#quick thing before i die in my mountain of homework

[amelia-yap]

accept the love weiss

#ruby rose #weiss schnee #whiterose #white rose #rwby #my art #quick thing before i die in my mountain of homework #i just want to draw wr in peace leave me alone😭😭😭😭 #so many deadlinessss (crying and throwing up) #they should kiss btw #why aren't they kissing yet

[skzsauce01]

Magnets

Synopsis: Opposites attract. 1950s AU. Takes place before Love Letters but can be read as a stand alone.

Warning: smoking, misogyny, slut-shaming

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: fem cheerleader!reader x greaser!unspecified Stray Kids member; fem cheerleader!reader x football player!unspecified Stray Kids member

There’s something about summer that changes people. They loosen up, become even prettier, and come back to school with a sense of assuredness. Or at least you did last summer. You figured out what styles were in, learned how to do your hair, and started wearing cherry red lipstick. He couldn’t stop staring at you, especially when you smiled with your pearly white teeth.

“Stop that!” you laughed, swatting his arm. “I’m still me, just with better clothes now.”

“I’ve just never seen you like this. It’s so weird now without your overall dress things.”

You playfully shook your head, the ends of your curls bouncing from the movement. “Ugh, some best friend you are. Just tell me I look nice and leave it at that. Also, they’re called pinafores.”

He didn’t care what they were called, only that you traded them in for fuzzy sweaters and skirts that flared at the hips. You didn’t look like the girl who brought her stuffed animals with her everywhere anymore. You looked like you belonged on a movie screen.

So this year he resolves to make you feel the same way. While you stay home for the summer, he goes on a road trip with his family. He thinks about you the entire time, from a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere to a dock overlooking the ocean. When he gets back, he has for you five souvenir handkerchiefs, all from different states. All he can imagine is how flustered you will be by his sun-highlighted hair and new broad shoulders when you answer the front door.

Instead, you give him a quick smile and place the handkerchiefs onto an end table without even looking at them. You’re late for a movie with friends, you tell him, as you carefully smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt. When he offers to give you a ride, you shake your head and bid him goodbye. You practically push him back into his car.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” he asks as he opens the driver’s seat. You didn’t say a single word about his summer transformation. “I don’t have any plans tonight, so it’s fine by me.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you at school then, okay? Tell your parents I said hi. Okay, bye.”

He reluctantly drives off but stops at the corner. In the rearview mirror, he catches you hurrying down the street to where a black convertible is parked. Even from this far away, he can tell it’s a greaser’s car.

What are you doing with a greaser?

As he stealthily follows you up to the mountain road nicknamed Lover’s Lane, he knows.

When school resumes again, you keep to your friends, not even trying to talk to him even though you’ve been friends since you were kids. He tries though. He even accepts the football coach’s offer to join the team because he knows you’ll be cheering at each game. But when he asks if you want to go to the diner after the football game, you look at him with confusion.

“You don’t even like football.”

“I joined the team this year. Coach thinks I can be a good quarterback. Might even go to state.” He rolls his shoulders back, showing off his new muscles in his tight shirt. You don’t even blink. “Aren’t you a cheerleader?” he teases. “Shouldn’t you know what the football team’s up to?”

“Me and the girls usually go out somewhere after, so I’ll probably be busy. Sorry.” You give him a small smile. “Anyway, I’ve got practice now. And I guess you do too.”

“Are you free on the weekend? We can get burgers or something.”

“I have to study and finish homework. There’s going to be a math test soon.”

“When are you free then?”

“I don't really know. I gotta go or else I’ll be late. See you tomorrow.”

Before you can run too far off, he asks, “Why are you avoiding me?”

You look taken aback momentarily, but then you sigh and furtively look around. You stay where you are, folding your arms across your chest. “Look, we’re in high school now. Things are different. If I’m around you all the time, people will think we’re dating. I mean, people have already asked me that. They’ve been asking since freshman year.”

“Is that such a bad thing? It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything.”

You go still. He waits for you to confess that you actually do and that you’re sorry for hiding it from him, but you only shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t like you like that. I’m tired of giving them the wrong idea and being asked every day, so just… just don’t talk to me anymore, okay? We’re still friends.”

Friends. That’s all he will be to you, but the prospect of not even being in your life is even worse. “That’s so dumb! Forget everyone else.”

“You don't understand,” you say through gritted teeth. “They’re saying stuff about me, calling me a tease and a slu—” You break off there and cradle yourself, looking down at the floor. “Never mind, just…”

He balls and unballs his fists. He’d bet anything it’s that no-good greaser. “Who’s saying that? Give me a name, and I’ll take care of it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You take a step back. “We can’t hang out or talk anymore, okay? I really need to go now. I’m late.”

He skips practice that day, choosing instead to head to the garage where the greasers usually hang. As expected, the greaser — your sleazeball of a boyfriend, he angrily thinks to himself —  is in the middle of the group. All heads turn to look at him when he enters the room.

“Hey, look who’s here. Mr. Quarterback,” the sleaze drawls. He takes a drag from his cigarette, smirking all the while. “Hit your head too much or what? This isn’t the football field.”

“Get bent, you dog,” he spits out. “I know you said those things about Y/N. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

The greaser flinches. “Who?”

“She’s on the cheer team. Don’t play dumb.” He decides to leave out the part where you’re dating him; he’ll protect your secret at least. “You’ve been calling her a tease.”

“If people are saying it, it must be true,” snickers someone in a too-large jacket. “I mean, just look at her—”

“Shut up,” the greaser commands as he flicks cigarette ash towards his friend. “You’ve been giving me a headache with all your blabbing. As for you, Mr. Quarterback, you’re out of your mind if you think I care enough about someone like her to go around gossipping like some housewife. So, scram or I’ll make sure you’ll never play again.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe. Just get outta my garage.”

He does what he’s told, feeling humiliated as he walks back outside. The greaser didn’t sound like he was lying. In fact, he sounded like he was about to flip his lid when he found out.

A few days later, he finds out that the greaser did just that. The head cheerleader’s car is keyed and its tires slashed, and a baseball player comes to school with a broken arm. The rumors about you die down, and the new hot topic becomes the upcoming dance. You look more relaxed than he has seen you all month. Slowly, you begin taking the initiative to start conversations with him. No matter how many times he asks though, you always refuse to go to the diner or to the drive-in with him.

“You don’t have to feel bad for me,” you tell him as you look away from another cheerleader sharing a kiss with her boyfriend. “You should be going on actual dates with someone. Like, oh I don’t know, the girl who sits next to you in physics. She keeps making eyes at you during class. I swear, you’re the only one who can’t see how big of a crush she’s got on you.”

He shrugs. “She’s not really my type.”

“Then what’s your type?”

Preppy cheerleaders who love strawberry milkshakes and wear cherry lipstick. Girls who wore pinafores and carried a teddy bear around when they were five. Best friends who unfortunately only remain best friends.

“I don’t know,” he lamely replies.

“Go ask her out then. Maybe you’ll end up liking her.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You swat his arm with your textbook. “You’re such a square, you know that? C’mon. The bell’s gonna ring soon.”

While you head to the back where your desk is, he slides into his own assigned seat in the middle. The girl next to him says hello with a smile, and he gives her a small one in return. She nearly swoons. When class begins, he can feel her eyes darting back and forth between the board and him. You were right about him being oblivious. How did he not notice this before?

This week’s lesson is about magnets, and he’s hit with the hard realization why he can never be with you. No wonder you ended with a greaser. Opposites attract, and your boyfriend is about as opposite as can be compared to you. You’re the girl next door. Meanwhile, your greaser wears leather jackets, drag races in his souped-up convertible, and chain smokes cigarettes.

With his button downs and a promise of getting a letterman, he’s too much like you; that’s why you don’t want him. He can be in your orbit, trying his hardest to touch you, but you’ll always keep him at a distance.

When the bell rings, he turns to the girl sitting beside him. She pushes her thick glasses higher on her nose as she struggles to pick up all four of the books on her desk.

He places his hand on top of the pile. “Do you have a date to the dance next week?”

~ ad.gray

To all those sent in requests for our anniversary, we’re still working on them! There will be a later announcement post about it, so stay tuned. Thank you for your patience!

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids au #skz au #greaser au #20210722

[xnchxntmxnt]

𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑎, 𝑓𝑖𝑥𝑒𝑑

𝐵𝑜𝑘𝑢𝐴𝑘𝑎 𝑋 𝐺𝑁!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑎 : 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡

a, can you tell I'm bad at naming things? This took me an hour b, I make this sound so much cooler than it really is lol it's just bokuto and akaashi being cuties

this is another req from tumblr that I'm excited about--also thank you to @sugasfanfics (on ao3, instagram & tumblr) for helping me with some ideas with this! Love you bro!/p Go check out her stuff! It's really good!

Anyway, enjoy!

TW//CW: minor cursing

Reader info: GN!Reader, third year student at Fukurodani, Bokuto Kotaro’s childhood best friend

Word Count:

Ao3 Link

“Akaashi! Did you see that spike! Did ya see it? Did ya?”

“Yes, I did, Bokuto.”

“Wasn’t it killer?!”

“Yes, Bokuto.”

“My shoulder hurts a little from that!”

Now that you thought about it, your shoulder hurt a little just watching him. You grew up with Fukurodani’s team captain, Bokuto Kotaro, and you welcomed Akaashi Keiji into your friendship the year prior. Now it was the beginning of your third year and Bo invited you to stay and watch practice so he could walk you home. What a gentleman.

Most of why you immediately let him join the two of you is because he and Bokuto figured out early on they were soulmates. It was great to meet them so young, but you had to admit, you were a little jealous. Especially because Bokuto had it pinned in his mind that there was someone else. All he had was a few scraped knees and/or elbows that he nor Akaashi remembered getting to go off of. Typical Kotaro making a mountain out of a molehill. You’d been dealing with his dramatic streak for a long time, though, and found it endearing.

He was endearing. You’d had a crush on the captain for a while, now, but since he and Akaashi found each other...well, it was better not to spoil their fun.

You hadn't wanted to admit it for a while, but you had a bit of a crush on Akaashi too. There was something about both the boys—very different things, of course—that drew you to them. Bokuto was loud, emotional, and so caring where Akaashi’s intelligence and natural charm were fascinating.

You didn’t have the guts to confess to either of them nor did you want to ruin what they had. They already found each other, so what was the point? It’s not like having two soulmates was unheard of but it was on the rarer side and you doubted you’d be so lucky.

“Nice one, Bo!” you yelled over to him. Today was Friday so you were planning on walking home with Bokuto from his practice. The two of you had spent Friday evenings together for as long as you could remember, rarely ever missing them. You helped him with homework when he needed it, you two played video games or watched movies. Most of the time you ended up staying overnight because neither of you wanted to move from the comfortable couch.

He turned and waved to you, a smile plastered on his face. “(Y/N), wasn't that awesome?”

“Yes, it was,” you laugh, turning back to your homework you decided to work on while at practice (that way Bokuto could have your full attention when you got home—he needed it in school sometimes). “You got this, dude!”

You heard him cheer—he was so energetic today. Someone so positive (unless he was in one of his moods) was hard to come by. Especially someone who felt all of his emotions so strongly like he did.

The end of practice came sooner than you thought it would and you offered to help the boys clean up. They graciously accepted, per usual, so you followed Akaashi around, helping him find all the volleyballs that had rolled around the gym floor.

“Any fun plans for the weekend?” you asked, hoping to start a conversation with him. Usually, he wasn’t the type to start talking to anyone, so you wanted to break the silence.

He shrugged. “Bokuto offered to go to the movies with me tomorrow night, so there’s that. You?”

“Just the usual.”

He mumbled something, but before you could ask what it was, Bokuto came skipping over. He swung around behind Akaashi, wrapping his arms around his waist. ���What’re you two talking about?” he asked energetically, a smile plastered on his face.

“Just this weekend,” you reply, trying to match his energy. It was a little tough when Bo was (unintentionally) making you a third wheel.

“Awesome, awesome, awesome! Hey, I gotta steal Akaashi real quick, But I’ll be ready to leave in a sec, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” You turned to walk back to your bag, going to put away the book you had out. However, the boys’ conversation had you intrigued, so you walked slower and listened in.

“One time, Akaashi! Last time, I promise! I just wanna see-”

“Or you can just wait and find out.”

“Ugh, but thats boring! Please, please, please?”

“Fine, fine--you want me there?”

“Yes please!”

“Alright…”

You sighed, wondering what Bokuto was up to this time. Whatever it was, at least it was legal and safe enough that Akaashi agreed to it.

***

“(Y/N), hey, (Y/N)!” Bokuto yelled for you, running out of the club room with Akaashi in tow. You laughed as he glared at him, being dragged along by the wrist. “I have something I wanna try on you. Works on akaashi, I wanna see if you fall for it.”

“What is it?”

“You gotta trust me on this.”

You laugh. “I’m scared, is this safe?”

“Just humor him, you won’t die or anything.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine! Hold your arm out.”

You follow his directions and you do, rolling up your sleeve. He does the same.

Before you know it, there’s a painful stinging sensation on your forearm, but you realize you weren’t hit. Bokuto slapped his own arm, which was now slightly red where he hit.

“Did you have to hit so hard?” Akaashi complained with a sigh. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry--(Y/N)?”

“What the hell?” you asked, eyes wide in shock. “Did you just--”

“It worked! Oh--Akaashi it worked! I was right! Yes! Aren’t you glad you said yes!”

“We could have just asked them to the movies Saturday…”

You listened to the two of them go back and forth for a moment, staring at your arm. It didn’t hurt anymore, but a moment ago it had. But you weren’t hit. Bokuto was. How did you--

“Is this how you broke your arm when you were seven and somehow I managed to at the same time??” you exclaim, shoving his shoulder. “When did you figure this out? How did you know? What?”

“Well, I kinda had an idea a little while ago, but I wanted to try it out…” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But isn’t this awesome? You--wait, you like us, right?”

You roll your eyes, putting up your best deadpan face. “No, Bokuto Kotaro, I despise you and Akaashi with every fiber of my being.”

“Really?”

“No, stupid, I’ve liked you for months I just didn’t say anything!”

“Why not??”

“Cause I didn’t wanna ruin what you guys had!”

“If it helps, (Y/N), we both did the same thing,” Akaashi added. “So, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, do you wanna come to the movies with us?”

You not, still unbelieving that this was an actual reality. Bokuto grinned and hugged you, spinning you around in his excitement. “Bo, put me down!” you squeal, hanging onto him tightly.

He set you down and kissed your forehead. “Sorry, sorry, I got excited. But you’ll come, right??”

“Yes, I’ll come to the movies with you guys.”

“Awesome!”

“I’m glad.”

You took one of Bokuto’s hands and offered your other one to Akaashi, which he also took. So your first ‘date’ tomorrow would be interesting, but you couldn’t have been happier about it.

Hope you guys enjoyed! I love these guys so much, specifically Bokuto (but I tried to write them both aaaa I'm no good at Akaashi but I tried). If you have any reqs for me, let me know either here or my inbox on tumblr!

Drink some water and stay healthy! Sending love! <3

-𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟

#bokuto #bokuto kotaro #kotaro bokuto #akaashi #akaashi keiji #keiji akaashi #soulmate #soulmate au #sharing injuries #bokuaka #bokuto x Akaashi #bokuaka x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #gn reader #bokuto x gn reader #akaashi x gn reader #bokuaka x gn reader #//ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ #//ᴏʀɪɢɴᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ

[acnelli]

The Speech

Hermione becomes the first female Minister Of Magic, so Ron has to hold a speech about it. 

Just in case you’re wondering...I was never very interested in Pottermore or anything that got published after DH, so there might have been a female MoM before Hermione but I think this little detail is not important to enjoy the story ;-) I also don’t really see Hermione as a MoM. For me Hermione works at the Ministry, creating and pushing for laws to protect and improve the life of those oppressed and fighting for equality. But I liked the idea of a very nervous Ron talking about his wife in front of a huge crowd.

You can also find this story on FFN and AO3.

I'm so screwed.

This sentence was stuck like a mantra in his head ever since Kingsley talked him into this nonsense.

Who in his right mind would want him, Ron Weasley, to hold a speech? Sure, it was his wife that becomes the next Minister of Magic and she also will be the first female one. Which makes him the first husband to hold a speech about the new Minister.

But why couldn't they just skip this stupid tradition?

Not that he wasn't able to talk a lifetime about Hermione. But he sure wasn't ready to talk about her in front of half the Ministry, his entire family, a bunch of friends and not to forget these annoying press people.

Ron was fairly confident that he would say something stupid. He was Ron bloody Weasley after all and if anyone would describe him to a stranger this would be in his character description: Saying and doing stupid and/or inappropriate things.

Kingsley was about to end his speech and Ron knew that it will be mere seconds before he was called up to the stage.

Oh Godric, please don't make me embarrass myself in front of my children.

He thought back to this morning when his fifteen-year-old daughter made him a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

"Don't worry, Dad. You will do just fine. And please eat something." Hugo said, as he shoved a slice of toast at him. He picked his breakfast up and even took a bite, mainly to appease his son.

 Hugo stared at him, determination and worry on his face. It never failed to amaze Ron, how much his son was like Hermione, both in looks and character.

 Ron sighed and took another bite before shoving the plate away from him. "I' m sorry, buddy. Might eat this backwards if I'm having one more bite."

 He sipped his sweet tea and wondered why the hell he was such a nervous wrack. It was the Quidditch games at Hogwarts all over again.

  Ron thought he was over his insecurities, but old habits die hard, right? Looking at his two children made him feel a tiny bit lighter though. They both got his ginger hair and freckled skin with the tendency to get burned easily when out in the sun. Hugo got the warm brown eyes of his mother, Rose Ron's blue orbs. Rose sat beside Ron on the kitchen table, sipping her own tea. She was already in her dress for the ceremony, her long wild locks pinned up at the nape of her neck. She rarely touched her breakfast. Ron knew she was feeling the same anxiety he felt. Two years ago, during summer break, Hugo told Ron that Rose never eats breakfast before a Quidditch match and would sometimes spend the better part of these mornings in the bathroom. Rose was in many ways like him. She was funny, loved Quidditch, normally eats on behalf of a whole Quidditch team and had a temper similar to Ron's. Thank Godric, she got the brains of her mother.

None the less, she could easily comprehend what Ron was going through.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, please welcome Ronald Weasley.", Kingsley announced and stepped back for Ron.

He took a deep breath before he finally entered the stage and went to the podium. His family clapped excitedly in the front row, even cheering for him. He looked over to Hermione, who smiled and winked at him. Of course, the whole Weasley family joined the festivities today to celebrate with Hermione. They were all sitting in the second and third row along with his parents-in-law, who looked both proud and just the tiniest bit nervous.

For a short second he feared, that his impulsive decision from this morning. to ditch his sorry attempts of the prepared speech, was probably the worst decision of his life, but when the applause died down, he hadn't much time to panic over it. So, with a final deep breath and a look into Hermione's eyes, he started to speak.

“Th- thank you”, he said after the applause died down and tried not to flinch about the noticeable tremble in his voice.

“Well, as tradition demands, I'm expected to hold a speech about our new Minister of Magic. Speeches are not exactly my strong point and, in all honesty, I dreaded this moment ever since Kingsley asked me to hold it.” Ron threw a pointed look at the former Minister who just gave him an innocent smile.

Over the soft laughter of the audience, Ron heard a snort and quickly located the source. Harry was smirking at him and Ron supressed the urge to flip the tosser off. He hated The Daily Prophet with a passion, but for this headline he might forget about his principles for a day and actually buy this piece of garbage. Nevertheless, he decided against it, mostly because he didn’t fancy to be on the receiving end of some rather nasty hexes performed by his wife and mother.

“Some of you might be surprised to learn that I haven’t prepared this speech during todays breakfast, but for the better part of the last weeks evenings. Though certainly not perfect, I thought the outcome was quite passable. But last night I went over my words and realized that I would tell you things about Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley that all of you already know. Actually, you could have found the better part of my words on a chocolate frog card. Instead, I would rather tell you about the first day Hermione and I met.”

As Ron let his gaze wander over to his family, he saw a smiling but slightly puzzled Hermione looking at him. “The day I met Hermione was, of course, the very first day at Hogwarts. On the train ride I already met Harry Potter. You’ve probably heard about him at some point, saved the world or something like that. Anyway, in that train compartment Harry and I immediately became best friends and while we stuffed ourselves with a ton of sweets, a girl opened the door to our compartment, asking us about the lost toad of a fellow student. I was showing Harry some useless spell my dear brothers told me about, that of course, did not work. This girl though, performed an actual spell just perfect and informed us that she read every first years school book over the summer as preparation for our upcoming classes. Sure enough, she outshined everyone in every class and there wasn’t a teachers question she had no answer to. Back then and especially on that first day, I could never imagine to be friends with Hermione Granger. I thought that she’s a bossy know-it-all and on Halloween, two months after our first day at Hogwarts, she heard me calling her just that. As an eleven-year-old boy, it never seemed possible to me that Hermione could be sincerely hurt by my words. But of course, it upset her. Very much.

That being said, I’ll never regret these nasty words, because this Halloween night was the beginning of a life-long friendship between me, Hermione and Harry. If I hadn’t said that in front of her, she would have never locked herself up in the bathroom to cry and Harry and I would have never ran to this said bathroom, because a mountain troll was wandering the halls of Hogwarts and Hermione was the only one who hasn’t been warned about it. Ever since the three of us beat that troll, I could not imagine a good day without Hermione as a friend by my side. She still nagged us about doing our homework and scolding me for swearing too much and said things like ‘Ron, it’s Hermione, Harry and I’, but when I look back, the unhappiest times were when we didn’t speak to each other or when I wasn’t able to talk to her.”

He paused for a brief moment as surely the darkest time of his life came to mind, when he abandoned Harry and Hermione on the Horcrux hunt, his heart full of pure fear and hopelessness when he thought he would never see them again. Or the weeks of Hermione being petrified, as he could still see this young red headed boy talking to her in the hospital wing, desperately wanting her to tell him off for staying out after curfew.

“Hermione did and achieved a lot of great things in her life. Most of these things you might already know, like her helping to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters or her success in freeing the House Elves. Although these are amazing and exceptionally brilliant achievements, Hermione is so much more than the brightest witch of our age and a war heroine. Did you know that the beginnings of her efforts to free House Elves lay in our Hogwarts years? Back then, she started a campaign to free them and it didn’t stop her, that for a very long time, it had been a one-woman-movement. Her courage and ambition to help the defenceless and her undying sense of justice are exceptional and even more admirable, if you consider, that as a Muggleborn, Hermione had been in great danger herself, being the main target of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Regardless what she went through herself, she never stopped to look out for others, especially her family and friends. And this is what she’ll continue to do as the leader of Wizarding Britain. Hermione will fight for a better life for everyone, for all of you and for those, whose suffering is still invisible to us.

I once read an article about Hermione inheriting the title of the brightest with of our age. It said, that she sure is intelligent, but mainly book smart. If you ask me, a person, who is simply book smart could never use the knowledge in real life, right? Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Hermione’s quick thinking and brilliance at everything she does, saved Harry’s and my life more times than I care to admit. Even in the most dangerous and horrible situations she was in, her highest priority had been to keep us safe.”

I was wrong. These were the darkest hours of my life., Ron thought and Hermione’s screams echoed through his mind.

“Hermione saved me in more than one way. She taught me self-worth and confidence, which, especially as a teenager, I hadn’t much of. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She was there for me when I needed her the most. And the best thing of all: for some unbeknown reason, she loves me. And in the end, this makes me the luckiest bloke in the world.”

For the next words Ron looked only at Hermione, who gave up to hold back her tears for quite some time now. “Befriending you had been the best thing I had ever done. I heard a lot of people say that they married their best friend. Well, I certainly did. We went through so many adventures -good and bad- together and I`m happy to say, that the good ones outweigh the bad ones big time. I love you, Hermione and I`m ready for this next adventure to come our way.”

#romione #ronmione #hermione granger #ron weasley #hugo weasley #rose weasley #hugo granger-weasley #rose granger weasley #weasley family #granger weasley family #minister of magic #my fic #my fanfiction #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction

[httpbread]

I’m back with another ask: May I have a headcanon for Teru with an s/o who at first sees him as just a normal guy who gets cranky - in their perspective- when he doesn’t get enough sleep (he exorcists supernaturals every night according to the manga), so they prepare healthy meals for him, but Teru falls for them? Thank you so much! :)

Pairing: Teru x reader

unless docs is lying to me i think this is the 20th request i’ve done :00

---

- Their first meeting was not the best.

- The resident school prince was not feeling so princely at all that day

- after a long night of exorcising spirits on top of the training he had already done, two hours of homework, three hours of paperwork for the student council, and dinner (only if you squinted)

- he was feeling drained, to say the least

- so after a full day of maintaining his Prince Charming role

- and he came into the student council

- he was expecting to relax

- not the new transfer student, who he had forgotten he’d agreed to show around the council at least two weeks ago

- (Y/n) (L/n)

- and they refused to back down or reschedule

- so, yes, he was a little curt while walking them around. Showing them the basis of what they did.

- he almost wanted to shove them onto Akane and go take a nap. And their insistent questions weren’t helping his migraine either.

- they seemed to want to know about every little thing and one question always turned into ten more

- "Do you ever shut up?"

- despite his frustrations and mountain of issues

- he did NOT mean to say that out loud.

- he honestly expected them to cry. He almost wanted to cry. Maybe his own need for tears was mostly exhaustion but he did feel horrible the instant he said it.

- until he hears a weird crinkly noise

- they’re holding out a juice box to him

- "Let’s take a break."

- Teru almost faints on the spot at the words.

- the poor boy can't even remember the last time he heard the word break

- after his snapping incident, they sat on the waiting couch. He drank the juice box. Talked a little. Then continued on with the tour.

- ...

- well, that’s what he wants to say he did

- no, what really happened was:

- he drank the juice box,,

- and then immediately passed out

- however, when Akane woke him up three hours later, at the ripe time of 5 pm,,,

- he was surprised to find himself laying quite comfortably on the couch, now with a pillow and a blanket.

- "You should’ve been nicer to (L/n)-senpai. They would’ve been great to work with."

- Akane gestures to the president's desk, "Look at all the work they did. They’ve probably done more than we have in two weeks."

- just like Akane said

- his desk was suddenly a delight to look at!

- everything put in the right place, places Teru didn’t even know they belonged in

- they even organized the once towering stack of paperwork he had, listed with sticky notes by due date, listing what could wait until another day, what was what, what was most important...

- not to mention the magic they’d dusted the rest of the student council room with

- it was heaven

- The next day Teru made it his mission to hunt the transfer down.

- which was surprisingly easy.

- turns out they had almost every class together.

- even more surprisingly,

- they actually agreed to becoming his assistant, on the student council.

- at first, they don’t talk too much. Strictly business.

- Plus (L/n) always looks so focused when they get busy. He never wants to interrupt them.

- he quickly finds himself very envious of them.

- Teru usually wasn’t one for jealousy but they made things look so easy.

- from ordering their schedule, his schedule, doing their homework, filing the mountains of paperwork, you name it

- he was sure anything he threw at them they could handle with ease, they never even seemed to trip up.

- And they always look so alive despite their calm exterior. They never look stressed or agitated. Tired. They do so much and they always wear such a peaceful look.

- "Minamoto-san, I can take care of the rest of this. Why don’t you go take a nap?"

- the first time he heard them say this he thought he was going to kneel over and die any second

- why. why would they offer that

- was he dying

- why?

- "Oh- uhm. That’s not-"

- "I’m not asking, Minamoto-san."

- he found that he didn’t need to be asked Anyways. Teru was snoozing on the wait couch almost seconds later.

- he wouldn’t say it’s exactly a habit...

- but when (L/n) smiles at him and tells him to go rest...

- he just can’t say no...

- especially when it’s ALWAYS the best sleep he gets.

- sleeping during club time is a new bad habit he never thought he’d have but one he just can’t kick under the watchful eyes of (L/n)

- the longer (Y/n) works under Teru the more they learn his routines

- sarcastic? Dehydrated.

- snappy? Hungry.

- glaring? Nap time.

- it was almost like managing a two year old, except the two year old is very tall. very handsome. And also very much their boss

- (Y/n) would never tell him, they found the situation quite humorous

- everyone always fanned over the older minamoto like he was royalty. A god among mortals.

- but one look and they could read that boy like a book.

- lack of sleep (probably from too much work)

- too much piled on his plate (poor management skills)

- frequent skipping of meals (also poor management skills)

- (Y/n) has never heard of a prince who struggled so much to take care of himself

- though, they could admit he was handsome like a prince. And quite nice when he was feeling better

- normally (Y/n) was harsher with the advice they gave their friends on getting their shit together

- but...

- they’d been rather soft on Minamoto ever since they met him.

- they weren’t sure why, but something about him tugged on their heart strings.

- plus...

- it was kind of fun taking care of someone else for once

- so, it was not very long before (Y/n) started bringing him lunch

- it was around the same time they found out Teru worked in the student council room during his lunch

- they put a stop to this real quick

- working? During lunch?

- that was like the biggest no no ever!

- and Minamoto couldn’t seem to quite grasp this when they tried to explain

- so they instead turned to distracting the president with food

- they had to look into more healthy lunches to make up for the boy. Which was... interesting

- all they knew when they first started cooking for him was that he needed protein for energy...

- the more they looked into the matter, the more it made them realize just how much effort they were putting into this

- which embarrassed them

- it was nowhere near enough to stop them though

- the first lunch they gave him was scarfed down in less than five minutes (a massive boost to their ego, not that they’d ever say that)

- Teru has had a lot of cooking. And logically... he knows Kou’s good is better than (Y/n)’s

- ...

- but there’s just something about their food that he enjoys more than anything

- their homemade lunches become his new favorite pick me up

- it didn’t matter what kind of thoughts were tangling in his head. the second he saw (L/n) holding a new wrapped bento was the same second he was the happiest man on earth.

- and between the lunches, the help in delegating his work and the council, the naps...

- Teru is feeling better than ever!

- he feels refreshed and he’s happy to admit (Y/n) has helped him so much!

- "Don’t rub it in," Akane huffs, "Some of us are still single, president."

- those were the words that made him realize

- realize that (l/n) was not just an assistant to him

- or a friend

- because Akane was what a friend was like

- a jerk. rude to him. vaguely tolerable sometimes.

- that’s what he thought of the boy

- but (L/n)

- (L/n) was an angel. they were cute. kind. amazing. he wanted them by his side at all times.

- that’s what he thought of them.

- ...

- which he quickly realized was not very platonic

- but what akane said to him haunts him now

- Teru was very single

- but was (L/n)...?

- ...

- he tries to bring the question up subtly during one of their lunches together in the council room

- "Boyfriend...?"

- they smile

- "What? Are you tired of my constant doting?"

- NO

- Teru wasn’t sure he could go back to functioning the way he did before they came along

- "I guess I could find another guy to baby."

- they meet his eyes, a teasing glint in theirs

- "If that’s what you really want."

- baby?

- no, he wouldn’t say they were babying him...

- ...

- ok maybe a little

- but

- "Now that you mention it..."

- "I guess I do finally have the space in my schedule for a boyfriend."

- knowing (L/n), even if they didn’t have the time, they could easily make space in their schedule for anything...

- "Depends.”

- they don’t look too pleased with this answer, but don’t mention it

- He leans forward to brush their hair out of their face, smiling

- "Do you think I have room in my schedule for you?"

- they smile back at him

- then swat his hand away

- "no. you don’t have room for anything."

- "Sure I do. I have the perfect place for you.”

- he opens his arms up to them, despite the heat fighting to cloud his face

- ...

- 5 minutes later their council room lunch time turned into council room nap time (snuggling included), something that would become a very common occurrence in their newfound relationship

#teru x reader #teru minamoto x reader #jshk #jshk x reader #tbhk x reader #tbhk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun x reader #toilet bound hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun x reader #headcanons

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Probably crack and a result of staying up way too late, but how do you think an AU where Peter dated and married Naomi instead of Nora would go?

This officially goes on the list of “ships I never considered before, but now that you say it I can kinda see it.”  Peter’s clearly got a competency kink, between Eva and Nora.  Naomi deserves better than Dan.  They’re both overworked single parents who try to do what’s best for their kids, and don’t always succeed.  Peter’s good at the nurturing and hug-giving and supportive side of things, not so much at the day-to-day practicalities.  Naomi’s excellent at making sure everyone is fed and sheltered and keeping up in school, not so much at the touchy-feely stuff.  Yeah, I can see it.

Anyway:

They meet through the PTA, naturally.  Naomi’s there to stage a formal protest about the high school’s suspension of late-bus service, and Peter’s there because this is the once-a-month night out of the house that Marco keeps scheduling for him.  Naomi makes a sarcastic comment about the U.S. government’s idea of “sufficient funding”, Peter jumps in with a one-liner about science grants, and four hours later they’re still companionably trashing the NSF over their third round of bake sale brownies.  Peter makes the first move, of course.  Naomi sets the time, the venue, the curfew, the transportation, and the expectations for the night, of course.

Jake thinks this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to him in his entire life.  The more both Marco and Rachel call him to complain about their respective parents, the funnier he finds it to be.

Both Naomi and Peter are pleasantly surprised at how well their kids get along.  They were both vaguely aware that Marco and Rachel knew each other through school, but neither one is prepared for the instantaneous companionable banter the teenagers fall into the moment Peter first brings Marco over to meet Naomi.

The first four or five times Marco comes around Rachel’s house for dinner, Jordan hides under her hair and watches him in enraptured silence.  After about two months’ worth of this, Rachel drags Marco aside after an Animorphs meeting and has a stern conversation with him.

Neither of them will tell the others what they talk about, even though Ax expresses concern at the brilliant red shade both their faces have taken on and Cassie gives them a knowing smile.  Technically Tobias overhears the whole thing — the others tend to get so caught up in hawk eyes that they forget all about hawk ears — but he’s nice enough to keep his silence.

The next time Marco’s over at Rachel’s house, he lets out a seven-second belch after downing an entire can of Mountain Dew in one go.  Over the next ten minutes, he insults Jordan’s favorite boy band, picks his nose in front of everyone, claims he’s going to die alone because girls are gross, and (to Rachel’s quiet shock) too-casually acknowledges his raging crush on Brad Pitt.

Anyway, it works like a charm.  Jordan gets over her crush pretty quick after that.

“You didn’t have to go quite that hard in the paint, you know,” Rachel says to Marco much later.  “Pretending to like Brad Pitt, I mean.”

Marco is lying on her bed, looking through one of her back issues of CosmoGirl with the air of a forensic anthropologist picking apart the dismembered remains of a human sacrifice.  “What?” he says, back in that too-casual tone.  “I can appreciate a good pair of lips, no matter what type of human being they grow upon.”

Rachel spins around, looking away from the mirror where she was fixing her hair.  Marco is now staring at the magazine as if trying to detect a coded message between two lines of the spread comparing different brands of eyeliner.

“No matter what type?” she asks.

Marco lifts his chin.  He doesn’t back down, and he doesn’t laugh.  There’s a defiant set to his smirk, and the careful confidence in his expression is betrayed by the slight trembling of his fingers clenched around the Cosmo.

Their parents are engaged, that’s all.  And it’s not something he’s ever told anyone... but he also thinks it’s maybe the sort of thing that one tells one’s siblings.

“So you do agree with me and Cassie about Jeremy Jason McCole!” Rachel says triumphantly.

Marco gags so hard he risks straining his own throat muscles.  “I have taste!  You, clearly, have none.”

If Jordan still has any romantic interest in Marco at all even after the you’re going to be step-siblings news broke, it disappears the instant that Naomi announces Jordan and Sara are going to be sharing a room from now on, because Marco and Peter are moving in with them.  A week later, Jake’s mother has a stern conversation with him about the extent to which he’s been running up their phone bill.  He grumbles that he didn’t ask to be everyone’s agony aunt, but that doesn’t get him out of being grounded.

Marco teases Rachel endlessly when he figures out why she leaves her window open every night, even — especially — when it’s cold or rainy outside.  But he also helps cover for her and Tobias without being asked, and one night in gorilla morph he deforms the oak tree out in the back yard so that a sheltered branch rests directly underneath her windowsill.

Rachel stops in the door of Marco’s room the day after the confrontation with Visser One outside the fake hork-bajir valley.  She doesn’t bother to knock.  He didn’t bother to shut the door.

Marco’s sitting in the narrow space between his bed and the wall, staring at the blank blue paint in front of his face.  His knees are drawn up to his chest, his hands limp at his sides.

“They didn’t find a body,” Rachel says, blunt as ever, standing over him.  “I know that’s not good news or anything.  But I also figured you had a right to know.  There’s no sign of Vis—  Of her body.”

Marco squeezes his eyes shut, hard, but still can’t stop the tears.  “Shit.”  He lets his head fall back against the bedspread.  “Shit.”

Hesitating only a second, Rachel scoots in next to him.  She doesn’t try for a hug or anything stupid like that, but she sits shoulder-to-shoulder with him.  She’s the kind of person given to stillness, but she stays put as he struggles to breathe and swipes his sleeve across his face time and time again.

“It’s never going to end, is it,” Marco says at last, when he’s got enough air for words.

Rachel shrugs.  “I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“Shit,” he whispers again.  “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You wanna play Sega?” she asks.  “Not think for a while?”

Marco shakes his head violently.  “I just need some space, okay?”

“Sure.”  She stands.  “I’ll tell my mom not to expect you for dinner.”

Their parents are downstairs cooking.  Laughing.  Arguing companionably over one of Naomi’s cases.  Every clink of dishes, every fond word, feels like a spike driven under Rachel’s fingernails right now.  And if that’s how she feels...

“Anyway, I know you think I’m a crazy psycho killer, but for what it’s worth I think you made the right call.”  She says it sharply, standing to go.  Marco doesn’t respond, not that she expected him to, and she yanks his door shut when she goes.

Peter doesn’t try to be Rachel’s dad.  But he helps her with homework and shows up to her gymnastics meets and acts more excited than she is when she aces a history test.  He asks her what she wants to study in college, not whether she’s going or how they’re expected to pay for it.  He doesn’t try, and he does pretty well anyway.

The Animorphs meet in Rachel’s room almost as often as they do in Cassie’s barn.  It’s more centrally located, even if it doesn’t have nearly the selection of morphs right at hand.  Jake and Cassie both have preexisting excuses for showing up several times a week, and Tobias and Ax never bother using the front door anyway.  Marco’s also taken the time to confirm that no one in the house is a controller, so it saves everyone a little peace of mind.

Rachel wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.  No, that’s not it; she’s screaming in her sleep, and then Marco snaps the light on and wakes her.  He sets a glass of water on her nightstand.  Tilts the alarm clock so she can see the time.  Pokes her in the arm to remind her that she’s human, at least for now.  When it becomes obvious that she’s not going to talk about it, he turns and leaves without ever saying a word.

“I need you,” Marco says into the phone, middle of the night, apparently apropos of nothing.  “They took my dad.”  He gives the address, and then he hangs up.

He and Rachel have come to a decision, without discussion, without niceties like consulting Jake, by the time they’re done fighting off the half-dozen controllers who were dragging Peter toward the portable yeerk pool.  Rachel demorphs as Peter watches.  Marco goes through the explanation the first time, then the second.

Midway through the third round of attempts to convince Peter he’s not crazy, Rachel gives up.  She herds both Peter and Marco into the backseat, and drives back to the house.  “Pack for a long trip,” she tells them both, and goes upstairs to tell her mom.

Maybe, Jake concludes, exhausted just at the thought, they could’ve kept going if it was just his parents, or just Cassie’s.  But Rachel and Marco can’t both disappear without rousing too much suspicion, and getting rid of just one of them will put the yeerks on the tail of the other.  “I guess it’s time,” he says.  “Better get ready to tell our own parents, then.”

By the end of that day, Rachel’s and Marco’s blended family is in the hork-bajir valley.  By the time two days have passed, Jake’s and Cassie’s families are there too, even if Tom is currently secured with about a half-mile of duct tape and will need to be babysat by several hork-bajir for the next three days.  A week after that, Tobias shows up with Loren in tow.  One hellish mission later, and Visser One is dead, but her host is rapidly recovering.

Naomi and Eva circle each other like a pair of housecats thrust into the same room, at first.  They’re prim and aloof and wary, unable to know what to make of each other.  Peter helps exactly nothing by retreating from the conflict entirely, busying himself with an elaborate irrigation project the hork-bajir don’t actually need his help with.  But he can’t escape them forever.

One night, all three of them get roaring drunk on some kind of regrettable fermented-bark thing, and finally have it out.  Peter makes a passionate speech or two about his love for them both before retreating into morose silence.  Naomi’s sixth drink ends in her making an elaborate attempt to draw up a timeshare contract over who will keep Peter on which night.

Eva slams a hand down on the table, and they both fall silent.  She won’t share, she announces quietly, and she won’t be with a man who cannot choose.  She’ll find her own way.

Her own way, as it turns out, is even worse than Marco could have possibly imagined.

“Why?” Marco cries, flopping on the ground in the middle of the next Animorphs’ meeting.  “Why, why, why does this keep happening to me?”

“Pretty sure we’ve been over this before, back when it was your dad, and concluded it’s not about you,” Jake says.  “Anyway, the yeerks —”

“No!”  Marco sits up.  “We have more important things to talk about than yeerks.  Tobias, back me up on this!”

«Uh, yeah.»  Tobias looks over at Rachel.  «By the way, all those times you talked about how weird it was when your mom started dating again... Sorry for not being more sympathetic.  Now that I’m in your shoes...  It’s really weird.»

Rachel sniffs.  “You only met your mom like a month ago.  It’s still worse for me.”

“And it’s worst of all for me!”  Marco has flopped back over.  He emits a noise something like a wookiee being murdered.  “Please someone acknowledge that it’s worst of all for me!”

Cassie pats him on the back of the head.  “It’s worst of all for you,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says into the grass.

“Okay!”  Jake throws up his hands.  “Marco’s mom and Tobias’s mom have a thing going.  Now do we have it out of our systems?”

«Personally, I think Loren and Eva are most compatible,» Ax says.

«Nobody asked you,» Tobias snarks.  «And Jake, just imagine for a second if it was your mom who was macking on—»

“Nope!” Rachel says loudly.  “Nobody is thinking about anyone’s mom and anyone else’s mom.  Or dad.  We are ignoring it, we are pretending it’s not happening, we are carrying on as Marco and I have been for over a year now, we are killing yeerks.”

“Yeah, like I was saying.”  Jake rolls his eyes.  “There are aliens invading the planet, remember?”

“The horror,” Marco mumbles, still facedown in the grass.  “The horror!”

Cassie gives him another sympathetic pat on the back of the head.

#animorphs #animorphs au #long post #aus #naomi berenson #peter animorphs #rachel berenson #marco animorphs #sorry this is mostly not crack #anonymous #asks

[shimmershaewrites]

A Matching Set (Caryl Post Season 10 One Shot + Grimes babies + Lydia and some Aaron).

Just a little tooth-rotting fluff I found on my hard drive half finished.  Kinda, sorta Christmas fic but not.  Read it.  You’ll see.  Sorry not sorry.  

“Play lots of Tetris as a kid?”  

 The mountain man beard does precious little to hide Aaron’s brief grin as he waits for Daryl to add more to that blurted, out of the blue question.  

 Daryl doesn’t blame him.  They ain’t talked a lick since they set off beyond Alexandria’s gates with a wobbly ass wheelbarrow and an ax in dire need of sharpening.  Once or twice, Aaron’s hummed a few notes of a couple vaguely familiar Christmas tunes, but other than that?  Radio silence.  Surprise or not, however, he figures the question’s pretty on point.  Especially considering their current means of passing the dwindling daylight hours.  “So.  Did ya?” he asks again, blue eyes averted and squinting as they search out any signs of potential danger, human or otherwise. Nothing’s there.  Hasn’t been since they took the head of the last Whisperer snake, but old habits?  They die hard.  And if they’ve kept his heart beating this long, he’s not looking to abandon them. ‘Sides.  If there were anything out there, he has no doubts Dog would be the first to alert them.  Provided, of course, he wakes his lazy ass up in time.      

 Rising and carefully slotting the last piece of tinder into place atop their firewood pyramid, Aaron lets his own eyes flit over the gray horizon.  “See anything?”  Soon as Daryl shakes his head, he allows his shoulders to relax.  Then he laughs to himself quietly.  “As a matter of fact, I did play.  You?”  

 Breath whining past his chapped lips, Daryl doesn’t respond.  He’s too focused on heaving the wheelbarrow out of the mud that’s caked around its wheels, his boots, even the abandoned ax.  Loaded down as it is, shit’s definitely heavier than it looks, and he gives up, at least momentarily.  “That the last of it?”  

 Aaron nods, bending to reclaim the ax.  “That’s the last of it.”  Daryl’s muttered thank fuck has his eyes crinkling in a way they haven’t in ages, at least not in the presence of anybody but Gracie.  “Need a little help?”  

 It takes the both of them working together to get the wheelbarrow out of the rut and bumping along the path home.  They’ve been walking a while, Dog trotting on ahead, before Daryl picks the dangling thread of conversation back up.  “Played,” he admits.  “Hell else was detention good for?”  

 “Homework,” Aaron quips.  

 “Pfft.  Bet your ass was the permanent hall monitor.”

 “You’re looking at a Hall of Famer.”  

 Daryl simply smirks.  

 “Ah, the Daryl Dixon approximation of a belly laugh.  I’m breathing rarified air.”  When his teasing is merely taken in stride, his steps start to slow and he regards Daryl with something akin to wonder.  Dog even turns back to stare.  

 Feeling his friend’s eyes boring a hole in him, Daryl mutters, “Hell you staring at? Wanna trade places?”  

 Aaron takes but a second to consider the offer.  “I think I’ll pass.”  

 “No shit. Figured you’d say…”  

 “Carol prefers you.”  

    ---

 The sky’s bleached of any color by the time Daryl’s finally headed home.  The streets of Alexandria empty.  

 No wonder because there’s a storm blowing in.  First one in what promises to be a long winter season.  At least according to their self-appointed weather man Eugene.

 Personally? Daryl thinks it’s all some grade A bullshit.  Pouring over half a dozen dusty old Farmers’ Almanacs like they hold the answers. Plotting random patterns and pieces of data on time-yellowed paper in chicken scratch that would have put Merle’s own to shame.  He doesn’t need or believe any of it because he can feel it in his aging bones like some kind of wizened old wizard.  Course, it doesn’t take much these days to make old hurts echo.  And the cold he’s feeling now?  It chills his blood.  Makes him ache and wish to high hell he’d worn the ridiculous hat Carol had tried to shove down over his ears this afternoon before he and Aaron had left out. Embarrassing piece of yarn might have come in handy filtering out the hollow, haunted whistle of the wind, but damn if he was going to sacrifice his dignity like that.  Wearing a whole-ass pom-pom on top of his head.  A rainbow one at that.  Nah.  Weren’t all that long a walk from Aaron’s.  “Almost there,” he reminds himself.  “Almost.”      

 Dog’s got a little extra giddy-up in his step as he trots ahead.  

 The mutt looks back and whines as if to tell Daryl hurry and Daryl can’t help but huff something resembling a laugh as he reshuffles the load of firewood stacked clear to his chin to get a better grip.  His breath fogs in front of him like thick, odorless cigarette smoke and shit.  His fingers might be halfway numb, but they twitch reflexively for the vice he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in months.  Shaking his head, he includes Dog when he grumbles.  “Getting soft.”  

 Dog hangs back and stares him down as if to say speak for yourself.  

 “Ain’t the only one,” Daryl generously allows when a particularly biting gust of wind swirls around them both.  It lifts his hair from his forehead and makes his eyes sting.  Has him hunching his shoulders clear to his ears as if that’d do him any good, and he finds himself hurrying just as much as the little fucker that finally abandons him, home within his sights.  “Ain’t the only one.”  

    He sheds his muddy boots just inside the kitchen door and tries to make a grab for Dog before he runs off, he really does, but the damn animal’s too squirrely.  Too excited to see his kids.  To see his girl.  Daryl can relate.  

 “Ten minutes later and we were going to send out a search party.”  

 The soft lilt of her voice brings a smile to his mouth before he’s even seen her.  “Promised I’d be back.”  All the leftover tension from the trek back through the woods melts away beneath her gentle touch and he leans his head back against her chest with a sigh.  

 “I know that,” she murmurs fondly.  “Judith knows that.  RJ too.”

 “Lydia?”

 “She worries. It’s sweet.”  

 What’s even sweeter is the feel of her hands in his hair, her nails tickling his scalp, and the smile he feels curve against his cheek before her lips leave a kiss there. “C’mere.”  

 She’s straddling his lap, arms hooked around his shoulders, and nose nestled against his own before he can ask her twice.  

 Daryl cups her head and coaxes her closer, her hair slipping like silk between his fingers. He kisses her until they both sigh.

 “Miss me, Mr. Crossbow?”

 Her smile fills his heart and works a lump into his throat.  “Always.  Know that.”

 She traces the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, and pouts. “Your ears are cold.”  

 “Should have worn the fucking hat.”  

 “I’m not one to say I told you so, but…”  

 “Pfft.”  

 “You really should have worn the fucking hat.  I mean, look at me.  Really look at me.  This isn’t the time or place for vanity,” she teases.    

 “That’s the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.”  She giggles like a girl.  Like Judith. Like Lydia when she doesn’t think anybody’s watching.  And he’ll tell her a thousand times the sweater is ugly just to hear that sound again, even though she’s still the prettiest thing he ever did see.  “The ugliest damn sweater.”  

 “The ugliest.  I left yours upstairs at the foot of the bed.”  

 “Carol.”  

 “They’re a matching set.”  

   ---

 The logs are crackling in the fireplace when he comes back downstairs and joins them.  

 RJ and Judith have their heads together nearby, talking in whispers and giggles.  Both of them seemingly transfixed by the orange sparks that float and flicker like fireflies against a midnight sky.  

 Lydia’s got a book and Dog in her lap and a blanket tucked around her toes.  A soft, hesitant smile plays upon her lips when she spies him, and she’s quick to bury her nose back in her book before it can visibly stretch from ear to ear.  

 “Stahp,” he gives a preemptive grumble when Carol glances up from mending his raggedy ass pants and her sassy mouth starts to twitch.  “Woman,” he warns with an accusatory finger when the first laugh sputters free. “If I didn’t know better…”  

 “Is Aunt Carol in trouble?” RJ asks his big sister.  

 Judith’s smile is soft and knowing even at her tender age.  “Not really.”  

 “They gonna kiss again?”

 Lydia does the answering this time.  “Probably.”

 “Did the Brave Man kiss Mama all the time too?”  

 “He did,” Judith answers wistfully.  

 “Why?”  

 “It’s what two people that love each other do.”  

 The dancing twinkle in Carol’s blue eyes softens into something else altogether, something that although it makes Daryl’s cheeks flush pink in the glimmering firelight, he brings her hand to his mouth and presses the imprint of his smile to her palm.  “Hear that?”  

 “Ain’t telling me nothing I don’t know, Sweetheart.  Now ‘bout this ugly ass sweater…”  

 “Nobody else could pull it off as well as you do, Pookie.  Nobody.”  

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol Peletier #Daryl Dixon #stuff that I write #Aaron #Grimes babies #Lydia #mentions of Michonne #Rick Grimes #fluff #some adult language

[devil-baker]

Ladies event: Beelzebub

(Everyone say thank you to @boxbusiness for such awesome lady designs!)

It arrived unexpectedly. Crept up on Elaine in the middle of the day, weeding its way into the back of her mind.

‘Why am I here?’ The thought came out of seemingly nowhere. Of course, it had a logical enough answer, but the question persisted in her head until it morphed into ‘Why me?’

Then it was like a downpour. A few drops at first before the buckets began to splash down. Thoroughly soaking everything, beginning to flood, even.

At the end of the school day, Elaine stared down as she made her way back to the House of Lamentation. Her thoughts were becoming a maelstrom, a dark, tar-like maelstrom that was beginning to suffocate her.

‘I’m pathetic. Why am I still alive? What is my worth? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I’ll live, then I’ll die, and everyone I knew, even the immortal ones, will forget about me. Everything shall be forgotten eventually, not just me. So why do I try? Why am I that eager to please? Why do I do this? I know it will just be a matter of time before I screw up something. I really am selfish, aren’t I. Thinking I’m actually special, when there are folks who are actually making impacts and meanwhile I’m here with nothing but my damn genetics to vouch for me, and even then, that’s just riding along on someone else’s reputation.’

Elaine put on a plastic smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she was greeted by Beel, munching away on her after-school snack mountain composed of 17 servings of scrambled platypus eggs, 28 grilled harpy breasts, 20 bowls of pasta salad, 21 Devil cheese sandwiches, and rice.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks,” Elaine chuckled. “Just tired. And I’ve got a ton of homework to do tonight. I’m off to take a nap, ‘kay?”

As soon as she was out of Beel’s line of sight, Elaine’s smile dropped and she felt as though she may fall over. Upon reaching her room and closing the door, she let out a tremulous sigh and rubbed at her face. She didn’t have the energy to take a shower, but then again, Elaine wasn’t all that terribly in need of one. So she opted instead to give her face a quick wash, peel off her uniform and swap it for her fleece pajamas, and crawl into bed.

It seemed to take hours before Elaine fell asleep. In fact, she didn’t realize that she had fallen asleep until a knock at her door awoke her with a start. She sat up.

“Uh, come in,” she called.

The door swung open and Beel poked her head in.

“Elaine? How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m fine.”

“I woke you, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, really. What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Beel slipped into the room and closed the door softly behind her. “... Is something the matter?”

Beel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she shuffled over to Elaine’s bed and sat herself down at the foot.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. You keep saying you’re fine, but I can tell you’re not. You look… unbelievably tired. Spent? Actually, both of those terms seem too mild for what I’m sensing from you.” Beel seemed to gnaw momentarily at the inside of her cheek. “Sorry if this is kinda personal, but have you been taking those human world pills of yours?”

“You mean the prozac? The little white capsules?”

“Yeah, the ones that look like mints.”

“Yes, I’ve been takin’ ‘em every day as prescribed, but…” Elaine laid back and rubbed at her face. “I dunno… I just get days where I… it’s hard to describe, but I don’t… I can’t shake this sense that I don’t deserve a life like this, if at all. I’m no prodigy, I’m not exceedingly intelligent nor pretty. In the human world, I just went along with whatever people thought best for me because I myself had no clue what I wanted. Even…” she gave a humorless bark of a laugh.

“Even when I was with Leon, the things he did to try to ‘help’ me, he… I genuinely thought at times that his methods were supportive. Lookin’ back, it’s just even more proof that I was more naive than I could’ve ever imagined. I probably still am in some ways. And now… now all I have goin’ for me is my heritage. That’s likely the whole reason I can do magic at all. Of the 8 or somethin’ billion people in the world, why did I end up with this… this role or whatever y’all call it. Genetics is a flip of the coin, I’m well aware, but… how did I pull this straw when I never even had a say in the matter? And I keep wonderin’ all this and more because I hardly think I’ll ever be able to live up to everyone’s expectations… I doubt I was ever fit to even attempt to fulfill this… this image that everyone seems to expect and want from me, but I know it would just be a further disappointment if I were to completely reject it. Because really, I’m… I’m nothing. I’m not special and… and in all honesty, I didn’t… I didn’t think I’d live to this age, so planning for the future isn’t… it’s not… I can’t...” At this point, Elaine could no longer formulate more words. She opened her eyes.

Beel’s lips were pursed as she stared at Elaine, her brow scrunched and her eyes glassy. Her nose and her cheeks were flushing rosy pink. She leaned forward and enveloped Elaine in an all-consuming hug. Not a word spoken, only silent understanding as she held Elaine close.

“Never…”

“What?”

Beel drew away and wiped at her eyes. “I… I never want you to hide it if you feel like this. All these thoughts you have about your purpose, these perceptions of others and anxieties... I can barely imagine what it must be like.” She was quiet, then got off the bed and beckoned. “I don’t have any permanent solutions, but I have something in mind.”

The something that Beel had in mind turned out to be hot chocolate. Well, Vicious Vanilla Hot Hellfire Chocolate, as Beel called it. As Beel heated the milk and stirred counter-clockwise, the kitchen began to smell wonderfully comforting. Beel leaned over the pot and Elaine saw her lips moving. Was she doing an incantation?

“What were you whispering just now?”

“Oh, uh…” Beel’s cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment. “I was talking to myself. It smells sooo good and I wanted to drink it... but I was telling myself not to.”

“Aw,” Elaine chuckled softly. “You don’t have to hold back if you want it that bad.”

“No. It’s for you, so I will control myself.” Her stomach was clearly not in agreement, for it growled loudly just then.

“I’ll just have one mug and you can have the remainder in the pot.”

Relief flashed across Beel’s expression. “Thank you.”

The hot cocoa in the pot was a creamy beige now, with flecks of red here and there. Some sort of spice, Elaine deduced. Cinnamon. Or maybe cayenne.

Elaine absently wrapped her arms around Beel’s midriff. She, in turn, placed a comforting hand on Elaine’s back.

“You’re so sweet, Beel,” Elaine mused. “What would we do without you?”

“The grocery bill would be a tiny fraction of what it is now… and all of you would have a lot more to eat.”

Elaine wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feign disagreement. She chose to remain silent.

But what would they do without Beel? she wondered. Such a sweet presence in the house would undoubtedly be missed. Because Beel was the one who listened without judgement. The one who thought of her family before herself. It seemed as though the only thing that went on in her head was imagining her next meal. Though Elaine knew now, from several months of residence, that this was not the case, that there was more transpiring in Beel’s head than immediately noticeable.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #elaine delaplace #obey me beelzebub #depression tw

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 2) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 7,000-ish

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Emma. You KNOW why.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net

Wren wasn’t sure who was right, if it was Simon or the cards or her gut feeling about this year: all she knew for sure was that NEWT classes, and not the Triwizard Tournament, would be the death of her.

The last part was a bit of a disappointment, not so much that she wanted to die in a blaze of glory, but she would have at least liked the chance. Sadly, her June birthday saw to the fact that she would be a supporter and not a competitor.

Her small silver lining (more dull grey than a true silver) was that it was one less thing to worry about on top of her classes. McGonagall’s warning when passing over her time table that this year would have a “demanding workload” was apparently code for “grueling affair with death itself.”

Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed fixated on killing her through the traditional means of excessive school work, but the rest seemed to approach her death in a more “hands on” manner.

Herbology seemed intent on strangulation as Professor Sprout has decided to begin with snargaluffs and venomous tentacula. Dodging the slippery and spiky spines soon became second nature.

Hagrid has decided to introduce them to, if not venomous, exceedingly dangerous animals. Currently the class was in the process of telling jokes to Fwoopers as an alternative method to the silencing charm. Leave it to Hagrid to find out that they just click their beak when laughing. Of course, the untraditional method had already put Kenneth Towler and Amina Qureshi into the hospital wing to treat their minor insanity. But, all things considered it was a nice reprieve.

For its part, Potions had started off the year with poisons and their antidotes, which while extremely fascinating was somewhat nerve racking. Wren was fairly certain that at some point Snape would attempt to poison her as the lone Gryffindor in NEWT level potions. That minor fear, in addition to her particular love for the magic, drove her to devoting most of her studying hours to the class.

Which seemed to come in handy now as Snape began to pass out his unannounced quiz to the class. To Wren's surprise and mild relief, it was not a practical quiz but instead a written one. She assumed this was in an attempt to catch out students with trick questions which could otherwise be avoided as long as their potions worked.

In fact, as Wren reached question four, she was sure of it:

I am called in to the Hospital Wing once again because a careless Herbology student has failed to properly cork the juice of a Venomous Tentacula and has gotten some on their skin. What condition do I find him in, and how will I cure it?

She remembered this one as it had been a precaution Professor Sprout had failed to give them. She had simply instructed them not to let any get on their skin, and it was only in potions that Snape had revealed why. It had been more of a side comment in his lecture antidotes for the plant's other means of attack: bite, spike, and venom.

The student will be a bright shade of purple, and depending on how much juice he has come in contact with, complain of a faint burning sensation. The student should also feel quite embarrassed about their negligence. No antidote is truly needed except time which will hopefully make them more careful. Should you choose to cure them, however, the quickest effective cure would be a tincture of  muddled fluxweed, shredded boomslang skin, and leech juice. The student will be extremely pale instead for a few days, but it might be preferable to the purple colour.

Wren reread her answer and felt that all loopholes were closed before she moved on to the next question.

A student suddenly collapses in the middle of class during last hour and slowly turns to stone. She has come into contact with no plants or creatures and eaten and drank of nothing since lunch. What were they poisoned with and what is the antidote?

Wren twirled her quill in her hands. Come into contact with nothing but suddenly turned into stone. They could have seen a basilisk? No, that only petrified people, it didn't turn them into stone. Could they have a Gorgon run into their class? Unlikely unless the student was in the Grecian Isles. And that was a sudden turning. This student slowly turned into stone.

It hit her, thinking of islands. Naghinbato Brew.

The student was likely dosed with Naghinbato Brew during their lunch. This poison is undetectable aside from its slight tang and it takes approximately four hours to begin affecting the person poisoned. If the student was lucky enough to fall over with her mouth open, a Wiggenweld potion with some Mandrake roots brewed in after the salamander's blood would reverse the effects. If not, an Adarna must be brought in to sing the student awake.

The remainder of the questions proved to be more and more tricky so that by the end Wren hoped for nothing but essays and practical exams for the rest of the year. The wording of each question proved difficult to navigate and at the end as she packed up her bag to leave for Defense Against the Dark Arts, she found herself casting a look at Snape who had begun to grade the quizzes and looked very much like he had just smelled something unpleasant.

Wren turned and headed out the door, eager to put the past hour behind her.

"Hey, Wren." Quick footsteps caught up to her as Cedric appeared to her left. As the only Hufflepuff in Potions, the pair had taken to sitting together as the sole representatives of their respective houses. Wren had to admit, she hadn't expected to see him on the first day of class. Nora had always claimed he was brilliant, but it had never quite shown through in any of the classes they had together. "How do you think it went?" Cedric asked, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

Wren shook her head. "I don't know. Has he even taught us any antidotes involving the dirt of a child's grave? Or was that just a veiled threat?"

Cedric chuckled. "They use it against Amnetias."

"Of course," Wren moaned.

"What combination of poisons did you list as the components for that last one. I got Angel's Trumpet Draught but what caused the vertigo?

"I said Syrup of Hellebore."

Cedric winced. "Missed that one."

"Your antidote could still work," Wren shrugged, making her way up the stairs as Cedric walked behind her. The two of them pressed close to the walls as a flood of nervous looking Hufflepuff first-years descended down the stairs. Poor kids.

"Not likely," Cedric said. "I used a creature-based remedy for the vertigo."

"Ah well," Wren sighed. "At least we'll all get D's together." Cedric laughed at this and they continued the rest of the way up. The two exited the stairwell, heading towards the classroom that had been the talk of the school recently.

Quite frankly, Dumbledore should have hired an ex-Auror much sooner. Professor Lupin had been good--loads better than Lockhart or Quirrell, or Merlin-forbid, the ghoulish woman Wren had her first year--but Moody, he had lived this. His very first lesson for all of the students 4th through 6th year had been showing the Unforgiveable Curses. Today they were supposed to be practicing resisting the Imperius Curse. This was real education.

Wren entered the classroom, peeling off from Cedric who walked over towards where Nora was sitting with their other Hufflepuff friends. Instead Wren sat at the desk across the aisle from her dorm mates-- Angelina and Alicia.

It was pitiful how quickly Wren had given into the Imperius Curse.

Unsurprisingly, Fred Weasley had been the longest hold out, beating George by a full twenty seconds. Wren suspected it had something to do with their natural inclination to ignore any given directive, but Lee Jordan hadn't done as well as Angelina, and she was by far the most rule-abiding in their friend group.

Wren spent a good portion of the rest of her week practising fortifying herself against being Imperiused so as not to embarrass herself the next lesson.

Her timing wasn't much better.

She largely chalked this up to mental exhaustion after the previous afternoon's brutal double Potions lesson. Snape had clearly been seeking retribution for the class's quiz scores. While Wren had managed to earn an E on hers, it seemed the rest of the class had not been so careful reading the questions if Snape's rant about their inattention to the finer details and nuances of potion making was any indication.

So, after that lesson on Wednesday, being Imperiused on Thursday, and failing to to transfigure her raccoon on Friday, Wren felt completely spent and ill prepared for the mountain of homework awaiting her this weekend.

"I'm not going to survive NEWT classes," Wren griped, laying her head down on her arm and giving her eyes a rest from her Charms textbook, instead gazing at a sideways Simon who looked up at her from across the table.

"You're not going to die," he shook his head, returning his eyes to his parchment. "Nora didn't read it in your cards."

Wren rolled her eyes at the sarcastic joke and propped her head back up on her palm. She might have been more annoyed at the lack of sympathy if it weren't for the fact that she brought up how busy and stressed she was each time he saw her. It was a miracle he put up with her, really. She doubted anyone else would.

"You're right," she agreed. "But, a study break couldn't hurt. We've got ten minutes 'til dinner. Plenty of time to pack up and go to our corner..." She dropped her hand and leaned towards him. Simon looked up from his work again, this time giving her a small smile as he came forward and kissed her gently and far, far too briefly. He sat back into his chair, leaving Wren hovering over the center of the table.

"I wish we could," he sighed, picking up his quill. "Truly." His eyes raked down her face to the opening of her blouse. Wren's face heated up, and she returned to her chair. "But I have to get this done. My weekend's packed as is, and they rescheduled Wizard's Chess Club to tonight so I already have less time than usual."

Wren pouted "I know," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just miss you is all. I haven't seen you all week."

It hadn't been that either of them was avoiding the other--this year it just seemed like their time tables filled up too quickly with barely enough room to squeeze in each other. Each of their classes seemed to meet at opposite times so they never had a free period together. Time after dinner was largely devoted to clubs, homework, studying, and prefect duties with the weekends looking largely the same with the addition of Simon's commitments to his Ravenclaw friends and tutoring of younger students. The only small bit of time they had together during the week was the hour right before dinner on Fridays.

"Wren," Simon said, his voice taking on a slight edge. "I'm doing my best, ok?"

Wren's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. She hadn't meant to insinuate that he wasn't. She wanted to whine about how Hogwarts seemed to be plotting against them, not whine about him.

"It's my seventh year. I sit NEWTs in June. If you think professors are giving you too much, just wait 'til next year. It's all I can do to keep my head above the water. Between that and my duties," he paused, running a hand through his hair and breaking off the sentence. "When we meet to study, all I can do is study. I want to spend time with you, but I can't afford to just muck about this year."

Wren nodded, sinking back into her chair. She needed to stop complaining. She needed to make the most of their time together. She needed to remember the lessons she had learned from her parents' own marriage dynamic of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. That the Ravenclaw would always focus on the goals and achievements, but couldn't function without the Gryffindor by their side. He did need her. He did want her. She had to just get over this.

This wasn't last year.

For the remainder of their time together, the pair worked in silence. Or, at least, Simon worked. Wren re-read the same paragraph out of her textbook three different times. The silence continued even as they packed up to go to dinner and most of the way down the corridor.

Suddenly Simon tugged Wren by the arm to the side of the hall, the movement leading her to gasp in surprise. He stood before her for a second, looking down at his shoes. "I'm sorry," he apologized, dropping his hand from her arm to hold her hand. "I'm just stressed."

Wren nodded quietly, her eyes also on his navy blue and white wing tips.

"I already hate how little we get to see each other, and when you brought it up--it felt like you were trying to make me feel guilty. And it worked."

"I wasn't trying," Wren said, smally. "I was being honest."

Simon tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up so he could press another kiss to her lips. This one was far harder than the one in the library, and soon his hands moved to her waist and behind her neck, pulling her against him. Wren's brain had just caught up with the moment, allowing her to tug at the front of his robes when he broke away and leaned his forehead against hers. Tingles still raced to her nerve endings as her body buzzed from the kiss. Simon's kisses always seemed to linger--or perhaps, echo was the right word. The sweetness of the library had lasted longer than the kiss, and the dizziness of this kiss…

"We'll figure it out, ok?" Simon asked. "It's the beginning of the year. Once things settle, we'll find more time."

Wren hummed in agreement, kissing him quickly and chastely before following him off towards dinner.

Weekends hardly felt like the weekend anymore. No time with Simon. No sightings of Nora. Even her dorm mates were out of the Gryffindor tower in various parts of the castle. Everything seemed to pass in a blur. One moment she was eating breakfast on Saturday morning, and the next it was Sunday evening and she was hunched over a stack of Transfigurations books in a corner of the common room. Wren sighed as a fifth year boy burst out laughing as an Exploding Snap tower blew up in his friend's face. The noise was getting too much for both her concentration and her nerves, so, gathering up her books, she retreated up to her dorm, spreading out the materials on her bed.

An hour later, she jolted awake to the door flying open. Wren's pulse raced as she extracted her cheek from the page of her textbook and blinked around to see what had happened. Alicia stood just inside, tears streaming down her face. She also seemed surprised to see Wren, half sitting up amongst her materials with her hair sticking to her face.

"Oh, hullo, Wren," she greeted, hastily wiping at her eyes while studiously avoiding Wren's gaze.

Wren lifted herself up to a seating position, her face creasing in worry. She wished she had Nora's natural instinct to know what to do in situations like this. Did she ask questions? Pretend like she didn't notice the tears? Leave?

"Hi," Wren said gently.

Alicia walked over to her bed, bending over to pull off her shoes. She succeeded in unlacing one and threw it to the floor with much more aggression than the shoe could possibly have deserved.

"Are you all right?" Wren asked dumbly, cringing the second the question came out of her mouth. It was exceedingly obvious, even to her, that Alicia was very much not all right.

"I'll be ok," Alicia brushed aside, fighting with the other shoe.

"Ok," Wren nodded, despite the fact that Alicia still refused to look at Wren.

"Is Angelina around?" Alicia's voice came out tight and high.

Wren winced. "I think she's in the library with Lee."

Alicia nodded, evidently not trusting her voice for a response.

"If you'd like, I'll fetch her," Wren offered. Because that was the decent thing to do right? That was the right solution? Before she could get a response, Wren hedged her bets. "But also if you want, I'm a decent listener."

"It's stupid," Alicia dismissed, despite the fact that her voice seemed to crack around the word.

"Given the fact that I haven't seen you cry more than twice over the past six years, I doubt that."

"It's just...boys are morons," Alicia sat down on her bed, and Wren got up from hers, humming in agreement with Alicia's statement as she crossed the room, sinking down into the bed next to her dorm mate. She lifted her arm to put it around Alicia's shoulders before moving to pull her hair back over her shoulder as if that's what she had always intended to do. She couldn't remember: was it Angelina or Alicia who didn't like to be touched? She had to be the world's worst dorm mate. It was a miracle they even tolerated her.

"And which boy in specific is the moron that made you cry?"

Wren had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.

"Thom Spiro."

While she had expected it, she still had no idea what to say  hearing the name of the boy Alicia fancied fall from her lips. Guessing what he did hardly seemed appropriate, but given the wide range of idiocy common in the teenage boys of Hogwarts, asking seemed to be a dangerous option too. So instead, she sat next to Alicia and tentatively looped her arms around her in what she hoped was not the most awkward hug to ever be given. Whether or not it was, Alicia fell into Wren, her crying picking up.

"I caught him kissing Louisa Finch."

Wren's spine straightened, but she didn't say anything.

"Last night--we were fooling around, and he wanted--" Alicia sobbed, seemingly unable to continue as she buried herself into Wren's shoulder. "I said no. I shouldn't have--"

"No," Wren said, firmly. "Absolutely not. You're not finishing that thought."

Alicia sniffed. "But--maybe--"

"No," Wren repeated, shaking her head. "You're not for his use. Obviously he doesn't want a companion, he just wants something he can stick his knob into. You're more than that."

Alicia let out a watery laugh. "I can't believe you said knob."

"What else do you call it?" Wren asked, and Alicia laughed a bit harder. Spotting a bit of success, Wren smiled. "He's a wanker. A tosser. A prick. A dickhead. A pants thinker. A broomstick with no lift. A magicless wand. I'm just guessing on the last two."

Alicia wiped at her eyes, extracting herself from Wren's hug. "I wouldn't know."

"Because you're smart,"  Wren said, grabbing Alicia's hand and squeezing it. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. It's better to wait than dive in too soon."

A pause settled between them as Alicia silently nodded seeming to think over the statement. "You're right, but--" she swallowed, and Wren could see the tears begin to gather in her eyes again. "It still hurts."

Behind her Wren heard the door to the dorm open and she looked over her shoulder to see Angelina.

"What happened?" she asked, the tone of her voice hinting that she already suspected exactly the story she was going to hear. Alicia filled her in quickly, adding a few more details that had been lost to sobs when she told Wren. All the while, Angelina listened, her face growing stonier and stonier. "Well, you know what we have to do now," she said simply.

Alicia nodded. "Can you?"

Wren looked between the two girls, her brow creased in confusion. "Sorry, I feel like I'm missing something."

Angelina turned her attention to Wren with an echo of amusement on her face. "We have to tell the twins."

It was impressive how much food Fred and George were able to knick in just a half hour. Crisps, popcorn, apple tarts, pumpkin pasties, oranges, treacle fudge, nut brittle, and butterbeer were all placed in the center of the floor of the boys' dorm. Wren and Katie had managed to scrape together a decent stash of other candies like Fizzing Whizzbees, Sugar Quills, Liquorice Wands, and Acid Pops while Lee had convinced the other sixth year boys to leave the dorm and done an impressive job cleaning. Either that, or the boys were a lot neater than Wren would have ever expected.

Wren reached forward, grabbing a new bottle of butter beer and tapping her wand to the top so the bottle cap flipped off.

"Alright are we going to keep avoiding it or should we get to the business of bashing Spiro?" Fred asked, rubbing his hands together. "I've got some excellent remarks on the spelling of his name."

"Come on Freddie, that’s too easy," George admonished, plucking up a handful of crisps. "Let’s get straight to the point that he's a disgrace to Ravenclaw House."

Wren choked on her butterbeer, and Katie reached over to pat her back some as she attempted to pull herself together. Angelina looked more amused at Wren's reaction than the comment, and Alicia turned rather glum as she twirled a sugar quill between her fingers.

"I'm sure there's plenty of boys in Ravenclaw who have done the same," Alicia sighed, lifting the tip of the quill so she could nibble on it.

"No doubt. Boys are horrid," George agreed. "But even amongst the ranks of Roger Davies and Hector Martín-Delgado,  Spiro has a particular brain. One might even liken it to a troll's."

Fred nodded. "He's got to be the dullest of the lot. Not quite sure how he got in, frankly."

"No bloke in their right mind would choose Louisa Finch over you," Lee added, nudging Alicia with his shoulder. The corner of her mouth ticked up.

"That's one thing for sure, but the larger issue is--why snog in a public corridor if you're attempting to run around with as many girls as possible?" George asked.

Even Alicia laughed this time, spitting bits of sugar quill out of her mouth before clamping a hand over it.

"A fair question, George," Fred acknowledged, toasting him with his butterbeer. "There are plenty of empty classrooms for that."

"Or any of the not-so-secret passages," Katie added.

"Behind a tapestry," Angelina shrugged.

"In the woods at night," George suggested.

"Anyone on the grounds, really." Wren put in quickly.

Alicia smiled. "He's not exactly the best at finding spots for...rendezvous. Last time I tried to meet him, I ended up with you and Norah Randolph." Alicia gestured at Wren. This thought seemed to deflate her a bit. "It must be nice to have a boyfriend. You don't have to worry about the running around together bit."

“I wouldn’t know,” George quipped, popping some Fizzing Whizzbees into his mouth.

Alicia reached over and smacked his arm. George flinched away with a chuckle, his body slowly lifting off the floor as he tossed the rest of the sweets in his hand into his mouth. “I was talking to Wren,” Alicia corrected.

“You have a boyfriend?” Fred’s eyebrows shot up as he looked over at her, locking eyes. Her stomach flipped and she paused mid lick of her Acid Pop.

“Where was he at the Cup?” George asked. She felt more than saw his eyes on her.

Wren swallowed, clearing her throat of all sugar. This was not a conversation she wanted to be having. Not ever really, but particularly not now. “He was on holiday.”

“You may very well be on holiday, but you come back for the Cup!” Fred said, indignantly. As if Simon’s absence from the Quidditch World Cup was a particular affront to Fred’s own honor as a fan of the sport.

Wren returned her focus to the acid pop at hand. With any luck it would burn a hole through her tongue in the next twenty seconds, and she’d have an excuse to end this conversation before it steered into unwanted territory. “Well, he’s not particularly a Quidditch fan.”

“What particularly is he then?” George asked.

“Simon Chambers,” Wren answered, sticking the lollipop back into her mouth and deciding that she would not take it out under any circumstances.

“Simon Chambers? Really? You and him?” Fred asked. The shock in his voice was a bit offensive.

Before Wren could break her own resolve–which might have had something to do with why she couldn’t manage to stay un-Imperiused-- Angelina stepped in. “They’ve been dating almost two years,” Angelina looked between the twins. “How did you not know?”

The twins shared a look, and shit, shit, shit.

“Well, I just never would have seen it. You, George?”

“No, never.” No one asked Lee, but he shook his head.

Despite the small wave of relief, her stomach still felt as if it was twisted in knots, and she wished very much that all of the attention was off of her. “Look this isn’t about my love life, this is about celebrating Alicia for narrowly avoiding dating a troll’s tit.”

“Collings! Your language!” George gasped, holding a hand to his chest.

“You should have heard her earlier tirade,” Alicia said, grabbing a licorice wand from Lee’s hand.

Wren once again took the acid pop out of her mouth to defend herself. “It was hardly a tirade. None of the words I said were that bad.”

Alicia crossed her arms. “Would you use them in front of your mother?”

Wren opened her mouth but before she could get a word in, Fred followed up the question.

“Would you use them in front of McGonagall.”

Wren’s mouth snapped shut and the boys laughed.

Katie shook her head. “Never would have expected that out of you, Wren.”

“I never would have expected it out of Simon Chambers’ girlfriend,” Fred remarked.

Wren cast him a sour look, and he laughed loudly, but the subject was dropped, and they returned to eating unhealthy amounts of junk, devising new insults for Thom Spiro, and escaping all of the things that truly sucked about being a 6th year.

Despite the fact that she had to spend two hours, first thing in the morning, avoiding plants attempting to kill her, Wren found Herbology to be a bit of a reprieve. Even today as Professor Sprout taught them to wrangle with a Venomous Tentacula in order to effectively and moderately safely collect the plant’s juice, Wren felt as if she was able to breathe in the Greenhouse.

Part of this she attributed to her mother. Having grown up with a Herbologist of some note, a good amount of Wren’s childhood was spent in the gardens and greenhouses her mother tended. Of course, her mother had never let her get near anything quite so interesting as the plants at Hogwarts, but she’d always quite enjoyed tending to the honking daffodils and umbrella flowers.

Her young training had certainly come in handy during the early years of Herbology, but even now as she collected vial after vial of the juice. Wren backed away from the plant, casting an eye around the greenhouse. Many students seemed to still be struggling getting near the plants, while others, like Fred Weasley, seemed to have no issue getting near the plant but couldn’t quite figure out how to draw out the juice. She continued looking around, her eyes landing on Thom Spiro who was currently standing far too close to Caroline Purvis. She giggled as she held the vial up to the plant, and he stepped even closer, almost forgetting his role as a distractor for the plant.

Wren’s jaw clenched. George was right. Boys were horrid, and Thom Spiro was a special sort. He deserved a serious bit of justice.

As she set the vials in their holder to be brought up to Professor Sprout when class ended, an awful idea struck Wren.

It made her smile.

With one eye on Professor Sprout who was busy helping Arlan Summers and Tom Dalgliesh with their plant, Wren corked a vial, wrapped it in cloth, and stuck it in her bag.

Herbology ended soon after, some pairs, like Wren, scoring as many as four while others had nothing but a few tears in their robes to show for their morning.

Quickly, Wren made her way up the hill towards the courtyard where she could study before lunch. She had just picked out a spot lawn when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, staring harder as if that would make things make more sense.

Alicia and Nora were….hugging?

It was none of her business. She should really sit down and open up a textbook and focus on her studies and not be walking across the courtyard right now.

"Hi?" Wren cast a look between the two girls.

"Hullo Wren," Alicia said, the words coming out a bit muffled because of the sweet she was chewing. Wren turned her attention to Nora, squinting at her cousin as if that would explain why she was suddenly such close friends to Alicia. Alicia, Wren's dorm mate, whom Nora had had maybe three classes with in her entire Hogwarts career.

As both girls looked at Wren somewhat expectantly, it hit her that she probably should have come up with some excuse to be coming over to say hello. "Hi," Wren repeated again, this time more as a statement than a question. "I just wanted to catch Nora, for a second."

"Yes?" Nora asked, tilting her head slightly.

Shit.

"Mum said to ask if Aunt Kathleen had sent you my color changing ink. She thinks I must have left it at your house when we got back from shopping."

Nora shook her head. "No, mum hasn't sent anything yet...I thought I saw that in your trunk?"

Shit. Shit.  Wren was saved from having to attempt another lie by Alicia.

"Wait--are you two cousins? I always thought you were neighbors or met on the train."

Nora laughed heartily. "I know it's hard for me to believe this moody one is my blood," she teased, poking Wren.

"To be fair, we are practically neighbors. It's just the two houses between us," Wren said, batting Nora's hand away as the other girl continued to poke Wren in the arm.

"Blimey," Alicia shook her head. "I'm just as bad as Fred and George aren't I?"

Wren wanted to assure her that she wasn't. The fact that Alicia even knew Wren was dating Simon was purely because Wren  had asked her for advice to help get dressed for their first date. The only reason Wren had known that Alicia fancied Thom was more due to Lee announcing it to the common room one afternoon at the end of last year than because of any kind of closeness between the girls. But Wren didn't get the chance because Nora spun to face her.

"Oh?" she asked, her voice going up an octave. "How's that?"

"They didn't know she was dating Simon Chambers."

“Well can’t blame them for that one,” Nora's voice returned to normal as she once more turned to Alicia, ignoring Wren's glare. “You two are never around each other.”

“Our schedules don’t match," Wren defended flatly.

Even though she wasn't facing her, Wren could see the small twinkle in Nora's eyes. “Would you say it’s…'an unavoidable conflict'?”

Wren groaned, and Nora laughed again. "Told you Wren. Divination is serious magic. Anyway," Nora flipped her plait over her shoulder. "I'm supposed to meet Arlan and Cedric so we can do some Astronomy work before lunch. Keep me updated," she added to Alicia who nodded in agreement. With that, Nora was off leaving Wren and Alicia together.

"I can't believe I didn't know Nora Randolph was your cousin!" Alicia shook her head, moving out into the courtyard. Wren followed her.

"I didn't know you were friends."

"We're not really. Or at least, we weren't," Alicia said, selecting a shady spot under a tree and sitting down. Wren hesitated before putting her own bag down and sitting beside the other girl. "We have Ancient Runes together. With Thom."

Wren's eyes widened. "Oh."

"She saw me looking miserable yesterday and made her partner switch chairs with me. Next thing I know, she's passing me toffees and I'm telling her the whole story."

Wren shook her head with a small laugh. “That sounds like Nora.”

Alicia began unpacking some parchment and books from her own bag. "There's not anything in those toffees is there? Veritaserum or something of the sort?"

Wren shook her head again. “That’s just Nora. People'll tell her anything.”

“I think we might be best mates now.” Alicia commented and Wren laughed before taking out her own work, and settling into a studious silence next to Alicia.

She hadn't planned how to get the juice into Thom Spiro' drink.

That was the primary thought running through Wren's head as she sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at her food. She had waved Alicia on to lunch before her, claiming she was just going to finish the chapter before she went in and the other girl didn't have to wait. She'd waited fifteen minutes to enter the Great Hall, sitting far along the table so as not to be seen by professors or any of the prefects who tended to group together at the middle of the table whether consciously or not.

It was about then that the thought hit her for the first time, and she had eaten most of her food and was in the final quarter or so of lunch without the faintest clue as to how to get this vial in his drink.

She couldn't very well just walk up to the Ravenclaw table and slip some in his goblet. The most interaction she'd ever had with him was holding a door open to Charms. They'd never even so much as spoken. Wren half considered dropping a knut on the floor and picking it up and handing it to him. But, passing off a knut and simultaneously pouring something into his goblet seemed just short of impossible.

Wren took a bite out of her roll, watching as more Ravenclaws came in and filled the table. She caught sight of a familiar tall and lean boy with copper hair, and her eyes lit up. Simon. She would walk over under the perfectly reasonable guise of saying hello to her boyfriend, and swap her own goblet with Thom’.

This plan quickly crashed as Simon passed Thom, picking an empty spot, naturally towards the center of the table.

Of course, Wren had considered switching her plan to a simple Pepper Breath Hex, which certainly would have put an end to his romantic endeavors at least for the next couple of days or so. But compared to her initial plan, this idea seemed so inadequate. And how could she even be sure that Alicia got to enjoy the justice? There had to be some way, some excuse, for her to switch goblets--

Of course.

It was so simple, really.

It was unlikely the teachers would expect it. If anything, it'd be written off as an unhappy accident from Herbology. If only he had properly corked his vial or used gloves to pass it along like Professor Sprout had said. Quickly glancing around to see if anyone was looking at her, which of course they weren't, Wren pulled the Venomous Tentacula juice from her bag and poured it in her own cup.

Subtly, she took her wand out of her pocket and with another quick glance up at the professor's table, tapped her own goblet, muttering the spell.

She peered inside and noticed her cup was slightly emptier than it had been.

She'd switched them. A rush of victory swelled in Wren's chest and she almost wished that someone near her would give her a high five.

It took five minutes to determine that her plan worked. A small commotion rose at the Ravenclaw table which seemed like normal lunch nonsense before the group of boys around Thom parted. Wren watched as Thom’s skin slowly shifted from its beautiful shade of lilac to a darker lavender. Giggles began to echo through the Great Hall as Thom’s distress grew more and more apparent. Wren cast a quick look up at the professors' table. Professor Snape  looked particularly unamused, but Dumbledore had a small quirk of his lips.

Wren took this as permission for herself to smile as Thom’s friends rushed a now violet Thom Spiro out of the hall and towards, undoubtedly, the Hospital Wing. Sensing this was as good a time as any to dismiss from lunch, the food vanished from the table, and the students began to file out. Wren picked up her bag, ready to go to Transfiguration and feeling particularly pleased with herself as all around her students whispered about that purple Ravenclaw!

"Fine work, Collings." Wren nearly jumped out of her skin, fumbling her books.  She succeeded in catching them back onto her arms, but one slid out, bouncing against the ground in front of her. Before she could bend over to retrieve it, one of the twins scooped it up and placed it on top of his own, significantly shorter stack of books. If two books could be called a stack.

"What?" Wren asked, her head turning to each of the twins.

"I was wondering what you were up to in Herbology," Fred, the one who was not holding her book, remarked.

"Sorry, you've lost me." Wren shrugged and gave a jerky shake of her head.

Fred gave her a wolfish grin. "Have I?" He waved his wand, and the empty vial shot out of her bag and into his hand. Because of course he could do nonverbal spells already. He wiggled it in front of her, and Wren snatched at it, surprising herself by actually wrenching it from his hands.

Wren stuffed it back into her bag, glaring at him--although the fact that he was absolutely correct took all of the heat out of her look. "That's for potions."

"And apparently poisoning Ravenclaw dickheads,"  Fred remarked.

"I didn't poison him."

She did. Technically.

"I don't even understand why you think it was me." She succeeded in making her voice slightly more casual this time which did nothing but make the boys' smiles grow.

"It's not a suspicion," Fred dismissed. " I know it was you. Saw you in Herbology."

"There's a plant that does that?" George asked with widened eyes.

"Apparently the Venomous Tentacula,"  Fred said. "Sprout said it was a poisonous juice, but I never reckoned I'd actually see someone poisoned with it."

"Stop saying I poisoned him!" Wren hissed.

George's brow wrinkled. "Is there another word for it?"

"Empoisoned?" Fred suggested.

"Envenomed?"

"Would this count as drugging?"

Wren brushed past the twins, entering the Transfigurations classroom. They followed her in laughing.

Alicia looked up from where she and Angelina were gathered together giggling. "Wren!" she called, waving her over quickly. Wren approached, dropping her books off at her desk along the way and  trying very hard to keep the smile off of her face, seeing Alicia positively beaming.

"Tell me you didn't miss it."

"Thom Spiro turning bright purple? How could I?"

"Merlin, it was glorious," Alicia exclaimed looking happily up at the ceiling as if attempting to thank Merlin himself up in heaven. When she looked back down, her eyes fell on the Weasley twins who had followed Wren over. "You two, you did this, didn't you?"

"Us? No," George shook his head.

"We'd never dope a student," Fred added, pausing for a second. "That's the word we're going with, right?"

George shook his head. "Doesn't seem quite right. I still think poison's the best fit."

Alicia's face creased in confusion, and perhaps if Wren hadn't seen fit to cast a dark look at the two, the other girls might have assumed they were lying.

"Wren Collings, what did you do?" Angelina asked, and Wren's face went slack with surprise. It was just her luck that Angelina, the one observant enough to have taught Wren and Alicia how to tell the twins apart, would have caught the look.

"Me?" Wren asked, perhaps too defensively because now Alicia's eyes were on her.

"Wren," Alicia looked at her wide-eyed. "Did you....?"

Wren made a sound of disbelief. "You think I poisoned a Ravenclaw student? I'm dating a prefect! A Ravenclaw one."

"You did!" Alicia gasped, grabbing Wren into a tight hug. "You're bloody brilliant. Honestly, Wren. I could kiss you."

"Doubt she'd let you," Fred quipped.

Alicia released Wren who stepped back, taking her book from George and hitting Fred with it. "So violent, Collings," he flinched away laughing.  "They're going to lock you up in Azkaban. You maniac."

"So if he wasn't poisoned," Angelina said, "What exactly happened to him?"

All eyes fell on Wren. "He didn't wash his hands properly after handling the Venomous Tentacula juice in Herbology today. Or maybe the cork wasn't on right and some got on his skin," she shrugged. "Professor Snape said it happens every year."

Fred opened his mouth to remark but was cut off by Professor McGonagall walking in, signaling to the students to stop talking and find their seats. Her gaze fell on Fred.

“Mr. Weasley, as you are not taking this class, please find your way to the door.”

Fred gave McGonagall a salute, and turned to leave, making sure to gesture to Wren that he had his eyes on her before heading out of the room. Wren's cheeks tinged pink as she made her way to her desk.

The light poisoning might have been a mistake.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x f!oc #weasley twins #weasley twins fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter book 4 #harry potter and the goblet of fire #ocappreciation #the fool #oc: wren collings #oc: nora randolph #series: the fool

[queenlokibeth]

I wanted to mention a couple of things about mental health that I think are important.

I'm doing relatively well at the moment. I've managed to go to bed before 2am most days, usually at midnight, and I've gotten 6-7 hours of sleep every night. I've eaten at least 2 full proper meals at reasonable times every day. I haven't turned in any homework late. I have to consciously fight off executive dysfunction but I do manage to win. I'm doing relatively well, which is how I notice just how badly I was doing just a month and a half ago.

What I want to say is that, when you're going through a rough mental health patch (especially if that patch is like a year or more) you might be aware that "sure, yeah, I'm not doing well" but it can also sort of feel like that's just... the way it is.

In December I consciously knew that I was having an awful time, quite probably the deepest hole in terms of mental health in my life, but I had also already been living like that for almost a year, and I transitioned into this hole more or less slowly. So last December I knew that I wasn't feeling or behaving the way that I did a year before that, but it wasn't a drastic change, I eased into that pit. Think about that metaphor about dropping a frog into boiling water and it will jump out, but slowly boil it and it won't notice and die.

I was conscious about the big things: for some reason I physically couldn't get myself to start tasks. I was distracted all the time. My sleeping schedule was something like 4am-10am when I wasn't pulling an all-nighter. I was showering once a week, did laundry every 6 weeks, and lost a lot of weight. I didn't want to do anything and I had no will to go outside. I wanted to read a book but not out of real pursuit of fun, but because I felt like I desperstely needed to catch a break and force myself to do something nice for myself. What I was obviously not conscious of was what was causing all of this.

Being in a pit of terrible mental health feels somehow even worse when you are fully aware that you're completely unhealthy, and you can pinpoint all the things that aren't working right, and you try to do all the correct things to "go back to normal", but you can't, and after a year you don't really remembers what your normal feelings or reactions to things were. In this awful state I was trying to manifest a version of myself who got her shit together and showered regularly and turned homework in on time and did laundry without it taking the same effort as hiking up a mountain, but this version of myself still had the same mental state, numbness, and mental fog, since that's all I knew at the time and I couldn't remember or understand that that's not my default state as a human being. And under that cloud of malfunctioning mental connections and chemicals I was NEVER going to manage to start functioning like a healthy person again.

Why am I pointing out all of this? Because it can be hard to realise how different things can be when you start getting healthier. There are factors of my personality that I hadn't even identified as altered in December.

I'm noticing this now because I did somehow transitioned into recovering extremely quickly. While it took me a few months to fall into a shit state of mental health, and then stayed there for like a year, now in about 3 weeks to a month I flipped my life around and everything is so much... brighter.

I don't mean for this to sound like an ad a la "you can, too, flip your life around!" But as reassurance that getting better is an option, and even a "quick" one, but obviously not without help, and not without PHYSICAL aspecrs. During that month I spent time in warmer weather, seeing sun semi regularly (I had not been outside for longer than 15 minutes at a time every few days in extremely cloudy weather for a few months at that point), I didn't have school so I didn't have to stress about a destroying amount of deadlines, I "recovered" sleep (the first day I slept for 14 hours, then 10 for a few days, and then dropped to 8 consistently), I ate healthy and hearty food, and I had conversations daily with my parents, after having been completely alone for about 7 months of not talking to anyone. During the first 2 weeks I still felt like a mess, the third week was better, and by the end of the month I felt vaguely functional.

By now I'm in no way fully better but Everything Is So Different. Now I'm realising and coming back to the way I always used to behave and feel about things. I find real joy in things and I hadn't even noticed that for a year I had NOT felt joy about ANYTHING I was merely using things to cope! And I hadn't noticed because I could no longer remember that a different feeling beyond "neutral" existed!

I'm excited about going outside now even if it's so so cold, I realised the other day that I needed something from the store and I just... put on my coat and went to the door? And i surprised myself mid step that it was just... that easy. I wanted to go somewhere and I could just... go. I didn't have to psych myself up for 3 days and then end up delaying my departure by 2 hours because that's how long it took me to find the will to put my shoes on.

Anyways I saw a candle and it was only $2 and it smelled really good and I just bought it because I deserve things that make me happy and then I bought some cinnamon flavoured coffee because I WANTED to try it and I also bought this coffee creamer that I saw because suddenly it was easy to just reach into the grocery store fridge and pull it out instead of planning it a week in advance and then overthinking it because do I really need it do I have space in the fridge am I going to finish it or will it expire first only to get overwhelmed and leave the store without it only to immediately regret it and get sad about not getting it once I arrived back to my room. I enjoy drinking my coffee now, I'm not just doing it to stay awake. I can actually get out of bed at the right time even if I'm still a bit tired because the sun is coming up and it looks pretty outside. It snowed yesterday and everyone was out at night playing with it and a stray snowball reached me while I was on my way to get dinner. This poor guy that I'd never seen apologised profusely and it was so funny! There was something about everyone in masks and standing 6 feet apart taking advantage of snowball fights as a way to interact with each other that felt straight out of a Hallmark movie.

Bottomline: at your worst there isn't anything that looks tangibly better, but there is, and you start to realise it afterwards. While you should definitely go to therapy if you can/need to, and that meds can be necessary, there is so much that you can start slowly fixing (with a lot of effort, I know) that will seriously, seeiously help. I know that it might sound like bullshit or like an oversimplification, but it's true and it's stuff that you'll never truly believe will work until you're doing better and you're like "oh shit damn".

Please sleep. Please sleep at night time and have a semi regular sleeping schedule. I know that it sounds like it won't be enough (and true, by itself it probably won't heal you completely but it will sure help a lot). I would always "understand" that sleep was important and "yes mom i know that I need to sleep better" but I never interiorised how DRAMATICALLY sleep affects your entire life. Regular, good, nighttime sleep helps regulate all the hormones and chemicals that we need. If your fucked up sleeping schedule shut down production of serotonin, congratulations now you have all the awful symptoms that come along with lacking an essential component of your functioning. And I know that it's often a terrible vicious cycle of not being able to sleep properly or procrastinating sleep or being unable to just go to bed causing mental health problems which continue to prevent you from being able to fix youe sleep pattern. Please take it from me, someone who a month ago felt like she'd genuinely never be able to function semi properly again, that forcing yourself to fix your sleep is a HUGE MEGA STEP towards fully recovering. I know it now because I can see the contrast, but a month ago I didn't understand it because I was like "well yeah I need to sleep better but what's the point I'm fine it won't change much" yeah well my brain is an asshole and I was not in fact fine but rather completely empty inside and just going the fuck to sleep semi regularly has made me feel like a real person instead of a weird cryptid for the first time in months. Just go the fuck to sleep, PLEASE.

#long post #im sorry i had to share all of this i know it's long #im just genuinely so shocked by how fully different i feel now in a way i nevee ever anticipated #mine #gpoy

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Unforgettable Memories ( Daryl Dixon x Reader )

Summary: Y/N Grimes is Rick’s younger sister. You used to be in the military and have enough PTSD to last a lifetime. With Shane’s help you created the quarry camp and came across the Dixon brother’s in the woods. You bought them back to camp, but after that everything changed and you were still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not. 

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Rick’s Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Blood, guts, language (just usual twd warnings) 

Chapter 4-

It didn't take long, but you and Glenn eventually had a makeshift plan in place to get Merle. You had about four backup plans in case of emergencies, but you were pretty confident your first plan would work. 

"Is this kind of stuff you used to do in the military? Strategize plans and stuff?" Glenn asked after you finished explaining everything to him as he stared at you impressively and you shrugged.

"Sometimes." You replied, placing the rocks back on the corners of the map so the wind wouldn't blow it away. You stood up from your chair and turned around to find Shane driving back into camp after filling the buckets in the back of his jeep with water.

"Water's here, y'all. Just a reminder to boil before use." Shane shouted, parking the jeep by the other vehicles as he shut the engine off and climbed out. 

"Wish I would have thought of driving down to the lake with the buckets instead of walking and having to do multiple trips yesterday." You commented, walking over to the jeep as you grabbed one of the buckets, Glenn, Amy and Andrea grabbing the others.

"I always told you when we kids that I was the smart one." Shane replied with a grin and you rolled your eyes unable to stop yourself from laughing.

"Is that right? I do recall you paying me to do your homework and keep in mind I was in two grades below you. So, who was the smart one?" You asked, raising your eyebrow at Shane as he shook his head with a chuckle, but that chuckle quickly disappeared as Carl's voice cried out for help across the other side of camp.

"Mom! Dad! Help. Aunty Y/N!" Carl screamed, your eyes locking with Shanes for a split second before you slung your rifle off your shoulder and into your hands as you took off sprinting.

"Carl!" You yelled, jumping over the string of tins you had set up along the perimeter as you saw Carl run into Lori's arms and you sighed with relief, but kept running. Carl was safe with Lori and the others, but whatever he saw was clearly enough to spook him, so you kept running with Shane and Rick, a few others from the group close behind.

You reached a small clearing between the trees and bushes to find a walker bent over a deer eating it's flesh. You quickly scanned your surroundings, making sure there weren't any others before you slung your rifle back over your shoulder and pulled out your knife. But, before you could stab it, Rick, Shane, Glenn, Dale and Morales all began to beat it with baseball bats, crowbars and pitch forks.

You had to stop yourself from laughing at their attempts to kill it. You were pretty sure they all knew how to properly kill one, but wanted to take their frustration of this new world out on something, so you stood back and let them do what they needed to do. But, as Dale finally cut the head off with his axe you gasped in shock when you spotted two of Daryl's bolts sticking out the deer.

A million scenarios began flooding your mind, did he shoot at the deer and then lose it? Was he still tracking the deer and the walker bet him too it? Did something happen to him and he never got to finish the deer off? No, Daryl was smart. He was careful. He was fine. He had to be.

"It's the first one we've had up here. They never come this far up the mountain." Dale commented as you, Rick, Shane, Jim, Glenn and Morales stared at the now headless walker on the ground. He's right, this was the first walker you've seen at camp and Carl was the one to find it for God's sake. Soon this quarry won't be safe anymore, you're too close to the city. You told Shane that when you started setting up camp here, but nobody would listen to you.

"Well, they're running out of food in the city, I told you guys this would happen." You muttered glaring over at Shane before you heard a branch snap behind you in the woods. You quickly spun around, raising your rifle in the direction of the footsteps as Daryl suddenly walked out. He froze for a second when he saw all the guns on him before you lowered your weapon with a sigh of relief. His eyes glanced over at you for a moment before he spotted the deer on the ground.

"Son of a bitch. That's my deer! Look at it. All gnawed on by this... filthy, disease-bearing, motherless poxy bastard!" Daryl yelled kicking the walker and you threw the rifle over your shoulder as you watched Daryl in amusement.

"Calm down, son. That's not helping." Dale suddenly said and you sighed, that probably wasn't the right thing to say.

"What do you know about it, old man? Why don't you take that stupid hat 'n go back to 'on golden pond'." Daryl shouted taking a few steps towards Dale before turning back to the half-eaten deer on the ground. "I've been tracking this deer for miles. Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison. What do ya think? Do ya think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?"

"I probably wouldn't risk that." Shane commented watching as Daryl pointed to the bite marks over the deer's body and Daryl sighed.

"That's a damn shame. I got some squirrel... 'bout a dozen or so. That'll have to do." He replied motioning towards the squirrel he had tied over his shoulder with rope.

Suddenly, the head of the walker Dale had decapitation began to move, it's jaw snapping as it groaned. "Come on, people. What the hell?" Daryl questioned as he raised his crossbow shooting one of his bolts through the walker's eye. "Stomp it's brain. Don't y'all know nothing?"

"I'll help you skin those squirrels, it'll be quicker with more hands." You suddenly said looking over at Daryl who stared at you for a few seconds before giving you a small nod as the two of you began walking back to camp.

"Merle! Get your ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up." Daryl shouted as you walked into camp and you sighed. Shit, he was not gonna take this well.

"Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you." Shane called from behind you as you both turned around to find him and Rick walking towards the two of you.

"About what?" Daryl asked in annoyance as you took a small step closer to him, in case he decided to try anything on Shane.

"About Merle. There was a... There was a problem in Atlanta." Shane began explaining before Daryl cut him off.

"He dead?"

"We're not sure." Shane admitted and you rolled your eyes. Yep, that was probably the worse answer he could have possibly given.

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl growled his anger starting to rise, but you knew it was just a shield for his sudden worry about his brother. Daryl seemed to get angry quickly, but you saw the real him. You saw how he would put up this protective aggressive shield to block people out, but you saw right through it.

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it." Rick suddenly said walking past Shane towards you and Daryl as you shared a quick glance with your brother warning him with a stern stare to take it easy.

"Who are you?"

"Rick Grimes." Your brother simply answered causing Daryl's head to quickly snap around to you beside him with a questioning look. He clearly remembered that your last name was Grimes from when you introduced yourself that day you met him and Merle.

'Brother.' You mouthed not saying it out loud as you nodded towards Rick before Daryl looked back at your brother.

"Rick grimes, ya got somethin’ ya want to tell me?" Daryl questioned, his tone backing down slightly after realising he was your brother, but you knew things were about to turn ugly once he heard what happened to his own brother.

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there." Rick explained and you could see Daryl replaying those words over in his head trying to make sense of what he just got told.

"Hold on. Let me process this. You're saying ya handcuffed my brother to a roof 'n ya left him there?!" Daryl yelled and you didn't miss how his hands turned to fists by his side. Shit.

"Yeah." Rick nodded, not bothering to justify his response as Daryl threw the rope of squirrels towards your brother as he tried attacking Rick before Shane pushed him out the way. There was no point you trying to stop him, you could easily stop Daryl if you wanted to. All your training from the military came in handy sometimes, but you knew he might not forgive you if you decided to deck him in front of everyone given the circumstances.

"Hey! Watch the knife!" T-Dog suddenly shouted from somewhere behind you as you watched in panic as Daryl pulled his knife out. But before you could step in, Shane quickly grabbed Daryl from behind, stopping him from attacking Rick as he held him in a chokehold.

"You'd best let me go!" Daryl yelled, thrashing in Shane's grip, but he couldn't get free.

"Nah, I think it's better if I don't." Shane responded and if you weren't mistaken you thought you could hear a hint of amusement in Shane's voice. Why the hell would he be amused by this? Daryl just found out his brother was left on damn rooftop to die, how is that even remotely amusing?

"Choke hold's illegal." Daryl muttered under his grip as you took a few steps towards the three men.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that? Do you think we can manage that?" Rick questioned crouching down in front of Daryl, but Shane wouldn't loosen his grip.

"Shane, let him go." You ordered, but he didn't loosen his grip. It was clear Daryl was done fighting, for the love of God just leave man alone. "I said let him go!" You repeated a little bit louder as you crossed your arms over your chest and Shane finally released his old on Daryl.

"You don't tell me what to do!" Shane hissed as he stormed passed you and you rolled your eyes. You may be like brother and sister, but he still got on your nerves. 

"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work and play well with others." Rick began to say, not hearing what Shane had said to you as he spoke to Daryl.

"It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it." T-Dog admitted causing Daryl to glance up at him from his position on the ground.

"Ya couldn't pick it up?"

"Well, I dropped it in a drain." T-Dog replied as Daryl slowly stood himself up, throwing a handful of dirt at the ground.

"If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't." Daryl mumbled trying to keep his voice stern, but you could hear the slight break in his tone.

"Well, maybe this will. Look, I chained the door to the roof... So, the geeks couldn't get at him... With a padlock. It's gotta count for something." T-Dog added.

"Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is so that I can go get him." Daryl said as he began to walk past you before you grabbed his arm causing him to suddenly tense, instinctively balling his hand into a fist to hit whoever just grabbed him before he realised it was you.

"Easy tiger. I'm going with you. Glenn and I already have a whole plan set up, we'll get Merle back." You said releasing his arm and catching him by surprise as he stared at you, not knowing what to say.

"You aren't serious about-" Shane began to say, but you shook your head knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"This ain't up for discussion. If someone had left Rick up there on that rooftop, they'd be lucky if they were still breathing. So I'm going to help Daryl get his brother back." You stated glancing over at Daryl who gave you an appreciative nod, but you didn't miss the slight glimmer of tears in his eyes before everyone began walking off, half of you getting ready for lunch the other half getting ready go back into the city.

You sat beside Daryl, sharpening your knife while he cleaned his arrows when you heard Shane and Rick walking across the camp. "So, that's it huh? You guys are just gonna walk off?" You heard Shane question as you looked over at them. "Could you throw me a bone here, man? Could you just tell me why? Why would you risk your lives for a douche bag like Merle Dixon?"

"Hey, choose your words more carefully." Daryl called out, glaring at Shane.

"No, I did. Douche bag's what I meant." Shane replied, glancing over at you and Daryl before turning back to Rick. "Merle Dixon. The guy wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst."

"Shane." You muttered, sending him a warning look and he sighed shaking his head.

"What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me. I can't let a man die of thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let alone a human being." Rick stated as he began to walk away before Lori spoke up from her chair around the putout campfire.

"So, you, Y/N and Daryl, that's your big plan?" Lori questioned as you stood up and walked over to the group of them.

"Actually, I'm going to. Y/N and I have already made a plan. We'll be in and out and back before nightfall." Glenn explained, glancing over at you as you nodded.

"That's just great. Now you're gonna risk four people? Huh?" Shane asked, looking directly at Rick.

"Five." T-Dog added, stepping forward as Daryl scoffed.

"My day just gets better 'n better, don't it?" He muttered.

"It's not just five. You're putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that, Rick. Come on, you saw that walker. It was here. It was in camp. They're moving out the cities. They come back, we need every able body we've got. We need them here. We need them to protect camp." Shane rambled, but before you could respond and tell him about the bag of guys you were also going to grab, Rick beat you to it.

"It seems to me what you really need most here are more guns." Rick replied, looking over at you before turning back to Shane.

"Rick had a bag of guns, it's still in the city." You commented as Shane stared at Rick in disbelief.

"Six shotguns, two high-powered rifles, over a dozen handguns. I cleaned out the cage back at the station before I left. I dropped the bag in Atlanta when I got swarmed. It's just sitting there on the street, waiting to be picked up." Rick explained and for a second you thought that Rick had managed to convince Shane that this run into the city was worth it, but of course, Lori had to open her mouth.

"You went through hell to find us. You just got here and you're gonna turn around and leave?" She questioned and you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. It wasn't up for discussion. Merle was out there and you guys needed the guns, what more was there to discuss?

"Dad, Aunty Y/N, I don't want you guys to go." Carl suddenly said from beside Lori, looking over at the two of you with worried eyes.

"To hell with the guns. Shane is right. Merle Dixon? He's not worth one of your lives, even with guns thrown in." Lori added and that was it. You couldn't keep your mouth shut for any longer.

"If it was Rick or Shane or Carl or me, handcuffed on that roof, you would want a group to go back and get us. Why the hell is Merle any different? He might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he's apart of our group and we don't leave anyone behind! You never leave a man behind!" You snapped, staring at Lori before Shane spoke up again.

"This isn't Afghanistan anymore, Y/N! What if something goes wrong at camp? You guys are taking all but two of our guns and most of our best fighters? Do you want to leave us defenceless and-" Shane began to shout before Rick stepped forward.

"Then Y/N will stay." Rick said, instantly stopping Shane in his tracks as he stared at Rick in confusion, the same way you were right now.

"Wait, what?" You questioned.

"Y/N is probably the best fighter in the group. If something goes wrong at camp I am almost certain that she'll be able to handle it, especially with you here to back her up." Rick explained, staring at Shane who seemed to stop and consider what his best friend was saying before he nodded, but you shook your head. They needed you in Atlanta, you had to help Daryl get his brother back.

Rick took a few steps towards you as he grabbed your shoulder gently. "You told Glenn the plan, he has the map you marked. We will be fine, I need you to stay back and watch the group. I need you to look after Carl and Lori. Can you do that for me?" Rick asked quietly and you sighed, glancing over at Daryl who seemed to have stopped cleaning his arrows and was now staring at you, but you didn't miss the small nod he gave you.

"Fine. I'll stay." You sighed, not happy at all with the sudden change in plans, but you had to admit, Shane was right and if you staying meant Rick and the others were still going to go and get Merle, then it was worth it.

While Rick and T-Dog tried persuading Dale to lend them his bolt-cutter, you made your way over to the white delivery truck where Glenn was sitting in the drivers seat and Daryl standing in the back waiting impatiently for the others.

"Hey." You called out, catching Daryl's attention as he walked to the end of the truck as he crouched down so he wasn't talking down to you and you smiled softly at his action before you pulled your assault rifle off your shoulder and held it up to him. "Take it. If you come across a herd or something, you're gonna need it. Do you know how to use it?"

Daryl nodded, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder as he inspected the rifle. "Ya sure ya don't need it?" He asked, looking away from the gun as glanced over at you.

"I have my handgun. You'll need it more than me, just be careful, alright?" You said and Daryl nodded again as you gave him a small smile before you turned around to find Rick walking away from Shane, reloading his pistol with bullets that he must have gotten from Shane.

"Get Merle and the bag and you guys get the hell out of Atlanta, okay?" You asked, walking over to Rick as he holstered his gun before looking over at you with a small nod.

"We'll be back soon. Take care of them for me." Rick replied, pulling you into a quick hug as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

"Always, bro. Stay safe." You whispered as pulled away with a nod before he walked over to the truck and climbed in. They better come back in one piece, you thought to yourself before you turned around and figured you might as well do something useful for the rest of the day. 

-

NEXT CHAPTER

A/N- Link to my masterlist in my bio. 

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I have loved writing this fic so much and the next chapter will be up in a couple of days. Until next time, stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x Reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #twd #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #Norman Reedus #Rick Grimes #Shane Walsh

[et-in-cinerem-reverteris]

Class of 1953 - Chapters 4/4.5 - Louder Than Bombs/Rubber Ring

“Phil, I think you are the strangest person that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Hey, you’re equally weird,” he teases. 

“I know. That’s why I think you’re so wonderful.”

I’m back with my 1950s historical Oxford university AU fic-cum-novella-thing. Sorry I haven’t been posting the chapters to Tumblr! Here are chapters 4 and 4.5 - soon I will be posting chapter 5 (possibly the last chapter!)

Click me to read on Ao3! 

Or keep reading under the cut...

Chapter 4 - Louder Than Bombs

The passing of time, and all of its sickening crimes, is making Phil nervous again.

Sitting sideways at the top of his bed with his feet swinging off the edge like a bored schoolboy, he idly fumbles with the pages of an open book as he stares into space, waiting. 

Last Sunday he had promised Dan that he could use his room as a space to get homework done. Tonight, the gravity of the situation has only just begun to dawn on him. He imagines the scene with a quickened heartbeat; Dan sitting only a foot away, using his chair, working at his desk and writing with his pens, Dan pacing around his room, scrutinising his photographs, flicking through his records and reading the titles of his books. Phil doesn’t know how to prepare himself. Meeting up in public is one thing, but a private visit to his room feels like quite another.

He laughs out loud at himself. Private visit? Dan’s only coming to study for Christ’s sake. 

Speaking of studying, he has his own work to attend to. Lying on his lap is a copy of Beowulf, deliberately planted there to create the impression of a student deeply engaged in a spot of serious reading. Unfortunately for Phil Beowulf has been unable to capture his imagination, and so instead he has spent the last ten minutes or so staring at the contents of his hastily tidied room. His desk is decluttered, his bed has been made, and all the odd pairs of socks have been picked off the floor and put away in preparation for Dan’s visit. 

All is silent bar the low hum of his desk lamp. It’s a quiet Friday evening, and the normally raucous quad now only echoes sporadic bursts of hushed chatter. Tonight’s sky is peppered with clouds that pass the moon at random intervals, periodically obscuring a strange halo that encircles the bright rock in a mysterious reddish glow. The curtains lie wide open, and a streak of moonlight falls on the pinboard opposite his bed. Littered with cinema tickets, clippings from environmental magazines, ripped out pages and uncashed cheques, the most recent addition to the board is a cluster of pictures he took of the photography club on an impromptu walk by the River Cherwell. The top photograph shows Bill squinting at the sun while Mary gives Beth a precarious looking piggyback ride, both of them smiling as John holds his palms up to the toppling ensemble and posing as tourists do next to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Phil remembers how the group of them skimmed stones across the muddy water, competing to see who could get the furthest, until Beth had beat Bill’s expert hand with a fluke stone that skipped so far into the distance that none of them could tell where it had landed. He thinks of that day with a smile. Good times.

*rat-tat-tat*

At last! Springing off his mattress he dashes towards the mirror, spruces up his quiff, takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

“Hallo! Ho-”

Phil is interrupted as Dan comes crashing into the room, stumbling past him and lurching towards the desk as a large pile of books, folders and papers fall from his arms and scatter across the surface in a heap. He releases a long sigh, and then turns around to face his host with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry for bursting in here like that. My arms were starting to get cramped under the weight of all these books, and I had to put them down. Anyway, how are you?” 

“I’m fine but err, quick question,” Phil starts. “Why didn’t you just use a bag?” 

Dan’s smile fades and his eyes glaze over, mouth opening and closing as his brows furrow in confusion. “Now that you mention it, I um, don’t know why on earth I didn’t think of that.” He throws his hands into the air. “God knows what’s up with me.” Embarrassed, he turns around and begins to organise the jumbled papers.

“What’s all this you’ve got here then?” Phil asks, flopping down onto the bed and leaning his back against the wall as he watches Dan.

“It’s mostly some notes about Schubert. We have to study the last few decades of his life, so I bought a few books from home with me that I thought I’d be able to flick through. And um,” he picks up a piece of paper, “I’ve also got to work towards a portfolio of compositions, so really I’ve got a mountain of stuff to do.”

“Sounds daunting.”

“Mmmm.” He sits down in the chair next to Phil’s desk, adjusting the angle of the lamp as he kicks off his shoes. “So,” he continues, turning around, “what are you up to then?”

Phil nonchalantly waves his book in the air. “Just Beowulf.” 

Dan scoffs. “Just Beowulf? Come on, Phil! It’s only one of the most important pieces of English literature of all time!” Shaking his head in disbelief, he turns back around. “‘Just Beowulf’... Jesus.”

After a couple of minutes of silence Phil suddenly realises that Dan has started working. As in actually working. In the past they had both joked about being chronic procrastinators, and so Phil had predicted that the night would end up with them talking about books, politics or musicals instead of doing homework. He’s a bit surprised that Dan was serious about wanting to use his room just to study in, and to be truthful, he’s also a little disappointed. 

To make matters worse, as the other boy works away Phil finds himself unable to concentrate on the book in front of him; no matter how hard he tries to focus, all thoughts invariably trace back to his companion. He examines the back of his neck, the collar of his shirt, the knit of his jumper and how it falls on his lanky build. Dan will occasionally sing or hum a tune to himself, scribble something down and then repeat that same harmony with a few added notes, moving the fingers on his right hand as if he were in front of a piano. It’s a peaceful sight, captivatingly peaceful, and his concentration trickles down the drain. To hell with reading anyway. 

His thoughts meander back to a familiar daydream; Dan’s life in Wokingham. Phil’s imagination frequently returns to a scene of Dan sitting in a lavish study, playing the piano as golden sun leaks through an open window, balmy air wafting inside on a sweet summer evening. In tonight’s incarnation Phil envisions himself there sitting on the wooden floor, pondering over verses of romantic poetry, reading aloud a particularly pleasant stanza to Dan who would glance up from the piano and give him one of those warm, glowing smiles where his dimples make him look utterly angeli-

It’s a silly dream really, very silly indeed, and Phil feels ashamed for ever having dreamt it. With a glum sense of self-restraint, he turns back to his homework and tries extra-hard to concentrate on it. 

An hour or so passes in the little room on staircase nine, and after a while Phil finds himself lulled into the lethargic contentment that only rewards avid readers, and to his amazement he realises that Anglo-Saxon poetry about Danish kings and mythical beasts isn’t as tedious as he had previously dreaded. 

Satisfied with his progress, he bookmarks his page and closes the book with a thump. Dan’s neck twitches at the sound, and, as if abruptly reminded of the existence of the outside world, he drops his pen, massages his hands, and stretches his long, slender arms out into the air behind him. 

“Right, I’m throwing in the towel or else I shall die of a Schu-verload,” he exhales, leaning backwards and cracking his spine on the back of the chair.

“Schu...verload?” 

Dan swivels around to give him a dry scowl. “Schubert-overload, you fool.”

“Oh!” Phil exclaims, and the pair of them erupt into laughter. “Sorry, my brain has just been fried by one-thousand year old poetry. I’m feeling a bit,” he yawns, “a bit sleepy.”

Getting up from his chair and stretching some more, Dan paces over to the window and peers out of it before unhinging the lock and propping it open. Cold air sails through the room, ruffling his curls as he stares out into the dark night.

“Nice view you’ve got from up here.”

“Thanks,” Phil quips, fully aware of the fact that his room faces into a fairly dull courtyard.

“I’m serious. I think it’s grand that you’ve got a view of the chapel. It’s terribly romantic.” He steps away from the window, attention turning to a nearby shelf which houses a small record collection that appears to spark his enthusiasm. “You’ve got some superb albums here. Handel, Tchaikovsky, Chopin…” He looks over to where Phil has propped himself up against his headboard. “I respect those choices.” 

“Thanks, although I mainly put them on for background noise. I’m not a major classical geek or anything.”

The other boy guffaws. “Like me?”

“No, not like you,” Phil tuts, and his pretend frown turns into another yawn.

“Busy day?” Dan grins.

“Busy day, busy week, busy month. Hectic month, in fact.”

Nodding in solidarity Dan sits down at the bottom of Phil’s bed and reclines with his back against the wall, closing his eyes with a faint smile still on his face. As the pair of them sit in silence Phil's own eyelids get heavier, and budding in his chest is a drowsy desire to snuggle up into a cosy cocoon and burrow into the bedcovers, falling deeper and deeper into the comfort of his soft, warm sheets...

When he awakes, Dan is staring straight at him.

“Hmmm, what? Did I fall asleep?”

“Quite possibly. God, I know I’m about to.” Dan’s eyelids flicker downwards as his smile fades. He looks exhausted, really exhausted, and Phil feels like there’s something he should do about it.

“Hey.” 

Dan’s shoots up. Phil shuffles across his narrow bed and moves closer to the wall, patting the small space next to him in invitation. The other boy’s eyes widen for a moment before he melts into a soft, sleepy smile, then gets up slowly and gingerly sits on the bed, lies down next to Phil, then shuffles around so that he’s facing...facing him...and then closes his eyes as if it’s nothing.

Phil blinks in confusion. His more logical side knows that sleeping on the same bed as a friend is something that people do without batting an eyelid, but next to Dan it feels different - symbolic, even. Regardless, or perhaps because of that feeling, he shuffles round to face the other man and observes his sleeping face, his pale skin, his dark freckles, his thick brown eyebrows and long brown eyelashes. 

Suddenly, the eyelashes open.

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me use your room to study in, you doofus,” he teases, words coming out slightly sluggish.

“Mmmm, that’s alright. It’s the least I can do considering how you spoiled me last Saturday. I think I should be the one thanking you.”

Dan shifts slightly, and Phil feels their shins are now pressed up against each other. His soul sings. If he were more awake his heart might be racing in an exhilarated panic, but in his tired state all he can do is feel strangely happy. Happy...and cold.

“Why on earth is it so freezing in here?” he asks, confused and a little dazed, and as he props himself up on his elbow he sees that the window has been left open. “Da-an!”

“What?” he whines through the pillow.

“You didn’t close the window!”

“Close it then.”

Phil groans, flopping back down onto the bed. “I can’t be bothered!”

“Well in that case we’ll just have to huddle together like penguins then,” and with his eyes still closed Dan moves across the bed until their faces are centimetres apart. Now Phil’s heart starts to quicken.

“I can’t, it’s too much.”

Dan’s eyes fly open as Phil gets up from the bed and walks over to the window. Worried that he’s made a deadly mistake he buries his head into the pillow and waits for Phil to order him out of his room, out into the cold, out into the darkness for a long, lonely walk back to his own miserable dormitory.

The window clunks shut, and then the bed becomes a lot heavier. Dan removes his face from the pillow to see Phil gazing down at him.

“I thought…I thought you were about to abandon me.”

“What? Abandon you? Where would I go?” He chuckles. “I was cold, that’s all. I wouldn’t leave you here like that.” 

Dan beams up at him with flushed cheeks. “You still cold?”

A smirk lets itself out. “Maybe.”

Dan unfurls his right arm across the width of the bed and lifts his left arm into the air. Phil slowly begins to panic. A hug? Is he pulling him in for a hug? A hug with Dan and his arms wrapped around him holding him lying there together on his bed a-

Okay. 

Enough.

Phil looks back at Dan. His stare is dark and strong, profound and meaningful, and it makes him feel safe. He takes the plunge and lowers himself down. Dan pulls him into a hug, arms wrapping around his back and drawing him close to his chest. Phil can hear the low thump of Dan’s heartbeat and smell the warm, musky scent that lingers on his jumper. He places his arms on Dan’s ribcage, fingers fiddling with the cable knit patterns. The pair adjust themselves slightly, moving shoulders, moving heads, moving their legs and intertwining them together, drifting off to the wide, sleepy sea in a boat built for two.

Chapter 4.5 - Rubber Ring

Phil had been asleep.

Phil had been asleep, until somebody had knocked on his door. 

Phil had been planning on going back to sleep, until through the still of night he had heard a familiar voice whispering his name.

Shaking the sleep from his bones, Phil opens his curtains, stumbles towards the door, turns the key in the lock and prepares himself for whatever lies waiting for him in the hallway.

“Dan?”

“G’d evening”

“W...what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Fancy a stroll?”

“A stroll? Are you insane?” Phil repeats mockingly, shivering from the cool air in the hallway. “Dan, it’s...” He checks his wrist, and frowns when he sees that it’s naked.

“1 a.m. on a Wednesday night? I know. So, what d’you say?”

Really, he should say no. He really should. It’s one in the morning, it’s a weeknight, he’s got lectures tomorrow and the weather outside is probably cold enough to freeze him to his core within five minutes. He should say no, he really should, but there’s something about roaming the shadowy streets at midnight with Dan that’s far too exciting to turn down.

“Give me thirty seconds and I’ll be right with you.”

Diving back into his room to grab the first items of clothing that he sees, Phil can’t help but feel slightly frenzied. When Dan was in his room last it had ended with the pair of them falling asleep entangled in each other’s arms. Phil hadn’t forgotten that. He had far from forgotten that. Memories of that night had floated through the air ever since, landing on him with the delicate wings of a wistful daydream that left him blushing as it flew away. Now, to both his surprise and his delight, this same boy is knocking on his door and asking for his accompaniment on a ridiculous small-hour escapade.

As he wraps his scarf around his collar, he looks across the room to the moonlit part of his pinboard. One particular piece of paper stands out, and he moves in closer to read it - it’s a quote scribbled onto a scrap of blue paper.

“I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world." 

How strange. He’s had that Albert Camus line scribbled onto a piece of paper for years now, and yet never in his life has it seemed so appropriate as it does right this moment. With a peculiar feeling of rebirth he thrusts his feet into the nearest pair of shoes he can find, and opens the door into the corridor. 

Dan is leaning against the wall of the hallway. The pose strikes him as familiar, and with a shock of nostalgia Phil is transported back to the night when the two of them first met. He remembers how Dan stood in the doorway to the photography club - arms folded, ankles crossed, sly smirk plastered to his mischievous face. How things have changed between them since then. 

Phil locks the door, pockets the key, and when he turns around Dan is staring absentmindedly at the floor with his eyes boring holes into nothingness. Suddenly he blinks, looks up, and his eyes instantly meet Phil’s with a vivid, bittersweet gaze that makes everything else in the world feel like it’s falling away.

It feels like the passing touch of a stranger’s hand on the small of his back at a lavish party. It feels like the shock of a cherry liqueur that stuns the taste buds and leaves behind a decadent, sumptuous and moreish aftertaste. It feels like the sight of a full moon from the balcony of his Grecian holiday home, wind rustling through the leaves as the waves whisper beneath him. Phil’s heart melts... and then he realises. 

He just might be in love.

“What are you thinking about?” Dan asks, breaking the silence as his eyelids hang low. Phil looks at those dark, pretty eyelashes on those dark, pretty eyes, rolls his shoulders back, and sighs.

“Mmmm, nothing.” 

He turns to walk down the narrow hallway with Dan following close behind. They push through the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway and descend onto the staircase, making their way down the steps that lead out of the building.

“So tell me then, how did you manage to get up to my room?” Phil inquires. “Did Rapunzel let her hair down over the Fellow’s Garden wall for you to use as a rope to climb up?”

Dan laughs. “No, not quite.”

“Well go on then, how did you do it? Surely the main college door would have been locked?”

“Not tonight apparently, I pushed it, and lo and behold it was open. There wasn’t a porter there either. Poor sod’s probably raiding the college’s wine cellar,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Dan! The porters aren’t drunkards.”

“I know I know, but it must be bloody boring just sitting there all night. I know I’d raid the stash if I were them.”

“What, and allow unruly boys who can’t settle down to come and break in to the college grounds? You’d make a great porter.”

“That is why I am not a porter, but a devilish, wicked boy who breaks into colleges so he can sneak into other boys’ bedrooms,” he smiles.

Phil’s mind almost shuts down at that latter part. Out of sheer bewilderment his brain decides to respond by bellowing out “you are a saucy boy�� in his best Lord Capulet impression, which has the effect of making Dan double over into a fit of laughter, tears streaming down his face as he wheezes the word “saucy” through silent giggles.  

As they exit the building they’re struck by the biting December cold. Careful to tread lightly across the echoing stone slabs, they stealth across the smaller quad that Phil’s bedroom faces into, creep past the chapel, and step through to the larger quad wherein lies a perfectly-maintained square lawn.

“Hey!” Dan whispers.

“What?”

“Shall we walk across the grass?”

“What? Dan! We can’t do that!” Phil hisses. “We’ll get caught and fined and-”

“Oh stop it! We’re already breaking the rules by sneaking out past 10 p.m. Tarnishing an overly-pampered lawn isn’t any worse.”

Before Phil has time to protest, Dan has already set foot on the forbidden pasture.

“Dan stop! For fuc-”

“Catch me if you can!” 

The boy runs around in circles as Phil loiters on the edge, deliberating on whether or not he should join in, until he looks around the quad and, upon seeing nobody, finally decides to indulge in Dan’s game. They race around the turf, skidding and slipping and ripping up the grass. Phil tries to reach Dan, but no matter how hard he struggles he never seems to be able to catch up.

“What’s that Lester? Too slow are we?” Dan taunts, placing a hand on his hip.

That’s it, Phil thinks. 

Time to put Dan in his place. 

With a final burst of energy Phil lunges forward, hurtling himself towards the other man in a push that sends them crashing to the floor, foreheads colliding with a knock that’ll have both of them bruised by the time the sun shines.

“Ow, shit! My head!”

“You alright?”

Phil rolls off onto the cold lawn, swiftly disentangling himself from the mess of limbs as Dan pushes himself off the ground with a grunt of effort.

“Jesus Christ Phil! What are you, some sort of juggernaut?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

Dan breathes in deeply, eyes flitting over Phil’s body before travelling back up to meet him.

“Evidently not.”

There’s a moment of silence as they recover, and Phil notices that a few blades of grass are stuck to Dan’s face. Without thinking he reaches out a hand to brush them off, fingers briefly skimming across the surface of the boy’s cheek. Dan’s eyes are wide, and his breath is hot against Phil’s hand, lips parted as his eyes lock with Phil’s. There’s a presence in those eyes that Phil has seen before. Inspecting. Asking. Phil wants to trace his thumb across the surface of Dan’s panting mouth with those big, blinking, innocent eyes staring up at him, maybe slip in a finger and feel that soft, wet tongue...but the flare of uncertainty in his chest tells him to remove his hand, stand up from the ground, and say “shall we get going then?” in the steadiest voice he can muster.

After hoisting Dan up from the ground they creep across the quad towards the lodge where the porter sits. Or rather, where the porter normally sits.

“Hmmm. Still nobody here,” Dan confirms, crooking his head around the front desk.

Phil opens the latch of the small door and steps out. “Quickly then. We don’t want to get caught.” Dan hurries across the cobbled entrance, following him through the exit as it shuts behind them with a soft click.

As soon as they’re out the college gates Dan reaches into his coat and pulls out a small bottle of alcohol. Ah. That would explain a lot. He offers it to Phil, who nods in gratitude and takes a sip.

“Eurgh!” 

Dan laughs. “You don’t like whiskey?” Phil screws his eyes shut, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the taste. “Ah well - more for me!” 

On second thoughts, if Dan’s already drunk Phil doesn’t want to be the only one who’s sober, and so he reaches for the bottle with grabbing hands as Dan takes a healthy swig. Although he raises his eyebrows at Phil’s unexplained change of opinion, he hands it over regardless. As they amble through the streets Dan takes the drink back, downing it at an alarming rate, and by the time they’ve made their way to the highroad the vessel is as good as gone. 

“Ah, here we are,” Dan cries, “the theatre!” Phil winces - he’s a little on the loud side.

“I saw a fan-tastic production here the other week. The Phantom of the Opera it was. Bloody blil..bloody brilliant,” he slurs, waving the empty bottle around in his hand. “Very fine chap playing Erik, very fine...” He sighs. “I wanted to be an opera singer, y’know. Dunno know what ‘appened to that.”

Phil frowns. “What d’you mean ‘dunno what happened to that’? You can still have a shot at it.”

“You know, that’s very true,” he mutters, “very true...” 

As they walk down the deserted road the only sound to be heard is the clacking of their heeled shoes, until they turn down an ill-lit side-street and Dan begins to hum a tune that sounds familiar. 

“Is that-”

“The Phantom of the Opera? You didn’t say you’d seen it!” 

Before Phil can gush about his love of musicals, Dan unexpectedly bursts into song.

“Beneath the opera house,

I know he’s there,

He’s with me on the stage,

He’s everywhere.”

For a moment, Phil forgets how to think. He hadn’t expected Dan’s voice to be so high pitched, so silky and delicate and feminine.

“And when my song begins,

I always find,

The phantom of the opera is there,

Inside my mind.”

Dan nods his head as if expecting a reaction. Ah. The next part of the song is sung by The Phantom. Hesitant to embarrass himself but too tipsy to care, Phil takes in a deep breath and attempts to remember the lyrics.

“Since once again with me,

A strange duet.

I power over you,

Grow stronger yet.

You give your love to me,

For love is blind.

The phantom of the opera is now,

Your mastermind.”

He looks back at Dan, whose gawk transforms into a grin.

“Those who have seen your face,

Draw back in fear.

I am the mask you wear.”

Another expectant look from Dan. Oh!

“It’s me they hear!”

If he’s correct, they sing the next part together.

“My spirit and my voice,

In one command.

The Phantom of The Opera is there,

Inside your mind.”

Phil could have died on the spot - their voices sound amazing together. He turns around to beam at Dan, but Dan’s too busy acting to notice.

“The Phantom of the Opera,

He’s there.

The Phantom of the Opera.” 

He waltzes out into the road, obviously getting into it. Phil follows, and their voices combine more. 

“Sing once again with me,

A strange duet.”

“My power over you

Grows stronger yet.”

“You give your love to me ,

For love is blind.

The Phantom of The Opera is now,

My mastermind.”

“Sing my angel of music!” Phil cries.

“He’s there,

The Phan-tom of the O-per-aaaaa”

“Sing once again with me,

For a strange duet.”

Dan finishes off the song with the highest note Phil has ever heard come from a man. Bursting into laughter, he bows to a one-man audience as Phil claps and shouts “bravo!”, throwing invisible roses onto an invisible stage before turning to walk down the street.

“Thank you, thank you,” Dan giggles, buzzing with adrenaline as he looks at Phil, who responds with equal spirit. He isn’t quite sure what just happened, but something about their voices combining together like that felt spectacular. It felt special. As their smiles fade, Dan looks as though he wants to speak.

“Phil,” he begins, “can I...can I compliment you?”

“Of course.”

“You have the most incredible voice. Seriously.”

Phil is stupefied. Really? His voice, “incredible”? 

Something wells up inside his chest, something wild and fleeting and frantic that makes him want to sprint and shout and bowl Dan over with a tackle or a hug or just give in to his long-restrained yearning and just grab his charming, boyish face and just kiss it-

Instead, he reaches out a hand, and lightly taps Dan on the nose with his finger.

“Phil, I think you are the strangest person that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Hey, you’re equally weird,” he teases. 

“I know. That’s why I think you’re so wonderful.”

It’s his shy smile that tips Phil over the edge. He reaches out and pulls Dan into a hug that’s forceful and rough, throwing his arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tight as Dan instantly wraps his arms around him, gripping with equal vigour until they can’t get any closer.

“Thank you for agreeing to go on this mad walk with me. It’s just that I...I couldn’t sleep. This stupid performance is in two days and I’ve got so much work to do and I-” His voice cracks. Phil says nothing but rubs Dan’s back in consolation. After a while, the other boy pulls away. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, avoiding Phil’s eye.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re stressed, it’s understandable. I don’t mind anyway, it was my pleasure.” They begin walking. “Don’t worry about all this school work, you’ve got enough time to sort it out before the performance. If you don’t finish it, who cares - you can do it over the holidays.”

With a big sniff, Dan nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“As for Friday, I’m sure it’ll go smoothly. If you fluff a line just get your sword out and start duelling the audience with your fencing skills. They won’t know what hit them. Literally.”

“Let's hope I don’t fluff anything then, because I don’t want to have to kill you in a sword fight.”

“Aha! How bold you are to assume that I would lose! In fact, I, Philip Michael Lester, otherwise known as... Lance Lester, am a master of sword fighting, known throughout the land for my trusty steel and quick foot.” He snatches at the bottle in Dan’s hand, holding it by its neck. “This was my father's poniard, do you see? I'd be loth to see 't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his.”

Dan cackles, high pitched and loud. “Oh Phil, you’re such a geek, you know that right?”

“Oi - that’s Lance Lester to you!”

“Oh yeah? More like Feeble Phil,” he teases, jabbing at the other boy’s stomach. It doesn’t take long before they start to pretend-fight, scuffling in the street and tussling with each other all the way back home, gradually getting louder and more competitive until they circle back to Turl Street.

“Hey, hey, shhh!” Phil hisses. “We’re back at my college.”

Dan unclences Phil from a headlock and looks up. “We are indeed. Let’s hope the door’s still unlocked.” 

Phil gives it a gentle push, and it opens with a creak. Wriggling free from Dan’s grasp he slips into the entrance, standing with one foot it and one foot out, propping the door open with his chest.

“Well, good luck for rehearsals then. I’ll be at the chapel for…”

“For eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock. Right.”

Dan’s face falls. 

“My God.”

“What? What’s the matter?”

“I nearly forgot. Oh, what a disaster that would have been.” 

Phil raises an eyebrow. 

“On the night of the performance the chap I share a room with is going out, so I’m inviting a handful of people back to my room for a little party afterwards. I kept meaning to invite you but I never got round to it. Please say you can make it!”

“It’d be my pleasure.” 

Dan beams. “Perfect, I’ll see you there.” 

He turns away and walks up the street, hands thrust into his trouser pockets as he hurries back to his room. Phil stands at the door, watching. When Dan reaches the corner of the road he turns his head to face backwards, and, although he’s too far away to be sure, Phil is certain that he can feel the warmth of a smile shooting through the air and landing on his breast like the golden tip of Cupid’s pointed arrow, spreading through his body with a tender warmth.

#my writing #phanfic #phandom #phan #phannie #Dan and Phil #dan howell #phil lester

[veridium]

just another girl

HELLO, HOT MESS EXPRESS. 

Here I have one hot, out-of-the-angst-oven segment of Isabella’s and my baby, our college AU adventures. Safe to say, Olivia is not having a great week. But, in the true queer tradition, friendship backs you up and shines when would-be-romance falls flat. So, I thought she could use some quality time with a certain brilliant woman by the name of Montilyet...

special thanks to The Killers for being the soundtrack inspo for this segment (obvi..)

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // part 12 // part 13 // part 14 // part 15

--

Her weekend could have best been represented by the barrage of texts she gets over the course of two days. Ones she doesn’t even begin responding to until Sunday evening:

Theia: Hey, Ellinor messaged the group chat for you. You wanna go out tonight? You know dancing always cheers you up! Btw I’m gonna kill her

-

Sera: Hey dude, I’m on my way back into town, ya need anything? I can pick up some of the weed from that shop outside town…

Sera: ya know, the one you kept calling “smokin’ hot blonde”?

-

Dorian: Not that I care, but you haven’t annoyed work chat with memes, so...I thought I’d ask, you alive?

-

Josie: Theia told me everything. I have a busy week, but keep Wednesday at 2 open for me? It’s back quad bikini time :)

The queer web is tiny, but mighty.

The last message is the most foreboding in its enthusiasm. Josephine joined into their friend group after her and Theia fell head over heels for each other. An unlikely pairing -- a college dropout-turned-mechanic and the SGA President and leader of several clubs. But they were so good together; despite their differences, they made sense.

She used to wonder the same thing about her and Cassandra, but, that is something she can’t even stomach anymore. She can only cry, cry, and cry some more. She cries so much the 24 hours after their meeting that she googles WebMD asking if it’s possible to die or get sick from it. But, eventually, the faucet does run dry. 

If it wasn’t for Ellinor’s supervision and assurance that Olivia gets in and out of the shower, has at least two decent meals both days, and has plenty of space to grieve, she would have likely receded into her closet of emo clothes and hid for the rest of the semester. If you went simply by the sounds coming from her door, you’d swear Paramour was having their own multi-day music festival in her room. The more she languishes the more it feels pointless: an argument that ended unresolved and with so much left unsaid. But it isn’t just the argument, or the flyer, or the kiss that crashed before it even took off. It’s the whole fucked up pizza: the fact that Cassandra gives her so much and so little at the same time. Little to no blunt reassurance, but all the feelings that come with it.

Olivia knows she’s gotten in deep when, even in the thick of her weekend haze, she still checks her phone for texted musings or rants from a certain someone. But there’s nothing. She listened, perhaps for the last time.

When Monday morning rolls around she figures the best way to move on is to suppress and get on with everything. Ellinor is on day 3 of quietly walking on air since she dropped off the cookies on Saturday. She’s glowing, even dressed in her linty green-and-blue flannel draped over her black ripped jeans and grey tank top. Her hair is braided all pretty, too, and walks with more energy down into the stairwell than Liv has ever seen her in the early Monday morning. Cullen’s making her happy.

Good. As he should.

Monday and Tuesday are the days when she tries her best to latch back onto reality. Monday it’s a sweatshirt in jeans, no makeup, but washed hair. Her homework is done -- not as meticulously as it usually is -- but it is correct. She gives back graded work to the class she TA’s for and despite a few groans and curses, the class is too happy with not having a Professor to talk at them to bother her. Or, maybe it’s the way everything about her aura screams “don’t fuck with me, I’m on my last fucking straw, you fresh meat.”

Tuesday evening she walks home after work, keys in her hand and gym bag on her shoulder. She notices the same preps that scowled at her in the parking lot hanging out in the window of one of the student cafes. They don’t know she exists, and happily talk amongst themselves, though they have the same air of “too good for everyone but Jesus and even then, it’s debatable.” She stops on the curb and stares, pondering whether or not to confront them. She could be ballsy since she has nothing left now to lose, and have a rom-com triumph moment.

Her hand buzzes from her phone, which she is clenching with unresolved angst.

Josie: Don’t forget about tomorrow! I’ll bring Starbucks. Theia says hello. XO

Josie Montilyet. Josephine Montilyet. You never broke plans with her if you were an acquaintance, and you surely never did so when you were friends. Olivia sighs to herself and responds with a heart emoji. After that she looks down the sidewalk, and can see the top corner of her dorm building through the various peaks of red brick and concrete architecture. The trees nuzzled in between them have been changing color, and now match. It’s the season where everyone is getting together and finding who they want to take home to the parents for the holidays. Everyone’s holding hands or studying up against one another. Somewhere, for all she knows -- who is she kidding, she does know -- Ellinor is either cuddling or wishing she could cuddle her selected partner.

She slips her phone into her coat pocket and pushes her headphones into her ears. With a sore heart she keeps walking. The preps aren’t worth it. Not this time.

--

The following day she goes to class and doesn’t bother with anything else. Wednesdays are when she and Cassandra would cross paths on the north pavement on quad in the morning, and say hello. She wants nothing to do with it, now, and heads out the back door of her building after her class.

Cassandra has become like a ghost to her by day 5 of their embargo on one another. She doesn’t show her face anywhere near Olivia’s dorm, and neither does Olivia tread near the suites where she and her puppy-dog roommate dwell. It starts to become a question of whether or not she cared enough to miss her when they aren’t speaking. Irrational, but, in the silence it’s easy to think Cassandra in all her stoicism is somewhere on campus unaffected, doing soccer drills or making freshman philosophy majors cry.

But she still checks her phone, and still there are no messages. Reading the old ones again and again has gotten old. No word, no face, no presence. Just wondering about and rehearsing the disaster that caused it all in her head, over, and over, and over again. This is getting ridiculous, she thinks to herself, as she gets back to her dorm at 1:30pm. Ellinor is there, stopped in for a quick pick-up of a few things before she is off to wherever she has plans to be.

“Hey, Queen of the Underworld,” Ellinor knocks on her open door before stepping in. Olivia has taken to laying across her bed, hands across her stomach. “Whatcha up to?”

She shrugs. “Relaxing.”

“You’re looking good. Is that...highlighter I see on those cheeks?” she pinches her on the side of her hip and sits down beside her on the bed. “Did you, dare I say, contour this morning?”

Olivia rolls her eyes and grins like the sour brat she is. “I had to, I’m hanging out with Josephine today and she makes me feel like a turnip when I am in her glorious presence.”

“I see,” Ellinor snorts, leaning onto her elbow. “So Theia sent her after you to make sure you’re alive? What, am I not good enough?”

“It’s not that! It’s just...ya know, the queer mafia. We look out for one another. Everyone knows everyone or knows someone who would know the someone you want to know.”

Ellinor tilts her head. “That...makes absolutely know sense. Can you speak human, please?”

Olivia giggles and pokes her in the nose, causing her to laugh along with her. Ellinor stands up and circles the room -- the room Olivia took care to stress clean Monday night after she realized she was living in the squalor of her depression. It looks good, but it’s not as homey or warm as it usually feels.

“Well, you have a good time, then. I’m sure Josie has a plan for resurrecting you. That woman is formidable.”

“Pfft,” Olivia huffs, “there’s a reason why she has diplomatic immunity in like three countries, okay.”

“Three?! The fuck?” Ellinor turns. “How?”

“Fuck if I know!”

“I thought she just studied abroad a bunch.”

Olivia sits up and leans against the wall. “Yeah, but, she--”

“I merely interned at several government agencies during my abroad summers, Ellinor,” a bright, brilliant voice projects confidently from the doorway. “The diplomatic immunity is more like a diplomatic ‘acknowledgement.’”

Josephine steps in like an angel descending upon the unworthy mortals of 21C hall. Dressed in a purple sundress and holding a lawn chair under one arm and her back of scholarly secrets in the other, her hair in a voluminous ponytail of curls and braids. She is taller than them both, not by much, but her presence makes it feel like ten feet of difference.

She smiles, and looks to Olivia. “Hello, my dear. Sorry, I arrived a bit early.”

Olivia’s brows are lifted, mouth in an agape “O.” “H-hey, Josie, it’s no trouble. I’m ready anyways.”

Josie gives her the once-over. “That is an interesting fashion interpretation of ‘bikini.’”

“Oh, crap, right,” Olivia exhales and slides off her bed. While she goes to her closet to pick out her swimsuit that’s without a doubt buried under ten mountains of fall wear, Josephine and Ellinor are left to make conversation. Which goes something like this:

“Hey, Josie.”

“Hello, Ellinor! How are you?”

“Uh, good. I’m good. I’m...this boy I’m hanging out with is really cool, and…” she blurts it out, her words slightly fumbling with...silliness? Is she feeling silly all of a sudden? No, it’s just the warm and open tolerant atmosphere Josie seems to bring wherever she goes, emanating like perfume.

“I have heard! You both look adorable together, may I just say. The perfect combination of grunge and gullible charm. Very sweet!”

“I...thanks!” Ellinor smirks, embarrassed and honored at the same time. Olivia knows the feeling. “I...I feel like I’ve said things I never would say out loud ever in my life. I...I think I should go. I have to study anyway, uh, thanks for taking Olivia out.”

Olivia looks back and glares. “Taking me out?! Am I a chihuahua or something?”

Josephine laughs the scorn off the room with ease. “It is no trouble. I’ve missed her! Thank you for sharing her, Ellinor. Take care.”

Ellinor smiles and waves like a BBQ dad and sees herself out, a little too eager to not be basking in the light of Josephine Montilyet and the self-deprecating honesty she seems to inspire in her wake. Now alone with her, Olivia plays with the strings of her bikini in her hands, a bit timid at the idea.

“You sure this is a good idea, Josie? I mean, It’s Fall, and…”

“Agh, of course I am! It is currently 78 degrees outside and no wind. It is probably one of the last hot days of the year. Besides, it’s you who’s in need of some sun, my dear vampiric friend.”

Olivia blushes and side-eyes her standalone mirror in the corner, where indeed, her paleness is the first noticeable thing about her reflection. Cringing to herself, she takes a breath and nods. “Alright, you’ve got a point.”

“I know I do,” Josie giggles, stepping towards the door. “Now, you get that little number on and let’s get out of here. I am finally going to hear all about this mystery person Theia says she doesn’t know yet swears she’s going to kill her.”

“You think she would?” Olivia chuckles, taking off her cardigan.

“Psh! Over my beautiful, curvy, and impossible to improve or replace body if she does,” Josie winks with a tease. “Now, hurry, or we’ll run into the in-between class rush at Starbucks and they have a berry tea with my name on it.”

--

Front quad was the picturesque place where everyone walked and the marketing photographers for the university took more pictures than they needed. Pretty, but boring.

Back quad, on the other hand, was where students could lounge and sprawl on blankets and under trees and actually be themselves. Everyone from couples sucking face to the school’s rollerblading club can be found there. It’s an interesting dichotomy, divided by the Honors building and clock tower at the heart of campus. When Josephine and Olivia were first getting to know each other, it was when Theia was still enrolled, and back quad was a more frequented hangout spot.

Having gotten their iced teas -- which ended up being heaven sent, as Josie was right about the heat -- they find their spot by one of the walkways intersecting the quad lawn and put up camp. Two short lounge chairs and a red blanket to go underneath, and that is all it takes for Josie to set her stuff down and slip off her dress.

“Ugh, thank goodness,” she says with relief, revealing her high-waisted yellow two-piece, “It’s been too long.”

Olivia, more paranoid given her last two weeks of ‘yikes’-worthy circumstances, delays her strip-down. Shoving her hair up in a bun, it’s hard not to feel like eyes could be on her at any point, trying to find more reasons to hate her.

“You come all this way just to get sweater tan lines?” Josie asks, settling into her chair and pulling a book onto her lap.

“Uh, no,” Olivia shakes her head. She knows what Josie is doing, because everything Josie does has a dual-benevolent purpose. So, she goes along, for the sake of appreciating her taking the time. Slipping out of her shorts and over-sized sweater, Liv reveals her black string bikini. 

People from across the quad stop and stare at them, and that is the point. As she sits down on her chair and puts on her large round black sunglasses, she wishes they could all scram.

“It’s always a good idea to spend time out in one’s community,” Josie narrates, in her half-flirty, half-student body Presidential tone.

“You think?”

“Yes, Liv,” Josie plays and puts her own sunglasses on. “Especially for the one for whom papers are pinned onto doors mocking her sacred bodily and sexual autonomy.”

Olivia blushes and looks at her. “Josie! You know?!”

Josie hunches one shoulder. “I...may have...inquired…”

“Ugh,” Liv tossed her head back, her legs scrunching up against her stomach. “I want to disappear. I want to disappear into this grass lawn and never emerge again. God almighty.”

While she laments, Josie closes her book onto her thumb gently and reaches a hand, resting it on Liv’s forearm. It’s comforting, if not a sweet bit of salt on her wounds. “Liv, don’t worry, it won’t be a thing if you don’t want it to be. I just wanted to show some...solidarity. I know SGA Presidents don’t have all the clout in the world, but, we do have some to spare.”

Dual plan revealed, then. Olivia can’t blame her, nor can she be mad at her. Josie didn’t ascend into her roles by being cold and calculating in her ambition; she did because she was everyone’s favorite. She visited people in the tutoring lounges, shared baked goods with custodial staff, and learned everyone’s secrets which she handled with the warmest, and indeed precise, attention. Things got a bit rough for her when it was revealed she was queer, and dating someone not necessarily in her scholarly echelon, but that was a year ago. If anything, it made her a bit more unapologetically decisive. She did not mince her words, or her loyalties.

“I just…” Olivia held her breath, “I handled it. It’s fine. That flyer was where it ended.” And where her and Cassandra ended, ultimately. Ouch.

“Are you sure?” Josie slid back further into her lounging position, reopening her book. She reached over to her bag and found one of her lecture notebooks, flipping it to the page she last left notes on. “I mean, remember what I got when I went public with Theia?”

“Yeah, but, Josie, the people after you were also being racist assholes. You had reason to be concerned. All I got is one shitty note and suddenly everything has become a Victorian serial novel. And Cassandra, she...it’s gone too far with the intrigue. I’m fine. It was just some foolish prank.”

Josie does a tsk tsk click of her tongue, her head tilting from side to side. Her thinking maneuver. “That’s how they like to start it, Olivia. But you’re giving them what they want -- that’ll just make them think they can demand more of you while being anonymous still. You remember what I ended up doing after the five-hundredth gossip post on Yik Yak, after weeks of me trying to keep my relationship private?”

Olivia puckered her lips while she recalled. It was a long while ago, though that drama was hard to forget even when she was just a witness to it. Then, the light bulb went off.

“Hah!” Olivia concedes gleefully, “you lounged out on quad in your bikini with Theia during that heat wave spring semester.” Damn. Some things never changed when it came to college survival tactics.

Olivia looks and sees Josie smiling with pride, head held high while she pulls the cap off her yellow highlighter. “Precisely.”

They settle into homework and lounging, Olivia feeling her shoulders and arms burn even with her double layer of SPF 100 rubbed on. People walk by, more often than not glancing their way, some with smiles and others with confused frowns. A lot of them say hello and greet Josie, who matches their excitement at every turn. Endless energy, endless kindness. At one point, a couple of players from Cullen and Cassandra’s soccer team walk by -- something that makes Olivia want to crinkle up like a raisin. If it wasn’t for Josie’s confidence encouraging her to remain as she is, she likely would. They gawk at her, one nodding as if he knows her, but they don’t engage. Olivia just pouts, spread out in her itty-bitty-gothic-bikini, her sunglasses providing ample cover.

“Josie!” a voice called from up the walkway, paired with a waving hand. Both women looked up, Liv’s heart skipping a beat. It’s no one she recognizes, though. Thankfully.

“Ah! Leliana, there you are.”

The woman is dressed like a European artist and jet-setter, really. A head of red hair in an asymmetrical bob, precision cut and shining in the sunlight. Her black blazer looks tailored, rolled up sleeves on her elbows. She walks like she owns the whole college but doesn’t want anyone to know. A subtle kind of boldness. Upperclassmen, at the very least. Grad student, maybe.

She’s holding folders to her chest. When she arrives in front of them, Josie stands and hugs her. So they were friends.

“I’ve brought the reports you wanted. I only had to slightly hack,” Leliana grins, handing them off to Josie. “Just slightly.”

“Ah, well, don’t worry. It should be public knowledge anyway.” Public knowledge? What on Earth were they uncovering? The location of the stolen Declaration of Independence?

Olivia watches and remains still, laying out on her chair and hoping to blend into it like camouflage. Unfortunately, when the hand-off is completed, Leliana’s lightly-colored eyes look past the SGA President and onto her companion behind her.

Nope, too pale. Always too pale. Makes her noticeable from space.

“And is this who I think it is?” she asks, like she already knows the answer and is just being nice.

Olivia’s brow twitches. “Depends on what informs your thinking, I would say,” she replies a bit curtly, her mouth getting ahead of her manners.

Leliana’s grin widens. “Blonde hair, blunt mouth, and bold style. Olivia Sinclair, we meet at last.”

What? The? Fuck?

Olivia stands at once, trying to make it look casual. She pulls at the drawstrings on either end of her bikini bottom piece and comes a bit closer.

“And who, might I ask, knows me so well?”

Josie makes room, now the mediating person between the two staring at each other. Of course, she is never one to be out of her element in odd social situations, and holds a hand out to the both of them.

“I cannot believe you two don’t know each other! Liv, Leliana takes classes in your major. Leliana, this is, indeed, Olivia.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ve had any classes with her, Josie, so I wouldn’t know.” Olivia does her best to go along with Josie’s pleasantries, but if her reputation precedes her as being bold and blunt, why not fit the bill?

“No, I’m afraid she’s right,” Leliana agrees, “I am more involved with the communications and international studies than poli sci. You?”

Olivia doesn’t miss a beat. “Governance, theory, and policy.” Reciting her major focus word for word, like she’s had to say so many times before.

“Mhm.” Leliana folds her arms, vindicated. “It’s nice to put a face to the name, though. You probably gathered the fact, but, I’ve heard about you.”

Olivia grows a bit colder under her skin, and she folds her arms to match her posture. “From who, exactly? Do you mean Josie?”

“From…” Leliana’s grin grows into a smile, “people I know, and know well. People whose recommendation I consider very...well, what would the word be?” she glances at Josie.

“Ah, esteemed, maybe?” Josie offers happily.

“Yes...esteemed, we’ll go with that.” Her eyes return to Olivia. “Like I said, it’s good to meet you. Now that I know you are also friends with Josie, I imagine we’ll see more of each other. I am the Honor Board Chair, and sitting in for the SGA Secretarial position as the previous person had to...resign, rather recently.”

“Oh?” Olivia replies, interested but also not. Even though she was a poli sci major, she had no interest in student government. Too ceremonial for her tastes. Obviously, though, some people did not agree.

“Yes,” Leliana snickered a bit, looking at Josie. “Well, student government drama as per usual,” she has a sudden burst of personability, shrugging and letting her arms fall and pat her sides. “I should get going. I have a review for my drawing class tomorrow and have made shit progress on it since yesterday. See ya, Josie. And you, Olivia.” She waves low and sees herself off back on the sidewalk path heading east, where the art buildings are.

In her wake, Olivia feels like she’s no longer in the direct eye of a hawk.

“Uh…” she relaxes, “Josie, you have interesting taste in friends.”

Josie giggles. “You know it. Leliana and I go way back, though. Back to first semester Model UN. She was a ruthless lobbyist. But she has a heart of gold, too. She’s a student Chaplain when she’s not being a superhero on Cabinet. I think you two would get along, she has a lot of of views you do.”

“Views? Like what?”

“You both want a different pie as opposed to a slice of it. I’ll just say that.” Josie gracefully steps over her lounge chair and seats herself back down, sighing with ease as she gets back to ‘business.’

“Huh,” Olivia gives in, and sits down as well. Crossing her straightened legs out and grabbing her textbook, her thoughts can’t let go of the knowing stare in Leliana’s green -- or were they blue? Anyway, they were eyes, and eyes that did not get distracted easy by the looks of them.

“So...you and Cassandra Pentaghast.” Josie returns the topic Liv had tried her hardest to let fall into irrelevance. 

Olivia flinches, huddling her book against her chest. “People can hear!”

Josie laughs and flutters her hand dismissively. “Oh, fine, fine. I just wish you would have mentioned it earlier. She and I run in similar circles, after all. I could have given you advice!”

“Advice on what? How to get tossed into the lake to sink or swim on accusation of witchcraft?” Olivia groans. It was such a pleasant afternoon for as long as it lasted. Now she’s back in her own personal circle of hell, talking about her.

“Agh, you’re so funny,” Josie giggles some more. “I would have told you where I’ve seen her, what seems to pique her fancy...or, in her case, doesn’t. Her family has investments in half the town’s commerce. They’re on boards for most every nonprofit entity: museums, parks, the art galleries…”

Art galleries. Art. Oh, shit.

Olivia slams her book shut and looks up. “Wait, shit, you don’t think she’ll be at the Board gala this weekend?!” she asks, but she has a hunch. She knows Cassandra well enough (regrettably) to infer such a schmoozing, elitist event would be the antithesis of a good Saturday night for her. Still, in Olivia’s desperate suspicion, nothing can go unchecked.

Josie is cool as a cucumber in comparison to her friend’s frazzled nerves. “I don’t think so. The soccer team has that game this weekend, I thought? I was supposed to show, but, my parents want me at the gala. Yvette’s painting is being exhibited there. Finally, all that art school tuition…” she starts, but stops the sentence and sighs, turning the page of her book. “Anyway, Cassandra is not the social butterfly her family might wish her to be. I hardly ever see her at events with our families, and when I do, she’s always keeping to the background and quick to leave.”

That is her. Olivia can almost quote her off of her memory: Events where nothing substantial is going on besides drinking and showing off money make me want to stick pins in my eyes. It made Olivia laugh, because in her own way, she agrees. Especially with everything her own family puts her through to make her shape up for who they think she should be. It was one of the many reasons why Olivia feels seen when she was in Cassandra’s company. Or, felt, as it was.

“It is kinda fascinating, though. I mean, Cassandra’s one of those women people wonder about...you know, who they...are attracted to,” she raises a brow, “but no one’s ever had the guts. It’s like a movie.”

It is like a movie, and it’s exhausting. “Well, if anything, I’ve likely just confirmed the conservative estimates. At least she won’t be there this weekend and I can keep getting space. I don’t want to worry about running into her. I have enough on my mind, emotionally preparing for my Mother’s bullshit.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t answer for her. Don’t you hate that when people try to do it for you?” Josephine doesn’t bother looking up from her reading, but she delivers honest criticism. It hits home. “And as for your Mom, you should just tell your you’ll go shopping with me. She loves me, does she not?”

“Hah! Yeah,” Olivia confirms, “I think if I told her you were my girlfriend, she’d lie and say she listened to Macklemore and had a come-to-Jesus moment. Shit, she’d probably start fundraising for the Human Rights Campaign.”

They both laugh, Josephine’s bubbly tone underpinned by Olivia’s lower, mischievous one.

“If only,” Josephine says through her laughter, “but hey, at least we can find something for you to wear that isn’t sequined, lace, and beige.”

“Ugh, please?!”

“I have my connections,” Josephine peers at her, and takes hold of her hydroflask, a large pansexual pride flag sticker pasted on it. Olivia chuckles and grabs her own canteen, which has a bisexual flag sticker on it to match. They clink them together, smile, and continue on with their strategic lounging.

“That never gets old,” Olivia sighs, picking back up on the paragraph she left off.

#college au #ellinor trevelyan #olivia sinclair #josephine montilyet #adventures of ellinor and olivia #COLLEGE AU UPDATE #WOOOOO #friendship fic

[eyerevived]

G I A N T . C H A R A C T E R . S U R V E Y

[ tagged by ]: @nightblccded [ tagging ]: @eyetraitor​, @eyeprotege​, @baublossomed​,​ @cerisetheai, @ofangelicblood, @takeseffort, @magnvs, @remembcr and whoever else wants to do this!!

G E N E R A L

[ name ]: Jack Wilder [ nicknames ]: None. [ birthday ]: July 13th [ birthplace ]: Brooklyn, New York [ age ]: 23 [ eye color ]: Dark brown. [ height ]: 5′7 [ weight ]: 150 lbs [ nationality ]: American [ astrological sign ]: Cancer [ location ]: Somewhere, none ya. [ siblings ]: None. [ pets ]: None [ in the morning i’m ]: Running around the city, doing stuff. [ all i need is ]: The Horsemen. [ love is ]: Rare to me. [ i’m afraid of ]: Being abandoned.  [ i dream about ]: The future, what happens next.

H A V E . Y O U . E V E R ?

[ pictured your crush naked? ]: Yep [ used someone? ]: Yes [ been used? ]: Yes [ been cheated on? ]: No [ considered cheating? ]: No [ been kissed? ]: Yes [ done something you regret? ]: Ha.

F A V O R I T E

[ food? ]: Pizza, tacos, pork chops, crab rangoon, sesame chicken. [ fruit? ]: Strawberries and pineapples. [ candy? ]: fireballs. [ color? ]: Red and orange [ number? ]: 13 [ animal? ]: Dogs. [ drink? ]: Orange juice. [ soda? ]: Mountain dew. [ book? ]: Game of the Thrones. [ room? ]: Living room. [ movie? ]: Got way too many to list.

D O . Y O U ?

[ have a boyfriend/girlfriend? ]: Yes [ like cleaning? ]: It’s alright, something to do. [ have a tattoo? ]: I wish. [ have any piercings? ]: Nah. [ cheat on tests/homework? ]: Nope. [ drink/smoke? ]: Sometimes I drink, no on smoking. [ swear a lot? ]: Yeaaahhh... [ like watching sunrises or sunset? ]: Both. [ pray? ]: No. [ go to church? ]: Definitely not. [ have secrets? ]: Doesn’t everyone? [ have a best friend? ]: Lula and Merritt (and Raphael @nightblccded) [ like your own handwriting? ]: I’m very proud of it.

A R E . Y O U ?

[ obsessive? ]: About my magic tricks being perfect. I don’t wanna mess up. [ excited? ]: Sure. [ bored? ]: If I’ve got nothing to do. [ happy? ]: Yeah. [ missing someone? ]: Yes. Henley. [ confused? ]: No. [ tired? ]: No. [ mad? ]: No. [ sleepy? ]: No.

D O . Y O U . E V E R ?

[ wait around just to talk to someone? ]: I’ve done that. [ write about those ‘special’ moments? ]: Hell no. [ wish you were a member of the opposite sex? ]: N o.

W H O . W A S . T H E . L A S T . P E R S O N . W H O ?

[ you talked to? ]: Danny. [ you hugged? ]: Lula [ you kissed? ]: No one. [ sent you a letter? ]: No one. [ you sent a letter to? ]: No one. [ you laughed with? ]: Merritt and Lula. [ slept in your bed? ]: Me, myself and I. [ you shared a drink with? ]: The other horsemen.  [ you went to the movies with? ]: Lula. [ yelled at you? ]: No one. [ you called? ]: Dylan. [ you kicked? ]: Merritt, he was being a shit. [ you saw? ]: Danny.

W H O . I S ?

[ the most handsome person you know? ]: Uh...Danny. [ the weirdest person you know? ]: Merritt. [ the funniest person you know? ]: Lula. [ the loudest person you know? ]: Lula. [ the quietest person you know? ]: Danny. [ the sweetest person you know? ]: Bubu. [ the most serious person you know? ]: Danny.  [ your best friend? ]: Lula. [ the person you hate the most? ]: Arthur Tressler and Walter Mabry. [ the person you see most? ]: Danny, Lula, Merritt and Dylan. [ your soul-mate? ]: Those aren’t real. 

W H A T . I S ?

[ the first thing you thought of when you woke up? ]: That I’m hungry. [ the song that best describes you? ]: I’m Still Here, I guess. [ your best feature? ]: My....smile? I don’t know. [ your most treasured memory? ]: Any with the Horsemen.

I N . T H E . F U T U R E

[ what is the age you hope to get married? ]: I don’t think that’ll happen. [ number and names of kids? ]: None.  [ where do you see yourself at age twenty? ]: I’m over 20, dude.  [ describe your dream wedding? ]: Nope. [ when and how do you want to die? ]: Zero suffering, quick. [ what are your career plans? ]: Keep working with the Eye. [ some place you’d like to visit? ]: Rome...Madrid too.

L A S T . T I M E

[ last time you went out of state? ]: When Walter kidnapped us. [ last time you were outside? ]: This morning. [ last time you had a snowball fight? ]: Wow, never. [ last time you were listening to music? ]: I’m listening to music now.

O T H E R

[ how many people would you say are good friends of yours? ]: Four of them. [ what hurts the most, physical or emotional pain? ]: Emotional. [ have you felt this recently? ]: Yes. [ what do you wear to bed? ]: underwear and a t-shirt. [ when’s the last time you slept with a stuffed animal? ]: I think I was nine. [ have you ever used a ouija board? ]: Once, it was the worst experience ever. [ how many rings before you pick up the phone? ]: Depends on who it is, I might let it go to voicemail. Usually, if it’s Danny or Lula, I’ll answer after two or three rings.

#it's not something i'm proud of... « headcanon. » #long post

[thelioncourts]

Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki

Author: marrieddorks

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2486

Summary: Jared is the best friend Chad could ever ask for (until the pesky problem named Jensen comes along).

Part 1 of Stepbrothers ‘Verse [AO3]

///

“Do you think he’ll notice?”

The question was asked while standing in the middle of an unbusy suburban street in Georgetown, staring at the tilted and overflowing garbage can sitting precariously on the edge of the curb.

“Oh yeah, he’ll notice.”

“Shit!” Chad started. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, Jared! He’s going to kill me!” As if on cue, it was then that the garbage can decided to topple over, and Chad and Jared watched with differing types of horror as its remains spilled all over the grass and street alike, its crash echoing too loudly in the slow-moving neighborhood. Jared threw an awkward wave to Mr. Carrow, a bespectacled old man three houses down who was outside watering his lawn, his look disapproving and sealed with a sneer.

“How do you even make that much trash by yourself?” Jared asked, turning back to Chad with a sort of awe in his voice that paid no mind to Chad’s current crisis. “You can’t cook, you don’t clean,” his voice trailed. “If there’s a mountain of tissues in that, Chad, I swear to God –”

“Not the time, Jared!” Chad was already on the ground shoveling as much of the fallen trash back into the can as he could, a hysteria in his eyes. “What if we took some of this to your house? We can go get more garbage bags and fill them and then –”

“Sure, Chad, my mom would love that,” Jared rolled his eyes.

“I can’t die yet, Jared! Think of all the things I haven’t done!” Chad yelled, his voice cracking on Jared’s name. “We just graduated high school! Life hasn’t even begun yet! I never got to go to Vegas. I never got to ride in a Ferrari. I never got to bang Kate Upton. I never even got to buy my own beer!” His fingers were digging into Jared’s forearm and it took a good grip to extract them, their mark a stark pink on Jared’s tan skin.

“Dude,” Jared said. “You need to calm down. This is not the end of the world, this is you forgetting to take out the trash. Again. Do you really think your dad is going to be surprised?”

“No, and that’s the problem!” A swift kick landed on the black plastic, sending what little garbage Chad had managed to stuff back into the can onto the ground once more. “When my dad left, he gave me two things that I had to do: I had to take the trash out and I had to not break anything in the house.”

“.... What did you break, Chad?”

“Nothing that important,” Chad muttered quickly. He clumsily dropped to sit on the curb, his back slumped, his posture defeated. “I can kiss the rest of summer goodbye. The house is destroyed, and my dad is going to be so pissed.”

“Chad,” Jared sighed. “If I help you clean up your house, will you stop bitching like the biggest bitch ever?”

“I will totally stop bitching!” Chad exclaimed, demeanor entirely changed in a split-second. “I’ll never bitch again! You won’t ever hear a bitching word out of my mouth for as long as I live.” He was doing a mock Boy Scout-salute, three fingers in the air, but with his other hand over his heart too, and Jared clapped him on the shoulder after pulling him to his feet.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“In me have faith, my young Padawanalecki,” Chad said, walking backwards so he could make swirly hand motions.

“Chad, you couldn’t even keep two promises to your dad for three weeks, what makes you think you’ll be able to never bitch again? Besides, you’re actually the worst bitcher ever. You bitch all the time.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do n—whoa!” Chad shrieked in a horribly high-pitched sound that he would so deny for the rest of his life, and that left Jared in stitches with laughter.

“Oh, there’s a plant right there, Chad,” Jared grinned, looking down at Chad’s sprawled figure now covered in soil.

“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up, dickweed.”

“Are you really going to say that to me after I offered to help you clean your house? That’s messed up, dude.”

“Jared! My dad will kill me, please,” Chad bitched, and Jared laughed and helped him back to his feet, again, before walking in the house, Chad mumbling and dusting his clothes off best he could before entering.

Jared’s laughter died off, however, into a horrified silence that had Chad stopping in his tracks in the same abrupt manner, nearly running into Jared’s back in the process.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Um, Chad?” Jared asked back instead of answering, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to need backup.”

The living room alone was what appeared to be the result of a tornado, most definitely; the blinds in the windows were twisted and turned, the original shape unrecognizable, and the curtains that were intended to go in front of the blinds were woven all through the twists and turns. That is, the curtains that were still hanging and not ripped and lying on the floor below were woven all through the twists and turns. There was a grease stain on the carpet by the coffee table from where a pizza box had been, and at least thirty different DVD and video game cases were littering the floor in front of the television. A dozen pairs of dirty socks were strewn across the couch, along with at least two pairs of boxers (and Jared didn’t even want to know what events ended with them staying there) and the one lone pillow had what looked like a Mountain Dew coloration on its entire left side.

“I don’t even want to see the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or your room. Especially your room,” Jared said slowly.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Do you have eyes, Chad?”

“Fuck! I know, I know. Um. Okay, we can’t call Tommy for backup, because I slept with his girlfriend a few months ago and he’s still pissed. We can’t call Mike, because he and Tommy are up each other’s asses all the time. We can’t call Sophia, because she was Tommy’s girlfriend that I slept with, ruining that relationship. We can’t –”

“Chad, if we go through the entire list of people we can’t call because you screwed them over in one way or another, we’ll be here all night. Give me five minutes,” Jared told him, his cellphone already in hand.

“Who’s going to come here to help you? I’m serious about not calling Tommy, he tried to kick my ass last time I ran into him.”

Several minutes later, there was a knock on the front door and in came Megan with two of her friends in tow, their fifteen-year-old faces pulled into the most triumphant of smirks.

“We came prepared,” Megan said with a grin, jiggling the tote of cleaning supplies in her hand. “I’ll take the kitchen, Kelly and Marissa agreed to clean the living room, and you two can do the bedroom and bathroom because no way are we touching either of those. Deal?”

“It’s a deal, Meg, just do your thing,” Jared told her with a sigh and an eye-roll that only became more dramatic when she walked by him with too much bounce in her step, Kelly and Marissa at her heels.

“How’d you get them to come over here?” Chad stage-whispered.

“I agreed to take them to the mall this week and also agreed to do Meg’s summer reading homework,” Jared muttered defeatedly. “You so owe me. Actually, this is beyond just being owed.”

“You’re a true hero, Jay.”

After forty-five minutes of deep cleaning (accompanied by Jared’s Pearl Jam playlist because there was no way Chad was going to get to play his own music, too), things were already resembling a semi-stable household once more. Kelly and Marissa had successful untangled and untwisted the blinds and replaced the torn curtains with brand new ones they found in the hallway closet on the top shelf. Megan had the dishwasher loaded with a load of horribly greasy and sticky plates, cups, and bowls, and was soaking the plate from the microwave and a cup which had had a questionable substance inside. Jared had taken over laundry duty, plugging his nose and wearing a pair of gloves while transporting clothes from Chad’s bedroom floor and bathroom to the washing machine and trying to get all the darks and colors done first so he could bleach anything and everything white last. Chad himself had managed to clean the toilet without too much gagging involved and was in the process of scrubbing the shower floor when Megan came in, yellow rubber gloves covered in suds all the way up to her elbows.

“Hey, do you know if you have any more dish soap for your kitchen?”

“Dish soap?” Chad asked, eyebrows by his hairline. “Is there any under the sink?”

“You would think there would be, but no,” Megan said. “I can run home and grab a bottle real quick.”

“Hold on, hold on. Let me look.” Chad groaned when he pushed himself back up, making his way to the kitchen on legs shaking like he had just ran a marathon.

“Thanks again, Meg,” Jared said as soon as Chad was out of earshot. “Chad’s a mess. And his dad is supposed to be home later tonight.”

“Where’s he been anyway?” she asked, pulling the rubber gloves off for a moment to let her hands breathe.

“He’s been off on some cruise. Bunch of hot-shot lawyers went, I think for some networking event or something.”

“Who has a networking event on a cruise ship?”

“Rich lawyers who can afford it.”

“And he just left Chad. Here. By himself,” Megan said slowly.

“Well, Chad is legally an adult, despite what we all think. And it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I wouldn’t have been gone all this week looking at Duke University ‘one more time. Just to be sure I made the right decision,’” Jared said, making air quotes as he imitated their father horribly.

“Found some!” Chad yelled, rushing into the room suddenly, a bottle of blue soap in hand. “It was in the garage.”

“Why was your dish soap in the garage?”

“I don’t know, do you think I’ve ever bought a bottle of dish soap in my life? C’mon, Jay.”

“Point taken.”

“Alright, awesome then. I’m going to finish the dishes and wipe down the counters and make sure the microwave and oven are clean. I’ll mop the floor last.”

“Chad is going to finish up his bathroom,” Jared began, ignoring a dirty look thrown from Chad, “and I’ve got laundry going and should at least have it all in the washer before Mr. Murray gets here. When should he be home?”

“He said his flight was landing at five, and it’s a forty-minute drive from the airport to here, so I would say six o’clock.”

“That gives us an hour,” Megan said, her grip on the mop handle becoming white-knuckled.

“We can do plenty in one hour.”

And the second hour of deep cleaning commenced; Chad scrubbed at his bathroom floors with the sort of vigor only found in a desperate man, and too much laughing occurred when he ran into the kitchen to scour for more supplies, only to fall on the mop-wet linoleum. But an hour passes by quickly when hard at work, and before they knew it, their hour was up.

“Okay, he’s going to be here any minute,” Chad started. “I’m sweaty and gross, so I’m going to change clothes. You know my dad, always about that Murray-men sensibility.”

“Well if he’s all about your sensibility, you need to put on deodorant.”

Chad took a whiff under his arms, and pulled back, nose pinched. “Yeah, that too.”

“You, uhh, you might want to hurry,” Megan half-shouted to them both, her figure illuminated by the close proximity of headlights from the road. “He’s pulling in right now.”

“Shit!” Chad started again, the same tone from before leaking through. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, Jared!”

“Calm down!” Jared said, and his hands were on Chad, shoving him back toward his bedroom. “Go change your rank clothes and get back out here. Megan and her friends will go out the back.”

“We’re already leaving. Don’t forget our deal though, big brother! I’m asking Mom if I can double my chores this week to double my allowance,” Megan sing-songed as she, Marissa, and Kelly snuck out the back door in the kitchen.

“She’s going to spend all of her money on art supplies, just watch. She thinks she’s Picasso,” Jared said loudly to Chad.

“I’m more like Cezanne, thank you very much.”

“Who?” Chad whispered.

“Go! Both of you!” Jared said instead of answering, panic rising as they heard the doorknob rattle with movement. Both Chad and Megan disappeared just in time for Richard Murray to walk in the front door, a clean and stereotypical black suitcase in hand.

“Mr. Murray!” Jared greeted, his smile too wide and his stance awkward as he tried to figure out a natural way to position his body where he stood.

“Jared,” Richard started off slowly, “Jared, it’s good to see you. You keep my son out of trouble while I was gone?”

“Yes, sir. Most definitely. Chad’s changing clothes. We played some basketball down at Rowan Park today. It’s a hot one out there today. Probably not as hot as your cruise was though,” Jared rambled.

“I’ll tell you, I didn’t notice the heat all that much,” Richard said, and Jared was a little concerned at the drowsy smile on the man’s face.

“Too busy with all the networking to notice?”

“Dad!” Chad yelled out, skidding down the hallway in fresh white socks, Risky Business-style, but thankfully with pants, and Jared and Richard both waited until Chad steadied himself, hands on the newly-moved chair in the living room. “You’re home! You got a tan.”

“Chad,” Richard started, and Chad immediately flared up at the tone.

“Dad, I know what you’re going to say, but –”

“Chad –”

“All the trash is out at the curb –”

“Chad –”

“And the dishes are done! All the dishes, totally done –”

“Chad –”

“And laundry! I even separated my darks from my lights –”

“Chad –”

“Yeah, okay, Jared told me that’s how I had to do laundry, but I did it! And –”

“Chad!” Richard finally screamed, shutting Chad up (a rare occurrence for everyone). But the scream wasn’t angry, and that same drowsy smile was still on his face and Jared and Chad shared a look.

“Uh, Dad, are you okay? Did all the sun get to your head?” Chad asked.

“No, that’s not it,” Richard said, moving forward to put both of his hands on Chad’s shoulders. “I got married, son.”

#j2 #my writing #stepbrothers verse

[a-confused-turtle]

Late Night Snacks and Underwear - 4

hFandom: Marvel’s Avengers

Summary: Y/N and Peter run into each other late one night. After, she is beyond confused about how she sees Peter. And Peter? Well he was already in love with her, but it takes advice, teasing, and another surprise encounter for them to face their feelings.

Words: 1,000+

Pairing/Characters: PeterParkerxStark!Reader, (Everybodyyyy is at least mentioned), Tony, Steve, Sam, Clint, Nat, Wanda, Bucky...

Warning: More awkwardness? 

Author’s Note: So, I don’t really know how to describe this part, it’s more Avengers family cuteness and awkward Y/N before the big stuff. I just love writing awkward reader, because it’s like me lol (I’ve been away because I’ve been on vacation! Rewatching Star Trek Beyond for that request tonight!)

Part 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7

Peter practically stumbled out of his room and toward the elevator. It had taken him forever to fall asleep after getting back to his room and getting up was no easy task either. He slung his duffel over his shoulder as he pushed the button for the elevator. He’d shoved your sweatshirt into the top of his bag so he wouldn’t forget to give it back to you. The thought of you falling asleep on his shoulder last night woke him up a little.

The elevator dinged and he woke up even more at the sight of Tony Stark in the tiny room. “Morning, kid,” Iron Man greeted him.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” he offered and set his bag down.

“You look tired. Party too hard last night?”

Peter smiled weakly. “Didn’t really sleep well.”

“Well, just wait till we get to our undisclosed location. Unless you haven’t finished your homework?” Tony still teased him because of their first meeting.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he countered, just as Stark did before.

The elevator stopped then, pausing to pick up Clint Barton and Sam Wilson.

“Well, good morning,” Sam greeted as Clint nodded at Peter and Tony.

“You look beat, kid,” Clint commented, referring to Peter.

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well-”

The elevator stopped again, picking up Steve and a very familiar floating suitcase.

“Still won’t let Uncle Steve carry her things?” Sam teased with a smirk.

Steve chuckled, glancing over at Tony, “Well, she is as stubborn as her father.”

“If not more so,” Clint added. Your suitcase, suspended a foot or so from the floor, faltered then and abruptly clattered to the ground, startling everyone.

“FRIDAY, call Y/N,” Tony said after a moment or two of silence. Peter couldn’t help growing worried as they waited patiently to hear your voice.

“Nat was with her,” Steve murmured.

FRIDAY finally connected with your room as you were practically screaming, “What?! Wh-Why would you-”

“Hi Tony,” Wanda called loudly, obviously trying to quiet you.

“What’s going on? You guys okay?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine. See you guys on the jet,” Nat jumped in.

The call disconnected with your muffled rambling in the background, “I don’t get it… Shirtless… My pants…”

Everyone exchanged baffled looks before Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wonder what that was about,” he mumbled.

Peter felt an uneasiness come over him. That jumbled mess had to be about last night, but why? And if Nat and Wanda were there…

“She’s a teenage girl, what do you think?” Sam chuckled smugly.

 ~

You disembarked the jet quickly with the others. Luckily the ride let you collect yourself and calm down with the help of Wanda and Nat. The boys even helped a little, Thor, Steve, and Bruce, just by talking to you, though Thor and Steve were clueless to your tiff.

Except it all only flared up again upon learning the room assignments. This little getaway happened to be taking place at a large, secluded lake house in Northern California. You weren’t supposed to know the location, but hey your powers let you find things out easily, most of the time without even trying. And while the place was amazing, practically like a palace, it only had nine bedrooms for your 18 people. Obviously the couples were getting the one-bed rooms: your dad and Pepper, Clint and Laura, and Thor and Jane. The last one-bed room went to Nat and Wanda, leaving five rooms with two beds in each. The pairs went as such: Steve and Bucky (much to Sam’s dismay), Bruce and Vision, Sam and Pietro, Rhodey and Scott, and, finally, you and Peter. You and Peter. Peter. Surely you were going to die of embarrassment. Or maybe, if you focused hard enough, you could teleport to another planet and just burst into flames there… Teleporting was coming easier to you…

“Hey Y/N,” Peter said with a small, cryptic smile as he held the door to your shared room open for you, “You can have the bed next to the window if you want.”

You couldn’t help fidgeting as you replied, “Thanks Peter,” and lowered your bag onto a chair.

“So… Did you have a good morning?” You didn’t notice he was fidgeting too.

“Yeah, it was a morning,” you offered weakly, “Still pretty tired.” You walked over to the window, taking in the view of the mountains and an endless wave of green trees, except the blue expanse of water.

Peter followed you over, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Yeah, same here. You okay though? That whole suitcase thing in the elevator…”

Your focus had fallen away at his proximity, but his words snapped you back to reality. “Oh, you were there?” You said as calmly as you could, “What did you hear? I mean, uh, yeah… It was weird.” Of course some part of you knew he was there, you were just too distracted and distraught to worry about it at the time…

“I don’t know, you just seemed pretty upset…”

You swallowed hard and then instinct took over. “I’m fine. It-it’s fine. I uh, gotta go find Nat real quick. I’ll see you later,” you blurted out, backing away toward the door. Before he could say another word, you disappeared out the door, practically running down the hallway.

What were you going to do?

As you turned a corner quickly, you crashed into someone. You only realized who it was when they pulled you up from the floor. “Sorry, Y/N,” Bucky said quickly, his normal arm taking your hand, “Why were you running anyway? Don’t like your roommate?”

“Bucky,” you huffed with a glare especially for him.

“Ohhhh, it’s the opposite,” he continued slyly, “Isn’t it?”

He raised his eyebrows as you opened your mouth to reply, “N-No. Shut up.”

“Our little genius is afraid of some feelings now?” Bucky teased behind his smirk. You refused to reply. “Come on, doll. Tell me what happened.” The big, bad super soldier could see right through you.

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