but every word that left his mouth make you unconsciously clench your cunt around him. As soon as you got accustomed to his size, you threw your hips back, a sign that he could start moving. Quickly, he was pounding in and out of you, in and out of you, in a merciless pace which made the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass echo loudly through the living room, your moans just as loud. Sackler’s hands were gripping your waist so tight that you knew it would bruise - not that you really cared -. 

“Ur so fucking good to me - jesusfuckingchrist - I wished I had fucked this pussy earlier”, you tried to sassy him since he was the one to blame, but he was fucking you so well that you couldn’t form a understandable phrase, all that left your mouth were whimpers as you felt his cock filling you perfectly and hitting your cervix in a unbelievable pace. “You can’t talk back, slut?” he gave a strangled laugh “Like you better l-liike that”. 

Taking one of his hands out of your waist, he took it to your clit rubbing it quickly and  pressuring it deliciously, taking you closer to the edge with every passing second. The fullness you were feeling and the electricity your nub filled with blood was sending to your brain making you tighter. It wasn’t long before you climaxed for the second time, losing the strength of your arms as your body shook, if it wasn’t for his grip you would have fell with your face directly on the couch. “Sweetfuck, you are milking my cock, shitshit”.

His pace became irregular and it wasn’t long before he took his erection out of you painting your ass and back with his release. Gently, Sackler laid you on the couch asking you where the bathroom was. When he returned with a towel to clean you up, you were watching a sitcom - you had put it on after using all you strength left to pick the remote - waiting for him. “After you clean your mess, let’s watch it like the old times” you said shaking your head towards the tv. 

“If you insist” he said with a smile on his beautiful face.

#adam sackler #adam sackler smut #adam sackler fanfiction #adam sackler/reader #adam sackler/you #girls hbo #adam driver #smut #make up sex

[qqueenofhades]

I was hoping you would be able to help me form a response when my family says they're sick of hearing of systemic racism and white privilege because THEY have had to work for everything and believe nothing got handed to them (true in the way they're thinking, but you know what I mean).

Welp. First, I applaud you for taking the initiative to engage in difficult conversations with your family, since the only way embedded racist ideas are going to get confronted in white society is if racist white people hear it from their friends and family. They are going to cheerily ignore protestors, academics, newsreaders, popular culture, and certainly politicians who say anything to the contrary, but it’s harder to ignore and brush aside when it’s coming from people who are directly within your own family group. They can still then ignore it, but at least you’re trying to do something that is not at all fun but which is deeply necessary, and good for you.

First, there are a few things for you to consider. Is this a case where they actually don’t know the difference, but are willing to learn, or is this essentially sealioning (where they act like they don’t know the difference, but they absolutely do, and put the emotional labor on you to extensively define and explain and educate while never intending to change their stances on anything). If it’s the former, then there is some point in engaging in dialogue with them. If it’s the latter, it’s a giant emotional trap that you are within your rights not to engage with until they signal that they’re willing to engage productively. You don’t have to educate someone who is categorically unwilling to be educated (especially when it’s often deliberate ignorance). As people like to say, Google is free, and it’s their responsibility to take the first steps to change. You can continue to talk with them, but yes, that is contingent on them actually standing a chance of listening to you and not just you wearing yourself out on something that they don’t want to actually hear (because it threatens them and makes them feel Personally Wrong, and white people don’t like that).

There have been various books written on why it’s so hard to talk to white people about racism, which you may be interested in checking out, not least the book "Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race” by Renni Eddo-Lodge. Ibram X. Kendi has also written “How to Be An Antiracist,” one of the bestselling books of this summer, either of which would be useful either in shaping your own arguments or (if they’re receptive) giving to your family. Once again, this is contingent on them signalling that they’re actually willing to listen, and not just to make you do pointless emotional labor. These books are probably available from your public library (though there’s probably a waitlist) or in other easily available formats.

Next, it’s a basic tenet of an anti-racist education that white people have never had to do this kind of reckoning, and thus get whiny, defensive, guilt-tripping, and “it’s not about ME I’m a GOOD PERSON” when it comes up. This also rests on the damaging and deeply intertwined effects of racism and classism, which has to be understood if you’re going to talk about it. One of the greatest tricks that racist capitalism ever pulled is convincing poor white people that they had more in common with their filthy rich white masters (people whose way of life will never in a thousand years be anything like each other’s) simply because they shared the inherent racial “purity” of being white. There have been political studies written on how poor/undereducated/working class white people have become such a reliably Republican constituency, because they have been successfully manipulated to believe that the white overlords are their “people” and they will constantly vote against their own economic, social, and cultural interests in favor of enriching amoral white demagogues who beat the populist xenophobic drum. Then they blame black and brown people for society’s ills and for the reason that they stay poor, rather than the rampaging oligarchs awarding themselves massive tax breaks and billion-dollar bailouts and refusing to extend unemployment benefits in case people “make too much money” from not working, just to name the most recent example. They are so poisoned on populist politics and white supremacy, which assures them that they’re better than anyone else by virtue of being white, that they actively attack politicians and policy platforms and other social welfare initiatives that would materially improve their own lives as “un-American.” This is maddening and sometimes baffling, but it’s how it works. Whiteness trumps all, currently literally thanks to the Orange Fuhrer. Problems in life are the fault of the Other.

This isn’t to say that poor white people are “dumb” and just unable to realize it, because they’re caught in a system that has done this literally from the start of America. In the early 17th century, indentured laborers and slaves in the American colonies were in fact more likely to be white. (The word “slave” comes from “Slav,” since that was the predominant ethnicity of slaves in medieval Europe; i.e. white eastern Europeans.) But even despite the fact that they were unpaid laborers, they were still white and thus recognized as human by their white masters, and thus when slave ships began arriving, it was easier for everybody to simply outright demonize and dehumanize the black African slaves. The poor white indentured servants got to feel better than the black slaves simply for the fact of their whiteness. Their lives obviously sucked, but their whiteness was in fact a mitigating factor in the suckiness that it involved once it was easier to use “animalistic” black people. And we wonder why America can’t ever confront its racist history properly. As Kendi calls it in his other book, it is stamped from the beginning.

As it has been put before, white people can and often do have difficult lives, because late-stage capitalism devours its workers no matter what color they are, but their whiteness isn’t a factor in why their lives are difficult. They will never encounter racial prejudice, race-based hate crime, discrimination for housing, education, employment, bank loans, daily microaggressions and identity erasure, constantly racist tropes in the media, politicians fingering them as everything wrong with America/the world, casual prejudices or assumptions even from close friends, assumed criminality based just on their race -- etc etc. The list goes on and on. Just because you have a hardscrabble economic background does not mean that your life has been made harder by your race -- because if you’re white, it hasn’t. (And as noted, poor white people have consistently voted for megalomaniac white men who don’t give a shit about them but promise them that everything is fine or should be better for them because of their whiteness, and then blame minorities for being the source of their problems.)

I honestly wonder if racism would still be such a problem in America if we had a remotely more equitable economic system, because when you’re well off and have your basic needs consistently met and don’t need to worry that you’re one paycheck away from disaster, it’s harder to constantly be paranoid that your differently colored neighbors are stealing everything from you and the cause of all society’s ills. The historian Patrick Hyder Patterson wrote a very interesting book on material culture in Yugoslavia in the 20th century, where he basically argued that despite the spectacular collapse of the federation into the Yugoslavian wars of the 90s, things didn’t really go to hell until after the economy crashed following Josip Broz Tito’s death in 1980. While there were obviously ethnic fault lines and conflicts between Serbs, Croats, Montenegrins, Bosniaks, Albanians, etc, when there wasn’t any money and any jobs and everyone thought everyone else was to blame, THAT is when the whole thing blew up into a genocidal civil war clusterfuck. Food for thought.

This is why people talk about economic justice and racial justice as going hand in hand. When there is a scarcity of resources and no social safety net, people are obviously more inclined to look for scapegoats and to blame someone for taking their entitlement (while still somehow refusing to blame the billionaires and corporate oligarch who are ACTUALLY stealing from them). They indeed actively resist any attempts to make their own lives better as being “socialist” or “un-American” and take pride in the fact that there’s absolutely jacksquat nothing (until of course, something like the coronavirus pandemic hits and it’s revealed just how many of us were always one missed paycheck away from disaster). Then when they need government assistance (while disdaining the government as tyrannical the rest of the time, unless it’s Trump’s actively tyrannical lot, but hey, we don’t have time to unpack all that) it’s still shameful and something they shouldn’t be using, instead of their basic entitlement to a decent life.

This country is poisoned on a lot of toxic beliefs, but this is one of the deepest-running one, and which will always get in the way of poor white people dealing with racism: their lives suck, but they have ALWAYS been told that despite that, they’re still better just for being white, which is their consolation prize for supporting white populists who actively rob them, and they haven’t even always consciously registered that. They just feel that if they’re “fine,” even if they’re not fine, then black people are just malcontents and criminals who can’t hack it. In 2016, there was a lot of ink spilled over how poor white people felt a sense of economic grievance and being left behind, which was why they voted for Trump, but... Trump was never going to do a damn thing about that??? He doesn’t actually do anything for his supporters except feed them his jingoistic Orange Nazi stump speeches. They voted for Trump to feel vindicated, not to actually improve their lives, and it’s damn clear by now that not only has he NOT improved their lives, he has no desire to do so. He just wants them to cheer for him and feed his ego, not fix any problems.

Basically, racism and capitalism and the American political system intersect in multiple deeply toxic ways to do precisely what you’re talking about; producing poor white people who feel that they shouldn’t be included in the reckoning with racism because if THEY worked hard and they don’t live in a mansion, somehow racism is fake and black people should just shut up and get a job etc etc. This is because poor white people have been systematically conditioned to support white supremacy at the direct expense of their own economic and social interests; it’s terrible, but that’s how it functions. They will never in a million years have anything in common with the (white) ruling class, but they still instinctively identify with them rather than people in their own deprived economic class who are different races or colors or religions. That is how white supremacy has supported the hyper-inequality of the industrial age, and vice verse, and it is one of capitalism’s best functions for survival, so it’s in the interests of the overlords to maintain it. Stop the workers from recognizing pan-racial solidarity based on economic grievance, and compete with each other and blame each other rather than the overarching system, easy!

Anyway. Once again, this is long. But in short, the attitudes your family are exemplifying are a direct result of both racism and classism as they have been deliberately cultivated in the American social and political system, and the interlocking causes and symptoms of both have to be recognized (and acknowledged) before they can get to dealing with that. I don’t know how that will go, and I don’t have an easy shortcut. But I’m glad you’re trying. Good luck.

#politics for ts #history of racism #long post #anonymous #ask

[qbrooklyn1056]

We Belong Too!

Black and Latinos have been displaced in New York City school’s systems for a very long time. Let's talk about a time where Blacks/Latinos were in place with these specialized high schools. In the late 70s and 80s Black/Latinos were in these specialized schools in dozens. Throughout the years this has declined drastically, because of gentrification, wealth, and power, now these schools are filled with Whites/Asian, with Asian taking the lead in these specialized high schools. This makes it harder for disadvantaged children to even get their applications looked at. Schools like Brooklyn Tech, Stuyvesant High, and Bronx High School of Science were once seeing high numbers of Black/Latino students. You have former students and people of the community, and even Mayor Bill De Blasio is getting in on this topic and is causing a lot of controversy.

Stuyvesant high school seems to be one of the schools that a lot of Black/Latino’s teens were able to attend. There was a special placement test that you had to take to be accepted to the school and all though got many minorities placed in these specialized schools. This same test would also be the reason for so many other minorities not to get in, till this day this is a big issue/topic. Like back in the day, these schools were already coming from segregation, so it’s not like it's far-fetched that a lot of minorities would attend these schools anyway. There was hope in the 70s, with the raise of Black/Latino students in these gifted schools.

A lot of these students were from underprivileged families and low-income neighborhoods. They had hard work ethics and drive, and had to study twice as hard to even get a chance to take the placement test to enter these schools. The hunger and fight in those future Lawyer's, Anthropologists, and Scientists is what made them who they are today. I bet these teenagers thought they had started a long-time goal, which was to have more people who looked like them attend these "Gifted " schools. How was they supposed to know that after them the number of minorities in elite high school would almost not exist. Not because the children aren't smart, but because some didn't feel a need for minorities to attend schools with their will to do kids, or some felt they were being bumped because of affirmative action. Whatever the reasons are, we should not still be having the same debate in this day and age, from any other people or will to do with people.

It seems like in the 90s things got worse. You still had some minorities in these elite schools but very few as the previous years. It made it seem like all the white/Asians were the only smart people for a while. You had low-income children who were smart but didn't have the money or didn't even get a chance to take the placement test because it seemed like the school met their minority quote or something. This was so unfair to a lot of Blacks/Latinos, because if you don't know, I'm here to tell you, Blacks/Latinos are some of the most gifted and creative people you will ever come across, because they are born with so much flavor. That’s could be why you do see a lot of minorities at performing arts schools. (The elite performing art schools also are biased when selecting students, but that is another topic). But, what about the minorities that are just as book smart as the next person, just always don't get the opportunity to show it. Plus, test prep is always where a lot of students take when trying to get into one of these schools, but the problem is, the cost starts at $1000, and most low-income families can't afford that. That seems like a way to keep a certain class of people out of these schools, knowing certain people can't afford it. This is why programs for people of color are so important to have so that our children can be on the same playing field as the next.

I spoke with somebody who was around and went to school in New York at the time. My neighbor Mr. Carlos Ramos, whose 57 said back then it was more pride and seem like way more value in going to school back then 

ME: Mr. Ramos how did it feel going to an elite school back in the late 70s early 80s?

CR:  It felt like winning the lottery, when you see/or hear you got accepted to one of these great schools. This is because, back then times were really hard, and me and my family lived in Bushwick. This is the time when the crack epidemic was happening and wasn't safe at all to be in my neighborhood. 

ME: How many minority students did you see in your school if you can recall, also what school did you go to? 

CR: I was accepted into Brooklyn Technical High School, in the downtown Brooklyn area. It was mostly Asian kids and whites, but at that time we did have a good two hand full of minority students. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot but I promise you it was.

Me: Were you nervous at all going to an Elite school?

CR: I knew I was just as smart and worked twice as hard to get into that school and nobody was going to stop me. NOBODY! I was at times a little fearful, because as you know racial tensions in this country seem to always be high. Overall, I knew how to defend myself.  I mean I was raised with 10 brothers.  Lol.

ME: Are you still friends with any of the minorities who went to Brooklyn Tech with you? Also, why do you think there is a lack of minority students in these elite schools in this day and age. 

CR: Yes. I have built lifetime friends with a lot of them, not just my minority peers. We are all doing really great.  I’m a computer engineer/Bio scientist, and some of them are lawyers, doctors, and high-priced realtors. To answer the second part, I believe the reason you see a lack of diversity in these elite schools is because they don’t want the playing field to be equal.  Too many minorities are making something out themselves these days, and white race doesn’t like that. We’re owning too much property for them, so they're making up laws that you never heard of, or locking minorities up at a higher rate, so that our youth won’t succeed.

Back in, I believe 2009 former Mayor Michael. R. Bloomberg "implemented a citywide test-based threshold for gifted and talented programs." (ES) This was supposed to be a way for the city to diversify these elite schools but it backfired and excluded even more Black/Latinos. A lot of these areas where some of these elite schools are placed are in wealthy neighborhoods that don't want what they call people from the ghetto entering their schools or being around their kids. In fact, our current Mayor Belsio is trying to do away with placement tests in general, which is the way to get into the school. This would eliminate the top performing students and place over 50 % of Black/Latinos in these schools and Asian students would lose half of their spots. As you see in the charts Asian have become the leaders of specialized schools, so honestly, they can just get put on another schools list, because honestly speaking they still may get picked over a Black/Latino person in the next school anyway. I'm just saying they basically have a better shot at getting in any elite school, than Black/Latinos. This is causing wealthy parents to sue the school district over feeling their kids are getting mistreated and it’s not fair to have these kids from the ghetto go to school with their "precious and brilliant, perfect kids" YEAH RIGHT!!!!! The ones from the low-income backgrounds are the one who should be given a chance to show what they can do, since it seems like everyone knows what the kids already in those schools can do. It's like saying we never heard of somebody having a lot of money or going to an elite school would commit a crime... Lol. We all know that’s B.S.

Don’t get me wrong Blacks/Latinos have come a long way and are making history in this world today, but to get the same respect and options is what we need just as much. Let kids be kids and let kids be great. How can they be great or all they can be if the people leading them can't even get it together for them.

[ti-bae-rius]

Ty and Irene fic

Probs read GOTSM first. This is based on my own situation with my self-trained therapy cat as well as a lot of secondary research and talking to other therapy animal owners. Yeet. 

CW/TW for meltdowns/panic attacks (and a bit of involuntary injury as a result)

“Have you ever considered training Irene to do therapy?”

Ty looked across at where Anush was on the floor, tickling Irene’s stomach. The fur there was completely white in contrast to her grey and black coat. Ty clicked his teeth at her as she locked her claws around Anush’s arm, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just shook her free fondly.

“Therapy?” Ty asked, puzzled. Perhaps he’d heard wrong; he had been reading at the same time after all. “But she can’t speak.”

Anush laughed. “Not talking therapy – animal therapy.”

Ty’s stele rolled off the end of his bed as he readjusted, trying to get comfortable. Irene set about scrabbling under the bed and returned with the stele between her teeth, depositing it expectantly before Ty, who rewarded her with ear scratches.

“See? She’s already so smart,” Anush pointed out. “It would be easy to train her.”

“She is a very fast learner,” Ty considered, which was true. When she’d grown big and healthy enough, he’d started letting her out onto Dimmet Tarn, calling her name until she learnt to come back. Now, when he had classes, he let her out to explore and hunt with Livvy keeping an eye on her, and before dinner he’d call her back to him. She always came. In fact, recently, she’d begun waiting in the treeline for him, bounding out as soon as he shouted her and barrelling happily into his legs. Maybe Anush was right. He usually was.

Anush was a year older than Ty and one of the wisest people he’d ever met. People often tried to sell you on how great they were, Ty found, but not Anush. He’d told Ty all about being in the Cohort, about the fact he’d been in the group who tortured Kieran. Nevertheless, Ty liked him anyway. He was honest and loyal and showed Ty all the tips and tricks of the Scholomance – which professors to befriend and how, secret tunnels, special archival collections. Besides, when Livvy had gone to Devon and Ty was in the infirmary, Anush had looked after Irene and brought just the right Sherlock Holmes book from Ty’s shelf to cheer him up, points which Ty thought very important in a potential friend.

He rubbed the chain of the heron necklace he always wore across his lips. Livvy’s locket hung on his noticeboard, pinned in place. Now that Livvy was here with him, it didn’t seem right. When the locket was all he had left, it had rested permanently against his chest, but now he’d hung it up so she could share it. It was hers, after all. Instead, the heron pendant hung around his neck. He tried not to think too much about its original owner, all the way in Devon. It hurt too badly. However, the necklace was a handy and subtle fidget toy, so Ty wore it. And sure, maybe a bit for him, but that made his chest ache to dwell on. He had a new life, far away from Ty and all their history. Maybe it was time Ty stopped waiting for him to come back.

“So what do you think?”

Ty gave Anush a look and Irene made one of her growls of contentment, hopping up onto the bed beside Ty. He nodded, tickling Irene’s chin absently.

“It sounds good,” Ty agreed. “It’s a great idea. So, how does it work?”

 Anush knew a lot about therapy animals, but then Anush knew a lot about most things. As he’d told Ty, his father had been an occupational therapist before meeting Anush’s mother and ascending to be with her. He’d taught Anush parts of what he’d studied for so many years, and now Anush was teaching Ty by extrapolating his father’s knowledge. Lateral application of knowledge was something Ty found strangely attractive, particularly when the person doing it was as good-looking as Anush. But every time he felt himself feeling like that towards Anush, his heart would race and he’d remember what happened last time. He hadn’t cared about Ty. That was obvious. Moving to the other side of the world was a tacit message even Ty couldn’t misread.

Together, Ty and Anush had made a list of things Ty could use some help with, and ways Irene could assist. As it turned out, Ty had been right; she was a fast learner. Within a couple of months, Irene was well-trained to help her owner as and when, growing bigger day by day, and exploring further into the woods. Still, Ty worried.

“Do you think she’s small?”

Livvy, floating just above the snow, glanced across. Before, when she hovered just above the snow banks, she’d be taller than Ty. However, in the months since arriving at the Scholomance, her twin had hit one growth spurt after another and now stood just a little taller than her. Stubbornly, she lifted a couple of inches more off the ground to match his height.

“Irene?” Livvy asked, cocking her head. “I don’t know. How big are Carpathian lynxes meant to be?”

“I mean, she’s less than a year old – eight months probably. They’re not a big species but she does look little. I think she was a runt and being so ill when you found her has stunted her development,” Ty told her, watching the kitten play, stamping down snow with her big paws and shaking lingering flakes from her fur. Livvy supposed she did look kind of small, but Ty didn’t seem to love her any less for it. If anything, he seemed more protective of her, and more able to relate in some way. An outsider.

“I’m really glad you have her,” Livvy said and Ty glanced up at her quizzically, prompting her to explain further. “I can’t do some of the stuff for you that I used to, stuff that helped you. I’m glad Irene can lend a hand.”

“Or a paw,” Ty grinned, and Livvy smiled.

“Or that,” she agreed, and tried not to feel too sad that she was less helpful in her current state than a lynx was.

“I wouldn’t have her if you hadn’t found her,” Ty pointed out and Livvy felt her gaze soften. People sometimes said Ty wasn’t very perceptive to how others were feeling, but Livvy had always disagreed; he always knew just what to say to cheer her up. If she could, she’d have hugged him. Instead, she floated a little closer and returned the gesture when he gave her a smile warm enough to melt the snow beneath their feet.

 Ty had written to Julian asking if he could bring his pet home. They’d been hesitant until he explained – she lived in his room, she was no trouble and, besides, he didn’t have anyone to look after her until he got back. However, when he stepped through the portal home at the end of his first year, his family looked ill-prepared for Irene. Ty looked around at the others, staring silently, until Dru broke the silence with a burst of laughter.

“Brilliant!” she giggled, head thrown back. “Amazing! By the Angel, Julian thought it was a fish. I was betting on a lizard. No one guessed ‘tiny puma’ though did they?”

“She’s not a puma. She’s a Carpathian lynx,” Ty responded, looking almost offended. “Look at her. She doesn’t even look like a puma. Look at her ears!” Dru snorted.

Helen took a deep breath and smiled. “We’ll make it work. We’re just glad you’re home, Ty. How’s your first year been?”

Ty didn’t answer. It was strange being home in L.A., too warm and loud and crowded. He loved his family, but it was a lot all at once, and he felt distant and overwhelmed. A familiar feeling on his hand made him look down. Irene was licking his palm and nudging her head into his fingers. He forced his breath to even out and rubbed Irene’s ears between his thumb and forefinger, twiddling the tuft of black hair that tipped them, making her purr.

“I need to go and unpack,” Ty told his family. “I’ll come back down and talk after.”

He picked up his bags and set off upstairs, Irene trailing at his ankles. Julian leaned against the hearth he stood beside, smiling. It was good, after so long, to see Ty’s face again.

 Upstairs, Ty rested his back against his bedroom door and pressed a hand to his chest, feeling shaky. Just one wall away was Livvy’s room, the bed she’d never sleep in again. For fifteen years, Ty had spent half of his time in that room with Livvy. They sat in her bed and watched documentaries together, fell asleep sat up with the laptop balanced between them. She never set an alarm in the mornings because Ty knocked on her door to wake her. She shoved notes under his door before they got phones to organise secret twin meetings on the roof. Now, Livvy’s ghost lingered in her room and Ty felt her pain in his own heart. It felt like he could hear her crying from the next room, though he knew that wasn’t possible. His breath was coming in gasps.

Pressure on his legs made him glance down. Irene was in her hind legs, pawing at him, and he sat down in acquiescence. Ty raised a hand to his mouth, chewing nervously at his knuckles, but Irene batted at his hand with a paw, whining.

“Sorry, Irene,” Ty mumbled and pulled her into his lap, letting her warm body provide relaxing pressure. His chin slumped to his chest and she butted at his brow with hers, chirruping soothingly. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking his fingers through her soft fur, and his breath began to even out.

It was somewhat of a surprise when Ty opened his door to see who was knocking to find Tavvy there.

“Can I pet your cat?” Tavvy asked, smiling sweetly. One of his bottom front teeth had fallen out and his gappy smile only added to the illusion he was younger than he was. Ty nodded and clicked his teeth to beckon Irene, who was cleaning her paws on Ty’s bed. Tavvy held out a hand for Irene to sniff and stroked her head happily. “Hello kitty!” Tavvy said, and Ty’s heart twisted. It was too much like his name. He hurried to correct Tavvy.

“Her name is Irene.”

“Can we bring her downstairs to show the others?” Tavvy asked. Ty hesitated but nodded.

“Sure. She could do with being let outside for a while anyway.”

Tavvy whooped and set off downstairs, calling Irene after him. She stayed loyally by Ty’s feet until he patted her on the back, at which point she scampered off after Tavvy, Ty following a beat behind.

 Livvy lingered nearby as Ty sat with the others on the beach. He knew how separated she felt, unable to bridge the gap between them and her. She would have to live vicariously through her twin forever, and it was all his fault.

“Hey, Ty,” Julian said, sitting down beside him on the sand. “How are you doing?”

Pulled from his reverie, Ty nodded before realising it wasn’t a yes or no question. “I’m okay,” Ty smiled, unsure whether or not he sounded convincing. “How was your travel year with Emma?”

Julian’s face broke into a grin and gazed off to where Emma was dancing through the surf with Cristina. She and Kieran had accompanied Mark on his trip home to see Ty back from the Scholomance. Emma and Cristina clung to each other, laughing in the small, white-tipped waves that splashed at their ankles. For years, Emma had been afraid of the ocean, but she seemed perfectly at peace with it now. Perhaps time did heal, Ty considered hopefully. Or love.

His chest twinged.

He hardly took in the photos Jules was showing him on his phone from their travel year. Emma pretending to push over the leaning tower of Pisa, Julian at the Louvre looking at some beautiful art, the two of them kissing under the Grecian sunset.

“Hey, what’s that?”

Ty’s hand faltered where he rubbed the necklace chain between his fingers.

“Livvy’s locket,” Ty said quickly, but Julian had caught hold of the charm before Ty could shove it down the front of his shirt.

“A bird,” Julian said, ignoring Ty’s comment. “I never would’ve expected that. A bee perhaps. Or a lynx.” He grinned. Ty didn’t return the gesture.

“It was a gift,” he muttered, feeling increasingly hot and breathless. Ty studiously avoided all mention of him or things that might act as a reminder. When Livvy tried to talk about it, he put his headphones on. When Anush asked about his life before the Scholomance, he skimmed right over that month – a month; how had they only known each other a month? – and he knew Anush didn’t press because it was around the time Livvy died. Ty felt bad that wasn’t the reason why that time ached with an intensity that hollowed out his bones. When other Centurions talked about their girlfriends back home, when he saw people kissing in alcoves or passing coy notes accompanied by shy blushes in class, he pretended it didn’t exist. Because that should’ve been him – could’ve been him. Livvy had told Ty to write him a letter, but he couldn’t. Writing a letter, even a completely platonic apology letter, would still feel like a poor imitation of the letter he wanted to write.

“Oh, a gift?” Jules asked, and a teasing smirk crept across his mouth, curling his lips up in a grin. “Anyone special?”

Ty felt Livvy’s head whip round, could see Julian mouth that he was just kidding, but he could hear anything. No, that wasn’t true; it was just that the one thing he could hear was the one voice he wished to every day saying the thing Ty wished he could forget:

‘You only care what’s best for you.’

‘You raised Livvy for you, not for her or anyone else.’

‘You knew the damage it might do.’

‘You only thought of yourself.’

‘I wish I’d never known you.’

 He’d cried when Kit had said it, but he was sobbing now, his whole body shaking like a bowstring just loosed. His hands were in fists at his temples but shook so violently they dug into his brow and the corners of his eyes, making his vision blur. He was almost glad for it because every other sense was being bombarded. The sea salt smelt more like saline, stinging his nose and making it smell coppery and bloody. The cold air tasted sharp and choked him as he tried to draw in breaths, like swallowing sharp stones that scraped his throat raw on the way down. Julian was trying to touch something at the sweaty nape of Ty’s neck, but the sensation made him writhe away, groaning. He could hear faceless, blurry people approaching, saying his name and asking questions and by the Angel he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe hecouldn’tbreathe.

A growl made its way through the cloud of voices and noises that flooded Ty’s brain. The sand shifted beneath him like someone had moved. Hunching over, head on his knees, was starting to make his body cramp, but that was so far down the list of frightening physical sensations he was experiencing right now it hardly registered.

Something hit his forehead, nudged against it insistently. He lifted his chin fractionally and something wedged under it, and his throat opened a little so the rocks in his throat didn’t feel quite so big or sharp. When a pressure on his chest pressed him to lie back, he didn’t fight it. He didn’t wriggle away when a weight settled on his chest, purring, and licking his hand where it rested over his racing heart. After a while, he stroked Irene’s fur with his free hand.

“I’m okay,” Ty rasped, voice tight and scratchy. His tongue felt fat and useless. With some effort, he willed his eyes to open, wincing at the sunlight. He covered his face with a hand and glanced around, spotting his family a few feet away, looking concerned.

“Ty?” Mark said, taking a step forward. Ty struggled up, dusting the sand from his hair. It felt matted and chalky. A chain dangled from Mark’s fingers and Irene batted at it curiously with a paw. Ty took the chain and squinted at the rusty-looking clasp.

“Is that blood?” Ty asked, and Mark nodded.

“Can I put an Iratze on your neck?” he asked. Ty put a hand to his nape and winced. “I think you were trying to take it off, but your hands were all numb and shaky. You just caught yourself a few times. Can I rune it?”

Ty held his hair aside so Mark could press the stele to his skin. He flinched a little but the pain subsided quickly.

“A heron?” Mark asked, looking at the charm. “Who gave you a heron necklace?”

“Oh…God…” Emma said, putting a hand over her mouth, and dawning realisation broke across Julian’s face at the same time. However, it was Tavvy who broke the moment, much to Ty’s relief.

“Irene is so smart.” He knelt down in the sand by Ty and she climbed into the younger boy’s lap, her big paws kneading inquisitively into the sand.

“She is,” Dru agreed. “Like a weird little genius puma.”

“Not a puma,” Ty retorted.

“I have to be honest, when you arrived with her I was a little apprehensive,” Helen admitted. “But she’s good for you. You’re good for each other.”

Irene clambered off Tavvy and ran down the beach towards the shore, making Ty look over to where Livvy was crouched in the waves, watching her family from a distance.

“What’s she seen?” Emma asked and Ty shrugged, smiling as Livvy bent to Irene, her phantom limbs patting the lynx regardless of their corporeality.

#irene #Ty Blackthorn #tiberius blackthorn #gotsm #ghosts of the shadow market #kitty #kit herondale #ty and kit #fic #fanfic #tda #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #twp #Livvy Blackthorn #ty and livvy #livvy and ty

[beesandbooks1]

Discussion: Give Readers Some Credit.

So. Let’s talk about readers, and authorial intent, shall we?

First a detour. Who here is familiar with the Hays Code? Just in case: in the 1930’s it was established for motion pictures in the USA and presented strict guidelines about what could and couldn’t be put into films. The Code lasted until the late 1960’s but its impact on film is absolutely still seen today, specifically in the rating system for films. The Hays Code dictated various moral guidelines that somewhat stripped viewers of film of their autonomy, implying that the general public wouldn’t be able to distinguish between good and bad or right and wrong without films making it very clear what those lines were. There was no grey area in the Hays Code.

Literature, for its part, has had various formal and informal rules and guidelines applied to it throughout centuries of publishing that dictate who can and can’t read certain topics. I’m not going into a history lesson on that, but suffice to say that at some point just about every person who wasn’t a white cishet man has had a restriction put on them for reading at all or reading certain things. Today, the big issues come down to censorship, banning books, and lobbying against books for a particular reason.

Censorship Today

Censorship is a big ticket issue today, both formally and informally, and internationally. I will admit to having limited knowledge and experience of the kind of censorship experienced in places such as China, but I am aware it is present, enforced, and potentially dangerous. Formal censorship worldwide comes in the form of preventing books being published or translated in the country at all, banning its sale in its original format, and sometimes going so far as to censor access to websites that sell the book and social media platforms where the book is widely discussed. Government level censorship of books generally is inspired by fear of what the books might inspire, from protests to full on coups. Usually, this act of censorship is indicative of larger systemic problems within the government not real problems within the book’s content.

Informal censorship is a bit more complicated, and comes about in a few ways, including straight out banning books in a community which I will discuss in the next section. Informally censoring a book usually comes from a community speaking out against something in the book or something about the author they are opposed to. This differs slightly from lobbying against a book because if a community quietly agrees to censor a book from those in the community that shouldn’t be exposed to it (whether with good intentions or not) they won’t also attempt to have the book banned elsewhere, or turn it into a political topic by protesting the books very existence. More on that later. Instead, this informal censorship is more in line with parents or groups of parents agreeing to forbid their children from reading certain books–usually for moral and religious reasons.

An example of informal censorship from my own life: when I was attending Catholic school as a preteen The Golden Compass was released as a movie. The school itself never released a statement or talked about the book or movie, and the farthest I got to an adult’s opinion on it was when someone asked my religious studies teacher about it and she pointed out that the books are fiction so did it really matter if the subject matter went against religious beliefs? However, the parents of my classmates at least were scared. My mother received an email from a concerned parent who was encouraging all the parents in our class to prevent us from seeing the movie, and that if for some reason one of us did see it to keep it to ourselves so as not to encourage the rest of the kids to want to see it too. This act of informal censorship resulted in a group of preteens who probably didn’t even care about this issue being prevented from reading Philip Pullman’s works or seeing the movie based on them. The parents didn’t want to try and get the books removed from the public library or the movie taken out of theaters, they just wanted to ensure their children were never exposed to it.

Fun fact: the day my mother read that email she came home with the full set of His Dark Materials and later she bought me the movie on DVD.

Banning Books

Banning books is a lot more straight forward than the degrees of censorship. Most readers are familiar with the idea of banned books. Books tend to be banned from smaller communities, such as a town’s library and school, but are rarely enforced at a higher level without censorship getting involved. I’m going to be using “banned books” to refer to that lower level, not government level censorship. Thus, banned books are still purchasable in this context through retailers such as Amazon and chain bookstores.

A banned book can be banned for any number of reasons. I see banned book lists often enough that have things such as “unrealistic female characters” referring to The Wizard of Oz. Many readers who chance upon one of these lists tend to take pride in having read much of its contents, especially depending on the context of the book bans. Some book bans are focused on schools and keeping “unsuitable” material out of students’ hands. This ranges from “this book is too pornographic to be appropriate” to “this book encourages witchcraft and we can’t have that!” While there might be something to be said about schools having age appropriate books available in the library–if the oldest kids in the school are ten then maybe Stieg Larsson’s books aren’t a priority–many book bans are comical in their ridiculous reasoning.

Book bans come from a combination of underestimating the critical reading abilities of others and from fearing what those others might do with the knowledge the book contains. For example, a highly misogynistic person might not want books that portray women in positions of power to become available for the next generation of young girls. They both underestimate the girls’ ability to choose a lifestyle for themselves by assuming any fiction they consume will immediately shape their decision making, and they also fear what the girls might choose to do if presented with the idea that they have options. While many book bans sound like silly reasoning, a lot of them are insidiously chosen as a form of disenfranchisement. Preventing Black readers from having positive role models from authors of color, for example, assists the school to prison pipeline.

Lobbying Against Books

Lobbying against books is where book banning gets more serious. This is the middle step between book banning and book censorship, really. Lobbying against a book is when a group or sometimes an individual take it upon themselves to ban a book for their own community and then try to get it banned on a larger scale. Now, there are times that lobbying against a book is actually done with good intentions and not with the intent of banning or censoring the book. There are times where the author reveals themselves to be…lacking in some way, and that may have affected the writing they produce. I know I’m dancing around some authors in particular, but I didn’t make this post to call out specifics so.

An example of a bad lobbying idea: An upcoming YA release is announced and hyped by excited would-be readers. The book sounds awesome! It’s written by a new author, has really good Own Voices representation, and presents a unique story. It is largely regarded as an excellent contribution to literature by bookish folks. A conservative parent purchases the book upon its release with the intention of giving it to their daughter, and due to their household rules about book content the parent reads the book first to ensure it complies. The parent discovers that the book contains a relatively mild romance plot, but that the main character does have sex in this plotline, though the scene is hardly explicit or erotic. Conservative parent is very worried that reading about the idea of sex will inspire their daughter to have sex and decides this book is dangerous and not suitable for their daughter. Unfortunately, with all the excitement over the book, the daughter keeps asking to read it. Perhaps her friends have all read it, perhaps it’s being pitched by the school library as a great new release, perhaps it’s being developed into a film or TV series that her classmates are excited to watch. The parent now starts telling other parents that they shouldn’t allow their children to read this book or watch anything based on it, largely out of fear that their daughter will be exposed to it somehow. Other conservative parents jump on board, banning the book from their households and attempting to have it banned altogether so as to prevent their kids from getting their hands on it. Perhaps the ban makes it through the school and the public library, but the local Barnes and Noble continues to sell copies and they’re going fast. In order to get the book taken off of a chain store’s shelves, the parents now have to lobby to have the book banned on a much larger scale, so they do so. All because they don’t want their teenagers having sex yet.

An example of a good lobbying idea: A really popular author has come out with a new book. This is his fourth book, and many readers are excited to get a copy and devour it. Book bloggers and other voracious readers have torn through the previous three because they’re witty, have appealing characters, and a unique worldbuilding set up. However, a bisexual reader immediately recognizes that this fourth book has the main character being extremely biphobic. The biphobia is upsetting for the reader, but they persevere because up to this point the main character has been a good role model and perhaps the biphobia is a character flaw that’s going to be called out and corrected. It is not by the end of the book, and the reader is now uncomfortable. Unsure. The reader tells other bisexual readers to be careful, that the content can be triggering due to its biphobia. LGBTQ+ readers in general are warned and slowly become cautious about the books and author in general. The fifth book comes out, and the bisexual reader timidly approaches it with an open mind, hoping that it was just a multi-book character arc. The biphobia continues, reinforced by the positive reception to the character in the fourth book. It’s clear that this is here to stay. The LGBTQ+ readers who are aware of this problem start to speak out, asking others to critically read this book and not internalize the biphobia in it. The author doubles down on the biphobia, defending it when criticized. Now more readers speak out, pointing out that this is potentially harmful, asking other readers to be very critical when consuming the author’s works and to consider ending their support of the author over his remarks.

Why all of this sucks

Ultimately, a lot of this comes down to stripping readers of their autonomy. Think about people who argue that some books are bad because a character in them does bad things. The majority of those that read the book probably recognize those bad things for what they are, and know that the character is nuanced and not always right. But there are those that would lobby to have the book removed from all reading spaces because the character that does bad things might be appealing to an impressionable reader and encourage them to do bad things. This is a very narrow-minded view that is also highly condescending. Teenagers can read a book where a seventeen-year-old has sex without immediately going out and having sex themselves. Readers in general deserve the credit to know that not everything that happens in fiction is realistic or positive. If a reader can tell the difference between reality and fiction, they can certainly make their own choices in real life without being unduly influenced by the actions and thoughts of fictional characters.

This belittling fear that certain readers are too impressionable to be exposed to certain media is astoundingly simplistic. We have to give readers more credit than that. Sure, there will be books that need to come with content warnings, trigger warnings, and disclaimers. There are some authors whose racism, homophobia, transphobia, and ableism (among other things) leak into their writing and those books when read need to be read with the knowledge of that. There are even some books that are irredeemable from that standpoint and it is absolutely a valid choice to refuse to read books by an author whose morals go against your own. However, not everything someone views as morally wrong is also unnuanced when presented in a text. Additionally, not every reader takes what they read at face value. Many readers appreciate a well written villain while also recognizing why that character is a villain. Many readers also appreciate flawed main characters who aren’t always correct but are allowed to make mistakes.

As bloggers we are in a position to point out the nuance in such books. Reviews are excellent for helping readers figure out whether a book will be too far over the line for their moral compass, if there’s something in the text that matters for them or not. However, we have to give readers some credit. Just like in communities that would censor and ban books, sometimes book reviews overlook nuance. They make hard lines around characters saying that something is problematic and therefore the whole text is corrupted, or misidentifying an action or a thought as a moral or ethical opinion. I am not exempt from this, there are certainly times where I draw a hard line in the sand that I refuse to cross for any book regardless of the praise it receives. But I also recognize that there are other readers who will cross that line and read certain texts and find value in them where I didn’t. I have to give those readers credit and believe that they will also be able to see the negatives of the text and not internalize or forgive those.

#bookblr #books

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 18 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters. Xoxo!

Chapter Summary: Someone’s planning a super sweet sixteen, and love is in the air...

Chapter 18: Those Magic Changes

Courtney skipped into the kitchen, trilling, “Gooood morning, mommy!” and giving Karen a big, warm hug. She turned to Karen’s new boyfriend, who was struggling with the coffee maker. “Hi, Todd. Let me help you with that.”

Karen raised an eyebrow at her daughter’s sunny disposition. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking about my party…”

“Oh god, here we go--”

“Moooom,” Courtney whined good-naturedly. “It’s my sixteenth birthday. We’re doing it here in the backyard, that’s saving a lot of money, right? I mean, Kim’s was at the Hilton.”

“Courtney, I don’t need to remind you that both the economy and our financial situation were very different back then, right?”

Courtney smiled and put her arms around her mom’s shoulders.

“I know, mommy. That’s my point. Kimmy had a booming economy and the emotional stability of two-parent family. I mean, I’m dealing with a divorce and two wars and a terrible president. I should have a nice birthday party, don’t you think?” Courtney pouted her lip.

Karen laughed. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“So listen,” Courtney said, getting down to business, “Roy’s cousin Tomas is a DJ, and he said he’ll do it for the friends and family rate.” She placed a business card on the counter. “I found a caterer in Pasadena that has tons of vegetarian options and she gives a huge discount if you go pick the stuff up from her.” She put a printout of another business card down carefully. “And she’s like 2 blocks away from a bakery that does vegan cakes and look at this!” Courtney pulled out a picture of a black and white cake with a bright pink bow. “It’s my colors!”

Karen shook her head. “I thought we’d get a cake from Costco, honey.”

“Mother. Costco?” Courtney clutched her chest dramatically. “Omigod, this is worse than the divorce.”

Todd, who had been silent, began to laugh. “I’m pretty stoked on the vegan cake idea, Court.”

“Thank you! Oh, and Party Planet can deliver tables, chairs, lights, decor, everything, early in the morning and then pick it up the next day. They did April’s quinceañera last year, and they are AMAZING.” She put the last piece of paper down triumphantly. “I’ve been doing a lot of research and these are the best deals in town, mom.”

Karen shook her head. “Fine, I will talk to these vendors. I’m not promising anything, though.”

“Thanks, mommy! And remember, we’re also saving money since Darienne and I are doing the invitations and placecards ourselves.”

“You spent three hundred bucks at Michael’s, Courtney. I don’t know how much money that saved.”

“Mommy...have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Courtney batted her eyelashes. “And so young…”

“Go get dressed for school, Courtney.”

She kissed Karen on the cheek and departed from the kitchen, singing, “This will be the best party ever! Because I have the best mother!”

Todd shook his head. “You’re getting so played.”

“I know,” Karen sighed.

-

Adore and Willam were the last to arrive at lunch; Fame and Pearl were deep in conversation about who knows what and Violet sat across from Trinity, giving her answers to some homework that she didn’t do.

“What’s up, guys?” Adore asked, plopping down in the grass next to Violet and Trinity. Willam sat against the tree butting his way into Fame and Pearl’s conversation.

“Hey, Adore. Just trying to get this finished before class--heard Mrs. Davis is checking for correctness.” Trinity rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“And Violet's helping you. Aw, look who's being nice today,” Adore teased Violet, trying to elicit some kind of response from the girl. Violet had been ignoring Adore since the locker incident and she just wanted things to get back to normal between them. Or as normal as possible, under the circumstances.

Adore sighed when Violet stared at the paper in front of her.

“Did you read the story at all Trin? He dies at the end,” Violet grabbed pencil from Trinity, erasing her answer.

“Lenny dies?!”

“Yeah-” Adore started only to be interrupted by Violet.

“Maybe, you should have read the book. I don't even know why I'm helping you,” Violet passed the paper back.

“Because you love me and like to see me succeed in life,” Trinity flashed a smile and Violet playfully rolled her eyes.

“Never suggest such a thing.”

Adore let out a frustrated groan before flopping back onto the grass between the two girls, “Can you, like, stop acting like I don't exist.” Adore said, a pout on her lips, hazel eyes blinking at Violet.

“Fame,” Violet called over Adore.

“Yes.”

“Do you still have some grapes left?”

“Mhm,” Fame nodded, ready to toss the ziplock to Violet.

“I'll come get them,” Violet said, crawling over to the others.

Adore sat up on her elbows, watching Violet crawl away. Then looked up at Trinity who was shaking her head, “Can you talk to her?”

“I'll try, but you know how Violet is.”

-

The cast was scattered all over the place waiting their turn to get on the stage and go over blocking and lines. And Adore didn’t hesitate to find her way to where the other pink ladies sat in the back of the theater, plopping down beside Raja.  

“Hey,” Adore said softly, bright eyes admiring the beauty of the older girl.

“Sup,” Raja nodded, pulling the headphones off her ears.

“You look good,” the words left Adore’s lips before she could stop them and her face reddened in turn.

Raja was wearing a Cyndi Lauper t-shirt under a frayed jean jacket, patches sewed carefully along the sleeves and front. Her caramel skin peeked through the rips in her jeans, her long dark hair was braided back, bangs swept to one side, and battered black boots giving her more of an edge and pulling the entire look together.

“I ‘look good’?” Raja raised a brow and Adore face grew redder but she nodded, because it was true. “Thanks for the compliment but I threw this on in two minutes. You, look like you took some time getting ready this morning, though,” Raja said, putting her feet up on the seat in front of her.

Raja wasn't wrong, Adore had been spending more time in the mirror in the mornings than usual.

“Not really,” Adore lied, remembering how she kept messing up her eyeliner and nearly wanted to cry because her right eye wasn’t perfect.

The smell of weed and Raja’s perfume had Adore’s stomach doing flips as she leaned in close; the music from her headphones echoed between them.

“Well, you look good,” Raja looked over Adore, before moving to take her feet off the seat.

“Thanks.” Adore tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Wanna go to the vending machine with me?” Raja asked.

“Yeah.” Adore hurriedly stood up, the pair making their way out of the theatre.

“Have you seen the jackets?” Raja asked as she put her money in the machine.

“No, have you?” Adore leaned against the machine as casually as possible.

“Yeah, I’m helping with the costumes. I gotta show them to you when we get a chance.” Raja said, moving closer to Adore after grabbing her pack of skittles. “Maybe try them on to make sure they fit?” Raja suggested, fingering at Adore’s jacket, brown eyes staring intently into Adore’s.

Adore’s thoughts raced with possibilities, but she only nodded in response.

“Uh, you wanna hang out later?”

“Sorry,” Raja smacked her teeth, stepping back and opening the bag of skittles. “Got work, but another time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adore nodded.

Once back in the theatre, Raja put her headphones on Adore, going through her music seeing if the younger girl could name the songs from ear.

“You don't know this one,” Raja teased.

“Yeah, I do. Give me a sec; the song just started,” Adore smiled.

“Let me see what part it's on,” Raja leaned in, her scent filling Adore’s senses again. Raja’s hand found a spot on Adore's thigh as she leaned toward her. Raja put her ear to the outside of the headphones and the pressure on Adore’s thigh made it hard for her to concentrate on the song.

“If you haven't gotten it by now, then you're not going to get it,” Raja laughed, hand squeezing Adore’s thigh slightly. Adore turned to look at Raja, heartbeat speeding up when she noticed how close they were to each other; noses nearly touching.

“Whatever, it's all stuff from before I was born. It’s stuff from before you were born,” Adore pulled the headphones off.

“Exactly. When you come to my place… I'm going to have to get you acquainted with some real music.”

-

Courtney walked back to her seat, trying not to watch Adore’s ridiculously obvious flirting. Frankly, she found Raja to be a little bit pretentious and full of herself, but Adore seemed to think she walked on water, so she was just keeping her opinions to herself.

It wouldn’t be so bad, but she’d canceled their plans twice in the last week, which irritated Courtney to no end. She couldn’t be totally sure that the last time had to do with Raja, but Courtney had her suspicions. She sighed, approaching Roy and Darienne, who were of course dutifully studying for a US History test while everyone else in the theatre was fucking around.

“You alright, babe?” Roy asked.

Courtney looked down at him and smiled sweetly. “Mmmhmm…” She ran a hand through his thick hair and settled into his lap, demanding attention.

Roy grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks, and went in for a long, slow kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Roy, when did Teddy Roosevelt start the National--” Darienne began and then looked up, rolling her eyes. “You guys, come on...”

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Courtney asked coyly, batting her eyelashes.

Roy laughed and sucked on her pulse point, one hand trailing down her thigh. “Yes. And don’t stop.”

“You used to be a really responsible study partner, you know!” Darienne said.

Courtney giggled as Roy buried his face in her hair, giving Darienne an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. I guess I’ll just be ruining the curve by myself now.” Darienne flipped her hair and went back to her textbook.

Roy lifted his head, eyes blazing. “Fuck you, I’m still gonna ruin the curve. I’ll get a higher grade than you without even studying.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Twenty bucks says I beat your grade on Friday without cracking this book.”

“Deal. Give me the book.”

“You don’t trust me?” Roy clutched his chest in mock dismay.

“Not as far as I can throw you, Del Rio.”

“Hmph. Well, you’re smarter than I thought.” Roy handed over his textbook, chuckling.

-

“Knock knock…” Adore said, standing at Courtney’s back door.

Courtney pulled off her headphones, sweaty after just getting back from a run, and threw open the door. “Hiya babe, come in!”

“I’m just here to hand-deliver the RSVP for the most ridiculous invitation I’ve ever received.”

Courtney clapped her hands, jumping up and down excitedly. “Did the glitter go everywhere?”

“Yes. You goddamned asshole.”

“Roy was so pissed. He was sitting on his unmade bed and now it’s like, in his sheets. And when I saw him there was even a piece of pink glitter in his eyelashes,” she doubled over laughing. “He said he’s gonna have his mom put a Santeria curse on me.”

“I’d support that.”

“Too bad she loves me!” Courtney giggled mischievously, then sat down at the table, sighing dreamily. “This party is going to be amazing. I almost feel bad for using the divorce to manipulate my parents into spending so much money…”

Adore laughed. “Almost, but not quite?”

“Well, do you remember Kimmy’s sweet sixteen party, at the Hilton?! Come on! I deserve this!” Courtney pouted.

“Of course you do, princess. So...I wanted to ask you a question about the guest list.”

“Yes, I invited Pearl and Willam and no, I did not invite Violet.”

“Noted. But, I was wondering if I could invite Raja.”

Courtney stared at her for a moment, blinking rapidly.

“I mean, you know, we’ve been hanging out, and...things are...why do you look like that?”

“Because Raja has never even said one word to me.”

“Well…” Adore bit her lip. “Maybe, she can just be my plus one.”

“This party is about me, Adore. Why would you need a plus one?” Courtney whined.

“Uh...” Adore hesitated, knowing how Courtney got when it came to her birthday. She was the most important person that day and she’d fight anyone who said otherwise.

“Whatever,” Courtney finally sighed crossing her arms in annoyance.

“Whatever? So, I can-”

“Yeah, you can invite her, I guess. But I expect your present to be the best one I open at my party. I want to be wowed and everyone else to be jealous that you’re my best friend.” Courtney raised a brow, challenging Adore.

Adore let out a nervous chuckle at her friend’s ridiculousness.

“Okay, yeah, it’ll be the best present you could ask for. I promise.” Adore leaned across the table planting a kiss on Courtney’s cheek.

-

“Pearl, if you can do the school over here, I can work on the foreground,” Sasha said.

“Sure!” Pearl settled down over by the corner as directed, arranging her brushes, chatting with Sasha about the plans for the other backdrops. She was especially excited about getting to take the lead for the drive-in, since Sasha had loved her sketches.

“Sasha! Did you know that the US History test is tomorrow?!” Shea came running around the corner in a panic. She glanced down at Pearl and tried to regain her composure. “Hey Pearl.”

Pearl flashed a coy smile and Shea returned a shy grin.

“Yeah, hon, I know. Do you wanna come over and study later?”

“Uh, yeah, duh. And can I borrow your notes too?” Shea smiled charmingly at her friend.

Sasha laughed. “Sure. I’ll go get them.” She rose from the ground and walked over to her backpack.

Pearl looked up at Shea, standing with one hip cocked, head tilted. She was just so damn cute.

“Shea, I love that dress. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, um...I made it.”

“You made it? Are you serious?” Pearl jumped up to examine it closer. “You are kidding me; this is incredible!” She ran a finger over the colorful fabric.

Shea cleared her throat. “Thanks.” She took a small step back and Pearl wondered if she’d crossed some boundary.

“You know, I heard that they need someone else to do costumes. If you’re interested, I bet Thorgy would kiss your feet.” Pearl tried to give her a friendly, non-predatory, no-homo smile.

“Cool, yeah, that’s…” Shea trailed off, looking into Pearl’s eyes, clearing her throat.

Sasha handed a red notebook to Shea, looking between them with an amused expression. “Here you go. I’ll be done here by 4:30.”

“Okay, thanks. See you later,” Shea said, quickly taking the notebook and bolting.

“Something I said?” Pearl asked.

Sasha laughed. “Don’t take it personally.”

-

“So, mother,” Courtney skipped into the kitchen, a sly smile on her face and a piece of paper in hand.

“Courtney, please don’t tell me-”

“Just a few last-minute things that I must have for my party.” She held the list out for her mom to take, but Karen only glared at the paper.

“Come on. It’s not bad, I promise,” Courtney waved the paper in front of her face, coaxing her to take it out of her hand.

With a sigh, Karen took the paper from Courtney, folding it up.

“Wait, what are you doing, look at it.”

“I will, when I have time.” Karen assured.

“What’s more important than your baby girl’s sweet sixteen?” Courtney crossed her arms.

“Courtney, don’t start,” Karen squinted at Courtney.

“Ever since you and dad finalized your divorce, it’s been like I don’t even matter,” Courtney eyes watered and her bottom lip quivered for effect.

“You know that’s not true,” Karen sighed, knowing Courtney’s tactics, but couldn’t help feeling the guilt that would eat her alive if Courtney didn’t have the birthday she wanted. “Let me see what you wrote.”

“Two cakes and an ice cream cart,” she looked up with wide eyes.

“We’re doing the vegan cake from Sweet Pea, plus I want a regular chocolate cake for everyone else and an ice cream cart for people who don’t like cakes plus it’s cute and fun and the awning matches my color scheme.” Courtney smiled and Karen rolled her eyes.

“You’ll get the vegan cake and one or the other; not both,” she said before she continued reading. “Smoke machines, strobe lights? Disco balls? Courtney--”

“They are just little add-ons to the lighting package! It’ll make the dance floor sooo much more fun, Mommy, please!”

“Balloon arch? Confetti cannons? A photographer AND videographer? Do you want a clown too?” Karen murmured under her breath, but Courtney heard her mother and only rolled her eyes.

“Mom, we need production value, and the photographer is to capture the memories, it’s going to be such a special day.”

“We can all take pictures. I have a camera, and so does your father, and Todd, plus I’ll borrow the video camera from Bonnie. And doesn’t your friend Thorgy take beautiful pictures?”

“Yeah, but that’s not as good as a professional!”

“Whatever,” her mother shook her head.

“Keep going,” Courtney waved her hand. Her mother grew silent as she continued to read the list.

“Okay, Courtney. No!” Karen slapped the paper on the counter, wanting to get it out of her hands as quick as possible causing Courtney to frown.

“What?”

“No spray tan, no teeth whitening! Even if we had that kind of money, which we don’t, that stuff is full of toxic chemicals.”

“But, mom, it’s winter and I’m so pasty, I need a tan!” she whined.

“I said NO! And I’m not hiring a professional makeup artist, or hairstylist either. Kimmy can do your hair and makeup. I don’t have the money for this stuff and you know it.”

“What about daddy?” Courtney asked. Did she know her list was a bit much, yes, but did she think it was unreasonable, no.

“Pick out three things that you really want from this and then I’ll call your father,” she slid the paper across the counter to Courtney.

“Mommy!”

“Courtney. Don’t.”

They glared at each other, before finally Courtney decided to give in.

“I’ll rewrite the list.”

“Thank you, I’ll call your dad.”

-

Fingers intertwined with Roy, Courtney made her way to her locker, going on and on about her plans for the party in a couple of weeks.

“I already have it narrowed down between three outfits that I might wear for my party. I just can’t figure out which one would be the best one,” Courtney pouted.

“You’ll look beautiful in any outfit you choose,” Roy leaned in, placing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You haven’t even seen the outfits. How would you know?”

“That’s because you won’t let me and you’re the most beautiful girl no matter what you wear,” Roy smiled, tugging Courtney’s hand, pulling her into his chest as they walked up to Courtney’s locker.  

All Courtney had been able to talk about for the last week is party plans and Roy found it absolutely endearing how adamant she was on making sure everything was less no than perfect. His only job so far was to find the perfect birthday gift for her, which was stressful in its own right.

“Thank you,” Courtney said, stopping in front of her locker before pulling Roy into a sweet kiss, “but you’re no help right now. I just have to decide on what color I want to wear and then it’ll really narrow it down. Everyone else will be wearing black and white so that means I need to pick the perfect color to POP compared to everyone else.” Courtney continued as she unlocked her locker.

“I thought you’re wearing pink.”

“Oh my god, do you know how many shades of pink there are?” she rolled her eyes. “I mean- OHMYGOD!” Courtney squealed as she opened her locker, startling Roy.

“What!? What’s wrong?” Roy pulled the locker door open wider to see a black box decorated with glittery numbers saying “1996” sitting on top of a note. His brows furrowed in confusion as Courtney bounced on her feet in excitement.

She grabbed the box out of her locker and opened it, another squeal leaving her before she closed the box, looking up at Roy with teary green eyes. She reopened the box a big smile spreading across her face as she ran her finger over the pretty silver brush and pulled out a familiar bright red hair bow and slipped it onto her wrist.

-

Courtney sat at the table watching her mother take the cookies out of the oven, setting them aside to cool down.

“Are we going to take allll the cookies over there?” Courtney asked, blinking up at her mother, hoping that she would let her keep a few for herself; it had been her idea to bake cookies for the new neighbors instead of the lasagna Karen wanted to take over, secretly hoping that she’d get some cookies too.  

“We’ll keep a few here, since you were so helpful today,” Karen said taking her oven mitts off, “Now go wash up while the cookies cool down.”

Later, Courtney skipped down the sidewalk at her mother’s side, excited to be the first one to meet the new family out of all of her friends.

“Does the new neighbors have kids?” Courtney asked.

“Well, I saw a boy a little older than you and I saw a little girl around your age, when they were still moving yesterday.”

“I’ll ring the doorbell!” Courtney yelled, running up to the door and pressing the button, beyond excited to meet these brand-new kids.

“Just once,” Karen swatted Courtney’s hand away from the doorbell as she went to push it again.

Courtney mimicked her mother, smiling wide when the door swung open to reveal a woman with dyed curly blonde hair and a young girl hiding behind the woman’s leg.

“Hi! I’m Karen and this is my daughter, Courtney. We thought we’d welcome you to the neighborhood with some homemade cookies.” Karen held out the container.

“They’re vegan!” Courtney added, smiling up at the woman.

“Thank you! Vegan cookies, wow. Never had them before.” Bonnie gave a tight smile, taking the cookies from Karen.

“They’re really really good,” Courtney said, addressing the girl behind the woman’s leg more than the woman herself, hoping that they would like the cookies as much as she did.

“This is really appreciated. I’m Bonnie, and this is my baby girl Adore,” Bonnie said. “Do you want some coffee?”

“I’m not a baby!” Adore exclaimed, before hiding again, biting her lip.

Courtney smiled at Adore, wiggling her fingers at the dark-haired girl. She couldn’t see much of her as she peaked at Courtney from between Bonnie’s legs; but the bright red bow wrapped around the girl’s ponytail caught Courtney’s attention and she had an urge to tug it.  

Courtney was shaken from her thoughts as Karen’s hand on her shoulder guided her into the house.

“Adore, why don’t you and Courtney go play. You can show her your new bedroom,” Bonnie suggested, and headed into the kitchen, chatting with Karen along the way.

“I really like your bow. It’s so pretty, I don’t have any bows,” Courtney said reaching to tug at the bow, but Adore moved out of her reach, causing Courtney to frown for a moment until she saw a big smile spread across Adore’s face.

“Do you want to go upstairs and see my other stuff? I have so many bows,” Adore touched her own before turning to run up the stairs and Courtney followed.

-

She closed the box sitting it back in her locker and picked up the card that the box had sat on.

“Uh, so who is it from,” Roy asked even though he was ninety-nine percent sure he knew who it was from.

Courtney ignored him as she read the card:

Remember my favorite red bow I used to always wear? When we first met, you’d beg me to let you wear it. When I finally gave in, you lost it the next day. I can’t believe we stayed friends after that. :p It must be because you were the only one who had patience for my “tender-headed bullshit,” to quote my lovely mother. This is gift 1 of 10, for our 10 years of friendship. -Dory

-

Courtney watched Adore whimper, grit her teeth and stomp her feet as Bonnie detangled her hair.

“It's okay, Dory,” Courtney said softly, hating to see Adore like this. She sat in front of Adore, trying to distract her from the brush running through her hair.

When Adore let out a cry as the brush snagged on a particular knot, tears started to fall from her eyes. Courtney leaped forward, pulling Adore into a tight hug.

Bonnie shook her head, finding the whole scene adorable and over-dramatic.

“She'll be fine, Courtney.” Bonnie assured.

When the girls didn't let go of each other, Bonnie decide to send Courtney off.

“Courtney, can you be an angel and go get Adore's big red bow out of her bedroom for me.”

Courtney nodded, peeling away from Adore, running to get the bow, knowing that it was Adore's favorite and wanting to get back to her as soon as possible.

Running as fast as her little legs could carry she burst through Adore’s bedroom door, grabbing the red bow from her night table. Courtney hesitated for just a moment, admiring the brightness of it before Adore’s yelp from downstairs pulled her out of her thoughts, causing her to spring back into action.

Passing the bow to Bonnie, Courtney plopped back down in front of a crying Adore.

“Hold my hand, Dory.” Courtney said, shoving her hand towards Adore and they stayed like that until Adore’s hair was finished.

-

“Babe, are you crying?” Roy wrapped his arms around Courtney.

“No,” she sniffed, “I just really miss that red bow,” she turned around to face him.

Fuck, he thought, he completely forgot that he was going to be going up against Adore for the title of best gift. Best friend vs Boyfriend.

Around the corner, Adore watched Courtney’s emotional reaction to her gift with a satisfied smirk. Nailed it.

-

“Dory, pretty pleasssseee,” Courtney begged, hugging Adore tight.

All Courtney wanted was to wear Adore’s red bow, when her Grandma Muriel came to visit tomorrow, but Adore didn't want Courtney to wear it because it was hers.

“No,” Adore huffed.

“But I promise to bring it back,” Courtney pouted, blinking those wide green eyes.

Adore crossed her arms, red bow tight in her hand. Courtney smiled mischievously hand inching toward Adore's. She gripped the tip of the bow and tried to lightly tug it out of Adore’s hand.

“No, Courtney!” Adore yelled, hopping off the couch. Crossing her arms and turning her nose up.

“Pretty please! With cherries on top,” Courtney bottom lip quivered, her feelings hurt that Adore was being so mean to her to today. “I thought you were my best friend.”

“I am.” Adore uncrossed her arms nodding.

“No, you're not because you won't let me wear your bow.” Courtney pouted.

Hurt was evident on Adore’s face at Courtney's statement of no longer being best friends. She looked down at the red bow that she had taken off her hair earlier and contemplated her options. The red bow was hers and it was her favorite. She also liked being Courtney's best friend; they played together all the time, watched movies and did everything together.

She was scared Courtney would try to keep her bow, but she didn't want to stop being Courtney's best friend.

“Okay,” she sighed, “you can wear it.” Adore held the bow to Courtney, who squealed in delight, attacking Adore in a tight hug, sending them both to the ground.

-

“Here, hold this,” Courtney shoved the box and the card into Roy's hands. She raked her hair high above her head like she’d do on game days and wrapped the bow around her ponytail.

As Courtney fixed her hair, Roy noticed Adore moving toward them from the lockers behind them. Eyes wide in surprise that he hadn't noticed her there earlier, he moved to the side as Adore snuck up behind Courtney, wrapping her arms around his girlfriend’s waist.

“P.S. I'm still a little bitter about you losing my bow, even though your mom bought both of us replacements,” Adore snickered as Courtney squealed for the third time that day, turning around and throwing her arms around her neck.

“I didn't do it on purpose,” Courtney pouted and Roy cleared his throat. Adore immediately noticed the intimacy of their position and stepped back.

Courtney, distracted by the surprise, only turned back to the locker.

“Does it look good?” she asked straightening it out trying to look in the small locker mirror.

“Looks amazing,” Adore smiled.

“It looks perfect,” Roy nodded, before shooting Adore a quick glare, wracking his brain for the perfect gift to beat Adore’s.

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