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knox-knocks · 4 years

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Such Stuff as Dreams are Made

this is my fic written for @justadreamfox for the spring exchange!! it got a lot longer than I expected, but here’s a magic library au!! i had a blast working with your prompts and i hope you enjoy! :D

Andrew needed a cigarette. He had a pack in his pocket, and he itched to light it and taste the bitter nicotine, but being chased by two squad cars full of pigs and four delinquents that wanted Andrew’s head on a pike left him with little opportunity. He hadn’t been the one to tip off the police about their little gatherings, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the road was ending and Andrew was coming up on a dead end.

He ducked behind a dumpster, bending over to catch his breath in an attempt not to pass out. He might be able to pack a punch, but running had never been his forte.

Red and blue lights flashed across the wall as one of the cop cars crawled past, the pigs scanning for any sign of Andrew or any of the other guys that had scattered after the raid. Andrew knew to give it a couple minutes before leaving his stinking sanctuary, and he waited a few more in case they circled back or one of his former associates tried to ambush him. Hopefully the pigs would arrest them and leave Andrew to get caught street-fighting another day.

When the coast was clear, Andrew left the alley and started back to the dilapidated house he shared with his deadbeat mother and sick brother. He needed to be home before Tilda got back from whatever gutter she had spent the night in, or before Aaron woke up and needed his meds. Aside from Andrew’s late-night escapade, the streets were silent as Andrew walked through the city he had lived in his entire life, but was never able to call home.

Andrew had picked up his street-fighting habit halfway through his junior year of high school, when Aaron’s condition had worsened and Andrew’s mounting responsibilities had grown too much, even for him. If it weren’t for Aaron, Andrew was sure he’d have run away and headed somewhere east, anywhere but California. But he would never abandon his brother; he was unwillingly to break the promise he made to him when they were children and leave him, sick and vulnerable, to Tilda’s negligent care.

It was on nights like these, when the breeze made Andrew’s skin prickle with left-over humidity, that he waited until Aaron was sound asleep in his bed and Tilda was long gone before he left their ramshackle little house with its sagging gray walls and peeling white paint for the night. The street-fighting provided some money that Andrew used to put food on the table and meds for Aaron, though not that much. Mostly it was a way to let off a little steam. Apparently, beating the shit out of people and getting beat in return was a great stress reliever. Though, Andrew supposed, now he’d have to find another venue. He doubted he’d be welcomed back to the old one, even if it didn’t get shut down by the pigs.

Andrew flexed his hand until his knuckles ached. They were bruised, he’d need to ice them when he got home. Andrew was so preoccupied with cataloging his injuries, that he almost walked right past something that shouldn’t have been there.

Situated in a vacant lot that had been empty for years was a building, tall and impossible against the inky black of the sky. It was square and blocky, blending into the neighborhood in the way all abandoned buildings did. Drab paint that coated the outside had chipped away in spots to reveal faded, crumbling brickwork underneath. On the inside, the windows were covered with thick, red curtains that stifled faint yellow light Andrew could see creeping from behind them. Andrew stepped over tiny flowers and leafy weeds that grew out of cracked concrete stairs that led to double doors at the front of the building and was struck with the sudden urge to knock, though the place looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

Light seeped in from under the door and when Andrew pressed his ear to its splintered wood, he could hear a faint humming coming from the other side. It reminded him of a bit of a heartbeat. He took a step back, craning his neck to see the whole front of the ugly thing. A sign hung above him, faded letters painted onto rough wood.

Foxhole’s Traveling Library. Around it was a carving of a leaping fox, front legs touching its tail to encircle the words.

“What the fuck,” Andrew whispered.

The thing was, the lot the library sat on was next to the 24-hour convenience store that Andrew liked to stop by for snacks and cigarettes before his matches, and it had definitely been empty two hours ago when Andrew passed it. It looked as if someone had dropped a giant building in the middle of the lot and just left it there.

Before Andrew could think too hard about it, he heard the wail of sirens and saw the flashing red and blue of police cars rounding the corner. He couldn’t go to the convenience store since the owner, Mick, didn’t like him very much and would turn him over in a heartbeat. That left one last option.

Andrew shoved his shoulder against the boarded-up doors of the library, expecting more resistance, but the doors gave easily and he tumbled inside.

The library on the inside was a completely different sort of strange than the outside. While the outside was all crumbling infrastructure and OSHA violations, the inside was something straight out of a dream. It seemed a lot bigger than the outside could have hinted, with rows upon rows of shelves stuffed with thousands of books, stretching as far as Andrew could see. He was pretty sure he could get lost in this place, even with a memory as good as his.

A gilded spiral staircase gave off a burnished glow in the warm light that emanated from various dimly-lit lamps on the walls. They were old-fashioned, oil-lamps cast in iron that gleamed in the flickering light. Andrew craned his neck upwards and counted eight floors that looked identical to the one he stood on. There were paintings too – delicate oils of people hung in gold frames on walls painted white and masterfully-crafted marble busts of long-forgotten people tucked between the bookshelves. They were fanciful and detailed in a library that seemed to be made up entirely of fancy and detail.

Andrew drew closer the bookshelves and inspected the books. Most of them were leather-bound and embossed with gold foil and several were in different languages. He ran his finger down the spines, feeling the rough bumps from the binding and wondered how they got there. It seemed an innocuous question; someone had to have put them there. But Andrew couldn’t help but think that the books had always been there, that there was no other place for them to be.

He walked around for a bit, wandering through the shelves and studying the strange books in them. There were no markers that indicated what genre was in, but occasionally he passed tiny golden placards that listed names and places. One simply read, Forgotten Books.

As far as Andrew knew, the library was empty. He hadn’t seen a soul in the hours he’d been there; no one perusing the shelves of books or studying the artwork like he would have expected. He supposed they could have been on the upper levels, but there was no one at the help desk behind the stairs, either. But Andrew couldn’t help noticing that there was no dust that coated the shelves. The place seemed well-kept, so someone must have been attending them.

Andrew could spend hours here – days, if he really wanted to. But if Tilda found that he had snuck out again, he’d have more to worry about than a dust-free counter in a seemingly-abandoned library. He retraced his steps through the maze of shelves, noting that it took more time finding his way out of the library, and was outside before the sun had fully begun its assent into the dull gray of the morning sky.

The next day, the library pervaded his thoughts. After his shift at the warehouse, he went to visit the library again, except the lot was empty when he arrived. There was no sign of the huge building that had been there hours prior, not even the skeletal remains of it. Weeds swayed in the breeze where the library was supposed to be and Andrew was left wondering if he had simply dreamt it all.

The second time Andrew saw the library, he found it by accident, tucked in an alley about two miles from his house. It was a lot narrower than the library in the lot, and it sat crammed between two apartment buildings and a back wall. Andrew would not have recognized it if it weren’t for the sign that read, Foxhole’s Traveling Library fixed above the doorway.

The inside, Andrew discovered, looked exactly as it had when he first saw it. The same shelves with their strange labeling system were where he’d found them that first night, and Andrew was greeted with that familiar humming sound, like a thousand tiny wings beating in unison. The library still seemed impossibly huge compared to the outside, and Andrew swore he felt a buzzing beneath his skin.

It greeted him like an old friend, far too familiar for only seeing it once before. He’d stumbled across the library weeks ago, but Andrew felt like he had known this place for years.

The second level was almost identical to the bottom one, and Andrew spent his night circling the section of shelves labeled “Books Well-Traveled.” He expected to see maps and atlas’, depictions of the world and places Andrew would never see – and there were a couple – but most of the shelves held books with tattered covers and heavily-creased spines. As far as Andrew could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to the organization of the books. On one shelf, he found Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone slotted next to a near-unrecognizable copy of The Great Gatsby.

“You’re new.”

Andrew almost dropping the books he held in his arms to the carpeted ground below as someone spoke behind him. He whipped around to see a man standing at the end of the shelf. After spending hours alone in the library during his first visit, Andrew hadn’t expected to be interrupted by anyone.

The man wasn’t much taller than Andrew, or much older, with dark red hair that fell around an impish face in lose curls. He regarded Andrew warily, assessing him with a sharp quirk of an eyebrow. His face was covered in thin and circular scars and his eyes were shrewd and blue like a summer’s sky. He was very pretty, Andrew noticed.

His heart was still beating much too fast, as if he’d been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. He shoved the books back onto the shelf. “Who are you?”

“Neil,” the man said after a long pause.

Andrew blinked. He glanced at the plaque that was supposed to tell him what genre he was in, but simply stated Books Well-Traveled instead. Right underneath it, inscribed in tiny letters, was Neil Josten. Baltimore 2008 – Dublin 2010.

“That’s my shelf,” Neil confirmed, correctly guessing Andrew’s line of thought. His eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

“Andrew.”

Neil scrutinized him for a long moment, as if trying to puzzle something out. Then his expression turned sly. He slid next to Andrew beside the bookcase and pointed to the novels Andrew had hastily put away.

“You put them in the wrong spot,” he said. He reached around him and rearranged three of the books. “They’re chronological.”

Andrew frowned at the three novels Neil had sorted. “Hamlet was written before John Steinbeck was even born,” he felt the need to point out.

Neil looked at him with a strange quirk to his lips, as if there were something Andrew didn’t get. Obviously, he didn’t feel the need to explain because he ignored Andrew’s comment. “You can read the books, but you need to log it with Wymack first,” he said. “He’s the one in charge here.”

Then he plucked a seemingly-random book off the shelf and handed it to Andrew. He turned on his heel and disappeared before Andrew could even get a word in, navigating through the bookcases with an ease that spoke of true familiarity. Andrew glared after him, intrigued despite himself and irritated about it.

The book Neil had given him was a battered edition of Watership Down. Andrew rubbed his thumb over the hard cover, feeling the small tears and scratches in the plastic covering. Watership Down had been Andrew’s favorite book as a kid. He hadn’t read it in years, but he still had his own copy safely hidden under his bed. He didn’t know why Neil had given him this book in particular, or why he had seemed so wily about it. Andrew flipped through the pages, skimming through passages he had long since read and memorized, before replacing it on the shelf in its nonsensically designated spot.

Andrew passed the help desk on his way downstairs, and noticed that it was no longer unattended. The man standing behind the desk was a hulking bear of a man, with thick muscles the size of Andrew’s head and flame tattoos crawling up his forearms. He hunched over what looked like a log of names and book titles. He didn’t look like what Andrew would picture as a librarian.

“Welcome back,” the man – Wymack, Andrew assumed – sighed. He glanced up at Andrew and squinted at him. “You’re not taking another book, are you? You’re supposed to return them afterwards. This is a library, not a charity.”

Andrew stared at him. His hands were empty, and he hadn’t taken anything when he left the library two weeks ago. Rather than parse the meaning, Andrew asked, “What is this place?”

“Foxhole’s Traveling Library,” recited Wymack. “The sign’s outside. I thought you’d have learned to read by now.”

Apparently, no one in this weird library was going to give him a straight answer. The old quack behind the desk leveled him one last stern look before returning to his log. He scribbled something at the bottom of the page and said, “Stay as long as you’d like, but we close at sunrise. No taking any more books until you learn how to use a library.”

“I haven’t taken anything,” Andrew said and Wymack glared at him.

“I changed my mind,” he said gruffly, snapping his book shut and placing it flat on the desk in front of him. “We’re closing now. Goodbye.”

Not seeing the point in arguing, Andrew gave him a sarcastic two-finger salute and turned around. As he was leaving, he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching him. The prickling in the back of his neck grew too much as Andrew was crossing the threshold to the alley outside so he glanced back. He saw something small dart behind one of the bookcases, a flash of red before disappearing again. Andrew stared hard at the shelf, but detected no other movement.

The sense of someone watching him followed Andrew home, but he couldn’t see anyone around whenever he scanned the street. His fingers brushed the armband of his left arm, taking comfort from the outline of his pocket knife. The hard ridge of his knife beneath his fingertips gave him more semblance of security, but Andrew didn’t feel completely safe until the door was firmly shut and locked behind him.

He didn’t know what to make of the library. It wasn’t normal, that much was obvious, but Andrew was hard-pressed to call it magic. He didn’t believe in superstition or something as stupid as magic. Things that bent the laws of time and physics didn’t fit into Andrew’s worldview, and a shapeshifting-traveling-not-magical library certainly wasn’t allowed. Andrew rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine starting behind his eyes.

Maybe the sleep-deprivation and stress were finally catching up and he was losing it. The library and its strange inhabitants were simply a figment of Andrew’s imagination and all he needed was to sleep it off. He checked the clock that still hung in the kitchen, despite being about two hours off, and climbed up the stairs to the room he shared with Aaron. If he went to bed now, he’d still have a couple hours before he had to clock in at the grocery store.

When he stepped into his room, he noticed that the window was wide open. Aaron was asleep in his bed across the room, dead to the world for another couple hours before he’d wake up, but the latch was unlocked and the moth-bitten curtains shifted in the wind. Andrew frowned; he definitely hadn’t left the window open when he left. Aaron must have woken up and opened it himself.

That’s when Andrew heard the scratching from under his bed. He went immediately to Aaron, making a barrier between his sleeping brother and whoever was under his bed. But no one emerged. All Andrew heard was some more scratching, and then a quiet snuffling sound that reminded Andrew of a small animal.

For a moment, Andrew was relieved he wouldn’t have to fend off a would-be attacker, but then he thought of his books. The three novels he hid under his bed were the only things he truly owned besides the clothes on his back, and he’d kept them with him all these years. He wasn’t about to let them get chewed up by a wild animal.

Andrew looked for anything he could use and grabbed a ruler off of Aaron’s desk. The first thing he saw when he ducked his head under the bed was a shrewd pair of eyes, glowing in the darkness. Andrew jabbed at it with the ruler, and it leapt at him with snarl, making Andrew fall backwards.

It was a fox, russet-colored fur and bright blue eyes that seemed far too clever to belong to an animal. Andrew stared at it, dumbfounded, and it took him a few seconds to realize that one of his books was trapped in its jaws. He couldn’t see the cover but he didn’t need to – he would recognize this book anywhere. It was his copy of Watership Down.

“Hey – fuck.” Andrew scrambled to his feet, snatching for his book, but the fox darted out of his reach and jumped out the window. He rushed after it but was too late. He saw a bushy red tail disappearing around the corner, book in tow.

“You fucking asshole,” Andrew shouted, as loud as he dared. Tilda would be getting home any minute now, and Andrew couldn’t risk her hearing him.

Andrew shut the window and locked it, booking it down the stairs as quietly as he could. It didn’t take long to find the fox. Andrew chased after it, but it always stayed two steps ahead of him. It led him back to the dead-end alley the library had been in. Andrew rounded the corner triumphantly, expecting to see the trapped fox with his book. Instead he found a couple of trash bins and rotting cardboard boxes. No library.

Behind him, the sun was already beginning to rise. The library, and the fox with his book, were gone.

By the time Andrew made it back home, Aaron was already up and about. Andrew found him wandering around the kitchen in his pajama bottoms, rummaging through the cupboards for breakfast. He seemed okay enough, and Andrew was glad to see him out of bed.

“There’s no fucking food in this house,” Aaron grumbled before rounding on Andrew. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught sneaking out.”

“Did you take your meds?” Andrew asked without acknowledging the statement.

He brushed past Aaron on the way to the fridge. There wasn’t anything in there except an old bottle of ketchup and an empty pizza box. Andrew made a mental note to grab some groceries when he was done with his shift. They really didn’t have the money, but Tilda wasn’t going to do it and Andrew could ask for an advance on his next paycheck if he really needed to. Maybe he should find a new ring to fight in at night.

“Obviously.” Aaron crossed his arms. “And Mom’s passed out upstairs. She’ll be out for a couple hours but I’ll check on her in a bit to make sure she’s not drowning in her own vomit.”

“Let her drown.” Andrew slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Maybe then we’ll have money for groceries.”

“Fuck you,” Aaron said, but he sounded too tired to be angry.

Andrew tried really, really hard not to think of the library, but it slipped in and out of his thoughts almost constantly throughout the next four days. Even Aaron seemed to notice his distraction, shooting him concerned looks whenever Andrew was near. Andrew waved him off. The last thing Aaron needed was to be worrying about him.

“Is it a boy?” Aaron asked one night. He was already dressed for bed in sweats and an old t-shirt, furiously brushing his teeth as he analyzed Andrew in the mirror. Andrew shot him an annoyed look while he combed his wet hair out into something manageable.

“Mind your business,” he said, yanking at a particularly stubborn knot.

“You’re being weird,” Aaron wheedled. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

What could Andrew tell him; that he’d found a magic library not once, but twice? That he’d chased a fox that had stolen his book? That the library had practically disappeared in front of his eyes? Aaron would think he was insane. Andrew wasn’t entirely sure he’d be wrong.

Andrew practically shoved him out of the bathroom. “Bedtime, little Aaron,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Aaron scowled at him.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the older twin,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, then his expression turned solemn. “Seriously, though,” he said. “Are you in trouble?”

Andrew sighed. He knew Aaron’s concern wasn’t entirely misplaced; Andrew had been picked up twice by the police and had gotten himself into deep shit more than once. There used to be a time where Andrew and Aaron told each other everything, but that had been years ago.

“I’m not in trouble,” he said, only to ease the tension from his brother’s expression. “I found a new fighting ring that I’m going to try out tonight.”

Aaron seemed hesitant, but he let the subject drop. “Do you want me to go with?”

Andrew shook his head. “I won’t stay out long tonight, just testing the waters.”

“First-aid kit is under the sink. For when you get your ass beat,” Aaron teased.

“Oh ye of little faith.” Andrew slung his jacket over his shoulder and flipped Aaron off as he left. He saw Aaron return the gesture as the door closed behind him.

The new ring was only about four blocks away from the lot the library had first appeared in, but Andrew shoved any thoughts of the traveling library firmly out of his head. Eden’s Twilight was packed when Andrew showed up, and the first round had already begun. He pushed his way through the crowd, jabbing his elbow into anyone who got too close. The place smelled of beer and sweat and the ground was sticky and covered in suspicious stains.

Andrew found a vantage point in a small alcove above the main mass of the crowd that surround the ring. Only a few people hung out on the upper deck so it wasn’t as crowded as it was below. Inside the ring, the two fighters circled each other as the audience cheered and placed bets. Andrew mentally placed a few of his own, though he didn’t put money on it or voice them out loud.

The first guy was huge, tall and muscular and covered in tattoos. He beat his fists together to the screams of his fans. Andrew was pretty sure he’d seen him fight in another ring before. It only took him a second to place his name. Gorilla. Gorilla was known for his brutal punches and strength, but he was slow and tired easily.

His challenger was at least two heads shorter than him. She was wiry and thin, with her white-blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail at the back of her head. Andrew watched her circle the ring and sat up with interest. He was too far to see clearly, but he thought he recognized the dangerous glint in her eye as she sized up her opponent. Andrew didn’t think this match would be as cut-and-dry as it seemed.

He was right.

Gorilla attacked first, lunging at the women with a loud cry, but the women dodged easily and aimed two sharp jabs to his ribs. She was fast and deadly, with precise punches and kicks that wore her larger opponent down. She fought dirty too, striking hard at sensitive places. The match was over in a matter of minutes, when the women dug her knee in the back of Gorilla’s leg and forced him down, pinning his arm behind his back until he tapped out.

The audience roared and Andrew felt impressed despite himself. The blonde women gave a sweet wave that was at odds with the way she fought and exited the ring. Andrew hopped down from his perch before the next match started and shoved around looking for someone who could sign him up for a future match. He almost slammed right into the women collecting her winnings.

There was a bruise already starting to swell on her chin from where Gorilla had punched her, but she smiled when she saw Andrew. She was dressed conservatively and her white-blonde hair was dyed into a pastel rainbow at the tips. A tiny silver cross hung from her neck, catching the flashing lights around them. It was hard reconciling the fighter Andrew saw in the ring with the sweet Christian girl in front of him.

“Hi,” she said, waving with a hand taped with bandages. “Are you Andrew?”

“What,” Andrew said. He wondered how the hell she knew his name, and if he should get out of there. If some of the people from his old ring were here, they might still be looking for someone to blame. And Andrew didn’t think he’d want to be on the receiving end of this women’s punches.

“Sorry.” The women smiled apologetically. She put her hand out for Andrew to shake. “Renee. My friend pointed you out.”

That didn’t make Andrew feel any better. His eyes slid past Renee, looking for anyone that might have recognized him. His eyes caught on red hair, a scarred face, and clever blue eyes.

“You,” Andrew said and started towards Neil. “Your fucking pet stole my book.”

Somehow, Neil looked both amused and annoyed. “Are you following me or something?”

“I want my book back,” Andrew said.

“It’s not yours. And I don’t have a pet.”

“Bullshit it’s not mine,” Andrew said, but Neil was already turning away. Andrew wasn’t about to let him get away with his cryptic bullshit again, so he followed him outside.

“Leave me alone,” Neil shouted over his shoulder but Andrew grabbed his arm and spun him around. He got a hold of Neil’s shirt and shoved him bodily against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on?” he snapped. Neil blinked at him, unimpressed.

“Why should I give you anything,” Neil said, “when you’ll just take it?”

Andrew was so fed up with people accusing him of shit. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Neil snatched at Andrew’s wrist, trying to wrench free, but Andrew held fast, “go fuck yourself.”

“You tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go,” Andrew said. “Truth for a truth.”

“Well, you can’t keep me pinned all night,” Neil snarked. “Eventually you’ll have to let me go.”

Andrew glared at him, but Neil only snorted with derision.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he sneered. “Fine. Truth for a truth.”

Andrew released him and Neil straightened, smoothing his hands down his shirt where Andrew had ruffled it. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

“What, exactly, is Foxhole’s Traveling Library?”

Neil looked dumbfounded. “You don’t remember? Wymack said he already explained.”

“Humor me.”

“It’s exactly as it sounds,” Neil said, “a traveling library. Wymack founded it…I don’t know. It’s old. Older than any of us. We – me and the rest of the foxes – collect books and things for it. Anyone’s welcome, but usually only those who need it can find it.”

Andrew took a moment to process that. “It’s magic?”

“Obviously,” Neil said. “Do most libraries you know move every night?”

Andrew ignored him. “You said only people who need it can find it, yet I keep finding it. I don’t need anything.”

“For the record, I don’t believe you. But,” Neil said when Andrew clenched his fist. “you keep finding it because it’s here to collect those books you took.”

Andrew could feel his frustration rising again. He took a few breaths to calm himself down, forcing any traces of emotion off his face. “I didn’t take anything,” he said, once he’d gotten everything under control. Neil snorted again, but Andrew didn’t react.

“Okay, my turn,” he said. “How old were you when you first visited the library?”

Andrew frowned. He’d only found out about the place a couple weeks ago. “Nineteen.”

Neil shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think that’s right. You showed up before Wymack took me in, but he told me about you. Andrew Minyard. You’re the kid who kept sneaking in. He offered you a place there, but you didn’t want to stay. You took a bunch of books and ran with them.”

Andrew stared hard at him, trying to detect the lie. It was impossible – hell, the whole fucking library was impossible – but Neil didn’t seem to be lying. But as Neil’s words began to sink it, Andrew realized that he did remember it. He’d thought it was a dream, but he remembered picking up a book from a shelf and thinking Aaron would like it. He remembered stuffing it in his shirt and running home. He could never forget the bruises Tilda left on him for sneaking out of the house.

It seemed odd that Andrew had almost forgotten, given his perfect memory. But now he couldn’t stop remembering. Rough hands and tears trailing down his face, running through the streets at night looking for the library - his library. With its strange books and gruff librarian who always gave him a book to hold even though he couldn’t read it yet. The librarian had offered to shelter him after he showed up with a bruised and tear-streaked face, but Andrew had refused.

He wouldn’t leave Aaron. That’s why he wouldn’t stay. He’d taken the books because he wanted to bring a piece of the library with him, so he’d never forget. But he’d forgotten anyway.

“It’s your turn,” Neil said.

Before Andrew could sort through his tumultuous thoughts, he heard a shout behind him.

“Neil!” Andrew turned to see a large man with spiky hair jogging toward them. He wore gym shorts and a sweaty black tank top with the logo of some metal band Andrew didn’t recognize. Behind him stood Renee and a woman with short, curly hair, her arms crossed over her chest. The man regarded Andrew with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, but he addressed Neil. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine, Matt,” Neil replied. The man groaned but Neil waved him off. “Really. We were just talking.”

“Alright,” Matt said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Dan was saying it’s about time we head back, yeah?”

Neil nodded and met Andrew’s eyes for a moment. Andrew would have to wait to take his turn, which meant he had time to think of what he wanted to ask. There was so much he wanted to know; it was like a strange itch spreading under his skin. Andrew hadn’t felt so interested in anything in ages. It exhilarated him, and he kind of hated it.

“It was nice meeting you, Andrew,” Renee said sweetly, giving a little wave. “Wymack has said a lot about you.”

Andrew didn’t know what to say to that, so he let them leave without a word. He dug in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lit one. He felt oddly drained and he didn’t particularly want to stick around and watch the last few fights of the night. So, he leaned against the wall, one foot kicked up against the patchwork of brick and mortar, and smoked his cigarette to the filter while he did his best to sort out his thoughts and newfound memories into something more comprehensible.

After he finished his first cigarette, he lit another. He was still uncertain, but he thought, perhaps, that he would like to see the library again.

There was a smudge of ink on the inside-cover of The Giver. Andrew brushed his fingers over it, wondering why he had never put much thought to it before. It was black and nearly-illegible, but he could make out the words “Fox” and “Library” where the water damage wasn’t so bad. He flipped open his last book, a beaten-up copy of Charlotte’s Web to find a similar ink-stain inside. The words were almost completely obliterated, but he could still see the stamp of a tiny fox that Andrew had seen on the sign hanging in front of the library.

The books that Andrew had kept with him for almost fifteen years belonged to Foxhole’s Traveling Library.

When Andrew and Aaron were eight and Aaron first started getting sick, Andrew would read Charlotte’s Web to him until he fell asleep. He told him about The Giver and how he would have hated to have his emotions taken away from him like that. All this time, they were from the library that Andrew had loved and forgotten. And he didn’t even know.

Andrew slammed his books shut and shoved them under his bed. He watched his sleeping brother for a moment, listened to his steady breathing, and left.

He needed to find Neil.

The streets were empty, despite it not being that late out. Andrew didn’t really know where he was going, but he pointed his feet in a direction and walked. It seemed like ages before he found the library, sitting in the middle of an In-N-Out parking lot. But when Andrew tried the door, he found that it was locked.

He waited for someone to show for an hour before he left again. He wandered around until he heard shouting and what sounded like an animal crying out in pain. When Andrew went to investigate, he found two guys smelling of booze. They were shouting incoherently, and throwing bottles at a spitting-mad fox cornered against the wall.

The guy with a white hoodie moved to kick it, but Andrew ran forward and kicked him in the back of the knee before he could. There was a horrible pop and Hoodie fell to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs with an agonized scream. Andrew grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and slammed him to the ground but before he could do it again, Hoodie’s friend wrenched him away and pushed him back. Andrew withdrew his knife, but he was unbalanced and caught a nasty right-hook to the side of his face. His knife fell somewhere to the side, but Andrew didn’t have time to reach for it before the man smashed a bottle against the side of his head. Andrew’s vision went white and he crumbled to the ground.

“Asshole,” the man spat. Andrew flipped him off but he couldn’t see much through the blood streaming into his eyes. The man pulled his arm back for another swing, but movement by the wall caught both his and Andrew’s attention.

Neil staggered over to them, bruised and battered and looking absolutely worse for wear. “Leave him alone,” he snarled and launched himself at the man. Neil was smaller than him, but that didn’t stop him from getting a few good punches in and buying Andrew enough time to get off the ground. He was unsteady on his feet, but he got his balance and grabbed a hold on Neil’s shirt.

“Come on,” he said, yanking him away from getting punched into oblivion. His head was throbbing and he still had trouble seeing, but Neil gripped him under the arm and supported some of his weight while they ran.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at fighting,” Neil panted once they were far enough away. It only took Andrew a second to realize that Neil had led them back to the library.

“Shut up,” Andrew replied, breathing heavily. He used his sleeve to wipe some of the blood from his face. He didn’t think the cut was that bad, but he’d probably need stitches. “You’re the fox?”

Neil flexed his hand, wincing when his knuckles twinged. “I thought that was obvious.”

Andrew stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, because that makes total sense.”

“Magic library. Shape-shifting foxes.” Neil shrugged, and then wrapped his arm around his ribs with a pained groan. “Shit,” he said and slumped to the ground.

Andrew followed him down. He motioned for Neil to sit cross-legged and checked his knuckles. He swiped his finger over them, wiping away some of the blood, and Neil let out a pained hiss.

“Friends of yours?” Andrew asked.

Neil shook his head with barely-suppressed anger. “Just a couple assholes who like to hurt animals.”

“Well,” Andrew said. “I hope I broke that guy’s knee, then.”

“Thanks,” Neil said. He met Andrew eyes. His lips pursed when he saw the mess the asshole made of Andrew’s face, but he held his gaze. “You saved me.”

Andrew shrugged it off. He didn’t know why Neil was looking at him like that, or why it terrified him and made something jolt in his chest at the same time. He looked away, smoothing over his expression into something that resembled boredom. “You look like a punching bag,” he said. “There’s a first-aid kit at the house.”

“No need.” Neil pushed to his feet with a grunt. “The library will do just fine. Coming in?”

Andrew didn’t know what he meant by that, but he followed Neil through the doors all the same. They weren’t unlocked anymore – or at least they weren’t locked for Neil.

The cuts on Neil’s face and hands began to heal as soon he stepped over the threshold. Andrew really shouldn’t have been surprised, but he couldn’t look away as the bruises faded as if they were never there.

“Nothing can hurt us here,” Neil said as Andrew felt his own wounds begin to heal.

They walked through the library, neither wanting to leave their quiet sanctuary. Andrew was sure the other foxes were hanging around somewhere, but the place was huge enough to get lost in and Andrew knew that they would not be bothered. He didn’t really know why he was still here, just a couple weeks ago he had been furious at Neil for stealing his book. But now a small part of him kind of wanted to hold his hand. Andrew shoved that very small part to the back of his mind before he could do something stupid like actually reach out for Neil.

They were on the third floor of the library, in a section labeled Unwritten Books, when Neil rocked to a halt beside Andrew. He turned to him and reach out, stopping his hand just short of Andrew’s face.

Andrew swallowed. He didn’t know what Neil planned to do, but he met Neil’s eyes and nodded once in permission. Neil brushed his fingers over Andrew’s temple, where the bottle had hit him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers pressed to the spot where the gash would have been. “Sometimes it doesn’t heal all of it.”

Andrew touched his temple and felt a bump from a scar. It hadn’t been there before. Andrew grabbed Neil’s hand and moved it away from his face. He squeezed once and Neil tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Do not apologize,” Andrew ordered. It wasn’t Neil’s fault, and Andrew didn’t like the sad expression in Neil’s eyes. “And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Neil asked.

Andrew ignored the question. It was his turn, and he told Neil so. He’d been thinking of what he wanted to ask, and now he thought he was ready.

“Why are you here?”

Neil looked surprised at the question, but then he motioned for Andrew to sit. Andrew sat with his back to the bookshelf and his arms draped over his knees. Neil mirrored him. He was quiet for a long time before he spoke.

“I was running from my father.” He motioned to his face. “He’s the one that did this. To say that he was a shitty father would be an understatement. He was a monster.”

Andrew knew plenty about monsters that pretended to be human. He’s had monsters of his own. Some being Tilda and her string of boyfriends that varied from strung-out drug addicts to heavy-handed abusers. Sometimes they were worse, but Andrew tried not to think about them. He wasn’t familiar with Neil’s sort of monster, but he stayed quiet and gave Neil his full attention.

Neil rubbed at the circular burn scars on his cheek. “A couple years back, he killed my mother. Beat her to death with a metal pipe. He would have killed me, but I ran. I just kept running, and somehow I ended up here. If Wymack hadn’t taken me in, I would have died.”

Andrew thought of offering Andrew a place to stay, so many years ago. “He takes in a lot of strays,” he noted.

“The old man is soft,” Neil said, fondly. Then he frowned. “Why didn’t you stay?”

Andrew exhaled heavily. “My brother,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave him. This was before he got sick, but he was always mine to protect. If I left him, I am not sure he would have survived.”

“He’s sick?”

Andrew grit his teeth until his jaw ached and gave a jerky nod. “It’s worse these days,” is all he said. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Andrew,” Neil whispered. “The library probably won’t come back once you return the rest of your books.”

“I know.”

Neil’s voice had an edge to it but Andrew couldn’t tell if it was from anger or from something else. Something closer to desperation. “You can’t keep them forever.”

“I know.” Ever since Andrew rediscovered the library, he knew he would not be allowed to keep it. The library, Wymack, even the beginnings of this something between him and Neil. Soon enough, Andrew was going to have to say goodbye.

Aaron’s condition worsened few weeks into December. San Jose was not a city that froze over during its winters, but the cold months always made him struggle more and the sudden temperature drop this year had been merciless. Andrew checked on him regularly, but Aaron would always make him leave the room. Andrew had a sneaking suspicion it was because Aaron didn’t want to get him sick, too.

When Tilda got home a little after two in the morning, Andrew was fuming. He confronted her in the kitchen while she tottered around looking for food. Her eyes were red and unfocused and Andrew wasn’t entirely sure if she was aware that he was there at all.

Andrew hated her.

“Aaron’s sick,” he said, forcing his voice to be even. Despite his best efforts, his words trembled with rage.

Tilda turned to him, leaning against the counter so she wouldn’t topple over, and regarded him with bleary eyes. “Make him better, then,” she slurred.

Andrew had spent the last decade of his life trying to make him better, with no help from Tilda. Andrew worked two jobs and got into illegal street-fighting to pay the bills while Tilda got drunk and high for days at a time. Her son was dying and she did not care.

Andrew clenched his hands into fists to stop the shaking, but Tilda didn’t notice. She dug around in her purse and withdrew a prescription bottle full of various pills. She shook some out onto her palm and studied them.

Andrew crossed the kitchen and knocked them out of her hand. The candy-colored pills clattered to the ground, scattering across the dirty floorboards. “He’s sick!” he snarled. “He needs medicine.”

Tilda went very still, and for a moment the world stopped spinning. Andrew didn’t register the slap at first, just that his face stung and there was a sharp, metallic taste in his mouth. Everything jolted back into motion with that slap.

“You ungrateful shit,” Tilda hissed. She was shaking a finger in Andrew’s face, but Andrew hardly noticed. He had his hand pressed to his cheek, where Tilda had hit him. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. Don’t go telling me what to do, I don’t owe you anything!”

Andrew said nothing while she stalked away. He could feel his lip starting to swell under his hand. He pressed his finger to the cut and it came away red. Andrew was moving before he really thought about it. One minute he was standing in the kitchen with a stinging face, and the next he was digging for a book from under his bed. Charlotte’s Web. That’ll do.

It was only a couple of hours until sunrise, but Andrew didn’t have trouble finding the library. All the other times he tried to enter without a book, the doors would not open and Neil would have to come out onto the front stoop with him. But this time the doors parted easily, and Andrew was greeted with a blast of warm air and the tingling sensation of his bloodied lip beginning to heal.

Neil saw it anyway and was across the room in an instant.

“Who did that to you?” he demanded.

“My mother.” Andrew spat the word. “I asked her to parent for once.”

Neil looked ready to fight, but Andrew shoved the book at him before he could say anything. He took it, confused, before glancing at the cover. “Oh,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“Shut up,” Andrew said and Neil nodded. He motioned for Andrew to follow him and brought him to a section of the library on the sixth floor.

The shelves up here were filled with more books, but Andrew spied a few strange objects that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Andrew picked one up. It was about the size of his palm, with nine interlocking gold rings that spun around each other. It reminded Andrew of rings circling a planet, or maybe a strange, metal flower.

“That’s Matt’s work,” Neil said once he caught Andrew looking. “He’s more of a creator than a collector. Most of these are his.”

“Most?” Andrew asked. He nudged one ring and it spun backwards. The rest of the rings followed suit.

“Some of them are Allison’s. One or two might be Nicky’s, but he never really got a hang of it.”

Andrew replaced the object back on the shelf, careful not to crush the delicate metalwork, and he and Neil continued through the maze of bookshelves. Eventually, they came upon a shelf labeled Lost Books. The shelf was empty except for a single book: Andrew’s old copy of Watership Down.

Neil placed Charlotte’s Web next to it and turned to Andrew without meeting his eyes, his hand lingering on the shelf. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. “This could be yours,” he said and finally looked up.

There was an empty space on the plaque, right under the label. It had enough room for a name, like all the other shelves in the library. Neil brushed his hand over it, finger unconsciously looping around to form a word.

Andrew.

“You could stay here,” continued Neil. “You could be a fox and collect books or make things. Anything. You could get away from your mom.”

“I won’t leave Aaron,” Andrew reminded him.

Andrew could see the disappointment on Neil’s face, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said. He stooped to sit with his back against the shelf, reminiscent of the time they sheltered between the shelves and started their question game. Andrew sat next to him. He left an inch of space between them, but Andrew’s knee nudged Neil’s and they were close enough that he could feel Neil’s warmth.

“You should see this place during the day,” Neil said, as if Andrew would ever be allowed to. “There’s so many windows, the sunlight catches Matt’s creations and everything turns gold.”

Neil wasn’t looking at him, which gave Andrew every opportunity to watch without being seen in return. Freckles dashed across the bridge of his nose, like tiny constellations of stars that Andrew wished to name. His eyes were an even deeper blue in the dimness of the library, and light danced in them as he gazed at the bookshelves full of books and gadgets. A small smile ghosted across Neil’s face. “It’s really beautiful.”

Looking at Neil, Andrew agreed.

“Oh,” Neil said with a small laugh when he noticed Andrew’s attention, “you can stare, but when I do it – ”

Andrew kissed him. He felt Neil’s breath hitch against his lips and Andrew pulled back with a surge of panic.

“Shit,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He started to get up, but Neil stopped him with a hand hovering over his arm. Andrew looked in the general direction of the exit, wondering if he could still make a break for it.

“Wait,” Neil said. “Do we have to stop?”

Andrew pressed his thumb to his bottom lip. He couldn’t stop thinking about the weight of Neil’s mouth against his.

“Andrew,” Neil urged. Andrew gazed at him for a long moment before sitting down again.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.

“Yes,” Neil breathed, and leaned in.

Andrew hooked his fingers in the color of Neil’s sweatshirt as they kissed. He used it as an anchor, soft fabric brushing against his hand while he got lost in the waves washing over him. Time stood still and Andrew’s mind wiped clean. It was just him and Neil, no impending deadline looming over them for when Andrew returned his last book. For a moment, they were infinite.

When they separated, Andrew had to take a few seconds to relearn how to breathe before he opened his eyes. He wondered why they had stopped kissing until he saw the soft light reaching out for them.

“It’s morning,” Neil said. He swallowed roughly. Andrew’s eyes followed the movement of his throat and then skipped back to Neil’s face. His lips were red from kissing, his eyes blown. Andrew watched him form the words as he said, “Library’s closing.”

Andrew extracted himself from Neil, taking a few deep breaths to get himself together. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, fingers wrapping around his lighter and cigarettes. He itched to light one, but he didn’t.

“Hey,” Neil said. Andrew glanced at him. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Andrew didn’t respond, but he pulled Neil in for another quick kiss. He and Neil both knew that he would show up on the steps of the library as soon as night fell and Aaron was asleep. However much time he and Neil had, Andrew would not waste it.

Tilda was missing, of course. She had never been there for her sons; not when Aaron lost his first tooth, or when Andrew broke his arm climbing a tree, or when they both miraculously graduated high school. It made sense that she was missing now, when Aaron’s temperature was rising and there was no money left to buy more ibuprofen. He’d given Aaron the last of it an hour ago but he wasn’t getting better.

No money, no medicine, and no mother.

“Mom?” Aaron croaked. It was the first thing he’d said in a while, and it almost made Andrew jump. They both knew that Tilda would not show up, but Aaron seemed too out of it to really understand.

“She ran to the store to get more milk,” Andrew said. It was an old lie he used to tell Aaron when Tilda had gone off on another bender. He’d stopped making excuses for her when they were twelve and Aaron had to go to the hospital when he stopped breathing. Andrew didn’t know why he said it now. Maybe because he wanted to offer this last scrap hope to his brother and he knew that he wouldn’t last long enough to be disappointed.

Andrew pressed his hand against Aaron’s forehead, pushing his hair off his sweat-slicked skin to gauge his temperature. He didn’t have a thermometer, but he didn’t need one to know that Aaron was very, very sick. He was barely conscious, puffy eyes cracked open as he struggled to breathe. The pneumonia had settled in his lungs shortly after Andrew delivered the book, and now he was left to watch his brother deteriorate and wonder if he could have done something more.

Andrew had promised to meet Neil, but he’s barely been able to leave Aaron’s bedside for days. He leaned his head against the bedframe of Aaron’s bed and wondered if he’d ever see Neil again. Andrew supposed that he could leave the last book on the porch for Neil to pick up and take to the library. Their stolen moments together would have to be enough.

It was well into the night and Andrew was still sitting sentinel on the floor beside Aaron’s bed.

“Do you remember,” he whispered, “when I used to read to you?”

Aaron didn’t respond, his breathing too labored, but Andrew continued to talk. “I found a library. You would like it. It’s huge and filled with thousands of books and I’ve almost gotten lost in it a couple times. I’ll take you to it, when you get better.”

Andrew wasn’t sure if Aaron would make the trip. He clenched his jaw for several seconds, not wanting to think of his brother not making it.

“You have to get better, Aaron,” Andrew said and Aaron replied with a weak cough.

A loud thump on the window nearly made Andrew jump out of his skin. He glanced at Aaron before seeing what had made the noise. When he saw who was standing below, he shoved the window open.

“Hey,” Neil shouted up to him. “Grab your book.”

Neil came upstairs a couple minutes later with Matt and Dan in tow. Andrew stared at them, dumbfounded. “I already said that I’m not leaving Aaron.”

“Which is why,” Matt said as he eased Aaron up into a sitting position, “we’re bringing him with us.”

He lifted Aaron out of the bed like he weighed nothing to him. He probably didn’t, Aaron had hardly been able to eat anything these past few days.

Andrew gripped his arm to stop him taking his brother anywhere. “What the fuck will that do except make him worse?” he demanded.

“We reckon the library will heal him,” Dan responded. She raised her eyebrows at Andrew, giving him a stern look until he let go of Matt’s arm. “Now where’s that book?”

Neil darted to the window. “Quickly,” he said. “Before the sun rises.”

Three shapeshifting foxes, one book thief, and a dying nineteen-year-old made it to the library just as the first vestiges of night faded from the sky. It was in the lot Andrew had stumbled across so long ago, it felt like a dream.

Neil was right, the library was beautiful during the day. At night, the interior of the library was dark except for the old-fashioned lamps that hung between the bookshelves. But now light streamed in through the giant windows, catching all the golden details and making it shimmer. The light caught a stream of dust motes that twinkled like tiny golden stars, and dapples of light danced across the white marble.

The strange posse brought him to the self-help desk where Wymack sat. His eyebrows rose when he saw them, but he sat up when he saw Aaron’s limp form in Matt’s arms. Andrew placed the book on the desk between them.

“One book for two places in the library,” he said.

Wymack regarded them for a long moment. “That one still alive?” he grunted, nodding towards Aaron.

Dan pulled over a chair so Matt could set Aaron down. He was so still, and when Matt stepped back Aaron’s head lolled limply to the side. For one heart-stopping second, Andrew thought that they’d failed and his brother was gone. But then Aaron’s eyes blinked open as he let out a small groan.

He squinted in the light, eyes slowly moving around the library before focusing on Andrew’s face. “This your library?” he rasped. It was the most coherent he sounded in days. “Thought it’d bigger.”

Andrew let out a disbelieving huff. He could have been sick with relief. “It is big, asshole.”

Aaron laughed weakly. His face was regaining color by the minute and he didn’t look so gaunt. Andrew knew he was going to be okay. He exchanged a look at Neil, who gave him a small smile. Andrew almost smiled back.

“Welcome to Foxhole’s Traveling Library,” Wymack said. “It’s about god damn time.”

#aftg #tfc #aftg exchange #andreil #twinyards #andrew minyard #neil josten #mine #my writing

221 notes · View notes

aidanchaser · 3 years

Text

Character Profile: Lily Potter

Canon: We know that Lily loved her sister in childhood but hated her gifts in adulthood; we know that she had a friendship with Snape that fizzled out over time and ended in a dramatic bang; we know that she hated James until she didn't; we know that she loved Harry.

AU: When I sat down with this AU in mind, I knew for certain that James and Lily were going to be flawed. I wanted them to be as real and interesting as anyone else on the paper. I also knew that I couldn't lean into traditional gender roles. I didn't grow up in that sort of a household. My mother was the breadwinner for most of my life. She worked at a school and hours were long. My father spent time at home, took us on trips, read to us and told us stories. I had them both home during school holidays, and our family was close.

So when I wrote James and Lily I wanted to capture a family that loved each other, but was dynamic and shifting, and had room to grow.

Unfortunately, I didn't know what that growth would be for Lily. I don't think it was until Goblet of Fire, when she approached Voldemort, screaming, "You took my son!" even though Harry was safe, that I really knew who she was. That moment was such a dramatic turning point for my understanding of her that I went back and revised parts of Philosopher's Stone and Gryffindor Blood to reflect that temper, to dig into the bits of the girl who once called James a toerag with a head so fat she didn't how he could ride a broom, to reflect more of this girl who was so fiery and passionate but also so kind and giving, to be spoken of so fondly by Remus.

So I gave Lily my anger. She worries like my mother, she is loyal like my father, and she burns the way that I do.

I did know, from the beginning, that Lily would have to foil James. Where he relaxed, she worried. Where he joked, she rolled her eyes. But I never wanted this to make her seem cold or to in any way diminish the love between them. So I also made her like Sirius. I thought of how easy I have found falling in love with friends, and how like James it would be to fall in love with the same person twice. All the passion, the quick wit, the ferocity we get to see in Sirius I also gave to Lily.

She is my mother, she is my father, she is James' opposite, she is Sirius' match. She is the teacher I aspire to be and the teacher I see in my mother. I also gave her my mother's miscarriage, though I gave James my memory of my mother's miscarriage. There are two stories from my life that I think of when I write Lily and James. I will share one here for her, and the other I will save for James.

When I was around nine years old, my father was away for work, and my mother was taking care of me and my two younger sisters. My youngest sister, who was maybe 4 or 5, was playing on the floor and she accidentally ripped her hand open on an exposed tack. There was a lot of blood, and I didn't know what to do. I remember staring as my mother took charge of the situation -- and scolded me for not taking charge or calling her for help -- and she hurried my sister the sink to clean her wound, and told me to get bandages. She quickly organized and delegated without fear or hesitation.

And then my father walked in, home from his trip. He saw my mother at the sink, me looking for bandages in a cupboard I could not quite reach, and my other sister holding towels for Mom. It was probably not the welcome he expected, and what my mother did next still surprises me.

She broke down in tears. She passed my injured sister off to my father and had him organize and delegate. She broke down and let my father be the one to decide that no, my sister didn't need stitches, he could take care of it himself.

She was so strong and so independent -- until she no longer needed to be.

I think of that memory when I write Lily (and it also has similarities to James' breakdown after Remus' arrest in Goblet of Fire, because I try very hard to balance each moment of strength and weakness between James and Lily). I don't think of Lily nor my mother as weak, not for a moment. Love teaches us how to rely on others, teaches us who we are allowed to fall apart with. I do not think that makes love weak, and I do not think it makes them weak. We all need someone, and Lily needs James as much as James needs her -- and as much as they need Remus and Sirius. But there will be more time for conversations about pack in another post.

Character Notes: wants electricity, good at potions, fierce and impulsive about protecting Harry, excellent shield charms, middle name Juniper

#personal #lily potter #harry potter everyone lives #hp everyone lives #hp au blogging #my art

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jlalafics · 4 years

Text

“Lesson Learned” Part 4 of 4

I know this is so late, but I have a long day tomorrow and wouldn’t have time to post this.

So please ignore any possible mistakes as I’ve been editing in-between Toddler J’s vomiting episode and a major headache pounding at my brain.

If you’re needing to catch up, see the previous parts below:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Thank you if you’ve been following this little story and enjoy this conclusion with our little sex monkeys!

Summary: Sometimes Katniss asks too much of Peeta. This time she’s gone too far. College Everlark. Katniss and Peeta POV’s. Rated M.

______

We take a break for dinner.

I slip into a pair of sweats and Katniss steals my t-shirt before grabbing her phone to order Chinese food. Heading into the living room, we plopped down on the couch and she reaches to the coffee table where a scrunchie sits, taking it to tie up her waves into a high ponytail.

I’m momentarily frozen by the graceful curve of her neck and how perfect she looks in my t-shirt. It seems right to be sitting here as she reaches for the remote to look through the channels, like we’re a couple settling in for the night.

‘You’re nothing but a friend to her’, that voice in my head taunts.

“Shut up,” I mutter in response.

Katniss looks to me, a furrow in her brow. “What?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

She chuckles. “Tired of me already?”

“Never.” Katniss looks to me for a moment, her eyes trying to discern something. “What’s going in that beautiful mind?”

“Quoting John Legend are we?” she retorts. “I am wondering something…” Katniss edges closer to me on her knees before sitting back. “Why did none of the other girls pan out?”

“Who knows? Maybe I was too overly critical or something,” I tell her. “One of them wanted commitment. Another time, the girl had too much to drink and I didn’t want to take advantage…I don’t know. Sometimes things aren’t meant to be.”

“Hmm…” Katniss rests against me and I put an arm around her, drawing her close. “…it seems right that it’s me and you, right?” From where she’s perched herself, she meets my eyes. “I’m not forcing you, am I?”

“I’m here because I want to be,” I tell her squarely.

My lips graze hers and she moans, the sound causing my whole body to quake in longing. Pulling away, I press my forehead to hers, gazing at the face that has always haunted my dreams and memorizing every mole, every scar, and every freckle.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks in a hushed voice.

“Because I don’t want to forget.”

She doesn’t respond, only bowing her head to hide the telltale blush hitting the apples of her cheeks.

And for a moment, I feel that spark of hope that, maybe…she might love me, too.

++++++

“Because I don’t want to forget.”

The words echo in my head as I wash our plates.

Before I could even get a semblance of a response together, the doorbell rang—effectively ruining the moment that I might’ve probably declared my undying love for my childhood friend.

Would I have told him?

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter as I turn off the faucet. Gathering my courage, I head over to the living room. We had promised honestly, and it is only right that I be honest with my feelings. “Peeta—”

He’s asleep, half off the couch, as the sounds of Harry Potter trying to summon his Patronus plays onscreen. I walk over slowly, sitting next to him before reaching for the remote and turning off the television.

Peeta is beautiful. He’s bare-chested; skin glowing even in the dim living room. And, he looks so peaceful; I don’t want to bother him. However, he’s a breath away from taking a tumble, so carefully I reach out to touch his shoulder.

“Peeta.” No response, just a soft sigh. I lean down towards his face. “Peeta?”

My hand finds a place against his cheek as my thumb moves over his lips, a little dry but smooth.

Slowly, his eyes open and his hand reaches to my wrist where Peeta places a gentle kiss to my pulse.

“You fell asleep,” I tell him. “Prisoner of Azkaban wasn’t doing it for you?”

Peeta shakes his head. “I’m more of a Goblet of Fire kind of guy.”

“Of course. Dancing French girls and all…”

A giggle escapes my lips and Peeta follows, his laugh rough from his snooze.

Our eyes meet and I gulp down my sudden anxiousness. “Should we go…to bed?”

“Yes.” Peeta sits up, my hand still in his as he stands up. “Let’s go. ”He leads me into my room and I can’t help but tremble in nervousness as we walk in.

My bed looks so…foreboding, as if it knows that I’m about to do this life changing thing on top of it.

“Katniss,” Peeta calls to me softly and I turn to him. “We don’t have to do it. We can just sleep.”

My resolve steels and I shake my head. We’ve already come too far.

“No—” I step towards my bed first, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it completely off me. “—I’m fine.”

Peeta chuckles, his gaze warm. “My brave Katniss.”

My eyes go to the pair of sweats he wears, the outline of his erection clear.

Looking to him, I smirk.

“Well, it’s just a penis. I’ve seen it before; several times earlier this evening if we’re being specific.”

“Have you ever put a condom on one?” Peeta counters.

Shit.

I falter immediately. “…No.”

Peeta goes to his overnight bag and takes out a small box before standing before me. I look down at the box, realizing that it’s a three-pack of condoms.

“A present for you,” he tells me. “I’m going to show you how to put one on. The other two—” Peeta frowns. “—are for the next time you might be in this situation. Don’t depend on Cato or any other guy to have protection and don’t fall for the excuse about it not feeling good with one on. If you pick the right type of condom, you won’t even notice it’s there.”

I read over the box quickly. “Ultra-thin.” Seems straightforward enough.

We move towards the bed and Peeta gets in first, moving to the far side so I can sit next to him. He pulls off his sweats, revealing his erection to my eager eyes. Now that I’ve seen him in all his glory, it seems natural. Now, I anticipate having him in my grasp, in my control.

“Open the box,” he tells me, and I follow, quickly opening it to pull one of the foil packets. I tear it open and hand it to him. “You’re going to take it out. Hold the tip of it and then roll it down the shaft until I’m completely covered.”

“And, why do I hold the tip?” I ask as I pull out the condom. “And, why is it so damn slippery?”

“Because when I ejaculate that’s where everything will end up,” Peeta replies. “That’s lube; you’ll want that.”

My eyes move down, and I see that he’s lost his erection. He follows my gaze and looks to me wryly.

“This talk isn’t exactly arousing as it is instructive,” he says.

I slip the condom back into its packet and then place it on my side table. “Lay back.”

Leaning down, I press a kiss to his mouth, my tongue gently slipping inside to caress his own. Peeta responds, wrapping an arm around me and pressing me to his chest. My nipples immediately pucker as I meet his heated skin.

Slowly, I reach down and take hold of him in my hand. He pulls away from our kiss, gasping as he lays back onto my pillow. I feel emboldened in his reaction, enjoying the chance to give him the pleasure that he’s given me.

“Because I don’t want to forget.”

Seeing him—eyes closed and whispering out my name—I understand what he means.

I don’t want to forget, either.

“Katniss, you can put it on now,” he tells me. Quickly, I reach over to condom and take it out of the foil pack. Finding the tip, I pinch it as I place the condom over his head; he nods and I roll it down. “Good job.”

“I’m on birth control,” I informed him. “We don’t necessarily have to wear this.”

“I just wanted you to know how to do this.” Peeta reaches to cup my face. “Maybe if we decide to do it again, we can try it without one.”

Suddenly nervous, I quickly lay down. “Can you be on top?”

Peeta nods, shifting until he’s fully on top of me. He holds himself up on his forearms, gazing down at me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmm-hmm…maybe we just get through it quick?” I close my eyes. “I’m really not good with pain.”

I feel his lips moving against mine, pressing delicate kisses as he peppers my jawline.

His mouth moves behind my ear. “You’re delicious. You know that, right?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the sweet and sour chicken you’re tasting.” I breathe out as he sucks on my earlobe. “Oh fuck, that’s good…touch me, Peeta.”

“Where? Here?” A hand goes to my nipple, pinching it lightly and causing spikes of hunger along my body. I can feel wetness gathering between my thighs; he’s not going to have any problem slipping in there. Then he is reaching to my center, gathering my arousal on his fingers. “Or here?”

I open my eyes, meeting his own. Peeta gazes down at me desperately.

I imagine I look just as wanting.

“There,” I tell him.

Peeta nods, slowly pressing a finger inside me. Instinctively, I tense up and he retreats as I let out a shaky breath.

“Why don’t we try something else?” he suggests, and I nod.

Giving me a gentle kiss, his mouth travels down to my breasts and he takes a nipple in his mouth, swirling and then sucking.

“Fuck…” The feeling causes my stomach to flip and I arch against him. “You’ve learned quickly.”

“I have a good teacher,” he replies against my skin. He is hard against my thigh and adjust my hips to line us up. Peeta shivers at the move, his eyes searching mine. “Did you want to try?”

The feel of his cock nestled between my thighs is a little daunting, but my body calls to him.

I nod shakily. “Okay.”

Peeta moves, reaching between us and running the tip of his cock along my slit.

Instinctively, I respond, hips arching, and our eyes meet as he begins to press forward.

“Katniss.” He stares down at me, eyes soft. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Tears fill my eyes. “I’m always going to choose you.”

I swear I see his eyes go glassy.

Resting his forehead against mine, our eyes remain on each other as he slowly pushes inside me.

I can’t even begin to describe the feeling.

Yes, there is pain, but it happens in a flash. My core instinctively goes rigid and I take a deep breath, willing myself to relax.

Time passes…minutes…seconds…with only the sounds of heavy breathing. Then, everything shifts and I just feel full, a small lull of pain barely accompanying the sensations coursing through me.

I look up and Peeta’s eyes are squeeze shut, his mouth in a tight line.

“Breathe,” I whisper.

His eyes open and he gives me a tense smile. “I’m afraid I’ll be finish before you’ve gotten comfortable.”

Reaching, I brush his hair from his eyes. “You’re not a virgin anymore.”

He laughs. “Do I get some sort of badge?”

“Not sure,” I say, my hand going to the nape of his neck. “I think I’m ready for you to move.”

I guide him down, bringing our lips together just as he pulls out and thrusts into me once more.

I squeal in surprise, the sound muffled as we kiss.

Because this time, it feels… good.

We move slowly at first, letting ourselves enjoy the sensation and as we begin to find our pace, I push my pelvis up to meet his. My legs wrap around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back.

“I don’t think I can hold back any longer…” Peeta tells me.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “Come here.”

Pulling his head down to mine, I press tender kisses along his jawline. He moves inside me, his face falling against my shoulder as his movements become frantic.

Then, I feel the stutter of his hips as he falls apart in my arms. “Katniss…”

My name has never sounded so honeyed.

He lifts his head to look at me. “Was it horrible?”

I shake my head and give him a smile. “It felt right.”

Slowly, Peeta pulls away, sliding out of me at the same time. I look down and see the smear of blood between my thighs and on the sheet under me.

“Are you in pain?” he asks.

I shift and feel some tenderness. “Not so much. Just an ache, really.”

“Let me get rid of this and I’ll grab a washcloth,” he tells me, his face suddenly red, as he stands and leaves the room.

I don’t feel any different now that I’m longer a virgin. I had no expectations of gaining any new insight on life or on myself.

What I am surprised about is this feeling of connection that I have with Peeta—but is it because I’ve realized that I’m in love with him or because I’ve just lost my virginity to him?

I don’t have time to ruminate over this because Peeta returns without the condom on and with a washcloth in his hand.

“Thanks.” I take the washcloth from him and quickly clean myself as best I can. “I can’t imagine the mess this would make if we weren’t wearing the condom.”

“You definitely need to change sheets now,” he says as he sits at the foot of the bed. “I checked the condom. We’re good.”

“How do you check?” I ask curiously.

“Filled it with water to make sure there were no holes,” he explains. “Don’t worry, I cleaned the sink.”

“I did let you inside me. It’s the least you could do.”

We both chuckle, falling back into the familiar terrain of friendship.

Peeta joins me back on the bed, looking me over. “You didn’t come.”

“Did you expect me to?” I say and he shrugs. “I mean, I didn’t. I only really come if I’m stimulating myself.”

“Well, can I help you?” Nodding in agreement, I let my head fall back onto my pillow and Peeta follows, going on his side. “Touch yourself.”

I’ve never really done this in front of anyone. However, tonight I’ve done a lot of things that I don’t usually do.

My hand travels done between my legs and I dip my fingers into my center before bringing them to my clit, just brushing along it but not directly.

Peeta watches before his hand reaches down to my breasts cupping and caress, teasing my nipples back to hard peaks. The added stimulation spurs me on, and a breathy moan escapes my mouth.

“Do you know how fucking sexy you sound?” he says, his mouth hovering over a nipple. His lips brush over the bud, teasing it between his teeth. “I’ll be hard again in no time.”

“Peeta…” My fingers move over my clit and my hip juts up at the sensation. I can feel the beginning of my orgasm. “…more…”

“More of this?” Peeta swirls his tongue around my nipple as his hand cups my other breast. “Or did you want me to talk to you? Tell you how gorgeous you look…how your body is such a pretty pink right now…you’re going to come, aren’t you?”

I can feel the cusp of my climax and I climb towards it as my fingers continue to press against my clit.

“Yes…”

Peeta chuckles roughly against my ear. “Be a good girl and come for me, Katniss—”

“Fuck—” I feel the white-hot goodness of my orgasm spread through my core and through the rest of my body. I practically feel it running through my veins as I fall apart. “—Peeta!”

Breathless, I turn to find Peeta looking at me, a pleased smile on his lips. “Hi.”

“Hello,” I reply, my eyelids drooping. “I’m exhausted.”

“Then sleep,” he tells me, and I can feel him kiss my hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You’re amazing.” I’m already halfway gone. “I lov—SHIT!”

Peeta sits up just as I rush out the door. “What?”

“Johanna told me to pee after!”

+++++++

Saturday Morning

When I wake up, I can already tell that it’s different.

For one thing, Katniss is not in bed with me.

After she returned from the bathroom to pee and clean up, we changed her sheets (hopefully no one notices her Christmas-theme comforter and sheet set) and promptly hopped back into bed together.

With Katniss’ head on my shoulder, we talked about how everything went—good overall with room for improvement. For me, I need to work on lasting longer and breast play. For her, it’s her gag reflex and being more communicative about her needs.

I fall asleep with her head on my shoulder and the thought that I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life just like this.

However, cold hard reality seeps in and I know that her neatly made side of the bed is her way of telling me to leave.

Quickly, I get dressed and gather my things.

I find her sitting in the living room with a mug in her hands. She sits up as I appear, looking up at me then the duffle bag on my shoulder.

“You’re leaving,” Katniss says simply.

I nod. “I mean…we did what we had to do.” I’m trying not to fall apart at my words, hoping she’ll ask me to stay. “Unless there was anything else you wanted to talk about...”

Katniss remains in her seat, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “Of course. I’ll call you on Monday.”

Quickly, I nod and then walk over to kiss her cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

Before she can respond, I step out the door and head out of her building.

The few blocks back are spent contemplating her silence. Is this the end of our friendship? I wanted her to ask me to stay so we could make pancakes like we usually did if one of us bunked with the other.

I know that sex changes things, but I didn’t realize how quickly.

When I get to the apartment, I find Finnick sitting at the kitchen counter, looking over a magazine and drinking from his own mug.

“I thought you went home,” he says.

“I changed my mind about staying,” I reply simply.

Finnick’s handsome face furrows in concern. “You good, bro?”

“Nothing a little sleep can’t fix.” I head towards my room. “I’m going to bed.”

As soon as I close the door, I slide down against it and close my eyes.

It was an amazing night, but it’s over now.

I guess we’re over now.

++++++

Why did I let him walk out?

When I woke this morning, I found myself watching him sleep and thought that it would be nice to wake up to his face every morning.

Maybe it was time to admit that our relationship had turned into something more.

I decided to make myself a cup of tea and try to come up with the right way to bring this all up.

Peeta had other plans as he walked out as quickly as he could.

I was so flabbergasted by it all that I could hardly respond.

Now, here I am—crying into my tea.

The front door opens and, for a moment, I think that it’s Peeta coming back to talk.

Instead, Johanna steps into the living room. She spots my wet face immediately.

“I was going to come in quietly because I forgot some of my study material…but it looks like you’re alone.” My roommate sits next to me. “What happened?”

Taking a deep breath, I launch into a timeline of the night before, starting with the first kiss (“I swear my whole world tilted”) and ending with Peeta and I falling asleep together (“Nothing has ever felt so safe”). I am crying and laughing in-between bursts of anger.

I tell her about him leaving, quoting the conversation word for word.

By the end, I’m ready for something stronger than tea—but we’ve run out of vodka.

“Uh Katniss?” Johanna begins, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It sounds like he wanted you to tell him to stay.”

“What?”

“He threw the ball in your court and asked if you wanted to talk about anything! What guy does that?” Johanna looks to me in annoyance. “No guy! They usually want to be out ASAP, but he offered you a chance to talk and even told you to call him if you needed anything!”

“So, I’m supposed to just ask him to stay?”

“Wasn’t this whole weekend about empowering you? Peeta basically showed you how to put your foot down when needed, and how to ask for what you want. Sweetie, it’s so fucking obvious that you want him.”

I flinch at her words. “Maybe you’re right.” Sighing, I sit back. “There’s no way he’s going to want to talk me after this.”

“Give him till Monday,” Johanna offers. “You both have gone through some hard truths.” Consolingly, she puts an arm around me, rocking me slowly. “So Peeta made you come, huh?”

“Yeah—not during though, but he made up for it,” I reply softly. “I expected the sex wasn’t going to be perfect like in the movies. But I was surprised by the connection. For a moment, everything else just seemed to fall away and it was just us.”

“Sap,” my roommate retorts. “But I think you probably got the best-case scenario.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you want to grab breakfast?” she asks after a moment.

“We have leftover Chinese,” I inform her.

“Well, fuck! Let’s just have that and you can continue to tell me about the amazing beauty of Peeta Mellark’s cock,” Johanna replies with a smile. “By the way—pineapple juice doesn’t work, and the taste changes each time, anyway.”

“Good to know,” I reply. “I’ll go heat up the food.”

+++++++

Sunday

‘Can we talk after my first class?’-K

I stare at my screen before responding, ‘Sure. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.’

Putting my phone aside, I decide to emerge from my room after my self-imposed isolation. When I enter the living room, I find Gale sitting on the couch with a textbook in his lap.

He looks up and gives me an easy smile. “Decided to come out of your cave?”

I nod, heading towards the kitchen. “I have to eat, you know.”

“So, you and Katniss had it out then?”

His words cause me to stop and I look to him. “What do you mean?”

“That look on your face; kind of dopey and shit. That’s your Katniss face,” Gale replied. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I step out of the kitchen and join him on the couch. “I thought that we connected, and I guess it was one-sided. She likes this other guy, too.”

“Ever think about fighting for her?” Gale asks. He closes his book and tosses it on the coffee table. “Since I’ve known you, I’ve known how much you like her. It’s all over that stupid face that you make whenever she’s around.”

“What if she doesn’t want me?” I find myself asking. “What if we ruin everything?”

“So, you’re just going to sit here and wallow?” he replies, rolling his eyes. “If you never tell her, you’ll be thinking about for the rest of your life. Sure, there’s a chance that maybe you’ll change everything, but it’s better than being in limbo, right?”

I turn to Gale. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

“There was this girl that I was really good friends with back home,” he explains. “I had a huge crush on her, but she’s the mayor’s daughter and I’m just some kid from a low-income household.”

“What happened to her?”

Gale is never one to share. Most of the time, we just talk about school or his job at the nearby grocery store. I’m more than a little surprised that he’s actually sharing this story with me.

“She’s still in town. Last I heard, Madge is seeing some guy that she met at her university,” he tells me. “There was a moment, though. Right before I left, she asked if she could come see me…and I didn’t say anything.”

“That was definitely an in,” I tell him. “Maybe you should try messaging her.”

“Maybe you should try telling Katniss that you’re batshit crazy in love with her,” Gale counters.

“Touché.”

+++++++

Monday Morning

I’m going to tell her.

It’s freezing out here and I’m anxiously waiting outside the auditorium where Katniss’ class is taking place. My breath is coming out in puffs of white and I rub my hands together to quell my nervousness.

The door opens and I watch as the class filters out. My eyes look for the familiar head of raven hair that is Katniss.

My breath catches when she suddenly steps out of the door—with Cato following.

He throws an arm around her shoulders.

I’m too late.

+++++++

The class can’t go any slower.

I spent my whole Sunday coming up with what I wanted to tell Peeta. That I had been a complete idiot who didn’t know how to speak up and tell him to stay. How I think I’ve always cared him as more than just a friend.

How I want to be with him.

“For the next lecture, please read the next two chapters,” Professor Latier calls out. “I’ll see you next Wednesday!”

Everyone begins to clear out and I start throwing my stuff into my own bag.

“Hey, Katniss!”

I turn to find Cato approaching me, a cocky grin on his face.

Oh God—I can’t believe I was even into him.

Yes, there’s no doubt that Cato is handsome, but he lacks humbleness about it. I can see it all over his swagger as he walks towards me.

All through this weekend, Peeta had been trying to teach me how to know the difference between the right guy and the wrong guy.

Cato is so the wrong guy.

“Hi, Cato.” I walk around him as I make my way down the steps of the auditorium. Were there always these many stairs? “What’s up?”

“Uh…I just noticed how great you looked today,” he replies as I get onto the main floor. “And, I noticed you looking at me last week.”

“You did?” Why did I even think of giving this man my virginity? I can already tell he’s the kind of guy who would never go down on me. “Are you sure?”

Finally, I’m out the door and my eyes search for Peeta, just as Cato throws an arm around my shoulders.

“Do you want to go out sometime?” he asks.

“What?” I look around for my golden-haired boy before turning to Cato. “No.”

Cato is surprised. Obviously, he’s never heard someone turn him down. “What?”

“Maybe last week,” I reply. “But now—” My eyes catch Peeta’s navy bomber jacket as he walks away. “—I have to go. PEETA!”

I run towards him and he turns to me, his eyes downcast.

“Why did you leave?”

“You were busy,” he replies simply.

“You saw me with Cato,” I deduce, and his silence is an affirmative. “If you had stuck around, you would have seen me turn the asshole down.”

Peeta steps towards me, a smile growing on his lips. “What?”

“I don’t know when it happened,” I start as I approach him. “Maybe Friday night…or as we stepped on the train to leave home for the first time…or even when we were in Kindergarten and you were the only one who clapped when I sang—but I fell in love with you.” I moved in a little closer till our chests are practically pressed. “And, I hope that you feel the same.”

His hands reach to my face, covering my cheeks from the biting cold.

“I love you, Katniss.” He presses a kiss to my mouth before resting his forehead to mine. “I’ve always loved you.”

“Good.” I grin, feeling warm tears hit my cheeks. His or mine—I have no idea. “Do you have class this afternoon?”

“Not until tomorrow morning,” he informs me. “Why?”

“Johanna told me that pineapple juice doesn’t work,” I say as we head out of campus. Peeta takes my hand in his and despite the cold, I feel the warmth of his touch rush through my veins. “She also says that it tastes different each time.”

“Interesting factoid,” Peeta replies amusedly.

“I’d like to test this theory.” I can’t quite meet his eyes. “Maybe go over everything else you taught me last weekend—if you’re not busy.”

I look over and Peeta is grinning at me, his eyes full of light…and hope…and love.

“I’d like that,” he replies. “If you’ll allow me to reciprocate—until you’re satisfied.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him, sweeping my tongue gently into his mouth.

“I’ll allow it,” I tell him as we draw apart.

“Also…honesty, right?” I raise a brow at him and Peeta smirks. “I’d like a little more enthusiasm…maybe bathe my chin with your tongue—"

I sock him and Peeta laughs before pulling me into his arms, silencing me with a kiss.

I spend rest of the day showing my enthusiasm.

+++++++

The Following Weekend

I bang on the bedroom door, praying that if someone answers that they’ll be wearing clothes.

“Guys! It’s eight in the morning! Come on!”

The door opens and my favorite couple of the hour greets me clothed—Thank God. However, Katniss is wearing a blue button-down and I’m pretty sure that she’s not wearing anything underneath. Peeta is wearing the matching bottoms and showing off a very nice six-pack.

“I know that you’re in love and sex is all new and fun, but you’ve been fucking since Monday and I’ve probably gotten eight hours of sleep between then and now—”

“I’m sorry, Johanna,” Katniss says apologetically. “I’m not being a very good roommate—”

“No, I understand,” I reply. “Love is great and shit, but I have this huge exam coming up—”

“I have an idea,” Peeta suddenly says and rushes back into the room. He is clearly not wearing underwear either, showing off a nicely toned derriere, and I look to Katniss. “Great ass.”

She snorts. “Tell me about it.”

Peeta returns, holding out a pair of keys. “An offering of peace. My apartment is only a few blocks away and you’re welcome to stay there to sleep and study. My roommates are not jerks—though Finnick has a penchant for walking around naked—”

“And why would I take this obvious bribe?” I ask him.

“Because you like Katniss…and if you look underneath one of the lamps, there’s a credit card. Buy yourself lunch…dinner…a massage…on me.”

“Katniss, you must have some sort of magical vagina,” I say to my roommate after Peeta tells me his address. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks Johanna,” Katniss says gratefully.

Peeta is already carrying her to their bed as I close her door behind me.

Grabbing my bag, I throw in my books and some extra clothes.

I mean, who knows when those two idiots will be finished. Hopefully, they’re hydrating.

The walk over to Peeta’s place is quiet and when I get there, I’m surprised at how much nicer his apartment complex is in comparison to mine and Katniss’. She must be doing something right if he’s willing to stay in our shithole.

Taking the elevator up, I pull out the keys and make my way to the last door on the end of the carpeted hall. Unlocking it, I step inside and gasp at the modern decor of Peeta’s apartment. Someone’s father obviously has money.

Stepping into the living room, I find a dark-haired man sitting on the couch, a bowl of brightly colored cereal in his hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” he suddenly bursts out.

“Johanna Mason. Your roommate is fucking my roommate,” I inform him and present my bag. “Peeta says I can stay in his room so he can tear apart Katniss’ vag.”

“That’s nice and graphic. I’m Gale Hawthorne,” he tells me.

There’s a slam of a door and handsome bronze-haired man saunters in—without a stitch on.

“You must be Finnick,” I say. “I’m Johanna.”

Finnick looks to Gale. “Is she with you?”

“She’s Peeta’s girlfriend’s roommate,” Gale tells him. “And put on some boxers for fuck sakes!”

“It’s nothing that I haven’t seen before,” I assure them. “I’m pre-med.”

Gale meets my eyes in interest. “So am I.”

Ignoring him, Finnick joins Gale on the couch and gives me a pearly-white smile.

“Have you ever played Super Smash Brothers?”

“Nope—and I don’t plan to.”

Finnick pats the seat next to him. “Come on. You’re our honorary roommate! You have to!”

Gale smiles warmly at me. “I’ll show you.”

I find myself grinning back at the dark-eyed boy. “Alright.”

I think I might enjoy this new living arrangement.

I join them on the couch.

FIN.

#Lesson Learned #Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #college!Everlark #Rated M #Complete

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suimin-chan · 3 years

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Harry Potter au where Harry gets sent back in time after dying of old age and decides that he already did this the right way (Dumbledore's way) once so why not fuck shit up. Screw the timeline. Screw being the boy who lived. Screw the blood wards and being a good griffondore. He's going to be a rebellious little shit and watch the world burn. Runs away from home and lives with a werewolf pack, nothing more protective than a mama wolf! Sorry Gryffindor, he's gonna be a Slytherin. Time to pay back Snape for years of shit. He knows the man has sworn to protect him, but he is not gonna make it easy for him. If Snape thought he was sassy and like his father before, well hold yer knickers because he's about to bring the drama like no body's mama has ever before. Take points, he dares ya. Fuck Dumbledore and Voldemort's agenda. Hero? Never heard of him. He's bout ya keep this soul shard to fuck with Voldemort. 1000 and 1 ways to piss someone off? Yep, Voldy just fucked up. Nobody wants a teenager angsting away in their head all day. Draco wants to be friends, YES! Let's piss off Lucius by dragging his son into tons of dumb maybe a little dangerous shit. All while telling the lil blond git that he'll put in a good word for him at the ministry because why not. Let's be bff's with a basilisk! Serius is in Azkaban? Well let's break him out and demand a trial instead of hiding him! Tri-Wizard tournament? Hell yea! Let's get the least amount of points and do shit to piss the judges off and make people's (Snape's) hearts stop. Portkey? Why not annoy Voldy in person and then tell him to fuck off because the prophecy can go to hell. The skip back to an alive Cedric and tell no one that Voldy moldy is back. Go back home to the werewolves with Serius and Remus while Dumbles fumes and wonders if the boy who lived is possessed. Torments Umbridge, harasses Gryfindor as revenge for all the times they turned their backs on him. Has Kingsley collect the Horicruxes. Can't really let the wanker go unchecked, although foiling his plans is fun. Bust up at Malfoy manor in sixth year after the horixruxes and Nagini have been offed and sends Voldy to the deep sleep. Flips Snape off and has everyone swear to not reveal the Dark Lord is dead or so help him he will take up the role just to torment them all. Then sits back as Dubledore and the order panic because it's quiet... too quiet. While he and Draco kick back in Snape's office siping memosas and making the man hate the fact that he secretly finds all this shit amusing and loves the fact that he can relax and brew without playing nursemade to manipulative masters and a child with a death wish.

#harry potter #albus dumbledore #severus snape #serius black #remus lupin #voldemort #moldy voldy #draco malfoy #slytherin

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thatsjustsupergirl · 4 years

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i’ll be here

@youngbloodbuzz for the best internet little sister ever, SURPRISE AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Here’s to many more years of digital shenanigans. 💛 Also please know that I’ve had this gift planned and sitting in a draft for over a year. Because sometimes... life things... happen... Anyway ilu nerd, enjoy the story!

Kara & Alex, G (804 words)

It’s eight o’clock at night and Kara is painting. Painting because it’s calm, and steady, and the gentle scrapes of brush on canvas provide a soothing white noise that contrasts nicely with the blackness of the canvas. (And wow, doesn’t she have some opinions on that “blackest black” discourse. No human pigments will ever quite capture the bleakness of staring into space, alone, while suspended within it.)

Kara is painting because she hates change and she needs to forget that it’s…

Well, it’s a Thursday.

It’s just a regular old Thursday and— here’s Alex, strolling into her apartment like everything is fine. Normal.

(What was it she’d said to James years ago? Ah, right: being herself didn’t help her feel more normal.)

“You—” Kara stares at Alex, who is here, in her apartment, carrying an armload of packages that Kara absolutely did not order for herself. “You remembered?”

Kara barely remembers not to slide her glasses down and peek at the contents. But she does. Remember, that is.

Alex rolls her eyes and explains that of course she remembered that her little sister is the worst adult on the planet, and how did she miss this stack of stuff (“Do you even walk through the lobby?”), and that as the responsible older sibling, she is here to save Kara from the pain of stolen Amazon orders.

Alex is here.

Kara holds onto that thought as she smiles and thanks her sister and experimentally shakes the top box— it clunks around in a way that makes her think it’s food. Possibly candy.

Alex laughs and eggs her on to open the box, and Kara nearly— but doesn’t— forget that she should probably use scissors or a house key or something to cut open the packing tape.

As she separates the flaps, Kara wonders if this element of mystery is why Alex was always so excited for birthday gifts. It’s fun, in a weird way, not to know for a change.

The smell gives away that, yes, this package is indeed chocolate, and Alex whoops in approval because it’s all custom Honeydukes candy from the Harry Potter theme park. A whole lot of it. Clearly sent by someone who knows Kara well.

Kara laughs and forks over the first bar into Alex’s expectant hand (“I carried it up. You owe me!”), then pauses to look at the packing slip.

There’s a gift message.

Kara’s eyes burn, and for one horrible second she’s not sure if she’s going to cry or set the paper on fire.

A tiny ball of foil bounces off her glasses. Alex has apparently been asking if she was okay long enough to finish three chocolate squares without her, not an ounce of remorse in her expression.

“I’m fine,” she says. “The receipt just reminded me that I need to take this other stuff to work,” she lies. (Or, well, maybe she doesn’t. For all she knows, some of the other items could be work-related.) Alex nods and lets her collect the other boxes off the kitchen island, then announces that she’ll get the popcorn ready while Kara cleans up.

If there’s an antithesis to white noise, popcorn kernels ricocheting in the bag as they explode is definitely it. Kara sets her packages down, arranging them in a little pyramid and trying to remind herself that the world is not ending (again) and that her microwave is not the enemy. She also wonders how Alex would react now if she grabbed a pillow and covered her ears.

By the time she’s ready to go back to her living room, Alex has the popcorn in a bowl and the Netflix logo gleaming on her TV. Kara resists the urge to super-speed over to the couch and steal the remote, because for as much as she loves her sister, she is not sitting through a marathon of Stranger Things tonight.

Instead she takes her time, folding the flaps on the candy box so it closes neatly, brushing imaginary lint off her sweater. Alex yells over to her, promising to let her pick the show if she would just hurry up already and Kara smiles at how normal it sounds.

As she shifts off the bed and turns to walk away, a scrap of paper drops to the floor and nearly blows across the room in the backdraft.

It’s the gift message.

Kara reaches out to catch it, skimming the words one more time before tucking the paper safely into her pocket and joining Alex on the couch.

Surprise! Managed to squeeze the order in before I went back to work. AS IF I’D FORGET. There are multiple boxes, hope they all show up. Yes, the candy delivery is scheduled to repeat. And yes, I will expect you to share it. Happy Earth Birthday! Love, Alex

#buzzy's bedtime stories #my fic #danvers sisters #r: danvers sisters #ch: kara danvers #ch: alex danvers

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anthropologicalhands · 4 years

Note

single lyric: can you remind me of what it was like at the top of the world? 👀

“Just for the record,” says Rebecca, in a tone of greatsuffering. “I was expecting this vacation to be way more romantic.”

Nathaniel finds it difficult to agree, sitting as they are,nearly hip to hip were it not for the heat of the day, looking out into aspectacular lake cradled in an extinct volcano. However, since this vacationwasn’t a result of his planning, and his presence there could in fact beconsidered the result of a benign kidnapping, he’s willing to engage to reachwhatever point that Rebecca’s doleful tone is trekking toward.

“Darryl arranged this as a work retreat,” he pointsout. “I just gave him some recommendations and steered him away from a fewless-than-savory operations. Technically, neither of us should be here.”

He doesn’t need to look at Rebecca to know that she isrolling her eyes at him, even as she shifts to retie her unruly hair, curlingits protest against the humid air—this he knows because her elbow nearly pokeshim in the eye.

“You’re right, this is technically a work retreat, though Iam a contracting consultant and do qualify as an employee, were certain hourrequirements notwithstanding—”

“That’s almost exactly the opposite of qualifying as anemployee. Is Darryl paying you under the table or something?”

“Don’t think about it too hard, mountain man. Didn’t you comeout here to get away from all that? You should be, like, totally enlightenedand beyond caring about the minor machinations of a Californian real-estate lawfirm.”

Nathaniel isn’t successfully able to hide his own amusement.

Rebecca continues, “But, while his taste in aesthetics can bequestionable, Darryl is a born-again romantic, as you know very well. I will concede,however, that the weather is working against us. Darryl clearly did not accountfor humidity when he checked his calendar.”

“This is the less humid time,” Nathaniel points outgently, passing her his own canteen when she pouts at the low water line of herown. “It’s just never going to be a dry heat.”

“You’re telling me,” grumbles Rebecca, taking a large gulpand passing the half-empty canteen back to Nathaniel. “Ugh, at the rate I’mlosing water, there’s going to be nothing but an empty Rebecca-waterskin. Paulawill be able to fold me up and store me in her carry-on fanny pack.”

Nathaniel wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“Butaccurate. And my skin is slick already from all of the DEET and wearing longsleeves to fend off the mosquitoes and sand fleas—”

Nathanielfrowns. “I thought you only got a couple of bites.”

“Only becauseI am employing constant vigilance.” Rebecca pops her eyes wide foremphasis; Nathaniel laughs.

“You can’tbe in that bad of a mood if you’re quoting Harry Potter right now,” heobserves, fishing a brightly wrapped ration bar from his pocket. “Ant proteinbar?”

“You wouldthink,” says Rebecca darkly, taking the proffered bar and folding down a cornerof the foil.

“You seemedto be having fun when you guys picked me up from the sanctuary.”

“Thesanctuary was fun,” Rebecca agrees. “You’re right, the food has been reallygood. And the facilities were better than I expected! At least until Tim usedthem.”

Nathanielgroans. “Don’t remind me. I owe Maria a huge apology and like, three favors.”

“Technically,you owe me an apology, too.”

“For what?”

“I haven’tseen a single jaguar since I’ve been here, which is just outrageous.”

He laughs. “Ifyou saw a jaguar, you would be doing a lot better than people who already livein the area. They don’t like to be seen.”

“Then, mayI ask, why have the spots if they aren’t going to show them off?”

“Camouflage.”

“Hm. Seemssuspicious.”

Nathanielhums, not particularly committed to the bit, just enjoying being back in hermosquito-hatted, slightly-sunburned presence.

“You know,”Rebecca drawls, poking him in the side. “It’s a really good thing that Mariagave me allll the deets about what a pain in the ass you were when you firstgot here, or I would be morally obligated to storm off in a huff right aboutnow over how smug you’re being.”

“I’m notbeing smug.”

“You keepsmiling at my misfortunes.”

“Notbecause I’m smug,” he assures her with utmost seriousness. “I just missed you.”

Rebeccatries and fails to look pleased. “Good. But yeah, sunlight, a cramped bus,creepy crawlies, like, these are all of the ingredients for a bad time.”Rebecca nods as if perfectly set and assured in her analysis.

“But…?”Nathaniel prompts.

“But what?”asks Rebecca, arching her eyebrows at him.

“Giventhat, despite all of those factors, you are totally relaxed and staring outinto the horizon. That suggests that there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“How wouldyou know? This could just be me kvetching, no ‘but’ in sight.”

“Hm. Whatdid you used to say about me lying to myself?”

“Fine.Against my will—”

“Likeanyone could ever do that.”

Rebeccapinches his side, making him yelp, before continuing, “I concede that this viewis making up for a lot.”

“I thoughtyou would.”

“And Iliked that behind-the-scenes tour of the sanctuary. Especially our tour guide.He seemed to know his shit and looked sexy as hell in those khakis.”

Nathanielpreens.

“Myfavorite part was when the monkey bit George and he heroically wrestled it awayand prevented it from eating George’s face.”

Nathanielgroans.

“You didn’tthink it was fun?”

“No, thepaperwork I’m going to have to fill out for that incident will not befun.”

“I thoughtyou loved paperwork,” says Rebecca, grinning at him, delighted at the prospectthat he might also dislike the thing he once harangued her over.

“I neverloved paperwork, it’s just something that needs to be done, so it better bedone well.”

“And youdon’t do that now?”

“Thepaperwork I do usually doesn’t involve an idiot who needs to get treated for provokinga wild animal.”

“InGeorge’s defense, he was not intentionally teasing the monkey, it wasmerely entranced by his Raven’s Nest bobbing back and forth.”

“Hm.”

“But,moving on, we now got a couple minutes of alone time. I was hoping we couldsneak off and have a bit of a sexier time, but I’ve seen enough insects to knowthat is beyond my comfort zone.”

“It’sinfinitely beyond mine,” says Nathaniel flatly.

“Therefore,I’m very glad that Darryl booked us that very nice resort as our next stop.”

Nathanielmakes another noncommittal hum. They sit together, conversation from the restof their group drifting over intermittently. Rebecca pillows her cheek on hisshoulder.

“I missedyou,” she says, almost shy.

“I missedyou too. I’m glad you’re here.” A beat. “I kind of wish you left the entourageat home, though.”

“Eh, they’llkeep themselves entertained. Paula’s wrangling them.”

“Yeah, I’vebeen meaning to ask, why is Paula here—”

“Shhh,mountain man. Let’s just enjoy this.”

Nathanielrolls his eyes, but does as she asks.

#rebecca x nathaniel #crazy ex girlfriend #ellie writes fic #post canon #trying to get back in the habit #anyways this takes place in some universe where r/n are trying their hand at long distance #catty-words

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torestoreamends · 5 years

Text

Mine to Make: Chapter 20

One year later, what will Albus and Scorpius have made of their future?

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is now complete both here on AO3. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride!

Read it on AO3

XX Epilogue

When Albus wakes up he feels gloriously warm and well-rested. His limbs are heavy, but the good sort of heavy that says they’ve done a lot of work and now they’re recovering. His head has the faintest niggle, but that’s to be expected given how loud last night was and how much champagne he drank at the after party. All in all, he feels excellent.

It takes him a few seconds to become aware that the bed is empty next to him. That’s not really surprising either, though. Judging by the sunshine streaming in through the curtains that they forgot to close on their way to bed last night, it’s nearly midday. Scorpius will have been up for hours.

Albus rolls out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He pulls on the first t-shirt that comes to hand from his bag, a fiery orange league one, and wriggles into a pair of jeans, then he runs a hand through his hair and sets off down the three flights of stairs from his old attic bedroom where they’re staying while they’re at his parents’ house.

The kitchen is in chaos, the way it normally is here. Harry is rushing around trying to sort out the first dinner preparations, and he already looks stressed. Ginny is the centre of calm in the room, doing yesterday’s washing up and offering Harry soothing words. James is sitting at the table heckling, and Lily is cross-legged in the middle of the floor, playing with the cat.

They all look up when Albus comes in, and Ginny is the first one to get to him, her hands still covered in soap suds. She beams and wraps him up in a tight hug.

“The Prophet is raving about yesterday’s meet. You’ve done so well.” She kisses him on the cheek before releasing him. “Your interview’s in the paper too.”

“Be careful when you read it,” James advises. “There might be some drool on the photos – Scorpius was a big fan. Having said that, there’s a photo in here for you, too. They’ve finally announced his promotion. Who’d have ever thought that my useless little brother would end up as half of the wizarding world’s favourite power couple?” He sighs but comes bouncing over to slap Albus on the back. Albus winces and ducks away from him.

“Thanks, James,” he groans, rubbing his back. He sits down on the floor next to Lily and leans against her side when she squeezes his shoulders.

“It’s a really good interview,” she murmurs. “You’ve done really well. And everything they’re saying about the race is true too. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun in my life before.”

Albus wrinkles his nose. “It can’t have been better than breaking into a pyramid.”

“It can,” Lily assures him. “Anyway, that’s work. Which automatically makes it about thirty percent more dull.”

Albus grins and pokes her in the arm. “Liar.”

“Fine. Maybe only twenty percent more dull.”

Albus laughs, scratches the cat under the chin, then gets up and goes to find a copy of the paper. There are two on the table, and when he turns one of them to the back page his dad comes and reads over his shoulder.

“Haven’t you already read this?” He asks, glancing up at Harry.

“A couple of times,” Harry says with a smile. “Do you mind if I read it again?”

“No. But I think you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculously proud of you.”

Albus rolls his eyes but a glowing smile spreads across his face as he reads the report from last night – the first meet of their new league. He’s not sure what his favourite bit of it is. He likes the opening, which describes the crackling energy in the air at the Harpies’ stadium before the start of the racing. He remembers the roar of the crowd so clearly, carrying through the warm, clear summer air. He’d stood in the mouth of the tunnel to the pitch and looked up into the packed stands and a shiver had run through him. It was one of those rare moments when he’d realised how special a night it was right then, and he’d been able to capture every second of it to remember back later.

There’s a bit in the report about the brutal carnage of the mass start race, and it makes him smile because last night’s race was nothing on how they used to be. It did look fierce though, from the ground. Fierce and spectacular, just the way it was supposed to be.

The rest of the report is mostly dedicated to the outcomes of the racing. The writer praises the quality of the competitors, and Albus feels flushed with pride as he reads the names of all the people who he knows, the ones who’ve been working so hard to make the meet successful and exciting. There are a couple of newcomers to the league who Albus never raced against but who he’s certain would have had a chance of beating him, and there are all the names of his old friends and competitors too. And amongst it all is the undeniable fact that he was the one who started all this, helped pull it together, and make it work. He can’t help but feel that’s far more exciting than winning any race or meet for himself.

“Are you glad now that I persuaded you we could do this without breaking the law?” Albus asks, glancing up at his dad.

Harry grins at him. “It’s almost enough to make me glad you broke the law in the first place so you could find out that you wanted to do this. But don’t tell anyone that or I’ll lose my job.” He ruffles Albus’s hair and Albus ducks away from him, brushes his hair back into place, and starts flipping back through the paper to find his interview.

Harry squeezes his shoulder and goes back to his frenzied cooking, but Albus can feel his dad’s eyes on him the whole time, and whenever he glances in Harry’s direction he sees that his dad is grinning broadly, all his stress long gone.

The interview is just before the sports section, and Albus doesn’t bother to look at the text – he still remembers what he said – but he looks at the photos. They’ve come out well. In most of them he looks put together and at least vaguely like he knows what he’s doing. The best one is the biggest. A huge photo of him wearing his old racing clothes, the jacket slung over his shoulder so his tattooed arms are on full display, with the scars visible underneath. He’s got his flying goggles round his neck, his hair is wind-ruffled, and he’s looking off into the distance like he hasn’t even noticed that the camera is there. Even he has to admit that he looks alright.

“That’s Scorpius’s favourite one,” James says, sneaking up behind Albus and resting his hands on his shoulders. “That’s why he’s gone for a walk – to cool off.“

Albus shrugs his brother off. “Where’s the one of him that I’m meant to be falling in love with?”

James grins and starts riffling forward through the pages. “It’s right... here.” He stops and makes a ta-da motion at the paper.

The photo of Scorpius is accompanied by a headline and article, and Albus looks at those first, knowing that once he starts looking at the picture he won’t be able to stop.

Malfoy promoted again

One of the Ministry’s most talented young Unspeakables has earned his second promotion in under a year. Scorpius Malfoy, 25, took his first position at the Department of Mysteries last November, after his prominent role in the foiling of a plot to murder Harry Potter and ultimately assume control of wizarding Britain. Malfoy has also been credited for finding Harry Potter’s youngest son, Albus, who had been missing and presumed dead for several years.

His promotion coincides with a restructuring of divisions within the Department of Mysteries, and Malfoy will be responsible for the management of the Temporal Research Division, reporting to the newly appointed Head of Research...

Albus scans further down the article but it just goes on to talk more about the restructuring, which isn’t all that interesting. Instead he turns to the far more important matter of the picture that goes with the article, which might be his favourite photo of Scorpius ever.

He’s leaving work, coming out via the phone boxes. There are a couple of books hugged to his chest, and he’s still wearing his swirling Ministry robes, so he looks important and grown up. His hair is a bit messy, and there are faint shadows under his eyes, but there’s a big grin lighting up his face. Even though his head is down, and he’s clearly thinking about something, whatever it is is making him radiantly happy. He looks like exactly what he is – a ridiculous nerd who loves his job and his life. It sums him up perfectly, and now Albus wants nothing more than to find him and kiss him, because he’s so hopelessly in love with this man.

“Is Scorpius out in the garden?” He asks the world at large.

James smirks. “Told you you’d like the photo.”

“I think so,” Ginny says, ignoring James and looking across at Albus. “He might have gone for a wander across the fields, but he should be getting back now. I told him brunch would be ready at one, and Draco will be here soon too.”

“Great,” Albus says, getting to his feet. “Thanks, Mum. I’m going to find him.”

“Don’t be too long,” Harry calls as Albus races for the back door.

“Don’t have too much fun,” James adds, and Lily smacks him on the leg. Albus hears him whining about it as he heads across the patio and out towards the road.

It doesn’t take him long to find Scorpius. In fact, Albus almost falls over him as he skirts round the broom shed. Scorpius is sitting with his back to the closed doors, gazing out across the countryside, and Albus doesn’t see him until the last second. He grabs hold of Scorpius’s shoulder hard to stop himself collapsing into his lap, and when he does fall, he manages to land in a heap on the ground next to Scorpius rather than on top of him.

“Hello,” Scorpius says, rubbing his shoulder and looking at Albus in surprise and confusion. “Nice of you to drop in. Where did you come from?”

“The house.” Albus tries to arrange his limbs in some sort of sensible way, like he’d meant to sit down next to Scorpius. “You’re on the floor. I was expecting to find you walking.”

“No, I was sitting. Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself when you fell, did you?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. And I didn’t fall, I sat, in a very dignified way.”

Scorpius nods, slow and mocking. “Very dignified. Very deliberate. You’ve never been more graceful.”

Albus nudges him. “Shut up. I had a lot of champagne last night. I’m doing well.”

Scorpius grins. “Don’t forget about the Firewhisky too. I saw that.”

Albus drops his head onto Scorpius’s shoulder with a groan. “You weren’t meant to see that. Now I’m going to get a lecture about how I’m not meant to be drinking.”

Scorpius wraps an arm round him. “No, you’re not. But it was your big night and they’re your sponsors. It would have been bad business to say no. And you’re very cute when you’re drunk.” He ruffles Albus’s hair. “You get affectionate, and your cheeks go all pink.”

“No,” Albus moans, hiding his face.

“Yes,” Scorpius laughs and kisses him on the temple.

“I hate you,” Albus says, squirming away. “You’re so mean.”

“If I tell you how brilliant you are and how much I loved your interview in the Prophet this morning will that endear me to you in any way?” Scorpius asks, taking hold of his hand.

Albus lifts his head. “It might. James mentioned that you liked the photos.”

Scorpius nods, eyes glittering in the summer sun. “I liked the photos.”

Albus smiles and squeezes his hand. “I liked your photo too. A lot.”

“That one of you with the jacket,” Scorpius says, fanning himself with his free hand.

“Were you thinking about work while you were smiling to yourself like that?” Albus asks, grinning at him.

Scorpius shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure I was thinking about you, actually.”

“Oh,” Albus says, mouth opening a little in surprise. He looks at Scorpius and Scorpius looks back at him, then they move as one.

Albus threads his fingers into Scorpius’s hair and Scorpius wraps an arm round his waist to pull him closer as their mouths meet in a hungry kiss. Albus squeezes his eyes shut and sucks on Scorpius’s lower lip, enjoying the way Scorpius’s breath hitches and his grip tightens on Albus’s t-shirt.

“Have I mentioned this morning that I love you?” Scorpius asks, pulling back to rest his forehead against Albus’s. “And that I’m very proud of you?”

Albus grins at him. “You have now. And have I mentioned that you’re a beautiful nerd and I feel so lucky to have you?”

Scorpius trails a finger over his jaw. “I’m always delighted to be your beautiful nerd.”

“Come here,” Albus breathes, and drags him in for another searing kiss.

It’s easy to get lost in their own little world, surrounded by the peace of the summer afternoon. There’s birdsong in the orchard, the scent of Ginny’s sweet peas fills the air, a gentle breeze ruffles the hedgerows, and Albus and Scorpius are entirely alone together. Or at least they think they are.

They’re so oblivious to what’s going on around them that they don’t realise they’re no longer alone until someone clears their throat close by. They spring apart instantly and look up to see Draco standing looking down at them, an expression of faint amusement on his face. Instantly Albus’s cheeks burn, and Scorpius flushes bright pink as he leaps to his feet.

“H-hi, Dad. I didn’t realise you’d arrived already.”

“I got here early,” Draco says, smirking. “Harry told me you’d gone for a walk together.”

Albus gets up too, smoothing his t-shirt out. “Scorpius did. Go for a walk, that is. I went looking for him, and then I found him, and... He wasn’t walking anymore.”

“No, I can see that. Would you like me to go away and come back in a few minutes?”

Albus bites his tongue so he doesn’t answer an immediate yes. Scorpius swallows and glances at Albus.

“I, um... I’m not sure that would help. It might make it worse. Anyway, we’re done now. We’re fine. And you’re here!” He smiles at his dad and throws himself into a warm, solid hug. “I missed you.”

Draco hugs him back. “I missed you too. The papers inform me that you’re both doing well. And I’m glad they keep me updated because it sounds like you two have been too busy to write letters.” He releases Scorpius and comes across to hug Albus too.

“I wrote to you last week,” Scorpius says indignantly. “Which was two days ago.”

Draco smiles. “I’m just teasing.” He lets go of Albus and looks between the two of them. “Did you enjoy last night?”

“It was stressful,” Albus says, glancing at Scorpius. “Just to start with. Then it was fun.”

Scorpius beams back at him. “It was the best night ever.”

Albus thinks about the crowd leaving the stadium at the end and filtering out towards the Apparition points scattered around Holyhead, the atmosphere bubbling with laughter and happy chatter, a good proportion of them wearing the new league merchandise and planning how they were going to get to the next meet.

“It was pretty perfect,” he admits quietly.

Draco gives him a very serious nod. “I’m glad. You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard.”

“Now we just have to make sure the rest of the meets go as well.”

“But first,” Draco says, “you get to have a day off and celebrate. Speaking of which, I think your dad has brunch ready.”

His dad hasn’t just made brunch, he’s laid on a feast. There are stacks of blueberry pancakes, the most glorious Eggs Royale, plenty of crispy bacon and sausages, and a heap of homemade toast and jam that Scorpius finishes before Albus has had chance to decide if he’ll have any room left for it. There’s also Prosecco that Albus can only assume was provided by Draco, because he’s the only person in the room who would have suggested having bubbles with brunch.

By the time they’re done eating, Albus understands why his dad was looking so stressed before. What he doesn’t understand is how they’re supposed to manage the second feast that’s already being prepared for dinner. He’s not sure he’s even been so full in his life.

They spend the early part of the afternoon lazing around in the living room. Lily thrashes James at Wizard’s Chess, and the cat climbs all over Draco, who seems both alarmed and pleased by the sudden show of affection. Albus sits with his head on Scorpius’s shoulder and naps until James loudly announces that instead of playing Quidditch – because he’s a good brother and doesn’t want to leave Albus out – they’re going to go for a walk before dinner. Albus rubs his eyes and resists pointing out that the sort of walk James probably has planned will leave him too tired to do anything for days. Thankfully, Ginny intervenes on his behalf, and they all agree to a gentle stroll across the fields while the dinner finishes cooking.

It’s a noisy, energetic party that sets out from the house. James and Lily are behaving no differently to how they did during the walks Albus remembers going on as a child – chasing and laughing. Harry and Ginny follow along behind, holding hands and chatting to Draco who’s walking with them. Albus and Scorpius bring up the rear, arms linked, Albus leaning against Scorpius’s side.

The sun is blazing down on the tranquil countryside, and there’s a bright blue sky overhead. A couple of gnomes chase each other through the crops, and Albus can’t stop smiling. The last couple of days have been perfect in a way he hasn’t felt for almost as long as he can remember. It’s like all the disparate pieces of his life are falling into place. The league is working out, his family are all here and happy, and things are going just as well for Scorpius as for him. It’s almost a year since Scorpius came back into his life, and it’s taken time, but he finally feels truly content. This isn’t how he’d have ever imagined life being, but now it’s here he’s delighted with it. There’s just one last thing he needs to do before he can settle in and enjoy what promises to be the best summer of his life.

“You’re looking very happy,” Scorpius says, nudging him gently in the arm.

“Am I?” Albus asks, grinning up at him.

Scorpius nods. “You look especially cute when you’re all smiley.” He touches Albus’s cheek. “You’ve got a dimple. I like it.”

“You’re a dimple,” Albus retorts, elbowing him.

Scorpius’s smile spreads wider across his face. “Is that really the best you can do?”

Albus looks at him, trying to think of a snappy comeback, then he nods. “Your face is too handsome to insult.”

Scorpius’s eyes shine with delight, and he wraps his arms round Albus and squashes him in a hug. “You. Are adorable.”

Albus pretends to grumble and squirm, but he ends up planting a kiss on Scorpius, and by the time they surface the others have got far enough ahead that they’re out of sight.

“Anyway,” Scorpius says, as they set off to try and catch up. “You didn’t tell me what you were smiling about. I know when you’re happy about something. Were you thinking about yesterday?”

Albus shakes his head and swings his and Scorpius’s hands between them. “No, I was thinking about you.”

Scorpius squeezes his hand. “Were you.”

Albus nods. “I was. I was thinking about how the only thing left to do before my life is completely perfect is to ask you to marry me.”

Scorpius pauses in his stride and looks at Albus. “And is that something that’s likely to happen soon?”

Albus gives what he hopes is a non-committal shrug. “It might be...”

Scorpius’s grip on his hand tightens. “Because you already know what my answer will be. In fact I don’t see why we don’t just skip all the formalities and declare ourselves-“

Albus kisses him to shut him up. When he pulls away he takes both of Scorpius’s hands. “No skipping anything. This is the only thing in my life that I’ve ever not done spontaneously on an impulse. Let me do it right.”

Scorpius bounces on the balls of his feet and beams at him. “You’ve got a plan? You’ve really been thinking about this? Albus! What are you up to?”

Albus shakes his head and lifts a hand so he can press a finger to Scorpius’s lips. “I’m not saying anything. Wait and see.”

“But I’m terrible at surprises,” Scorpius says against Albus’s finger.

Albus sighs. “I know. But it’s not like you’ll have to wait long.”

Scorpius lights up. “I won’t?”

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“But-“

“No buts. And I’m not talking about this any more until after dinner.”

Scorpius’s eyes go wide. “After dinner?” He makes a sound so high-pitched that Albus can barely hear it and starts waving his hands around like he doesn’t know what to do with them. It’s like he’s fourteen again and Albus has just announced that his birthday present will be a lifetime supply of Jelly Slugs. He looks ridiculous, and Albus is so hopelessly in love with him that he catches hold of Scorpius’s flailing hands and kisses him again.

“Breathe,” he advises when they part. “You do want to live until after dinner, don’t you?”

Scorpius nods very fast.

“Then I would say that breathing is essential.”

Scorpius nods again and gulps in a breath. “Okay. I can do that. I can definitely-“ He beams at Albus, and his smile is so bright that it makes the summer sunshine seem dull in comparison.

“You’re perfect,” Albus tells him, giving him a little nudge.

“You’re going to ask me to marry you,” Scorpius replies, nudging him back.

“Maybe,” Albus says, nudging him again. “It’s a surprise.”

“It’s a surprise,” Scorpius agrees, skipping a step as they set off walking again. “I don’t know that anything’s happening.”

“It’s just a normal day,” Albus says soothingly, already struggling to keep up with a now very bouncy Scorpius.

“Completely normal. Totally normal. The most normal day ever.” Scorpius drops his hand and dances off ahead.

“Can it be a totally normal, slow day?” Albus asks.

“Oh.” Scorpius deflates ever so slightly, but when he comes back to Albus’s side he beams at him and gently links arms with him, seeming quite happy to trot along at the sedate pace Albus is setting. “Is this okay for a normal, slow day?” He asks after a few dozen steps.

Albus squeezes his arm and nods. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s easier to breathe when we’re going slower too,” Scorpius admits, and Albus ducks his head to hide a smile.

“That’s good then. Breathing is good.”

“Breathing is to be encouraged.”

“I like you better when you’re not suffocating.”

“Do you think?” Scorpius asks.

“Yes,” Albus says. “Yes I do.”

They make it back to the house in one piece. Scorpius has stopped bouncing and hyperventilating, but he’s still beaming. His smile is so wide that Draco frowns at Albus when they walk into the kitchen. Draco is the only person who knows what Albus has planned, because Albus had to talk to him about it partly to ask for permission but mostly to ask for advice. Albus half rolls his eyes and gives a little shake of his head to indicate that Scorpius is just being ridiculous, and Draco smiles and rolls his eyes back.

The walk they went on wasn’t that long, but it’s left Albus feeling more unsteady and tired than he wants to admit to anyone, so he sits in his spot at the table to wait for dinner to be served, while everyone else apart from Harry goes next door for a game of Exploding Snap. Normally he’d help his dad with the cooking, but today he just wants to sit quietly. It doesn’t work though, because as he sits there, panic creeps up on him.

He starts to feel nervous for the first time. Up until now he’s been completely confident in his plan, and until last night he hadn’t had time to doubt himself, but being faced with the prospect of actually putting the plan into action is an entirely different thing. It’s stupid, because Scorpius is bathed in the sort of radiant glow of joy that he normally reserves for his birthday, Christmas, and particularly special date nights. It’s quite clear what his answer is going to be. But that‘s not stopping the swarm of Doxies that are buzzing around in the pit of Albus’s stomach.

What if he doesn’t live up to Scorpius’s expectations? What if he comes over all tongue tied and can’t get the question out? What if he falls going down the steps to the garden and at best makes an idiot of himself and at worst ruins everything by having to go to hospital? What if getting engaged somehow ruins their relationship, and they both regret it forever? A thousand different scenarios chase each other round and round inside Albus’s head, and apparently it’s really obvious that something’s wrong.

“Are you feeling alright, Albus?” Harry asks, glancing up from his cooking. “You look a bit pale.”

Albus hoists a smile onto his face. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I think.”

Harry frowns, not looking entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push it. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Albus nods. “Thanks, Dad.” He clenches his fists on his knees under the table and tries to stay put, but worry is tightening his chest and at the same time he feels shaky and tired. He wants nothing more than to be alone now, possibly to sleep for a while, so he gets to his feet and leaves the room, aware of his dad’s eyes on him.

He finds Scorpius and picks his way across the room to him. Scorpius beams when he approaches and reaches a hand out to him.

“Are you going to play? James is cheating. We need to gang up on him.”

“I’m not cheating,” James says indignantly, although his ears go red, a sure sign that he’s definitely cheating.

Albus takes Scorpius’s hand and squeezes it. “No, I’m going to go upstairs for a bit before dinner.”

Scorpius shifts onto his knees. “Are you okay? I can come if you want.”

Albus shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Do you want me to come and get you when dinner’s ready?”

Albus manages a small, unsteady smile. “That would be great, thanks.” He lifts Scorpius’s hand so he can kiss it, and when he lifts his head he realises that Scorpius’s smile has faded completely, so he leans in closer and strokes Scorpius’s hair.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmurs. “Please. I love seeing you happy. It’s nearly dinner, which means it’s also nearly after dinner.” He flashes Scorpius a hopeful smile and it works. The joy rekindles on Scorpius’s face, and he leans his head into Albus’s hand.

“Alright. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks.” Albus bends down to drop a kiss into Scorpius’s hair, which leaves him feeling more than a bit dizzy, then he flees up the stairs to his room.

When he gets there he sinks onto the bed and curls up on his side, holding his churning stomach. He’s only realising now just how exhausted he is. After two days in a row on the go his limbs are heavy and stiff, and he feels lightheaded. He doesn’t have the energy to be worrying about proposing as well. Maybe this was a stupid idea. He’s pushed himself too far and now he’s paying the price.

He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into his hair, covering his face with his arms. He’s aware that he’s drifting, somewhere on the edge of sleep, with time passing in fits and starts, of seconds that feel like hours and minutes that feel like no time at all. The nausea from his churning stomach washes over him, and he struggles to fight it down. This isn’t a time when he can be ill. He won’t let it happen. All his family are downstairs, this is meant to be a good day, and for all his worries he really wants to propose to Scorpius.

The world fades away, and he must doze for a bit, because when there’s a soft knock on his door he jumps awake, a rush of adrenaline surging through him. It leaves him breathless and shaking.

“C-come in,” he calls, sitting up and trying to steady himself, one hand pressed to his chest.

He expects Scorpius to be the one to come into the room, but it’s not. His dad stands on the threshold, looking uncertain but concerned.

“Hi,” he says. “I... I wanted to check to make sure you were alright, but you don’t-“ He gestures to the room. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Albus turns his back on his dad but shakes his head anyway. “No, it’s okay.”

The floorboards creak and then the bed sinks as Harry sits down. “You’re not feeling very well,” his dad murmurs, and there’s something about it being a statement rather than a question that makes Albus not want to deny the truth.

“Not really,” he whispers back. Admitting when he needs help is something that he’s still struggling with, and he’s proud of himself for saying it.

“What’s wrong?” His dad asks, inching closer to him round the side of the bed, until he can reach out to put a hand on his shoulder.

Albus shakes his head. “I’m... I’m really tired. I want to sleep, but I... I can’t let Scorpius down.”

Harry pauses, and Albus can feel him considering the right words. “Albus... Scorpius wouldn’t be disappointed in you for looking after yourself. I think he’d be pleased.”

Albus gulps in a breath and lifts his head to look at his dad. “I know, but... I-I told him I was going to propose to him after dinner, and I want to... I really really want to.”

Harry blinks. “You’re planning to ask him to marry you?”

Albus rubs his chest and lies back down on the bed, but he twists his body round so he can still look at his dad. “Yes. I am.”

For a moment Harry’s expression is pure surprise, but then he starts to smile, and there’s a warm, glowing pride that comes shining out of him. He reaches out to rub Albus’s shoulder and ruffle his hair. “That’s brilliant news.”

“I know. And I have to do it. I want to do it. But...” He clenches his fists in frustration and buries his face in his blankets. “I need it to be right and it won’t be right when I feel like this. It won’t be how I want it to be.”

“Maybe you don’t have to do it today.” Harry’s fingers brush lightly through Albus’s hair, making him shiver. “Maybe it can wait. Scorpius isn’t going anywhere. He’ll understand.”

“I think...” Albus murmurs into the blankets. “I think that- that Delphi would have been delighted to know that something she did to me... stopped me asking Scorpius to marry me when I wanted to.”

“Perhaps she would,” Harry says. “But I also think that looking after yourself and making sure that things are right for you isn’t an admission of defeat. I’d say it’s more of a victory, actually.”

“Doesn’t feel like a victory,” Albus mutters. “It feels like she’s winning all the time.” He wriggles away up the bed and pulls the pillow over his head. It plunges him into warm darkness, and he can faintly smell Scorpius’s shampoo on the fabric of the pillow case.

He sighs and thinks about Scorpius’s bright smile, and about teasing him earlier in the sun drenched field. It’s moments like that which remind him he’s so in love with Scorpius it hurts. It makes his heart ache in the best possible way, like there’s too much love inside to be contained. All he wants to do is try and express that feeling in any way he can. He wants to keep reminding Scorpius that he’s here forever, that he’s really committed to this, to the two of them; that he believes in them. That’s why this has to be perfect: because the best time to tell Scorpius how he feels is when he’s proposing. If he can’t find the words then, how will he ever?

“I just want you to know,” Harry says softly, rubbing a hand down Albus’s back, “that you’re free. She’s not you. She’s not your illness either, even if it feels like she is. Your life isn’t a war, Albus, either against her or yourself. You can and should choose to do whatever you want. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think Scorpius wants perfect speeches or grand gestures. He wants you. And maybe that means waiting until tomorrow to get engaged, or maybe it means him coming up here so you can talk to him now, but whatever it is I’m pretty sure he’ll be delighted with it.”

Albus lies there with his eyes closed and lets his dad rub his back for a few moments longer, then he takes the pillow off his head and blinks blearily at the room. “Remember when I used to think you were wrong about everything?” He asks, inching onto his knees and trying to brush his hair into some sort of order with his fingers.

“I don’t think I would have dared come up here to talk to you,” Harry says. “I’d have sent your mum.”

“Probably sensible,” Albus says, twisting round to sit with his back against the pillows. “If you’d tried, I would have yelled at you.”

“But you’re not going to yell at me today.”

Albus smiles and shakes his head. “Not today. For one thing I don’t have the energy, and for another... I think you’re right. About Scorpius. And about Delphi... I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to have someone looming over them it’s you.”

“You can’t escape the past,” Harry says. “But that doesn’t mean you should let it hang over you. The past is the past. The future is yours to make.”

Albus gives a dry little laugh and looks down at his knees. “She used to say that. It’s annoyingly good advice.” He runs a hand over his face, closes his eyes, and draws in a few long, slow breaths. His body still feels sluggish and heavy, but his head has stopped spinning and he doesn’t feel sick anymore. Some of his nerves have calmed down. From the kitchen he can smell the delicious scent of dinner wafting up to him, and his stomach rumbles.

“Can I come down for dinner and see how I get on?” He asks, looking up at his dad.

Harry frowns at him. “You don’t have to ask permission to eat.”

Albus shakes his head. “Right. Sorry. Old habits... I’ll come down and have some food, and then after that...” He leans across and opens the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. There’s a little box in there, a bit bigger than a ring box, with his engagement gift inside. He tucks it into his pocket and flashes his dad a smile. “Just in case.” Then he closes the drawer and gets to his feet.

He sways on the spot, and his dad gets up and catches hold of his arm.

“Do you need help?”

Albus thinks about the three steep flights of stairs down from the attic and nods. “I think so, today.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Harry says, and they set off carefully on the long journey downstairs.

It’s loud and hot in the kitchen, even with all the windows and the back door open. James is telling terrible jokes, fuelled by a couple of glasses of Draco’s finest wine, and Lily and Draco are both laughing at him, which is only encouraging him. Harry and Ginny are trying to hide amused smiles while they chat together about something that Albus can’t hear. Scorpius is occasionally contributing to the joke telling, but mostly he’s telling Albus about something work-related that he probably isn’t meant to be talking about, but he sounds too excited to contain himself. Albus is listening while he picks at his green beans and Yorkshire pudding. He doesn’t have much appetite and his head has started hurting again, but his dad’s food is so delicious that it’s worth at least trying to eat it.

With the heat and the noise, he feels far from perfect, but when Scorpius is beside him talking and smiling he doesn’t really care anymore. That pressure of affection is building up inside him, and he can feel the box in his pocket digging into his leg. This might not go the way he wants it to, it might even go spectacularly badly, but he’s going to try it.

Once all the plates are empty, Ginny gets to her feet and starts clearing the table, and Albus’s nerves spike inside him.

“Let’s have a break before dessert,” Harry says, leaning back in his seat. “I’m too full to move now.” The rest of the table makes noises of approval, and Albus glances at Scorpius.

“I think I’m going to get some fresh air. Do you want to come?”

Scorpius’s expression goes from an unrestrained grin to something nervous and sharp, but his eyes don’t lose their shine for a second. “Okay.” He gets up and offers Albus his arm. Albus is grateful to take it, and he leans against Scorpius’s side as they go out into the twilit garden.

It’s so much cooler out here. A gentle breeze sweeps over them, and Albus closes his eyes and inhales. It’s quieter too, the silence broken only by late night bird song and the rustle of the leaves in the orchard.

“Can we sit?” Albus asks, gesturing to the steps that lead down onto the lawn.

“Of course.” Scorpius helps Albus sit on the top step, then plops down next to him and wraps an arm round his waist. “How are you feeling?”

Albus rests his head on Scorpius’s shoulder. “Less than ideal, but I’ll live.”

Scorpius kisses him on the forehead. “Let’s have an early night tonight.”

Albus nods. “I’m not going to object to that.”

They lapse into silence, and Albus enjoys the feeling of Scorpius breathing against him. It would be so easy to drift off to sleep right here on this peaceful evening, but he can’t sleep yet.

He lifts his head and turns to Scorpius. “You know I want to ask you something. And I’m sorry it’s not going to be perfect, but... I hope it’ll be okay anyway.”

Scorpius sits up very straight and clasps his hands in his lap. Albus notices that his grip is so tight that his fingertips have gone white.

“Are you nervous too?” He asks, glancing at Scorpius’s hands.

Scorpius looks down and laughs, tucking his hands into his pockets instead. “My incredible boyfriend is about to propose to me. Yes I’m nervous. And excited. And... a lot of things. I’m a lot right now. This is a lot. I- I’m rambling. Sorry. Go on.”

Albus smiles. “You’re really cute when you ramble.”

Scorpius goes pink. “I’m glad it’s working in my favour.”

“Everything works in your favour.” Albus puts his hand in his pocket and closes it round the handle of his wand. He twists the handle between his fingers, then sighs and lets it go. “I was going to cast stars in the trees and make everything look beautiful,” he says. “But I think if I did that now I’d just pass out. Or set the orchard on fire.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I don’t need stars. It’s okay. You’re enough.”

“My dad said you’d think that,” Albus says, ducking his head. “I still think you deserve stars though. You deserve everything. You deserve the world. I wish I could give it to you.”

“You’re the world to me,” Scorpius murmurs, reaching out to take Albus’s hand.

Albus grins. “That’s really soppy.“

Scorpius grins back. “I know. It’s your fault.”

“Alright.” Albus squeezes Scorpius’s hand. “Hold the soppiness for a second while I do this.”

“You mean this isn’t going to be the soppiest bit yet?” Scorpius asks.

“It might be.” Albus lifts their linked hands to Scorpius’s mouth and they both press a finger to his lips. “Now sshh.”

Scorpius nods silently and sits and smiles at Albus. It’s at that point that Albus realises he didn’t need to cast stars in the trees. The sun is sinking behind the orchard, and the real stars are coming out overhead. The light from the house is bathing the garden in a golden glow, and Scorpius’s eyes are shining as bright as the silver moon overhead. It’s perfect just like this. Everything is perfect when Scorpius is part of it.

“A year ago,” Albus says, and his voice catches in his throat so he coughs and tries again. “A year ago I was trying to hide from myself. I was unhappy, I was lonely, I didn’t think I could have any of the things I wanted. And then you walked through the gates of the Training Ground, and it was like the first piece fell into place in my life.

“We went and got coffee, and we talked, and I had no idea how I’d ever managed to walk away from you. My life is exponentially better with you in it. You bring me sunshine, and stars, and magic, and... you make me believe that I can have a future; that I deserve a future.”

He swallows and looks down at his hands. “That day a year ago, you connected me back to the life I was missing, and I know now that I could have it all without you, that I’m wanted here and that there’s a life for me here. But the truth is that I want to share this life with you.” He glances up at Scorpius. “When I look at my family I want you to be there too. When I come home I want to be coming home to you. When I’m having a bad day I want to have the hope that you’ll be there to help. And when I’m having a good day I want to share it with you. I hope that you know – I know that you know – that I’m staying forever, but I want the whole world to know that. I want you and them to know how much I love you, and I want to stand up and promise that I’ll never leave you, that I’ll love you no matter what, and that my heart will belong to you forever.”

He pauses, and Scorpius seems frozen, gazing at him with sparkling silver eyes, mouth slightly open like he’s lost for words, then he looks down and rummages in his pocket for the box.

“This isn’t a ring, I’m sorry. I-I asked your dad how I was supposed to do this, and he said that when he and your mum got engaged they went and got their rings together, and I thought it was a nice idea, so I-I thought-“ He shakes his head. “Anyway. This is a gift for you, because I love you, and I-I just want to ask...” He exhales a shaky stream of air then breathes in again through his nose and squares his shoulders as he looks right at Scorpius. “Will you marry me?”

Scorpius covers his face with his hand, and for an alarmingly long time he doesn’t say anything. Then he drops his hand and reaches for Albus, pulling him in for a tight hug, and Albus can feel him shaking. It’s difficult to tell if he’s crying or just overwhelmed, and Albus doesn’t know how to ask, so he just holds onto Scorpius and messes with his hair and kisses his cheek until finally Scorpius pulls back and looks at him.

There are tears on his face, but he’s smiling, and he cups Albus’s chin with hands. “Yes,” he whispers, and his voice breaks. His smile widens like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “Yes of course I’ll marry you. Come here.” And then they kiss, and Albus is pretty sure the only reason he’s not crying too is because he’s so tired. Now the nervous energy is wearing off his hands are shaking and he feels exhausted right to the core. All he wants is to curl up by Scorpius’s side and sleep.

“What were you saying about this not being perfect?” Scorpius asks when they part, and he’s wrapped an arm round Albus and Albus has his head resting on his shoulder again.

Albus shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

Scorpius squeezes his shoulders. “I’m not disappointed. I could never be disappointed with you. Can I open this?” He points to the box that Albus is still holding loosely in his hand.

Albus nods and sits up a bit. “Yes, go on.”

Scorpius takes the box and opens the lid to reveal the pair of tiny silver cufflinks inside. They’re set with stones that look like rubies, but Scorpius frowns down at them then glances at him.

“Those aren’t jewels. What is it?”

“It’s Fiendfyre,” Albus says. “Crystallised Fiendfyre. You can sort of freeze it. It kills it, so it’s safe, but it looks really cool. And... look closer.”

Scorpius takes one of the cufflinks out of the box and inspects it. “There’s a bird on it.”

“An albatross,” Albus says with a smile. “Like your Patronus.”

Scorpius grins and looks at him. “Have I mentioned today that you’re perfect?”

“I’m not sure,” Albus says happily. “Maybe you should say it again just to make sure.”

Scorpius puts the cuff links safely back in the box, then leans over and kiss him. “You’re perfect, and I love you. And you want to know the best bit? You’re my fiancé.”

Albus blinks at him. “I... I am. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m your fiancé. And you’re mine.” Happiness wells up inside him and his grin is so wide it hurts his cheeks. “We’re going to get married.”

“Yes,” Scorpius says. “Yes we are.”

“I heard something about marriage,” Draco says behind them, and they both jump and look round to see him walking across the patio holding a bottle of champagne. “We were wondering if we’re allowed to come out and join you now?”

Albus looks at Scorpius and nods. “I think so.”

Draco smiles and calls back to the house. “They don’t mind us coming outside.” He draws his wand and conjures up some chairs on the lawn, then looks back at the pair of them. “Is it good news?”

“It might be,” Scorpius says brightly. “Does everyone know this is happening?”

Draco shakes his head. “Not yet.” He sets the champagne down on the ground as the rest of the family comes out of the house and joins them in the garden, Lily sitting on the steps just below them, James hopping up onto the wall, and the adults taking the chairs.

“We thought it was too nice an evening to stay inside,” Ginny says. “I hope you two don’t mind us invading.”

“No, it’s fine.” Albus waits until everyone is sitting down, then he squeezes Scorpius’s hand. “It’s good timing actually. We’ve got some news for you.” He looks at Scorpius and gives him a nod.

Scorpius doesn’t look at the others when he speaks. He keeps his eyes on Albus and beams at him. “We have. Albus and I are engaged.”

There’s very little surprise at the announcement, but there’s lots of joy. Harry comes over and gives Scorpius a tight hug. Draco nods and smiles at Albus as he starts summoning delicate crystal champagne flutes from thin air. Ginny crushes them both in her arms and kisses Scorpius on the cheek. Lily high fives Albus and tells Scorpius to look after him. Even James manages to resist making puking noises, instead ruffling Albus’s hair and telling Scorpius that ‘it’s going to be nice to have a sensible brother for the first time ever’.

The garden feels very bright and cosy. Draco’s champagne tastes like starlight and joy. Albus is happy to curl up next to Scorpius and drift contentedly in and out of consciousness, surrounded by the buzz of his family’s chatter.

A year ago he wouldn’t have dared to dream about a night like this, but now it’s his reality. He’s home. He’s got everyone he loves with him. He’s engaged to Scorpius and they’re building a life together. None of that means that things are perfect, there’s still pain that will never go away and healing is going to be a lifelong process, but he’s no longer alone. He’s safe, he’s happy, and he’s facing life with both feet on the ground.

At one point he drifts awake to feel Scorpius press a gentle kiss to his shoulder where he has a scar in the vague shape of a pair of feathered wings, and he remembers what his dad said earlier. He’s free. The future is his to make. And here he is, making it his way, with the people he loves by his side, just the way he’s always wanted to.

THE END

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the-cookie-of-doom · 5 years

Text

“B-b-b-but Derek Hale’s a failure and a shitty leader whose only purpose in the show was to be surpassed by Trash Wolf Scoot and make the audience realize what a great, competent, superior leader and better character Trash Wolf Scoot McCall is compared to him! Derek Hale got exactly what he deserved for refusing to obey Trash Wolf Scoot, really!!!!” https://princeescaluswords.tumblr.com/post/185664990955/stans-will-excuse-dereks-actions-by-portraying

russianspacegeckosexparty *whines and screeches and froths and drowns in his own bile because Teen Wolf fans and viewers have the nerve to prefer actually compelling fictional characters over his shitty idol Scott and because his shitty idol Scott is not EVERYONE’s fav*

Shitty, entitled middle aged white man & actual harasser PEW:

There are two competing impulses here in relation to the narrative. When these impulse are combined combined they form the toxic woobification also known as “Derek Deserves Nice Things.” This is the belief that Jeff Davis tortured Derek for no other reason than his and the audience’s sadistic amusement. They miss the writers’ goal: to show that in Derek’s role as a foil for Scott, he got exactly what he deserved for allowing his painful history to control him. Derek’s failures came from his inability to manage his trauma, to separate the people who hurt him from the people who didn’t.

In Season 1 and Season 2, Derek let his fear of the Argents and his shame about his actions with Kate (and Paige) influence his actions. He didn’t trust Scott; he didn’t share information freely with Scott; he relied on anger and its attendant violence to keep him safe. It didn’t work.

(It’s noticeable that when Derek let go of the past – when he started to trust Scott, when he started sharing information with Scott, when he did things like hand out Halloween candy to children – he got nice things! Derek ended Season 4 – a season which showed him being open, friendly, trusting, and complimenting and encouraging Scott – with a sexy, protective girlfriend; revenge on his tormentor, and the inheritance of his mother’s legacy!)

The first impulse was the need to make Derek more important than Scott McCall. The thought that Derek Hale was only there for Scott to learn what not to do never even occurred to them, even though the name of the show was Teen Wolf. Derek’s aggression, violence, and lies weren’t seen by them as obstacles for Scott McCall to overcome – which they were definitely intended to be by the writers. When the narrative had Scott overcoming and surpassing Derek, they were flabbergasted. Derek was a hot white man with an incredible body and a sad backstory. To viewers weaned on television culture, he should have been the lead – or if not the lead, the controlling narrative of the show. It should be Derek’s story that took precedence. But it wasn’t!

The second impulse was, of course, Sterek. There’s nothing wrong with the ship itself, as long as the viewers realized that – no matter what the MTV PR department said – it never had a chance of happening. Regardless of subjective chemistry, Derek wasn’t going to have a romantic relationship with Stiles because it would have taken too much focus off of the actual leader and star of his own show Scott McCall/Tyler Posey. It could have happened, if the show was about Stiles or Derek, but it’s not, and having a relationship between the lead’s two foils, including one closely echoing Derek’s backstory and being illegal, would have required too much focus.

Given these two impulses, the audience had to sell themselves the story that Derek Deserved Nice Things, that he was Not a Failwolf, in order to satisfy them. So that’s why they ignored the terrible things Derek did to others, especially to his own betas – seducing Erica, hurting Isaac, withholding information from all three of them – that sent two of them running for the hills and one of them running for Scott.

Cookie: Oh my god. Oh my god this is so horrible, what the fuck.

PEW: This is the belief that Jeff Davis tortured Derek for no other reason than his and the audience’s sadistic amusement.

!!! That is exactly what happened. Tyler has remarked on how he had to work any scraps of backstory for Derek aside from Tall Dark and Brooding like he was trying to pull teeth. Dylan said in an interview that “Have you seen him? We have to torture him, otherwise everything is too sexy for him.” Derek was only there to be abused. And that’s fine! God knows I love a good whump, and it is a popular dynamic that one of the main characters always has to be. Think Jace Wayland from The Mortal Instruments, with his tragic backstory. Or Harry Potter, spending his childhood abused at worst and neglected at best. The only difference is, those characters got a break from the abuse, they had sanctuaries to go to and people who protected them, but Derek never did*.

*Except, of course, for Stiles, who protected Derek even when he hated him, even when he was afraid of him. I’m not even saying in a shippy way, but the only person who consistently was there to defend Derek was Stiles. Not Scott. Scott would never do anything for Derek unless he somehow got something out of it first; how about, trying to make Derek promise not to hurt Allison before being willing to free him from Kate’s torture dungeon? This even after Derek has done nothing to hurt Allison or imply he ever would, and going so far as to take her home when Scott decided going to a party was more important than learning how to werewolf, thus putting everyone, and Allison, in danger. This even after Derek has every right to hate Allison’s family, and not go out of his way to protect her. Which he absolutely did here.

I had to scroll back up for this, but: “the toxic woobification also known as “Derek Deserves Nice Things.”

How lacking in empathy do you have to be to think that one of the main characters deserving nice things is toxic? Derek Hale DOES deserve nice things, for fucks sake he’s EARNED them after everything he’s been through. (And, not to compare trauma because that is equally toxic, but since they seem intent on doing it anyway: Derek has been through much more and much more than Scott. He, more than anyone on the show, deserves to have a goddamn break and a little sympathy.)

I just. I can’t even touch on that last part about Derek deserving everything he got. That is so tone deaf and blind, how did PEW even manage to watch this show? Clearly he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Derek did not deserve what he got at all. Hell, NO ONE deserve the level of unending abuse Derek was put through for the sake of whump.

“Derek let his fear of the Argents and his shame about his actions with Kate (and Paige) influence his actions. He didn’t trust Scott; he didn’t share information freely with Scott.”

Yikes. First off, as I already said, Derek had every reason to fear the Argents. They murdered his family. Derek has no way of knowing how many of them were involved; the only one who couldn’t have been was Allison, since she was a child. But Chris? Victoria? Yeah, Derek was right to fear them. And even if you take away the death of his family, the Argents are HUNTERS. They KILL WEREWOLVES, something Scott never did manage to figure out because he was too concerned with getting his dick wet. Even going so far as to side with them in the worst moment of cinematic history, before he even knew them or had reason to defend them. Allison was a pretty girl, and Derek was telling him what her family did to his, and Scott decided the Pretty Girl won over the death of Derek’s family, children included.

As for trusting Scott? When did Scott every prove himself trustworthy? I’m sorry, but if someone looked me in the eyes and told me that maybe my family deserved to burn alive, I wouldn’t ever trust them. There is nothing they could do to earn my trust after that. But eventually Derek comes around, showing that he is in fact a better person that I am. Because I would have thrown Scott right at the Argent’s feet for that comment, and let them see just how merciful they really are. And that isn’t even touching on how Scott lied to Allison about her mother’s pack, directly resulting in her hunting down Derek and his pack, and attempting to kill two of her classmates. Conveniently, the two people Scott had claimed to care about when it was convenient for him as a way to keep Derek from building a pack.

“The thought that Derek Hale was only there for Scott to learn what not to do never even occurred to them.” No character’s sole purpose is to be a foil. A character may be designed as a foil, but first and foremost, they are their own character. A thought that apparently never occurred to PEW. As much as he wishes it did, the show did not revolve around Scott, and neither did the characters. Because while he was the main character, he was not it’s only character.

“Sterek. There’s nothing wrong with the ship itself, as long as the viewers realized that – no matter what the MTV PR department said – it never had a chance of happening.”

Once again, PEW entirely misses the point. I don’t think anyone ever genuinely believed Sterek was going to be canon. We all knew better than that, we were not yet in an age where queer relationships happen on screen for anything other than comic relief like a sideshow freak; there only briefly. They weren’t going to do that with their main characters, because then they would have to get rid of them! Like when they wrote off Danny and Ethan, and kept Mason and Corey mostly out of the picture when they were together, or when they brought back Ethan and Jackson for the very end-for no reason other than exploiting Colton coming out and getting those diversity points! (Which were very much not earned, in my opinion. It was pandering at best.)

It wasn’t the fact that Sterek was never going to be canon that made people so angry; it was the fact that Jeff kept dangling it in front of the fandom for years, once he saw how popular it was becoming. He would talk in interviews about how much he loved the Sterek dynamic, tweet about how much he supported it, and then write barely any scenes were Stiles and Derek interacted. We knew it wasn’t going to happen, and we didn’t appreciate being mocked.

“[...] and having a relationship between the lead’s two foils, including one closely echoing Derek’s backstory and being illegal, would have required too much focus..”

But it wasn’t too much focus when any other characters got together? No, of course not, because other relationships didn’t challenge Scott with their popularity. It’s okay not to like a ship, but don’t be so sanctimonious about it.

Also, illegal? Cute that he brings this up as a ‘concern’ when it comes to Sterek, but where was the outrage when they started pushing for Lydia and Parish? You know, that 24 year old cop fantasizing about showering/amking out with a 17 year old girl? I think the power dynamics with that are inherently far more problematic than little old Sterek.

“So that’s why they ignored the terrible things Derek did to others, especially to his own betas – seducing Erica, hurting Isaac, withholding information from all three of them – that sent two of them running for the hills and one of them running for Scott.”

The tag Derek Hale Is A Failwolf currently has 569 works in it. That’s a pretty good amount, considering many people don’t get into specific tags like that. I’ve never seen anyone ignore what Derek did; and on a broad level, no one is ignoring that Derek seducing Erica was kind of gross, or that hurting Isaac was wrong. Keeping information from them wasn’t the best idea either, but Derek did it from a place of trying to protect them. They were kids, and he was their alpha; he was trying to deal with the dangers like the alpha pack on his own because he didn’t want to put them in harms way. Unlike Scott who withholds information that directly puts them in harms way (see: lying to Allison about her mother).

Derek also hurts Isaac during training. Rough? Yes. Unnecessary? Well, I would say that depends. Derek was showing Isaac what his body was capable of doing; he could heal, something he never had before. You can’t deny that gave Isaac some new perspective and a hell of a lot of confidence, no longer afraid to be hurt.

And then you have Scott, who disgusting abuses Isaac to assert control over him. He was not trying to teach Isaac anything, he was just angry and jealous that Isaac wanted to kiss Allison, who had broken up with Scott, and made it clear that she didn’t want him waiting for her. They. Were. Not. Together. Scott had no claim to her, he wasn’t ‘defending her honor’, he was being an asshole ex. And Isaac paid the price, getting abused by his so called alpha. And what could he do in that situation? Scott was housing him; by challenging him, Isaac would be risking getting kicked out with nowhere else to go. A great situation to put an abuse survivor in. Scott had all the power and authority in their relationship, so do not try to paint Scott as the savior that welcomed him after he was banished by the big bad Derek.

As usual, PEW is watching a very different show than the rest of us. But it does not revolve around Scott, and it never did. The characters all had their own lives and motivations.

And, Derek Hale does in fact deserve nice things. Especially if those nice things involve a long vacation to somewhere that has no wifi, no cell reception, and no way to be reached by a certain self-righteous teenager, with a certain human at his side.

#fandom discourse #Derek Hale is My Man #I will Fite #submission

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chaoticneutralwriter · 7 years

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Herbology 101 | m.yg

Granted, this isn’t the worst thing he’s making you do.

firewitch!yoongi/suga

genre: fluff, comedy and Harry Potter eat your heart out.

word count: 1.7k

A/N: back by popular demands, your adventures with firewitch!yoongi/suga continues.

In relation to this.

It’s settled.

You have never felt more uncomfortable in your life until now.

In fact, you think the word uncomfortable is an understatement to what you’re currently feeling right now. It’s so bad that your body is literally refusing to function and you’re left to sit there as if frozen in time.

“If that’s your impression of a garden gnome then you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Your eyes dart over to the gruff voice halfway across the greenhouse and if looks could kill, you would bury him ten feet under the ground by now. You’re about to retort with a snide comment but immediately stop when a buzzing noise whizz by too close to your ear. The force of your flinch nearly knocks you off your stool as you, instead, let out a squeal of fear.

The corner of Yoongi’s lips twitch into a smirk as he watches you catch yourself and proceed to curl up completely on the seat, hands clutching onto the spray bottle in a death grip.

“Careful, I thought I told you to keep watch so they won’t try to sneak up on you.” He remarks off-handedly, going back to the task at hand.

“I am! Blame those other…. things flying around! Don’t you guys have pest control?!”

“Y/N….” The slight worried change in his tone causes you to put a halt to your bantering and focus your attention to Yoongi who’s eyeing a mass of branches and vines warily. If it weren’t for the given circumstances, you would’ve ignored it because they’re just a bunch of plants. But no, you’re in Harry Potter world and these vines and branches are much more sprightly than they really should be.

“Yah!” You shout before promptly aiming the spray bottle at it’s large body mass. Whatever substance that comes out of it is enough to catch the plant creature’s attention because it whips around to face you, hissing and mouth agape in a poise ready to take a chunk out of you. You don’t hesitate to spray the bottle again, right into it’s open mouth full of sharp thorns and it jerks back almost instantly with another angry hiss. Thankfully, it thinks fighting you isn’t worth it because it retreats completely, slithering away to the outer perimeters of the greenhouse, away from you and Yoongi for now.

“Thank you~” Yoongi’s singsong voice is too cheery for a near life-death experience. Your shoulders are still hunched and stiff as your eyes whip back to the witch who’s casually inspecting granite coloured stones the size of pebbles.

“…What did I get myself into…” You groan out to yourself, feeling an on-coming headache.

“You made a deal with a witch and now you owe the witch a favour.” said witch supplies for you nonchalantly.

You glare at him. “It’s a rhetorical question.” You snip before continuing, “And following you around for an hour as your pack mule, carrying God knows what and occasionally paying for them myself doesn’t count as a favour? I went through a brick wall for you and now you’re making me fend off extremely poisonous plant monsters!”

“Stop whining, you brought this upon yourself.” Yoongi replies as he begins to sort through the pebbles. “Making you go through a brick wall is not the worst thing I can make you do. And,” He adds in quickly just to cut you off from bringing up the massive poisonous plant creature lurking in the greenhouse around you again. “The Venomous Hydra Hedera only gets moody when its ripe with seedlings, which makes getting them a chore and admittedly even dangerous to get on your own, but the bad ones—“

He holds up one of the pebbles that’s completely black in colour, “Are key ingredients to a lot of potions.” If it still wasn’t for the fact that he’s forcing you to be in the same room as said poisonous plant, you would’ve thought that his little impromptu trivia was cute. You can clearly see the delight shining in his eyes when he finds one or two of those bad ‘seedlings’ from the batch he’s sorting through.

“So that’s why you designated me, very unqualified normal human being, to be your literal weed killer.” You deadpan.

“They’re not weeds and you’re not killing them but yes if that’s what your human mind wants to compare it to.” Yoongi sighs as he hauls a case full of soil with the ‘good’ seedlings nestled in it and places them under a heating lamp on a shelf. “But you’re not dead yet are you? Like I said, as long as you did exactly as I say, it’s all good.”

You scoff, uncurling yourself off the stool and stepping down carefully onto the floor. You’re still on high alert, spray bottle at the ready as you eye the pulsating mass of vines and greenery that seems to be lurking anywhere and everywhere you look.

“Are we done here? Can I go home?” You almost plead once you’ve reached within arms length of the witch. Yoongi turns to you with a mild look of confusion. “It’s almost 4AM and I don’t know if witches get tired but lowly humans like me do okay?”

That makes him look down at his watch and lets out a noncommittal, “Ah.” He takes the spray bottle from you and you’d just about die from joy, taking it as a sign that yes he’s letting you go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

….What?

“I— ….What?” You manage to blubber out. Yoongi blinks before nodding his head as if what he just said wasn’t bizarre at all.

“I said, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“N-No no I heard what you said but why? Did I not fulfill my end of the deal?"

“....Ah.” He says in realization, before giving you a wry smile. “Wow you actually thought this was ‘fulfilling your deal’, that’s cute.”

You’re only left to stand there, mouth hanging open in disbelief and astonishment. “What do you mean by that?!”

“Well, when you summoned me, you basically made a blood contract in the process.” Yoongi explains casually as he strides off towards the exit of the greenhouse. You, having no other choice, follow after him as you take in his words and connect the dots. Pricking your finger….

“And since you said so yourself that I get to decide whatever I see fit in terms of fulfilling your end of the deal would be,” He continues, stopping in front of the door but you don’t have to hear him say the rest to know where he’s going with it and it makes you think that maybe it would’ve been better if you’d let that venomous whatever-it’s-called plant eat you when you had the chance. Either Yoongi doesn’t sense that you already know of your imminent demise or he’s having an absolute hoot at making you suffer, he says the words you’re dreading to hear anyways.

“I’ve decided on eternal servitude.”

You want to scream and shout and more importantly, wipe that smug ass grin off his pretty face. You can’t believe this; you’re basically his slave. He gets to boss you around and tell you to do whatever crazy shit he has planned just so that you don’t get turned into a frog! …. You know what, even that sounded a lot better than eternal servitude.

You’re just about to express as much when you see the witch’s face turn stony. It was a split second observation on your part and before you can really ask him what was wrong, you hear a distinct hissing. It happened so fast that you’re left winded and dazed by the end of the whole ordeal.

See, what happened was your brain registered the hissing sound as the poisonous plant monster you’ve been dealing with for the past hour or so, which your brain then equates to as, ‘danger! you should probably move.’ Only problem was was that your body was too slow to catch up to the warning (you blame the fatigue).

Luckily for you, a certain witch had been attentive enough to spot the slithering mass of vines long before it decided to strike. So it was very easy for him to pull you out of harms way and at the same time, dispense whatever substance was in the spray bottle to halt the venomous plant from causing either one of you harm. With its surprise attack foiled, the python-like plant gives one last irritated hiss before turning away, disappearing among the other foliage and greenery.

“Really should get rid of a head or two on that one…. “ Yoongi’s voice comes off as a rumble against your ear and it’s only then that you notice just how strangely warmer one side of your body is (and smells really nice). A furtive glance upwards confirms that ‘out of harms way’ just so happens to be uncomfortably close to Yoongi’s side. He’s staring down at you in return, eyebrows raised and perplexed.

You jump out of his hold so quickly you nearly stumble over your feet. Now everything feels too hot and stifling and the fact that you’re still in a greenhouse doesn’t help. You’re thankful when Yoongi opens the door, letting the much cooler air seep in but you know it does nothing to quell the heat still lingering on your cheeks.

“So, see you tomorrow then?” He repeats, holding the door for you. He doesn’t make to comment on what happened or the state of your flushed face. He doesn’t have to because one look and you can already see the amusement dancing in his eyes and you already know that he knows what answer you’re going to give him; he’s just teasing at this point.

So in a last ditch effort to not giving him the satisfaction, you turn away with a huff and stomp off, not bothering to reply at all. Unfortunately for you, Yoongi doesn’t leave your mind even well after you’ve arrived home and buried in the comforts of your bed.

You can already picture his smug smile even without him being there, which only succeeds at making you more irritated because damn it he still got the last laugh.

He irritates you to no end; from his emotionless, deadpan gaze to the smug grin he has and not to mention how you swear he takes great pleasure in making you suffer.

Which makes it all the more shocking when you find yourself lulling off to sleep by the scent of cinnamon, spices, and burnt out candles.

Plant Lyfe.

#yoongi x reader #suga drabble #yoongi drabbles #bts scenario #bts drabbles #bts scenarios #witch!yoongi #firewitch!yoongi #min yoongi drabble #suga scenario #suga x reader

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hadarlaskey · 4 years

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Matthias & Maxime

If Xavier Dolan’s 2018 English language debut, The Death and Life of John F Donovan, was a patchy if ambitious rebel yell against his critics, his return to his Québécois roots in Matthias & Maxime comes across as the more grounded and mature work. Perhaps it’s also because of a sense of familiarity at the film’s heart, which sees Dolan return to acting in his own work for the first time since 2013’s Tom at the Farm.

The subject matter too is very much within his wheelhouse, given that Dolan’s films always deal in some way with masculinity and sexuality, but while his past work has veered into melodrama and sometimes feels self-conscious to the point of distraction, there’s an easy confidence to this. The titular characters are childhood friends whose lives seem to be diverging.

At a house party, they are asked by a friend to act in a short scene which requires them to kiss. Their reluctance is palpable, but they agree, and what should be a fleeting moment causes newfound tension between them, with Max (Dolan) quietly pining for Matthias (Gabriel D’Almeida Freitas) who seems painfully unsure of himself despite outward appearances.

Dolan does his best acting work to date as Max, with a soulful and delicate performance that avoids ever tipping into self-indulgence, while Freitas as Matthias is a perfect foil, more restrained and confident about everything except his relationship with Maxime. As so much of the relationship between Max and Matthias is about what the pair don’t say to each other, Dolan and Freitas focus on expression through looks and touch: a lingering stare, a frustrated carding of hands through hair.

There’s an interesting dichotomy between the film’s use of Québécois and English: English is the language of the younger, more affluent characters, who see it as a way to set themselves apart from the pack. For Max, an escape comes in the form of a potential move to Australia, but failure to communicate – literally and figuratively – constantly threatens to derail the lives of the young protagonists, and Dolan focuses on their aching vulnerability, primarily how they struggle to articulate feelings they don’t have the language for.

It’s also Dolan’s funniest film to date, less maudlin and tragic, more relaxed, as though he is finally starting to take deep breaths. Characters joke about Harry Potter, trade childish insults. Moreover, they all seem so at home with each other. Shot with the intimacy of a home video, the camera clunkily zooms in and out like an old school camcorder, capturing fleeting glances and second guesses, the manic energy of a house party in full swing.

“We’re all animals,” remarks McAfee, a scuzzy lawyer played to perfection by a scene-stealing Harris Dickinson. After a decade of pain and glory in the unforgiving world of film, Dolan understands this, but he’s always been free and open with his emotions, unafraid to wear his heart on his sleeve. This tenderness shines through in Matthias & Maxime, which reflects the agony and the ecstasy of being young and reckless with such eloquence, and reminds us that Dolan at his best is a sublimely talented young artist.

The post Matthias & Maxime appeared first on Little White Lies.

source https://lwlies.com/reviews/matthias-and-maxime/

#movie

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hellyeahrpmemes · 6 years

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※ JENNA MARBLES SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. IV ※

here’s sentences from 10 more of jenna’s videos! feel free to change names/pronouns/zodiac signs/etc.! PART 1 • PART 2 • PART 3

WE GOT A HAMSTER

“I want a hamster.”

“This is like the fourth thing you’ve said to me all day.”

“No, we’re not doing that.”

“Okay, whatever you say, Papi.”

“I’m a walking ad.”

“Are you excited to be a daddy?”

“We have great music we can listen to in the car.”

“I think he’s had it with me.”

“Get you a boyfriend who’s great with animals.”

“I like you an awful lot.”

“This is my dream. I’m living my dream life.”

“This is all very complicated.”

“We’re doing the best we can, given the current circumstances.”

MY BOYFRIEND BUYS MY MAKEUP

“At this point, fuck it.”

“This shit is so fucking expensive, it’s not even funny.”

“It was a lot more frustrating than I thought it was gonna be.”

“This is already bad.”

“I feel like you’re trying to sabotage me.”

“It’s as magical as I’d hoped.”

“Did you just get it to eat it?”

“Can you please get that out of your mouth?”

“Are you happy with your purchases?”

“Why would you conceal something when you can draw attention to it?”

“Honestly, this isn’t that bad.”

“This is actually pretty.”

“I’m good at this.”

“You bought it ‘cause it was called ‘hysterical’.”

“Sometimes you need it for moral support.”

“That peace of mind is what life is all about to me.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

“This is very subtle.”

“Why are you so close to me?”

“I mean, it’s a look.”

“Are you pleased with that?”

“I think you look great, fuck.”

“I feel like it could be worse.”

“Don’t you like unbearable pain?”

“Um, so, can I leave now?”

MAKING A TINY LIVING ROOM FOR MY DOGS

“I’m really tired of explaining myself, so, you know what? I’m just gonna cut to the chase.”

“I want one of those…!”

“This isn’t my house, we rent this.”

“I can fuck it up a little.”

“Because I’m an adult…!”

“Fuck it, we’re just gonna try and see what happens.”

“Oh, this is gonna suck.”

“Pray for me 2k17.”

“It got in my eyes, it’s not funny.”

“That’s better than nothing, right?”

“I’m no longer scared to be in here.”

“It doesn’t fit exactly, but, ya know… give me a break…!”

“Perfect. Nailed it.”

“Did it come with any nails? Of course it didn’t.”

“She straight up stole a liquor bottle and left.”

“It’s nicer in there than it is in our house.”

“You have a French Bulldog lamp, which I’m honestly jealous of, and I might take.”

“I have an under the stairs Harry Potter cabinet wonderland.”

BRAIDING THINGS INTO MY HAIR

“I know what you’re thinking: this hair is very dirty. You are correct.”

“I’m being incredibly selfish lately and I’m doing whatever I want to, and I’m having a great time.”

“Maybe this isn’t the best method.”

“This is amazing and you know it!”

“See, this is what happens when you just think a little.”

“I’m having a great time, and everything is great.”

“I’m on a roll, and this is amazing.”

“Why is there a fork in your hair?”

“You’ll be jealous later.”

“This is gonna help you, this is gonna change your life.”

“Not only is this incredibly functional, but look at how beautiful. Stunning.”

“It’s starting to feel a little heavy, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“It looks great, it feels great, it is great.”

“I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but this might be the best idea I’ve ever had, in my whole life.”

“We’ve had the secret the whole time, we just didn’t think of it…! I mean, maybe ‘cause it’s stupid, but it doesn’t matter, the option is there…!”

“We still wanna get a little turnt, but just a little.”

“That’s so fucking dark, wow, I hate myself.”

“I’m literally the smartest person I’ve ever met in my whole life.”

“I’m a human Christmas tree.”

“I mean, is it stupid? Yeah.”

“I have everything in here that I could possibly need for today.”

“This is incredibly functional.”

“10/10 experiment.”

A FULL FACE OF RHINESTONES

“I’ve used spirit gum, and that shit doesn’t come off.”

“No turning back now.”

“Everyone has different dreams, okay, and this one’s mine.”

“I can see my own disappointment in the reflection of the rhinestones.”

“I didn’t come here to fuck around.”

“Is this bad for you?”

“Nah, it’s probably fine.”

“Is this beautiful or what?”

“Don’t let people on the Internet fool you, this shit’s fucking easy.”

“Ooh, it feels so good, ooh.”

“It’s okay? This is great…!”

“I look like crystal Santa.”

“This is gonna be a nightmare to get off.”

“That’s fucking dope.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Do you want me to do yours?”

“Can you think of anything better to do than this?”

“Julien, has anyone ever told you that you’re a kind and patient boyfriend?”

“Julien, relationships mean compromising.”

“If you don’t stop talking shit to me…”

“We have to break up now, I’m sorry.”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“Oh my god, this is fucked up, dude.”

“I can’t see…! I can’t fucking see…!”

“What is so funny…!?”

“I feel like a lizard person.”

“Don’t do drugs, not even once.”

“I don’t know how to help me.”

“Where’s Jenna? Who are you, what have you done?”

“Ow, be gentle…!”

“I relate to none of what you just said.”

“I don’t regret it, I think this was worth it overall.”

“I hope right now that your face is doing better than mine.”

“I’m gonna go to the hospital now.”

“Alright, your turn.”

READING MEAN COMMENTS ABOUT MY DOGS

“Who goes on the Internet to just shit on dogs? Satan.”

“Is he okay?”

“Does that sound like Hell to you?”

“Why does everyone think you’re dead?”

“I love you so much, but there’s nothing in your head.”

“Can you be on the verge of tears if you’re already crying?”

“That’s the most accurate comment.”

“It’s like he wants to die.”

“Get fucked.”

“Marbles is alive…!”

DOING MY OWN ACRYLIC TOENAILS

“Why am I like this?”

“I’m still not done with my acrylic adventure.”

“Are they functional? No. Do they look good? No. Does anyone want them the way I’m gonna do them? No.”

“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake already.”

“Off to a rough start, I’d say.”

“What have I signed myself up for?”

“Vote now if you think this is a terrible idea.”

“Oh my god, what have I done?”

“This is my own fault. This is my fault.”

“I don’t know why I thought this was gonna be fun and good.”

“If we’re doing it, we’re doing it all the way.”

“Fuck with me…!”

“Oh, that is everything I wanted.”

“I’m so pleased already.”

“Oh, god, it’s a bloodbath…!”

“Pray for my toes.”

“Oh, no, this is getting bad.”

“Oh, it doesn’t feel good.”

“It still doesn’t feel great.”

“My vision is coming to life.”

“I really hope this doesn’t end in me going to the ER.”

“This is the most attractive I’ve ever felt.”

“Take that, motherfucker.”

“This is a mistake.”

“That is fucking disgusting, that’s next level nasty.”

“I fucking did this. I did this…!”

“This feels terrible.”

“This is a fuckshow.”

“That’s fucked up. That’s fucked up.”

“Ow, oh my god, be gentle…!”

“Don’t do that, don’t do that, don’t do that don’t do that.”

“They came out really elegant.”

“What I lack in a license, I make up for in zest.”

“Is that gross? I think that’s pretty gross.”

MY BOYFRIEND TEACHES ME JIU JITSU 2

“That is gonna be a big problem.”

“Alright, I’m ready.”

“I’m not Sensei, I’m Julien.”

“I’m not Papa…!”

“What do you call your jiu jitsu teacher? Papa? Father? Do you call him Master? You call him Nunchuck Daddy.”

“I wanna show you something I think you’ll like.”

“Why are you wearing shoes?”

“Were you hiding these from me?”

“I should’ve eaten before we did this.”

“I’m hungry. And tired.”

“You can’t be a rag doll.”

“Ow, what the fuck, Julien!?”

“You don’t push my arm into another dimension…!”

“This feels like an unfair weight advantage.”

“Your elbows are exceptionally sharp.”

“Do not lick my fingers.”

“Sensei, forgive me, nunchuck master daddy, forgive me.”

“No no no no no, I was asking a question, please don’t make me pay for my mistakes…!”

“You did not nail it.”

“I nailed it.”

“This isn’t fun anymore.”

“How dare you call me a non athlete!”

“Boy, I can bowl you under the table.”

“Don’t touch my feet.”

“I’m gonna grab that.”

“And I’m gonna caress your face.”

“Please be gentle and don’t kill me by accident.”

“Oh, wait, we’re going somewhere? Oh my god, I would’ve packed a bag if I knew we were going somewhere.”

“What is wrong with you, I thought you loved me!?”

“I have whiplash, I need to go to the doctor.”

“Shit, my plan has been foiled.”

“I’ve been to the afterlife, I know what it looks like.”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m ready.”

“Fifty Shades Darker, tie me up.”

“Do you care about my neck at all?”

“Why do you move like a sloth?”

“How are you supposed to do anything with this many clothes on?”

“Stop saying Fifty Shades Darker.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, this is too advanced for me.”

“I’ve unlocked a jiu jitsu hack!”

“Don’t fall asleep!”

“That is karate and you know it.”

DOING MY OWN ACRYLIC NAILS

“I’ve fallen down another beauty hole.”

“I know what you do is incredibly artistic and complicated and a skill.”

“Right about now I’m gonna show you how to be extra 2008 hot.”

“Girl, I’m sorry, but I’m going over to the dark side.”

“I’m really gonna try. I’m gonna go for it.”

“Okay, wow, I’m having a hard time already, and I’m just fitting the sticker.”

“I guess we’re just gonna make a pointy witch nail.”

“I’m kinda stalling because I’m legit fucking terrified.”

“We gotta work faster, I guess.”

“Susie, girl, you are a liar, this is impossible…!”

“The beauty, the grace, the craftsmanship.”

“I think the fuck not.”

“That is so ugly.”

“God, that is a mess.”

“Oh my god, it feels awful, I hate it.”

“This was the worst idea.”

“I’m not gonna lie, though, this it probably the most fun I’ve had doing my nails in a long time.”

“This is really fun, it just feels terrible.

“10/10 would never recommend doing this at home. Ever.”

“Do you hear that sound? It’s like my fucking soul dying.”

“It looks wrong, it feels wrong, it is wrong.”

“I’m actually really proud.”

“I think it looks elegant.”

“Why is this so hard? I feel like this should be the easiest part.”

“I don’t give a fuck!”

“I should’ve given a fuck!”

“I have done the things.”

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“None of them look the same.”

“I’ve done it, y’all. I’ve drawn blood.”

“This is one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made.”

“I have to get this off and I don’t know how.”

“I think I’ve reached the moment of madness.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

“I’m so mad at myself for doing this.”

“It’s not even worth it. Look at that, it’s mediocre at best.”

REACTING TO PEOPLE WHO HAVE SMASH OR PASSED ME

“I see everything.”

“They seem harmless.”

“Is it cause I don’t like the Suite Life of Zack and Cody?”

“Is it cause I don’t get your Drake and Josh jokes?”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that other than being an adult.”

“What’s a girl gotta do to get spit on by a stranger on the Internet?”

“Aw, that was nice.”

“Yay for me.”

“None of this offends me.”

“I don’t think I have a winning record right now.”

“Take me on a trip on your dick ship.”

“She called me 2008 hot.”

“What do I gotta do to get to at least 2010 hot?”

“I wish I was 1776 freedom hot.”

#rp sentence starters #rp memes #rp sentence meme #roleplay meme #roleplay sentence starters #mine

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