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sunshineseung · 3 years

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Journal Part 1 // Jeongin

🍄 | genre: smut ☁️ | pairing: Yang Jeongin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 2.8k 🌸 | includes: milf!reader x babysitter!college student!virgin!jeongin, invasion of privacy (not the cardi b album), smut within the smut??? [handjob, begging, “mommy”], mentions of voyeurism, light dom/sub themes, “mommy” kink, teasing, stripping, blowjob/oral (m!receiving), no swallowing

☀️ | synopsis: Yang Jeongin babysits your two children, and he’s always been the most polite boy you’ve ever met. Unfortunately for him, he leaves his secret journal at your house one evening, and your curiosity got the better of you.

🌊 | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Finale |

Being a single mother was never in your plans. After your husband left you with two kids, your world nearly fell apart. You went from being a stay-at-home mother to working two jobs. The daycare took care of your dayshift, but your night shifts were harder to arrange a babysitter for. That is until you offered the position to your next-door neighbor’s son. They complained about how he was in desperate need of a job, being in his first year of college with no work history. Your offer was perfect for them, and Jeongin was happy to fill the position. He was always the nicest kid, and you could see his eyes light up at the idea of working for you, or more likely, at the concept of getting paid.

He’d come over to your house at 5:00pm, book bag on his back, ready to do homework while he watched your kids play. Your two daughters were quick to warm up to him, and the rest is history. He was the best babysitter you could ask for, and even if you had to stay late at work, he was always understanding. Jeongin was a perfect kid with good grades and a good heart, and you’d always see him writing in a journal. When you asked him about it, he’d say he’s “writing a story for class.” It was always the same excuse, day after day. You paid no mind, more worried about the status of your kids after you’ve left them with a teenager for hours.

Jeongin was very protective of his special journal. It was just a regular composition book, but whatever he wrote in it was sacred to him. He’d hide it from you when you walked by and hold it close to his face as he wrote. Whatever he wrote was his little secret, but if it’s for a class like he said, it can’t be that terrible, right?

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

Returning home from a late shift, you see Jeongin settled on the couch, sleeping with his phone in his hand. His head was back and his mouth was wide open, snoring loudly. You nudge him to wake him up, but he doesn’t budge. All you can do is scoff at him and check on your daughters in their room just as sound asleep as their babysitter. Going back to the living room, Jeongin’s turned to his side, snoring quieter than before. You sit right at his feet and get comfortable, kicking your feet up on the coffee table and turning on the TV. When your heel lands on the table, you kick over Jeongin’s journal, the book falling to the ground and opening to a blank page.

Your eyes dart to Jeongin and back at the book, and you’re mentally debating whether or not to look through it. You’ve hardly talked to the boy aside from a few conversations about school in a “back in my day” type dialogue. This would be a major invasion of privacy, but there’s no way it’s a diary. He writes in it constantly, how would it be a diary?

You pick up the notebook, looking at the cover that read “Yang Jeongin Journal 1” on the title lines. Skipping to the one of the first few pages, you read a couple lines, which turns into reading a paragraph, and later an entire page. The more you read, the more you begin to understand why he hid it from you while boldly writing in front of you. Your jaw hangs slack as your eyes glaze over the lewd words written on the page. Your mind is blown imaging the sweet boy Jeongin imagining these scenarios, especially when you realize that you’re the other character.

Her hand feels like heaven wrapped around my cock, stroking me up and down as I quickly become breathless from the sensation. She looks into my eyes, staring me down like a predator watching her prey. Her touch quickly becomes overwhelming as my dick starts to twitch in her hand, begging to cum despite her only beginning to play with me. I thrust into her hand, hips quaking as I seat myself again. “Please let me cum, mommy.” Y/n laughs and nods her head, lowering her lips to my cock, ready to catch my release on her gorgeous face.

Seeing your name on the paper makes your heart jump. All of these dirty thoughts that Jeongin pens in his journal are about you. As you shuffle through the pages, your name is practically highlighted to your eyes. Every few pages, there’s a description of your body or what you wear, occasionally an imagine of you undressing in your bedroom window that happens to face Jeongin’s bedroom. Although you always keep your curtains shut, Jeongin’s writing describes him hoping that you leave your curtains open to put on a show for him, undressing slowly until you notice Jeongin jerking off in the house across the fence.

You slam his journal shut. You’ve seen enough. Laying it down on the table as it was before, you attempt to calm yourself and watch the TV you’ve been craving to watch since you got off work. Despite your best efforts, your mind begins to wonder to Jeongin, sleeping quietly beside you, and how ecstatic he’d be if you’d reenact some of the scenes he wrote in his special journal.

Jeongin groans and stretches, finally waking up from his nap. You tap his leg to signal that you’re home, and he nearly jumps out of his skin feeling you near him. He coughs as he sits up, pressing down his shirt to get out any wrinkles and fixing his hair that looks like a bird’s nest.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” You laugh, smiling brightly at him as if you weren’t just reading his book of sexual fantasies. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Yes, yes!” Jeongin fumbles over his words, worried that you’re about to fire him for sleeping on the job. “I’m so sorry! I promise I didn’t fall asleep until after the girls went to sleep.” He bows his head, sincerely apologizing for something any college student would reasonably do once work was over.

“No worries. I’m sure my girls were in good hands.” You reach for his journal and hand it to him, and he begins to turn a bright shade of red. He knows what’s in that book, but he assumes you’re still naive. “I almost used your little book as a footrest, so put this somewhere safe, okay?”

“Oh, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to leave it out. I was just writing in it until I fell asleep.” He grabs his bookbag and shoves it in gently.

“Wow, you write in that thing a lot.” You cross your legs and you face him, totally ignoring the television show at this point. “How long have you had that assignment for class?”

You clearly caught him off guard. He seems confused before he remembers his lie, widening his eyes once he realizes that he’s about to dig himself into a hole. “Oh, it isn’t just one assignment. It’s for my creative writing class.”

“Ah, I had a creative writing class too.” If he was going to lie to your face, it was only fair that you rebuttal with another lie. “Can I read some of what you wrote? Maybe give you some critique?”

Jeongin’s mind went blank. He broke out in a cold sweat. If he lets you read it, his life will be over, but on the other hand, if he doesn’t let you read it, it will look sketchy since it’s just supposed to be innocent writing for a freshman level college class.

“Uh, it’s a little personal.” He’s adamantly avoiding eye contact with you, looking anywhere but your face. “I don’t think that would be appropriate since you’re my next door neighbor.”

“Not appropriate, huh?” You can’t help but smirk, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sideways smile grow on your face. His heart begins to dip as he finally starts to connect the dots, thinking that his job, no, his existence as your neighbor could end within a matter of minutes. “What’s so inappropriate about wanting your neighbor, who is over ten years older than you might I add, to sit on your face and call you her baby boy? Hm?”

Jeongin is frozen in place. He’s been outed. All of his wildest sexual fantasies have been revealed to the woman he wants to do them with. Knowing you’ve read his journal at least a little bit, he can’t help but get hard under his joggers, mentally cursing himself for wearing them once he notices your eyes drift to the tent in his pants.

“Sorry, but curiosity killed the cat on this one.” You scoot closer to him, taking his hands in yours and rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand to warm him up. “I can’t believe my neighbor’s cute little son grew up to be such a dirty minded boy that can’t keep his thoughts in his head, but has to put them on paper so he can read them and imagine his neighbor fuck him again and again.”

“How much did you read?” Still with his head down, he squeaks out the question that’s been running through his mind since you started teasing him with your words.

“I read enough.” You remove one of your hands from the hold and perk his chin up so he has no choice but to look at you. His eyes are sparkling with lust as you’re just centimeters from his face. “Tell me, Jeongin, what do you want me to do to you?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

He pauses to ponder and collect his thoughts. Everything he’s ever imagined is running through his read: the pet names, the toys, the punishments, the pleasure. It’s all too much, and he can hardly speak another word before you pet his face, holding his head in your palm as he shyly presses his cheek into your hand.

“M-mommy,” he had never said that word out loud to you before, “can I strip for you?”

“All for me?” You smile, gladly accepting this offer. “Go ahead, baby boy. Show mommy what she’s been missing.”

He removes himself from you and stands up, timidly facing you as you lounge back on your couch. His shirt goes first, being neatly tossing onto the couch where he once sat. His fingers fiddle with the hem of his sweatpants before he pulls them down, showing you his bulge that’s painfully pressed against his tight boxer briefs. He’s bigger than you expected him to be, but that’s welcomed in your eyes.

You hold your hand out, stopping him before he can pull down his underwear. Standing up with a groan, you walk around his body, eyeing him up like he’s a buffet. One of your hands gently grabs at his ass, squeezing the skin between your fingertips and making him whine. You bite your lip when you hear him, sounding cute as a button despite the situation. From behind, you pull him back to you and run your hands around his body to feel his toned abs, finally moving upwards to tease his erect nipples. You feel him take a deep breath to calm himself, but when one hand pinches his nipple, he whines again, louder this time.

“Quiet, baby. You don’t want to wake the girls, do you?” When you whisper in his ear, all of the thoughts leave his head. You’ve hardly touched him and he’s dumb, and as embarassing at it is, he loves feeling helpless in your arms. “I haven’t seen another man like this in ages. You’re exactly what I need right now, Jeongin.”

“Y-you need me?” He can hardly believe that you’re just as horny over him as he is for you, although his longer dates back far longer than just an hour or so. You hum in his ear as your hands slide down his torso to his cock, palming him over his underwear. He hisses and moans from the lightest stimulation. His reaction to all of your touches is perfect, and you can’t wait to see how he reacts when you’re riding him or sucking him off, although you could do anything to him and he’d be thankful.

You remove your hand from his cock and pull down his underwear, finally seeing his length in all its glory. He gasps from how fast you undress him, but at the same time, he loves being on display for you. As much as he wants to hide his erection out of reflex, he holds his arms to the side tightly, allowing you to come in front of him and take in the view.

“Jeongin, are you a virgin?” As embarrassing at it is, he nods and holds his breath, waiting for you to answer. “Aw, my pretty little boy’s never been fucked? That must be why you’re so infatuated with me.”

You get down on your knees so you’re eye-level with his cock, now red and angry, begging to be sucked. Although your skills might be a little rusty, if your ex-husband’s reviews were any indication, you were about to blow this kid’s mind. With a little lick, he’s whining and staring down at you as you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock before moving back again and wrapping your hand around him like he’s always imagined.

“Do you want to sit down?” Your voice sounded so calm and gentle, it was honestly shocking to Jeongin since he could hardly speak at all. He nods, and you take him to sit back on the couch. He spreads his legs for you to sit in between, once again jerking him off with one hand while the other plays with his balls. You kiss the tip before taking his member into your mouth, bobbing your head only around the tip.

Jeongin’s convinced himself that he’s dreaming when he looks down to see your face moving up and down the very top of his cock. It feels so good, better than he could have ever imagined, and surely better than his hand. As you slowly start to take him more into your mouth, he’s clutching onto the couch cushion for dear life. He gets close very fast, tapping his thigh with one hand to try to convey that he’s about to cum. Quickly catching on, you take him fully into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, almost making you gag.

After a few twitches of his cock, you feel him cumming down your throat as he moans out expletives from the overwhelming sensation. When he’s finally done, you pull your mouth off of him and let his cum drip out of your mouth and onto your chest, which was still covered by your button-down work shirt. When Jeongin finally opens his eyes, he’s greeted by you lazily resting your head on his thigh, looking up at him, waiting for him to come back down to Earth.

“Ah, thank you, mommy.” In his post-nut state, the name he’d given you leaves his lips more hesitantly, but he knows that’s what you want to hear. Looking up at the clock, he notices that it’s past his self-determined bed time, but he’s still dazed enough to not care, at least for a moment. “That felt so good.”

“And maybe tomorrow night we can do more, hm?” You slide onto his lap, his soft cock resting between your thighs. “I’d love to ride my baby boy and finally take his virginity… only if you want of course.”

“I- … Yes, I’d love that.” Before he can say another word, you kiss him on the lips, and despite them just being around his cock, your kiss is sweet, and he needs more of it. Trying to avoid a make-out session, you pull away and get off of the boy’s lap, telling him to get dressed and go home so you can both sleep.

Your goodbye to him is the same as always, waving as he walks back home, but knowing what’s going to transpire tomorrow night, you can’t help but finish yourself off after being all worked up from Yang Jeongin. You decide to save your panties from today before you get into the shower, because they’re absolutely drenched and you’re sure Jeongin would love to have them for when he’s home alone.

After pleasing yourself in the shower, you peek out your bedroom window. Just as you had hoped, Jeongin’s curtains were wide open, and he was beating his cock with one hand and sucking on his fingers with the other. He was clearly thinking about you by how he’d had his journal sitting next to him opened to a random page.

You sleep good that night, pleased and excited for tomorrow. Although you were always the submissive one, you came to realize that maybe being the one in control was just what you needed.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #jeongin smut #i.n smut #yang jeongin smut #skz fan fiction #stray kids fan fiction #sub!skz #skz #stray kids #yang jeongin #i.n

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swaps55 · 3 years

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Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone.

From here.

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck. By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #ashley x kaidan #not quite willenko #but almost #my fic #me legendary countdown #i'm so used to writing in present tense #that reading my own stuff in past tense is WEIRD

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loremaster4aot · 3 years

Text

TEACH ME HOW TO DO IT

reader x floch

y/n is doing her math HW, but she's failing miserably, so her bf, who's also her classmate, comes to help her

you've been rereading the same paragraph again and again, but you didnt understand anything. it didnt make the slightest sense for you.

you were calculating quadratic formula from every way possible, but the result was always bad. the result sheet at the last page of the book showed only the right answers and not the process of numeration. tomorrow is an important test and you dont know how to calculate the simplest paradigms. the stress was hard to bear, you wanted to be calm, but your nervousness was stronger.

a deep breath filled your chest and told yourself to not give up and start from the begging. that didn't help. you pressed the pencil in your hand as you broke the graphite and made gray smudge on the paper. tears began to roll down your cheeks and you crumpled another paper with foiled calculation into trash bin. this was pure misery.

you checked your mobile to escape from math hell just for couple of minutes. a text appeared in your notifications. it's your boyfriend

,,y/n look at this, it reminded me of you" floch sent you some youtube link, but you didn't open it.

,,babe, what are you doing?" you completely ignored the video he sent

,,just bored in my room. and thinking about what you might be doing. you mind telling me? i wanna know."

,,well..im feeling really bad"

,,im coming over right now"

he wasn't even here and you already saw him as your hero. he's incredibly smart at math and he acts cocky around his classmates for it too. floch always enjoys his math lessons, especially when he can solve a formula in front of you and the whole class.

you were proud of him. everyone struggled while he solved it in the blink of an eye. they cursed him and complained about his quick calculating, but screw them. peasants were just jealous.

finally you heard a knock on the door. you rushed to open them. floch stood in front of you and as he saw you crying, pain filled his eyes. it broke him to see you like this. usually, he's the one to make you cry, but seeing that someone or something else did this to you, makes him mad.

he didnt want to catch the attention of another students in the hallway so he quickly stepped into the room and closed the door.

,,y/n, what's wrong?" he began wiping the tears from your cheeks with his fingers.

you were a sobbing mess, so you didnt said anything, just hugged him tightly as you heard his heart beating in a steady rhythm.

,,calm down, im here with you, just tell me already. please, i dont want you to be sad over someone else." floch said

,,its... the math.."

,,again"? he isnt suprised

,,okay, sit behind the table" floch ordered

you felt warmth in your chest as he said it. that line made him look very authoritative. in the matter of fact, he could even be a math teacher. but if you'd be his student, he surely wouldnt go easy on you.

floch was standing at your right side, his hand writing some numbers. his grip around the pencil was strong as he moved and wrote some formulas on the paper. he was explaining them, but you couldn't concentrate at what at the moment. hands caught your attention instead. they were manly, big and...

,,so how would you solve this?" he asked and looked at your surprised expression

,,were you even listening, y/n?" floch continued

,,floch, please can you explain it to me one more time? i didnt catch every detail. pretty please" you tried to hide staring at him under a lie

,,you're so lucky that im deciding to go soft on you. i dont want to see you crying again. for today" he started explaining everything from the start. this time, you actually paid attention to the content he was saying and it became clearer for you.

your math teacher always made every topic hard to understand. with floch, you understood everything so easily. why? was it because you gave his words more attention, or perhaps, bigger value?

,,floch, what would i do without you?"

,,probably fail your test" smirk appeared on his face

you giggled. he was actually telling the truth so there was no point in opposing him. in fact, its never a good idea to oppose your precious boyfriend in anything.

,,after you pass your exam, i might give you some reward" his words motivated you to do your best. you want to look the best in your boyfriends eyes.

,,now finish this" he gave you a paper with harder problems to solve

after about ten minutes you handled it to him with result you got. stress filled your body. he started examining it and it felt like he was staring at it for an hour. in reality, it mightve been 15 seconds.

,,correct" as he said this, you hugged him

,,floch, thank you, you're my hero" you squeezed him tighter

,,i will always be"

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

my first time writing something like this. please take this in consideration.

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g0ldengubler · 4 years

Note

Can I request for one of the chapter's they have another night at Garcia's and Spencer (who's real baked) declares his love for Y/N & she tells him she feels the same? Loving this series babe!

hi hun! thank u so much for the request and the feedback. it really does mean a lot :’) i’m so sorry to disappoint but i did already have something down for how they were gonna admit their feelings for one another (which is also the chapter im currently working on hehe) but i still wrote ur request (which i’m in love with btw)! just as a one shot, though. depending on how others respond to this, i just might change it (giving credit where it’s due obviously)! again, thank you so much and i apologize. i hope u still enjoy :) also sorry for how weird the paragraphs are, i used wattpad for the word count lol

Request: YES/no

Category: fluff in an alternate chapter of nauseous

Couple: spencer/reader

CW: use of marijuana, but other than that it’s just fluff :)

Summary: it had been a couple of weeks since you and spencer were up at your cabin. since you guys got back, you hadn’t heard or seen much of him. when you go to garcia’s one night for a little get together, what will happen when spencer had a bit too much to smoke?

Word Count: 1609

✨masterlist✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N! You're finally here!"

Garcia had invited everyone back to her apartment for another get together. It had been a couple of weeks since you took Spencer up to your cabin and after all the platonic kisses and the heavenly sex, you both hadn't reached out to each other once you got back home. That weekend left you questioning your relationship with him. Falling in love wasn't something you were used to. You never had that moment where you could just stand there, and look up at someone and think that this someone was your whole world. The one you never could get out of your head; the one where you wished for their arms around you with your head on their chest. Hearing their heart beat, the kind of beat that made you feel safe. You'd never felt these feelings before, until you met Spencer.

You walked in, giving hugs to everyone. You were shocked that Rossi and Hotch were there, and when you went to give them hugs, you apologized in advance for your behavior under the influence.

"As long as you don't show this kind of behavior at work, you don't have to worry about it." said Hotch.

"Yeah, don't worry about it kiddo," said Rossi, "you don't have to feel embarrassed around us. We're a family!"

You then saw Spencer on the couch, smoking on a blunt. You could tell he was close to being gone, as he and Morgan couldn't keep a poker face while playing. He looks up at you and smiles, but then that smile shrunk into that awkward white guy smile, looking back down at his cards.

"Hey." You said as you sat down next to him. Morgan reached over to Spencer, taking the blunt in his hand and putting up to his mouth.

"Hey." He whispers.

"How much has he had already?" you asked Morgan, looking over to him and using your thumb to point at Spencer as he passes the blunt to Garcia.

"He smoked two bowls before this blunt so...he's gonna be done for pretty soon."

"Damn," you laughed, "started the party without me, huh?"

Spencer just laughs at himself, still looking at his cards. Garcia passed the blunt to you. You took a few hits, letting the smoke fill your lungs. When you exhaled your final puff, you pass it to Emily, letting the wave of tingles fill your body, your eyes beginning to feel heavy.

You notice Emily pass the blunt over to Hotch and your jaw dropped when he took it from her fingers. After he takes a hit, he hands it over to Rossi, which made even everyone else in the room look at him them in shock.

"What?" asked Rossi, "Gideon and I smoked a lot in our day."

"And I had my fair share in college like anyone else."

We gathered ourselves before Jj finally said something. "It's just kind of hard to believe, seeing our boss and founder getting high."

"Well believe it!" Rossi joked before handing the blunt to her. Everyone giggled and chuckled before starting a new game of poker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been about an hour and at this point everyone was slumped. You and Spencer ended up in Garcia's room with her, Emily, Jj, and Morgan, just sitting around and talking about your high epiphanies as you passed a joint around, while Hotch and Rossi stayed in the living room playing another round of poker. Everyone was pretty much gone. Hooded red eyes and coughing every so often. Garcia's giggled were contagious and it made everyone else laugh along with her.

Spencer let you lay your head down on his chest, which made that safe feeling even stronger than it did when you were at the cabin. You watched as he took the joint to his lips and inhaled. When he exhaled, he let the smoke hover in his mouth before blowing it all out. For some reason, you thought it was sexy when he smoked.

He passed the joint to you and you took more than one hit off of it. You wanted to forget this feeling you had for him because you felt like he didn't wouldn't want that. If he did, he would've tried harder. And quite frankly, it looked like he enjoyed your friends with benefits relationship more than something bigger.

As you inhaled, Spencer adjusted his position a bit, looking up to the stars that were still on her ceiling.

"Fuck, man," he says to Morgan, "I'm so in love with Y/N."

You almost choked on the smoke that was still in your throat. You thought your mind was playing tricks on you. This was a little random to be admitting feelings.

"What was that, pretty boy?" asked Morgan with a grin on his face.

Spencer didn't know why they were so shocked. But then realized what he had said just seconds ago. "Oh shit, did I say that out loud?"

"Yes you did, genius," said Garcia, "and I knEW IT!"

"Knew what?" I asked once my coughing attack calmed down.

"I knew that something more happened that night. I'm a pretty good cupid, aren't I?"

"Well I...I-I don't..." Spencer began stuttering. You couldn't hold in your giggles anymore and just burst out laughing.

"You can't take it back, boy genius." said Morgan.

"Hotch, Rossi! You both owe us five bucks each!" yelled Emily.

"Wha-you had a bet on us?"

"You bet your ass we did." said Jj.

You wanted to be mad at them, but how could you? You felt the same way about Spencer as he did for you. Maybe it was the amount of weed in your system, but you couldn't think of a reason to pretend to be mad at them. Then something came to mind.

"Hey, just because he said it, doesn't mean he speaks for me, too."

Spencer looked down at you with sad puppy eyes. "Does that mean you love me, too?"

You were quiet for a moment before taking the last hit of the joint, correctly inhaling and exhaling. You blowed the smoke into his face before putting the roach in the ashtray.

"Spence, I'm so in love with you. Just as much as your in love with me."

A smile grew on his face as he sat up, putting his arm around you. He cupped her face with his other hand and pulled your lips onto his. His actions showed that he didn't care about if the others saw. He couldn't care less of what Hotch or any of them would say. He probably forgot they were even there. In that moment as your fingers were tangled into his hair, you, too, felt like you two were the only ones in the room, like the whole world had stopped.

His lips were soft against yours, like comfortable pillows or fluffy clouds. Yours were always in rhythm with his. It was hard to break away until his tongue rubbed against your bottom lip, begging for entrance as you felt his hand leave your face and slowly move lower. You had to break away.

"Not the right time, Spence!" I giggled, trying to play off what just happened. I looked around the room. The rest of the gang never left, even Hotch and Rossi were standing in the door frame. They giggled at Spencer's actions as you both tried to fix yourselves.

"Well, I'm very happy for the both of you," said Hotch with a smile, "but we'll talk about this once this vacation is over. I won't be your boss right now."

"How could you? It's nice seeing two young lovebirds connecting like this." said Rossi.

"As long as I have you guys, and Spencer of course, work will never be a problem." I said, ruffling up his hair one more time.

You all ended up passing out at Garcia's (aside from Hotch and Rossi, as they had loved ones to go home to). You snuggled into Spencer's body on the couch, wrapping the blanket around you both. You both were too excited and happy to sleep. The feeling of someone feeling as much love for you as you did them was too much, but in a good way. The two of you started to make out again. You were going to let his tongue attack yours finally, before he spoke after each peck.

"I. Can't. Believe. You're. All. Mine." He whispered.

You smiled after the last peck before you both went back in, tongues going at it like swords. After a hot minute, you each broke away. Your head moved back to his chest, with his hand on top of yours as his other hand played with your hair.

"You want to hear something weird?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, "but nothing that comes out of your mouth is weird to me."

You smiled, playing with his fingers. "I always pictured a moment like this, even before you. Just...my head on someone's chest, hearing their heartbeat. It makes me feel safe. And with you specifically, I feel even safer than I thought I would."

Spencer kissed the top of your head in response. "God, even your mind is beautiful. How is that possible?"

"Says you, Mr.Smarty Pants. With the amount of classics you have stored in there, I'm sure it'd be like walking around a beautiful museum."

"I'm so happy I'm yours, angel."

I snuggled into him more, feeling my eyes getting heavier. "I'm happy I'm yours, too Spence."

"Goodnight, Y/N. I love you."

"I love you, too." I mumbled as we drifted off to sleep.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #dr reid #matthew gray gubler #fan fiction

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official-weasley · 3 years

Text

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: cursing, angst

Chapter 18

Charlie

It was a few days after my birthday and I was feeling rather cheerful. My friends made a surprise party for me and nothing made me happier than Rhylee showing up. She seemed to be doing better. She was still shy and didn’t talk to me much but compared to before, this was progress.

It actually looked like she slept for once and she wasn’t trying to run away. Theo made her laugh with his stupid jokes and her hair wasn’t a mess for a change. I was happy she was doing better and I was hoping that with a little more time, she would come around and talk to me.

I hiked to my usual spot before work, a bit sad that she wasn’t there. I watched the sunrise and appreciated the silence surrounding me until I heard a roar. I got up at once and followed the noise. I could be mistaken but I think that was Gorra, our Chinese Fireball.

“What is going on?” I asked Andrew the second I got there, hands over my ears as Gorra didn’t stop roaring.

It sounded as if she was in pain.

“I think she stepped on something!” He replied.

“Charlie, where in the bloody hell is Rhylee?!” Theo shouted while trying to get Gorra’s attention.

I looked around, she was the only one who wasn’t there. I didn’t have a watch but I was pretty sure we were all supposed to be at work already.

“I swear if she’s late one more time, you’ll have to do something about it, Weasley!” Theo stepped aside just in time as the Fireball jerked her head, almost knocking him to the ground.

“Seriously, Charlie.” Evan looked at me, wand at the ready, observing the dragon’s moves. “We need one more person.”

“I’m on it!”

Damn it, Rhylee! Where are you?

I ran down to her hut as fast as I could and knocked. No answer. I pressed my ear on the door and I couldn’t hear anything. I knocked again, harder this time. Still no sound. I tried the door. It was unlocked.

It was empty. There was nobody there. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. It looked vacant. As if nobody lived here at all. There were no books on her coffee table as they usually were. The blanket she kept on the side of her sofa was gone. I didn’t dare to step further inside and investigate. What was going on?

“Charlie?” I jumped in the air at Peter’s voice and turned around.

“What are you doing?” He asked with a worried expression on his face.

“We need help with Gorra. Andrew reckons she stepped on something and we need more people.” I explained.

“Okay.” He said slowly. “I’ll help, no problem.”

“Let’s go then.” I stood still for a second longer and then followed him back to the Fireball habitat.

I couldn’t get the image of her empty apartment out of my head but I couldn’t afford to think about it now. Gorra needed help.

“Why were you snooping around Rhylee’s place?” He asked as we were hurrying up the hill.

“She didn’t show up at work and since we were a few people short I came to get her.”

“She didn’t tell you.” He murmured more to himself than to me.

“What?” I turned to him and I could see he was going about it in his head.

“Charlie,” he stopped and grabbed my elbow for me to stop walking as well, “Rhylee left the day after your birthday. I thought you knew.”

I stood and stared at him like a statue. I didn’t understand what he was saying.

“What do you mean she left?” I tilted my head. “I didn’t give her a day off.”

“Not for a couple of days, Charlie.” Peter said calmy. “She resigned. She left for good.”

I looked around and walked to the nearest rock. I had to sit down.

She left?

She resigned?

What the fuck?

I…I don’t understand.

She left without saying anything? Without telling me? Without saying goodbye?

I grabbed my chest as I was gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was having a heart attack. This isn’t happening. What does he mean she left for good?

“Charlie!” Peter kneeled before me. “Are you okay?”

“I…what.” I looked up at him, still breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought she told you. You two were so close.” Peter frowned.

I think he couldn’t believe it either.

Close? Apparently not. Apparently, I didn’t mean shit to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t leave like this.

I turned my head as I heard another roar. I can’t deal with this right now.

I took a deep breath and got up. I started running toward the dragon, Peter right behind me. I knew he wanted me to stop and talk about it but I couldn’t. What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do?

Peter sent me home the second we immobilized Gorra and the healers came to help her. I don’t remember getting home. I don’t remember unlocking the door or taking my shoes off. I don’t recall taking my clothes off and going into the shower but here I was. Hands leaned against the wall, water pouring over me.

I was so confused. I kept shaking my head. I couldn’t believe it. She just left. Without even a note or any indication where she has gone or why.

Deep down I knew it was too good to be true when she got friendly again for my birthday. It was sudden but I thought she was finally moving on from whatever was bothering her so much. I know now that I was wrong. What was she doing it for then? For my sake? Because it was my birthday?

I stopped counting how many times she broke my heart. I simply couldn’t do it anymore. This was all too much. Maybe it’s for the best. Perhaps it’s better this way. I came to terms with the fact that I will never be able to call her mine and I was beating my head around the fact that we’ll work together for what might be forever.

I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. She was gone. Apparently, not carrying at all that I will miss her. That I am clueless about what has happened to her or where she is.

She didn’t care.

I felt as if someone hit me in the chest with a Bludger. Just saying the last sentence in my head broke something inside of me.

Fuck, it hurt.

This was unbelievable. I thought she needed time. I thought she’ll come around but I guess I was wrong. I guess I couldn’t read her after all and everything was just in my head; an illusion.

—

1 month later…

“Charlie, look at this!” John handed me the Daily Prophet and pointed his finger at a paragraph. “It’s about that dragon in Gringotts. Tomorrow’s the final trial.” He summarized it.

“I hope the Ministry sees that the dragon is innocent.” I said without much interest in my voice.

“Come on, mate. This can be your chance!” I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows.

“A chance for what?”

“You have been trying to track Rhylee down ever since she left. She’s going to testify, right? This is your chance to speak to her!” John exclaimed.

“Are you mental?” I frowned at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you still care about her, Charlie!” Theo spoke for the first time. “And don’t try and deny it. You’re a mess and you haven’t drunk a beer with us in a month.”

“We know you’re still wondering what happened to her and why she left the way she did.” Evan said gently.

“I can’t just go there and say hello. She didn’t bother telling me she’s leaving. She obviously doesn’t care.” I scoffed.

“You’re going to attend that trial if I have to drag you!” Theo stood up and banged the table with his fists.

“Alright, calm down!” I lifted my hands in defense. “I’ll go.” I glared at him. “Alone.”

“I’ll work instead of you, Charlie.” John offered immediately.

“Thanks, John.” I gave out a weak smile.

I looked down at the paper again, my heart racing. I hated that it still did. I haven’t seen Rhylee for over a month. Not a word. Not a letter. Nothing. I had no idea where she was. I asked around but nobody knew anything.

Peter asked some of his friends that work at the Ministry and nobody has seen her. I even reached out to Bill to see if he knew anything about it or if she spoke to him by some chance but until I wrote to him, he didn’t even know she wasn’t working at the Sanctuary anymore.

I didn’t want to go to the trial but I knew I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t go. I deserve a fucking explanation for her behavior. You don’t just leave without saying anything. It’s reckless, childish, and cruel. I know we were nothing more than friends but I thought we had strong enough of a bond for her to tell me that we might never see each other again.

I apparated to London the next morning. I was more nervous than I would like to admit. I hated this. I hated coming here and I dreaded talking to her. What am I supposed to say?

Hi.

Why did you leave?

How are you doing?

I can’t pretend like that. I am not a person to do that. It didn’t matter that I went over at least 10 scenarios yesterday, thinking of what to say and what might happen. I knew that I would freeze the second I would see her. I wasn’t even sure she was going to be there or if I would be able to catch her alone.

I made it to the trial just in time and spotted her at once. I thought my heart was going to escape my ribcage, that’s how fast it was beating when I caught sight of her. She was sitting in the middle of the room, waiting to be questioned along with a group of people for which I assumed were her previous co-workers.

They made some good arguments, defending the dragons but I got the feeling that the Ministry has already made their decision and that the trial was just a formality so that people who care about dragons wouldn’t protest. They didn’t stand a chance.

I saw the pain on Rhylee’s face when they told them that they are going to execute Kyan. I felt bad for her. I knew how hard she worked on the case. How hard we worked on it together and it was all for nothing. I hope she’ll at least have the chance to say goodbye.

She stood up the second it was over and rushed out of the room. I got up too and made my way outside. I have to follow her. This was my only chance to talk to her.

“Rhylee!” I shouted her name when I spotted her in the crowd.

She turned around and her eyes widened when she saw me. She turned back in the direction she was walking and continued to do so. I looked to the ground and inhaled sharply.

Am I really going to go after her? Shouldn’t I just let her go?

I will and I can’t!

I followed her outside. Great, it’s raining. As if the whole situation isn’t gloomy enough. She rushed into a nearby alleyway.

“Rhylee!” She stopped walking but she didn’t turn around. “Don’t you dare apparate away!” I knew what she was doing.

She was panicking. Was she too embarrassed to face me?

“What are you doing here, Charlie?” She was still facing away from me, her voice barely audible because of the rain.

“I came for the trial.” I said bluntly.

“Then why are you following me?” She looked at me over her shoulder.

It looked as if she was crying but I couldn’t tell with rain droplets running down her face.

“I want an explanation.” I said through my teeth.

I was trying to keep it together. But it was hard. I was so mad at her. She broke my heart by leaving.

“For what?” She turned to me and I automatically took a step forward.

“Stop with the bullshit, Rhylee. You know what for!” I raised my voice.

“What do you want me to say, Charlie?” She brushed the wet hair off her face.

“How about you tell me why you left without saying anything? Without telling me? Without any sort of inclination that you’re going to resign?” Fuck I wanted to run to her and shake her by the shoulders.

I wanted her to tell me everything and more. I wanted her to say everything she ever stopped herself from saying to me and I wanted her to say it straight to my face.

“I told you…” She closed her eyes slowly, gathering her thoughts. “I can’t repeat what happened between us.”

“Oh, go feed those lies to someone else, Rhylee! Because I am not buying it! That’s not the reason you left!” I shouted at her.

I can’t believe she tried to lie to me, again. Was it so fucking heard saying the truth for once?

“Nick couldn’t get over what happened.” She sighed. “I couldn’t see him be in so much pain so I left.” She said with a bowed head.

No.

Not buying it.

That wasn’t it.

I knew her too well and she was either playing stupid or wanted to hide the truth from me.

“I thought I was your friend.” I said softly.

“You are, Charlie.” Her shoulders sank.

“Then why are you not telling me the truth?” I asked.

“I just told you the truth, what more do you want from me?” She looked at me incredulously.

“I know you better than that Rhy, and I know you’re lying to me. Now tell me the truth. Why did you really leave? I deserve that much.” My voice shook.

“I…” She sobbed. I didn’t have to see her tears now to know that she was crying. “I felt too guilty being around you.”

“The truth, Rhylee!” I raised my voice again.

At this point, I knew I wasn’t getting any more than that so I was determined to get it. I needed it to move on.

“I…” She stuttered.

“The truth!” I muttered and took one more step toward her. “Give me the truth and I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

“I’m pregnant!”

My eyelids fluttered and I felt my knees weaken.

What?

I was slightly shaking my head, not sure how to comprehend what she just said.

“What?” Was all I could muster.

I couldn’t clear my head and I was hoping I heard her wrong.

“I’m expecting Nick’s baby.” She cried.

I closed my eyes and pretended that she wasn’t there. I tried feeling every raindrop that touched my skin. Is it possible to hear your own heart breaking? Because I am pretty sure that was the last thing I heard before the drumming started in my ears. My head was pounding and I felt like fainting.

She isn’t.

She can’t be.

What was she thinking?

With him!

Really?

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was still standing there. I was hoping she would apparate away now. I didn’t want to see her face. It hurt too much. And I hated the expression on it. She was waiting for me to say something. What the fuck am I supposed to say to her?

I don’t think I slept for more than 2 hours the night Peter told me she left. I was going on and on in my head, thinking of any possible reason why she left. Why she was so miserable. Why she didn’t say goodbye. Her being pregnant wasn’t one of them. I was prepared for anything. I expected her to say anything but that.

Anything.

This changed everything. It was all over. I lost her. I really did. There was no turning back. No more chasing around. No more hope. She will never be mine.

I will never kiss her forehead again and run my fingers through her hair. I will never hear her laugh again and see that playfulness in her eyes. She won’t fall asleep in my arms and I will never be able to feel that connection between us. The tension. The many possibilities of showing each other affection and just how much we are meant for each other.

All of that was gone. All of that will never happen. I will never call her mine. I will never be with the girl of my dreams.

It was one thing when Bill fancied her and when she had a boyfriend. There’s always a chance things go south no matter how bad it might sound, me thinking about it.

But a child. I can’t compete with that. I can’t break up a family.

It really was over.

“Please say something, Charlie.” She pleaded. “I know you’re mad.”

“Mad?” I let out a suppressed laugh. “I’m not mad, Rhylee. I’m disappointed.”

I’m heartbroken.

But I can’t tell her that. It doesn’t matter now. It wouldn’t make a difference.

“I…I just thought…you know since everything…that…you know…” She started blabbering.

“How could you let this happen?” I frowned at her.

I knew it wasn’t my place to talk to her like this but I couldn’t help it. She ruined her life by staying with him and it pained me. It pained me so much.

“What?” She locked her eyes with mine.

“What were you thinking having a baby with him? With someone you’re not happy with!”

“That is none of your business, Charlie!” She screamed in my face.

“You made it my business when you distanced yourself from everybody! When you came to work late! When you started looking like you haven’t eaten anything for days!” She stared at me, her mouth slightly opened.

“What? You thought I hadn’t noticed? Everybody noticed, Rhylee! We were all worried for you and then you just left!” I threw my arms in the air.

“You wanted to know, so I told you.” She said biting her lip.

“And what do you want me to reply?” I questioned. “Want me to say that I’m happy for you? Want me to congratulate you? No offense, Rhy…but I can’t do that. You don’t look that cheerful about it either!” I turned away.

I couldn’t look at her anymore. It hurt too much.

I wanted to just walk away. I knew it would be dangerous to apparate. My mind was all over the place. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear. This was all too much.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk away from her. I couldn’t just leave her in the middle of the street. I wouldn’t do that to her even if she did do it to me. I still loved her. Fuck, how much I loved her.

We were standing like this for at least a minute. I knew she was still there and I could feel her eyes piercing through me. For some reason, I knew she felt bad. I know her. She didn’t want this. We never talked about things like this. Kids or having a family. But I knew she didn’t want it to happen like this.

With him.

But she’s right. It’s none of my business and it’s her life. She’s the one who ruined it. She could be happy. I could make her happy. I know I could. But she didn’t choose me. She chose Nick.

I took a deep breath and turned around again. I walked to her and wrapped my arms around her. She whimpered under my touch.

“Have a nice life, Rhy. I wish you all the happiness.” I whispered in her ear with the heaviest heart and walked away as fast as I could, knowing she won’t follow me.

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #weasley family #hp imagine #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley imagine #the burrow #harry potter imagine #weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #bill weasley #harry potter #wizarding world

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strangerays · 3 years

Text

Nothing in Particular Update #2

It’s the Nothing and Particular and Everything update part two: the electric booglaloo. This one is long, so strap in.

It’s been a while since I wrote an update for this story. To be honest, this one gave me a lot of stress, but here I am! Writing this story feels like it is going very slow. I keep telling myself I’ve made a lot of progress (which is true, I have) but for some reason it doesn’t feel like I have? This is likely just my own insecurity. To be frank, I can’t believe I’m still writing this story. If you had told me in February that I’d still be writing this when the weather got warm, I would have laughed.

I am SO excited that I will finally be able to focus on writing now that I’m out of school. I’m afraid to speak the rough deadline that I’ve given myself for this story (the end of August-early September) but now that I’ve spoken it into existence, I hope I can finish! (I hope I can stop watching dumb videogame playthroughs and listening to The Magnus Archives and get something done)

Here is a link to the story introduction and previous update!

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-); @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-writer @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting

STORY CHANGES/THOUGHTS/IDEAS:

Here is a big one: I’ve been trying to write this story for myself. I started writing Ray’s story from a place that was personal to me, but I feel like, as that part of myself has begun to heal, I’ve started to think about what a reader would want out of the story. I’m realizing that this is my story so it has to be what I want. Drafts are drafts for a reason, so I’m going to try to get better at letting myself explore what is fun to me.

I always thought I was a discovery writer (I still sort of think I am) but as I’ve finished small sections of the story, I am finding that it’s very helpful to do a rough outline of scenes in upcoming chapters. (I also recommend turning to this if something doesn’t work and you need to retrace your steps!) Just helps me feel more organized!

Jude’s character has got to be one of the most difficult personalities I’ve ever written. Putting her beside Ray just makes it harder. Where Ray is secretive and keeps to herself, Jude is ready to unpack her entire life’s story to anyone. I find that I really have to slow down when writing their interactions. I know this is going to be nowhere near perfect in the first draft, but I think it is a main contributor to my slow writing.

I really like this little narrative I’ve created in the background of the main plot with Ray and Lonan. I love writing these scenes because it’s a way for me to use Lonan when he’s not actively with Ray and to show why Ray is predetermined about things at certain points. Also I love their friendship so much <3

CONGRATULATIONS TO ME on starting to read again because I forgot how much of a help reading other people’s stories can be when you’re struggling with your own oml

I now have a set timeline for the story! Takes place ~4-5 months.

I did that thing where you write a letter from the characters’ perspectives and that was kind of fun

Also just for fun I thought I’d add in that I spent an hour and a half last week filling up a page in my sketchbook with diagrams of the plot. It feels good to be a mad scientist

EXCERPTS UNDER THE CUT!

*At this point, I’m only sharing writing that I am really proud of in order not to spoil the story! This is because I am unsure whether I want to publish this story someday. With that said, that does NOT give you permission to steal my ideas!

CHAPTER: NIGHT CRIES

In the last week of summer, I did everything I could to avoid post-vacation blues. I rode my bike along the gravel roads with no destination, wore my dark sunglasses to people-watch, and fed salami to the minnows that floated on the cusps of boulders. Usually, I sat still for so long that my elbows turned a deep shade of red and the blood in my toes buzzed.

New pockets seemed to open up in Point Blink every day. And with them, came new people. Most of them were older – a middle aged woman who caked her lipstick on, an uncle estranged from his brother, a couple who had miscarried. I hadn’t forgotten about the kids at Mothouse. It was impossible not to think about them. It wasn’t just that I’d never seen them before.

The girl’s limp cigarette bled a trail of smoke that seeped into my Vans. My shirt folded like skin over my bed post. Haunted the room – foiled my mauve sheets and teased my locks. Swept the curtains apart and heated the oak floor. Beams of moonlight leapt to my bookcases; highlighted the posters from various podcasts and bands that I listened to. Wind whistled when I was too still. She forced me to look outside, onto the dark cul-de-sac lit by the reflections of forming rain puddles. No matter whether I sat at my desk or burrowed under my sheets, I felt out of place. She made my bedroom louder. She made my bedroom quieter.

I decided it would probably be best if I never saw her again.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about writing this chapter because it was over a month ago (sorry) but I’m still quite happy with the prose! This comes in after Ray sees Jude for the first time at Mothouse. Based on a first impression, decides that she might want be friends with Jude.

CHAPTER: SORRY

If you spend any long amount of time with someone, you’ll become a thief to their behaviors. If I stared long enough, trees began to replace all of the people we’d ever seen. Oaks had roots that serpentined the ground like children splashing in the bay, pines with needles like spindly old hands, maples with hollows like watchful eyes – all things Lonan had taught me to observe.

CHAPTER: GHOSTS

Then there was the sea – violent and knowing as it romped within bays and alcoves. She had eaten me many times before, both my father and Lonan too. Gulped them as if they were shining plastic wrappings left behind after a meal. I spited her for inviting me once again. I reached up again to grapple with the next rung. It twisted and offered a low whistle.

In these two chapters, Ray is on a photography trip with her class. This is the first time she’s been on this annual trip without Lonan. She left that morning with a goal of being independent and learning to get on with one of the only people she has felt close to. I realize now that the Ghost excerpt sort of sounds like her dad and Lonan have drowned?? Which was not my intention??

CHAPTER: A DIVINE INTERVENTION

“Do you believe in ghosts?” A raspy voice teased from behind me. Cigarette smoke tickled the words, like they were stuck together with jelly inside of her. The question wasn’t particularly calming, but it strengthened my grip on reality. As if the foiled leaves, bark, and dandelions had sprung from the ground and begun to float, they came crashing back down.

I was made of stone.

“I’m not a ghost,” Jude said. “If I was, a ladder would be a pretty counteractive way to outrun me. I could just float up there and haunt you.”

“Maybe you’re a ghost,” she asked, her voice distant.

I shifted my grasp up and down the sides of the ladder. “What?”

“Don’t you believe in ghosts?”

I was reading back some of Ray and Jude’s conversation and there are so many snippets of dialogue that make me laugh because I totally forgot I wrote them... but UGhhH I don’t know if I want to share them because I don’t know whether or not I want to try and publish the story someday. Speaking of that, it’s sort of because it’s so personal to me? I don’t know (this is for future me to pursue) Honestly though, reading these back has made me really happy :)

I wanted to shake her by the shoulders. She acted as though Point Blink could breathe – as though corpses in the cemetery might pull the grass away like dead skin, neighbors would draw blades, and blood-salt would stain her clothes rather than that from the sea. “Trust me, they’ll forgive you. But, I’m just saying, most people around here don’t care nearly as much as you think so. Most of them are way older anyways, so they’re tired of us.”

“Is that you complimenting yourself?” Jude asked.

“Not intentionally,” I said, “but I will take it.”

She laughed. “You shouldn’t be so nice to strangers.”

I wasn’t trying to be. I just didn’t think I wanted her to dislike me.

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing or a good thing,” Jude said. “Being good gets you tucked into a thousand different memories. Being good makes you live a lifetime.”

I almost laughed, but then I wondered what I was to her now. “I don’t talk to lots of people.”

“Sometimes there aren’t many people to talk to. But I thought you would have loads of friends.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I thought you would too.”

Alarm like grief lit her eyes, but she laughed. I did too.

“You hardly know me,” she said quietly.

Then the girls explore some old newspapers and letters in a fire tower! Spooky fun!

CHAPTER: YOU LET THIS HAPPEN

This isn’t a major spoiler as it’s literally in the blurb I wrote, but Ray and Jude are caught (targeted..??) in a fire. Ray is brought back to a field where she is questioned.

CHAPTER: NOTHING HAPPENS

He was quiet for several moments while he painted a picture with what little details I had given him, then said, “It’s unfair. I think that’s why it hurts.”

“Because we almost got hurt?”

“No. Because it came true.”

His gentle, ragged voice made me think I could tell him anything. Sometimes, I think that, even then, he knew I left something out.

Ray talks to Lonan after the fire... She’s being a bit dishonest about what actually happened.

CHAPTER: WHY NOT

I remember how the barest amount of red light glared across Lonan’s entire scalp and washed his boyish curls magenta from the roots out. When Jude leaned back on the counter, she melded into the darkness.

This chapter is just part of the narrative that I created with Ray and Lonan’s friendship. There isn’t much I want to spoil from it, but I liked this paragraph!

CHAPTER: INEVITABLE

“We didn’t do anything,” I said.

“Someone did. Why won’t you believe me?”

“I think I would remember whether or not someone was there with us,” I said, “even if we didn’t have the picture.”

This was untrue. I hung lots of photos in my room. A long time would pass before I went to a restaurant again, or a specific coven on one of the beaches, or an outfit that I wore, and I would look into one of my pictures and remember it, and then I would be quite angry with myself that I had almost forgotten that thing forever.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” Jude said. I didn’t like the way she’d lowered her voice. She sounded different every time I saw her. She reached out her arm so our photos were side by side and our fingers were almost touching. “I don’t think you want to.”

Ray finds herself alone in the school’s dark room with Jude. Based on the contents of one of her photos, she tries to convince Ray that there is more to the fire than what meets the eye.

CHAPTER: (this one is untitled)

I didn’t mind that he followed me everywhere. Even when he was quiet, I didn’t find it strange to be around him. We sat silently through films and went on walks. Once, he had fallen asleep while watching The Iron Giant in my bed. I didn’t know if I should wake him up once it ended. I tried not to stare at him. He’d rolled onto his side and bundled himself in one of my blankets covered in stars up to his shoulders so only his small face poked out like a baby owl’s. His soft breath messed his dirty gold coils. They were at their longest. Except for the ebbing light from a candle on my desk, my house was asleep – Lonan needed to go home.

For the first time, I wondered if anyone cared where he was.

Another small part of the little friendship narrative! (This really is the part of the story where I get nostalgic for my childhood, isn’t it) Ray starts to discover more about Lonan’s home life in this part of the story, but there’s not much that I think I want to reveal about that for now.

CHAPTER: THE CRUX OF IT

Why did I feel so paranoid? I found myself staring out the window, into the film of blue that the late sun shown onto the grass and trying to remember what summer felt like.

My main problem was that I didn’t know how to talk to Jude unless it was about Sugarfell. I ran from the hush of cigarette smoke behind closing doors and heard her loud voice in conversations. Even though there might have still been a part of me that wanted to be friends with her, I didn’t have much to base that feeling off of. I could have spent hours clicking the little pieces of her that I had together, but the crux of it was that I would never know Jude unless I forced myself to.

For some reason, that really scared me.

I spent all week trying to think of what to say to her. By Friday afternoon, I still had nothing.

I left off writing with Ray actively avoiding Jude’s little investigation into the arsonist. Ray doesn’t want to be involved in this because she feels that it will throw her sense of normalcy off course. She really just wants to learn how to adapt to a life without her best friend. (It doesn’t help that she’s got fresh trauma)

What will Ray decide? I don’t know. We shall see. (just kidding I know)

Sorry this update was longer! I think I would like to start updating more often than once a month just because they would be shorter and those of you reading this won’t forget what happened in the last update. There are thousands and thousands of words that didn’t show up in this update because - like I said - I don’t know whether I want to publish this story ever?? I’ll probably talk more about this in a separate update.

Thank you so much to those of you who read about my story! I hope you enjoy it!

p.s. btw I now have a myWriteClub account! You can check it out here and stalk me as I tragically fail my writing goals!

#ffs writing this update was like throwing a boulder into a lake #there was so much I wanted to share #it's really difficult to decide what to share as sometimes a paragraph that I'm really proud of will be really spoilery #I can only imagine this will be more and more difficult as I get further into the story #ANYWAYS #I feel like I'm really beginning to see who my characters are <3 #I feel like a proud mother #To be honest #I kind of hated Jude in the beginning #but now I feel like Ray hates her too so that makes me like her #haha im so mean #tune in next time for a Sapphic spy date

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nearlymanaged · 4 years

Text

19. Insufferable Smartass and The Plan

Curiously, it was Sirius who suggested that him and Remus should bring their homework to Hogsmeade. When Remus pointed out that they might as well just enjoy the little daytrip with their friends and work later, Sirius started talking about how important school was and how procrastination was ‘the grave in which opportunity is buried’. In fact, he seemed eerily set on working on their Transfiguration essays together. In the end, regardless of what kind of Confundus spell had been cast on Sirius, Remus had no objections to the plan so they ran upstairs after breakfast to gather their stuff.

When they came back down to the Entrance Hall, they cut in line (one of the perks of being sixth years) and headed straight to where James, Peter, and Lily, among some other friendly faces, were waiting for Filch to check their permission slips.

“Didn’t you two have a study date today?” James smirked at them and - with full, wholehearted, giggly approval of none other than Lily - ruffled his hair. Remus made a mental note to mention this very moment in his speech at James and Lily’s wedding, which, all of a sudden he was sure, was going to happen one day.

“Multitasking,” he nodded knowledgeably, “we’ll be drinking butterbeer while writing about the dangers of poorly executed human transfiguration.”

“I’m sure drinking butterbeer is somewhere there on the list of things not to do while you transfigure yourself,” Sirius added with the same gravitas.

“Well, if you get anything written at all, I’ll copy some of it later,” James looked at him while buttoning his jacket up.

“Why would you even suggest such a thing!?” Sirius exclaimed but Remus also caught him winking.

It just so happened that it was a beautiful spring day. Most of the students had no interest in hanging out at Three Broomsticks, or any other little shops and cafes of Hogsmeade, for more than five minutes. Remus and Sirius decided to get their homework out of the way first, so they headed for the pub, with the promise of meeting up with the rest of their friends at Honeydukes later.

Sirius insisted on paying for their butterbeers, which Remus accepted, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll get you something at Honeydukes,” he bobbed his head as Sirius followed him to one of the booths with two glasses in his hands. He also just so happened to sit down on the same side of their table, right next to Remus. But, of course, it made sense, because they were going to do homework together…

“Nah, just let me treat you to this.”

“Alright, what did you do?” Remus’ mouth split into a tentative, yet mischievous grin.

“What do you mean?” Sirius propped his elbow against the backrest of his seat and turned sideways, resting his right ankle on his left knee, to face Remus.

“Are you in a lot of trouble?”

“You’re deducting this from me buying you a drink?” Sirius smiled brightly, curiosity etched into his beaming eyes.

“Mixed with the fact that you’ve been set on getting away from our other friends. Are you trying to get out of detention? Look, before I casually confide in Dumbledore that I couldn’t bear to keep going if not for my best friends always there, always right at my side, I’d like to know what it is that you did to deserve a significant enough punishment that you actually want to get out of it,” Remus finished with a smirk.

“I--” Sirius frowned momentarily. “D’you know what… I think I do do that, don’t it?” He barked out a laugh. “You’re right!”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out…”

“Fuck, you are bloody amazing, you are,” Sirius gazed at him, nothing short of starry-eyed.

“I am?..” Remus chuckled.

“But you’re wrong this time.”

“I am!?”

“I haven’t done anything. I just want to treat you to a drink, that’s it.”

“Oh…” First, Remus gaped at Sirius dumbfounded, and then a melodious laugh erupted from him. He felt giddy all of a sudden. “Alright then…”

At first, they successfully dove into their essays. Remus was pleasantly surprised to see that Sirius had, in fact, already written a few paragraphs. But then, the more they sat there in that booth, their thighs and knees always touching; the more times Sirius leaned in so very close to glance at his essay, the more his black wavy hair tickled the side of Remus’ face -- the harder it was to focus on writing about Mirabella Plunkett and whether she was or wasn’t an animagus.

“Can I ask you something?” Sirius spoke up out of the blue a while later.

“When have you ever needed permission for that?” Remus mumbled as his quill traced the last couple of words of the sentence.

“Did you ever manage to conjure a corporeal Patronus?”

“Uh…” Remus tore his gaze off his essay and met Sirius’ grey eyes.

“My question has nothing to do with what we’re currently doing, by the way,” Sirius grinned.

“I’ve gathered.”

“So?”

“I don’t know… Kind of...”

“Kind of? So yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

Remus pursed his lips and his eyebrows dipped in contemplation. He knows!? “Some kind of an animal,” he answered slowly.

“Some kind of an animal?”

“Mhm.”

“It wasn’t a dog, was it?” Sirius smirked and Remus cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair, shuffling his gaze back down onto his homework and biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from grinning.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled nonchalantly. “I’ll have to think about it. We should finish this in the meantime.”

“And then you’ll tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Remus couldn’t have said whether it was a minute or ten that he spent pretending to read his textbook while mentally rolling his eyes at himself for getting so flustered and giddy. Finally, after another round of butterbeers paid for by Sirius, they were both done with their essays.

“I did borrow a couple of your ideas, but I changed the wording and everything,” Sirius knit his eyebrows together as he looked down at his homework.

“Let’s see…” Remus started proofreading it. He spoke again after a couple of minutes, “you wrote the same exact sentence twice here. Is there a particular reason for that or..?” He slid the essay closer to Sirius and pointed at the lines he was talking about.

“I did?” Sirius grabbed the parchment and pulled it closer to himself. “Well it’s obviously your fault. You’re distracting me.”

“I’m distracting you?” Remus’ eyebrows shot up in an amused expression when Sirius lifted his eyes from the essay.

“Yes… Did you know you’ve got ink on your nose?” Sirius’ face instantly broke out into a smile.

“I do?..” Remus tried to use a napkin dispenser as a mirror but its once shiny surface was far too dusty and scuffed up to reflect anything.

“Let me…” Sirius grabbed a napkin, touched his wand to it, and conjured a tiny bit of water to get it damp. He then reached over - although him and Remus were sitting so close that there wasn’t much reaching to do - and wiped the blue smudge off the tips of his nose.

“Thanks…” Remus touched his nose absently. Now that he thought about it, Sirius would have probably made fun of Peter for having ink on his nose and would have let James walk around with a blue stain on his face without telling him at all, just for the heck of it.

“No worries,” Sirius sat back with a newfound cheeky smirk on his face. Remus was very much aware that his ears must have gone red and Sirius evidently felt emboldened by it. “So what’s your Patronus?”

“Didn’t you say it was a dog?” Remus mirrored his expression. “Aren’t you going to fix your essay?”

“Later… So it is a dog then?”

“It is.”

“Any dog we know or…”

Remus bit the tip of his tongue as he tried to tone his admittedly idiotic grin down at least a little bit. Clearly, Sirius knew exactly what his Patronus was, and by the looks of it, he seemed to be pretty pleased by it. Remus started loading his parchment and ink into his bag as he shrugged in response to the question. “I think you know. Now, if we’re done with Transfiguration, why don’t we go find the others?” He got up and swung the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

“The...others?.. Wait, no!” Sirius grabbed his things and recklessly stuffed them into his bag, probably breaking his quill in the process. By the time he got up to his feet, Remus was at the door, holding it open for a pair of old ladies walking into Three Broomsticks, before he dove into the sunshine and crisp breeze outside.

“Oi, Lupin!”

“Black?” Remus scrunched his nose at Sirius once the latter caught up with him.

“Remus! What is wrong with you?”

“So many things, where do I even begin…” The boy smiled sheepishly.

“Do you not like me? Am I just making it up?”

“What…”

“Haven’t you noticed that I’ve been…” Sirius shrugged animatedly, causing some passers by to cast dirty glances at them. “...swooning over you for months!? I mean, what is wrong with you?! Why won’t you see that I’m in love with you?”

A long silence wrapped around these words as they echoed in Remus’ head, and he simply stared at Sirius’ face. And it dawned on him, slowly, gradually, the meaning that Sirius’ voice carried. “I thought I was supposed to be the swooning type?” He said with a smirk springing to his lips.

“Bloody Merlin… Am I making it--”

“Can we talk? Not here?” Remus motioned at the entire length of High Street filled with people.

“Shit. Well,” Sirius mumbled as colour drained from his face. “Not like I didn’t know this was a possibility… But I will respect whatever you say. And, just so we’re clear, I don’t think this should get in the way of our friendship…”

“Sirius.”

“...because I don’t want to not know you ever again. I’m fine with being your friend…”

“Sirius, I…”

“...if that’s what you want. I just need an answer so I can move--”

Remus sighed to himself with a roll of his eyes - he couldn’t believe he was about to do this - he closed the gap between the two of them in one smooth stride, and, drowning his fingers in the black mane, pressed his lips to Sirius’, effectively cutting him off.

He had spent what felt like every waking moment of the past couple of days replaying that Truth or Dare kiss in his head, sinking deeper and deeper into the fantasy of getting to snog Sirius again. And yet - a fleeting thought flickered in his head - he wasn’t prepared for this. He couldn’t have known how dizzying it would be to feel Sirius’ arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer. He couldn’t have known how positively drunk with happiness he would feel when they pulled apart.

“I’m sorry, so rude of me to cut you off,” Remus’ lips formed a giddy grin while Sirius stared at him, seemingly dumbstruck, still holding him close. “What was it that you were saying?”

“I…” He blinked rather comically and gave the tiniest shake of his head. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you, please, repeat what you just did?”

Remus felt his heart quite literally expand in his chest as they kissed again, happy smiles permanently stuck on their faces.

* * *

“So you’ve been swooning over me?” Remus beamed sheepishly as he fiddled with the lapels of Sirius’ leather jacket.

“Very much so,” Sirius nodded stoically, making a mental note to perhaps one day tell Moony about what Amortentia smelled of to him - not just yet though.

“No, you haven’t!”

“Yes, I have,” Sirius gave another nod of his head, feeling like his own exhilarated grin could barely fit on his face. He could hardly believe what had just happened. “Ask anyone we know.”

“What?..”

“Yep, everyone knows I fancy you.”

“W-what?”

“Oh yeah. James knows, Peter knows, I’m pretty sure Lily knows, and probably all her friends. Definitely Marlene and Mary. Everyone who’s seen us snog the other night knows. I’ve a feeling McGonagall knows too. Dumbledore probably knows as well, seeing as he keeps such a close eye on you. Madam Pomfrey? Ten galleons says she knows. The house elves know it, I think. Regulus shouted a weird insult at me the other day that suggests that he knows as well. Speaking of Slytherins, I wouldn’t be surprised if Snivellus knew. Who else?..” Sirius stared off into the distance, scratching his chin as he did.

“What…are you talking about...” Remus was squinting at him now.

“Oh yeah, everyone knows. Honestly, I thought you’d have figured it out by now yourself.”

Remus’ face split into a sunny smile all of a sudden. “Would have been easier if you had told me.”

“Last I checked, you snogged the living hell out of me so I’m hardly the one to take all the blame. Besides, I’ve tried telling you.”

“No, you haven’t,” Remus shook his head with an ever present smirk.

“I have too. Numerous times.”

“When?!”

“I don’t know, every day for the last couple of months,” Sirius shrugged, only vaguely aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in some kind of electric excitement. He must have looked like an idiot too, he was sure, gazing at Moony the way he did. But he couldn’t help himself. Nothing had ever felt so unequivocally good and right, and if Sirius didn’t know better, he could have sworn he was dreaming.

“What?” Remus scrunched up his nose, causing Sirius to chuckle.

“You,” he answered with an unabashed dreaminess permeating his voice.

“I know,” Moony’s lips formed a smug little smile. “You’ve been swooning over a disfigured werewolf with a compulsive need to correct people’s grammar - it must be tough.”

“Those are two of my favourite things about you. Always have been. That hasn’t changed.” Sirius rebutted without missing a beat, leapt over to Remus’ side, and took his hand, lacing their fingers together, which elicited a chuckle from the boy. “What?” Sirius nudged him with his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Remus shrugged and looked down at their linked hands. “I’m just really excited, I suppose.”

“I’ve never seen you laugh out of excitement before.”

“Maybe I’ve never been this excited before, then.”

“I know I haven’t,” Sirius said and, only allowing himself a split second’s hesitation, lifted his free hand to cup Remus’ face and drew him into another kiss.

When their lips broke apart, their foreheads remained glued together, resting against each other for another moment. “Please tell me you didn’t write that Valentine’s day poem...”

A tickled laugh erupted from Sirius. “That was absolutely my own fault for allowing too much creative liberties…”

“As in, you actually hired that dwarf?” Remus arched his eyebrows as they fell into step side by side.

“I did. I also made a heart in your porridge that morning but you called it a butt, you uncultured troll.”

“That’s ‘uncultured troll that you’ve been swooning over’, excuse you.”

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks and when Moony - who also stopped, since they were holding hands - peered at him curiously, Sirius tugged him a little closer. “I am so into you,” he spoke barely above a whisper.

“Even though I fold my socks?” Remus attempted a nonchalant chuckle but his blushing ears gave him away.

“Even though you fold your socks.”

“Even though I’m a monster?”

“For the millionth time, Moony, shut the fuck up,” Sirius frowned momentarily.

“Calling it something else only increases--”

“Yeah, I know, says Dumbledore. Whatever. I’d still rather call you ‘honey’ or ‘love’ or ‘handsome’-- or ‘nerd’, really,” he flashed Moony a charming grin before pointedly averting his eyes. “Or ‘my boyfriend’, if that’s alright with you…”

“Well, seeing as I’ve fancied you since about fourth year…”

“What?! Where was I?!”

“Fourth year?..” Remus stared off into the distance, squinting slightly, scratching his chin as he did. “If I remember correctly, you had a crush on that one sixth year Slytherin girl.”

“Unbelievable…”

“In fact, I think you went through a phase that year where you were only interested in older girls, so...”

“No, I mean… What was wrong with me?”

“Well, just off the top of my head--”

“It’s a rhetorical question, you insufferable smartass,” Sirius’ eyes glistened mischievously and then he planted a kiss on Remus’ lips - because he could, finally, after all those months.

“And you’re absolutely sure you want to be romantically affiliated with an insufferable smartass?” Remus sounded slightly out of breath when he spoke, a giddy smile painted across his face.

“More than anything, quite literally.”

Remus laughed - giggled - again, and Sirius felt like his feet were about to leave the ground; he was that full of love and of dizzying happiness. And that was his new favourite sound all of a sudden - one that he knew was for him only.

“That summer after our fourth year...” He slid his hands into Remus’ jacket pockets - either for lack of knowing what to do with his hands or for a reason to touch his boyfriend Remus. “...was the summer when we talked on the phone a lot.”

“It was.” Moony gave a nod of his head and one of his trademark inquisitive looks.

“It was a bit romantic, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Remus chuckled lightly.

“I’d really missed that this last summer. You’ll have to come visit this summer break!”

“Will I have to sleep on the floor of your bedroom this time?” Remus teased.

“I think I prefer the bed, but whatever you say. We can do the floor, we can do it wherever,” Sirius went on with exaggerated coyness etched into his features. “I’ll do it any place and any way you want.”

“You say all these facetious, idiotic things,” Remus mumbled low, slowly bringing his hands up to Sirius’ face, squinting at him ever so slightly, “and you wear these dangly earrings and this dung eating grin, and I simply can’t…” Without finishing the sentence, Remus kissed Sirius senseless.

Finally, Sirius snaked his arm around Moony’s waist and they started down the street again. They chatted as they walked, exchanging flirtatious lines and smiles, and Sirius caught his imagination painting an exciting picture of everyone finding out about him and Remus. A part of him could hardly wait for it. It was the same part that wanted to get atop the Astronomy Tower just to shout to the world about his boyfriend Remus, just to share his amazing luck with everyone.

But at the core of his being, as he gazed into those beaming green eyes, Sirius wanted nothing more than to see Moony smile the way that he was smiling at him then - every day, for as long as they lived.

The two of them slowly made their way to Honeydukes. It turned out to be the busiest shop in town, crawling with Hogwarts students. They stopped a few feet away from the entrance, allowing two small gaggles of third years to cross their path.

“D’you think...do you reckon it’s going to be strange? For James and Peter...” Remus smiled at Sirius sheepishly, his eyebrows dipping in dubiety.

“Oh,” Sirius burst out laughing, his eyes glistening as he cupped Remus’ face with both of his hands, gently brushing his fingertips against the freckled skin, “oh, my love! They’re going to be relieved, trust me.”

“Are they?” Moony’s face slowly mimicked Sirius’ grin.

Before too long, the two boys went into Honeydukes where Remus, standing on his toes, located their friends huddled at the far end of the shop. Sirius started weaving his way through the sea of people, holding Remus’ hand in his - as they had done before when in crowded places. But this time, it felt different, far more exhilarating, Sirius thought.

By the time they crossed the room, however, they realised that their friends had gone. “Oh, there they are...and they just walked outside,” Remus followed them out with his gaze.

The two of them turned around, joking about, still holding hands, and Sirius led the way towards the exit. When they were almost at the door, they heard a familiar voice, speaking just outside, just out of sight.

“...and then they won’t be able to wriggle their way out of it!” Peter exclaimed triumphantly.

“Sirius won’t,” James spoke up next, “but who knows what lie Remus will come up with. The boy’s a bloody master at denial and dodging questions.”

At these words, both Sirius and Remus looked at each other, the same curiosity reflected in their faces. But before they could make the decision to either remain hidden or join their friends outside, Lily’s voice carried: “Trust me, it’ll work. They’ll be in each other’s arms by the end of it.”

“Or are you just saying that because you actually want to pretend to be on a date with me?”

Sirius and Remus both frowned and then almost broke out laughing at the same time in response to James’ words.

“You wish, Potter!” Lily let out a melodious laugh and then spoke again, more sternly this time. “It’ll work. They fancy each other, but they’re both too stupid to make the first move. We just need to nudge them a little in the right direction. Don’t tell me this isn’t a brilliant plan?”

“Fine, it is. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t want to pretend to be on a date with me, does it?”

“Give it a rest, will ya, lad?” Peter’s exasperated, yet absolutely defeated voice caused Sirius to slap his hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing, while Remus clutched his chest, wheezing soundlessly. “I think the plan’s brilliant. And frankly, I’m tired of the whining and sighing.”

“Whose whining and sighing?” Remus whispered at Sirius but he just bit back a grin and shushed him.

“Peer pressure is a powerful weapon,” James quipped, making Lily and Peter chuckle outside.

“Oh, I can’t wait!” Lily squealed.

“But what if they get together before then, on their own?” Peter asked and, after several silent seconds, during which they probably exchanged looks, the three Gryffindors burst out laughing.

“Good one, Wormy!” Lily cackled, to Sirius’ deep surprise.

“But seriously,” James spoke quieter now, “to be able to do this for two of my best friends is an honour. You know, I think it’s a privilege to be a part of it…”

“Gosh, you sound like they just asked you to be the best man…”

“Well, Sirius certainly will, won’t he?!”

“See,” Sirius turned to Remus and whispered with a playful smile, “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that everyone knows.”

“I can’t believe this…” Remus shook his head slowly, staring blankly into space. “I can’t believe they’re plotting like that, behind our backs.”

“It’s interesting how confident they all are that you fancy me.”

Remus looked over to Sirius’ face again and was met with a cheeky smirk. “I know, it is interesting,” he played dumb, although not very successfully. “Is it bad that I kind of want to go along with their plan just to see what would happen?”

“But it wouldn’t make any sense if-- Wait…” Sirius’ smile faded. “You mean, pretend that we didn’t just snog multiple times and go along with their plan?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

An outraged gasp erupted from Sirius as he shot Remus a dirty look. “Are you ashamed of me?!”

“Yes… Yes, you got me,” the boy uttered in a monotone.

“I’m just yanking your wand, Moony,” Sirius barked out a laugh at his boyfriend’s sarcasm. “Naturally, we have to do it.”

“Who are we if we don’t do it?”

“Certainly not Marauders.”

“A disappointment to ourselves, really.”

“And to all future generations of delinquents.”

“Besides, who are we to deny James the opportunity to go on a fake date with Lily?”

“Nothing but scoundrels if we get in the way of it.”

“Well, shall we?” Remus nodded his head in the direction of the exit.

Sirius quickly scooped up both of Moony’s hands and pulled him a little closer. “You make me so happy - always - but especially today.”

And they kissed, again, just inside Honeydukes, feeling like no one else was there, like no one could see them, even though it was brimming with people.

“Ah, there you are, we were looking for you,” Sirius drawled, a giddy smile permanently plastered all over his face, as he and Remus walked outside - no longer holding hands.

“We were looking for you!” James leapt over to the two boys and hooked his arms around their shoulders.

“Did you get your chocolate supply?” Lily looked over at Remus.

“Believe it or not, I’m still stocked from last time.”

“Oh? That is a little worrisome. How’s your blood sugar level?” She grinned.

“It’ll get me through the day.”

“What’s going on?” Peter, seemingly completely uninterested in the conversation, looked at Sirius curiously.

“What do you mean?” He shrugged with his hands buried in his pockets, fully aware that he must have looked nothing short of drunk - because that was close to how he felt.

“You two look awfully happy…” Peter shuffled his gaze onto Remus.

“We do?” Sirius asked brightly. “Moony, what do you think? How come we look so awfully happy?”

“Oh, that would be the euphoria of having finished our homework, Padfoot,” he answered with a radiant smile.

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #hogwarts #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #james potter #lily evans #fanfic

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that-bi-bitch-writes · 4 years

Text

The Rumor Around Hogwarts (prologue)

Hi everyone!! This is the prologue and it is pretty much exactly what the author wrote and I don't take credit for it. I made a couple of changes to the chapter but it is towards the end so if you want to skip through you can until about the last paragraph to find the part about Y/N L/N. Enjoy!!

Male reader insert for now, future addition of they pronouns as it will lean more towards a non-binary insert with the only change being less reference to Y/N as a young boy and more gender neutral terms. Still masc/male aligned.

Previous // Next

Prologue:

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small sons, too, but they had never even seen them. These boys were two good reasons for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realise what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard--" "-- yes, their son, Harry--" Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey Or Harold There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drill that afternoon and when he left the building a five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside of the door.

"Sorry" he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary his ace split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerbys stare,

"Don't be sorry my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, I've been celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone--"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

"I know... I know... " he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true ?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore.

"We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here ?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!?"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -- ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map o

f the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles--"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

The boy who lived, however, was not the only threat to Voldemort's plans. There was another baby boy who would grow up to be extraordinary. His fame would not reach the height of Harry Potter, but he need not be the boy who lived for he will be the boy who decided to speak.

"I heard a rumor"

#harry potter #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x male reader #hp #reader insert #male reader insert #x male reader #rumor #x nonbinary reader

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melforbes · 3 years

Text

seaglass blue annotations

hello! i just posted the last chapter and thought i’d put together some ~fun context~ for that fic. it got way way more attention than i ever expected and for something i feel i didn’t put that much effort into i think i did in the end put a lot of effort into it so i might as well talk about it and answer some potential questions.

my favorite book of all time is the sunlit night by rebecca dinerstein (yes, that one) and something i find really compelling about that book is how sparing the prose is, forcing the reader to fill in certain gaps, and i think having to fill in those gaps makes the book a really acquired taste with which either you love it or hate it and there’s not really an in-between

i also really adore how in that book the natural world backdrop comes to life, something i find really challenging to write. recently i even read into thin air, the book about the 1996 mount everest disaster, and even though the writing was superb, i still had to google what the hillary step was because i couldn’t picture it on my own. i don’t know how people write nature because to me it feels damn near impossible, but this sparing approach really worked, so i thought i might try it out. i tend to be longwinded (gestures vaguely at this post) and wanted to have certain parts of this be a lot smaller and more contained without negating impact. whether or not i made it work is anyone’s guess. definitely not my normal style, so to speak

based on the comments i’ve received i think this might be everyone’s favorite part. in my mind age of consent by new order was playing in the background. in pretty much every fic i have a scene like this one and all of them are based on the poem first base gold by rh*annon mcg*vin from her book branches (censored because she has a tumblr and i don’t want her seeing this haha)

i absolutely can’t do the poem justice by describing what it’s about, but the simplest, most basic interpretation of the poem is that there is no better place to kiss than right here, right now, because of the past. i really like that imagery and tend to use it a lot. she as a writer has been a big inspiration for me and if you’ve read my fic true minds i should add that the nonfiction inspiration for that was directly as a result of one of her youtube videos. i particularly love how the last paragraph (stanza? im not a poet) is one big run-on sentence that’s jovial and tongue-in-cheek and colloquial and straightforward. it feels triumphant in a quiet way to me and i love how it’s done. obviously my attempts at something similar are nowhere near as insightful, but still, the most basic image of this is that there is no better place to kiss, and that’s how i felt about the two of them finding pudding in the supermarket

this part is autobiographical; while writing this last year, i went through six months of intravenous drug treatment, a month and a half of which involved long days of doctor visits on every weekday. when you’re on stuff like that for a long time you end up with a central line for better access (potential plot hole in all of this: scully never had one) but for a month and a half i got poked almost every day and strangely enough it got harder over time. the first couple you never feel, but a week or two later you start flinching, and if the needle goes in the same vein each time, it hurts the more it gets prodded. i reached a point toward the end of the in-office visits in which i would bleed a lot every time i got poked, and i can’t watch anything like that happen to me so i was looking away each time, and when i felt that the nurse was done, i would look back over, and sometimes i would be looking down at a pool of blood that i hadn’t expected to see. it’s weird, you don’t actually feel yourself bleeding, i would’ve expected a hot bloody feeling but instead it felt like nothing. and when i say a pool i mean that it would drip down beneath my elbow, stain the sheet they’d put underneath, and i wouldn’t get all of it off until i showered. i didn’t necessarily find it scary, but it was surreal and kind of pulled me out of normalizing the experience i was having. for a very long time needing iv drugs was my greatest fear and i was surrounded by that then and fine, and then, there was blood all over my arm, and like, haha, this is actually not fine. you’d think something else would’ve been scarier, but it wasn’t. and now looking back at this paragraph i wish i’d edited it differently but hey that’s life

i’d never really understood the purpose of religion as a self-driven part of life until i took anatomy in college. i was raised catholic and though culturally i understand having a religion and being raised with one, i’ve never really reached for religion when i wanted answers, and i haven’t personally understood why that’s someone’s first option. and i know there’s been plenty of commentary on the hypocrisy of dana scully as a catholic who believes in science, yada yada yada, i think everyone has read all of that by now. but what struck me while learning anatomy is that there is a kind of neuron we don’t know the function of. there are four kinds of neurons, and one of them is still a mystery to us. and then, there’s all of these different parts of human bodies that exist in a certain perfect way, but why do they exist like that? to support life, yes, but why is it that we can make comparisons? why were irises not the same color? and we name valves of the heart after religious figures. we are so hell-bent on meaning that something literal will never be enough. and all of that made me think that dana scully has god to fill in what science won’t answer, at least not yet. and there’s definitely a bigger conversation about science as denial of indigenous cultures that i am nowhere near qualified to start. after taking those classes, i think i would be more shocked if she wasn’t religious. you can ignore pretty much all of the paragraph above but it was important to me that at some point in this fic she willingly conceded that she didn’t know what would happen and that she didn’t have answers. with illness, there is no logic, there’s no thinking your way out of it, and i think that would plague her for a long time. to me, she only would accept her death when she could say she had no idea what would happen, she has no answers, there’s nothing filling in her gaps anymore, and she’s comfortable with that. and i put all of that in a paragraph about my thoughts on god because it made sense to me. there are times that just feel like you’re in a movie and there’s no one else you can say caused them. it’s not enough to build belief on but it’s enough to bring a certain kind of wonder. also one time my parents insisted on watching stripes because it was so funny and when watching it none of us found it funny at all and my parents grimaced and were like what were we on that made that good back in the day so that’s in here now haha

and now, the biggest question: does she die at the end? when i came up with the idea for this fic, i knew the beginning and ending but not the middle, and i posted this as a smaller project (ie: chapters below 3,000 words) while illness made my bigger projects harder to work on and essentially flew by the seat of my pants the whole time. i wrote the last line a long long time ago and have always seen the ending as written as the concrete ending. when i started writing this, i never intended for there to be a definitive answer to whether or not she dies. i like premature endings (the ending of girls burn brighter comes to mind) and i think that this works better without saying whether or not she lives. and i also have a hard time with giving a definitive answer because this fic very much is about death and having her die would, of course, be traumatic, but showing her living instead i think ruins any takeaways people could have. i’ve never had cancer but as a chronically ill person i think i can speak to how you never actually win with illness; the best you can do is tie, and sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, you “lose” anyway, you lose spectacularly, and all of your effort was for nothing. i wholeheartedly believe that humans can’t emotionally or logically process natural disasters or illness, hence why much of the talk about illness in this is from mulder’s perspective as he experiences her terminal illness secondhand; that way, he doesn’t need to (but still likely will) find logic or reason or meaning for death from a terminal illness, so his discoveries and his coping mechanisms aren’t as urgently needed. had i written a chapter that describes how she lives, i think that the discussion of death in this would be voided altogether. and i also don’t believe the ending would be much different whether she lives or dies; there’s still the need for death acceptance and talking about dying, whether or not she lives, and none of the story in this fic would have happened had the characters known she would live. the whole point is not knowing.

for a little while i toyed with writing an unofficial sequel of sorts in which i spelled out what i think happens after the ending, but after realizing that that would end up being longer than the original fic and would also have some massive plot holes, i decided against it. i do have my own version and i don’t want to share that version because i never really intended for my version to be some kind of genuine sequel in which every question gets answered and everything is wrapped up and happy ever after and whatnot. it was just where my brain wandered in the same way it wanders when i watch an open-ended movie. all of that to say, if you think she lives, then she lives. if you think she dies, then she dies. it’s your decision. i’d much rather you choose than me. i never marked this as “major character” death on ao3 because, well, she doesn’t die in this fic. whether or not she dies after the fic ends, that’s for you to decide.

thank you for taking the time to read my writing. i never expected this to blow up (it blew up for me at least, for a while it was my most popular fic ever, with i think thousands more hits than anything else i’d written) and the response has been mind-boggling and wonderful. i don’t respond to comments often because it makes me feel like a pompous jerk (”thank you for enjoying this! i, too, enjoy this thing i have written! oh ho ho!” is how it sounds to me in my head, whereas when other writers respond to comments to me it just looks like thanks man have a good day, feel free to call me a weenie) but i’ve appreciated all of them very much. THANK YOU! i hope your new year is a Whole Lot Less Shit than 2020. i don’t plan on writing more msr because i don’t really have any ideas for them. thank you for making my last time special <3

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silver-wield · 4 years

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I just saw the quote of Nojima in Case of Tifa from OtWtaS said there were things didn’t go well between Cloud and Tifa, and this will be the same even without Geostigma and Sephiroth. Can you explain this and let me know the full interview? Because it seems like out of context from Nojima, and I saw people are twisting it

OTWTAS interview

‘Episode Tifa’ … first off, there’s the premise that things won’t go well between Tifa and Cloud, and that even without Geostigma or Sephiroth this might be the same. I don’t really intend to go on about my views on love or marriage or family (laughs). After ACC, I guess Denzel and Marlene could help them work it out. Maybe things would have gone well with Aerith, but I think there is a great burden from Aerith.

Oh, I remember. I also wanted to write about Cloud through Tifa. It certainly can be difficult to ascertain his feelings. (laughs)”

That's the original paragraph from the interview, along with a translation. It says the premise is it won't go well and might be the same. It's not a definte statement. It's a maybe. Because life and relationships are complicated and take work. Which is a theme of AC.

Basically, Nojima is summarising CoT where Tifa and Cloud have hit a rough patch after being together for nearly two years. Elmyra made Cloud deliver flowers to the forgotten city where Aerith died and that triggered Cloud's guilt that he couldn't save Aerith from Sephiroth. We know Cloud is someone who takes his job and himself too seriously at times. He wallowed in CC when he couldn't protect a scientist and he sulked when he couldn't save Tifa, and he instinctively goes to save a random guy in Wall Market's coliseum at the opening of the Beast Master battle in Remake.

At the same time, he's also found Denzel, who's a survivor of the sector 7 collapse, which is also a guilt trigger for him and Tifa because they believe it's their fault they couldn't stop the collapse. Denzel has geostigma so Cloud throws himself into finding a cure because he believes this is a way to redemption and resolving part of his guilt. He doesn't explain his feelings to Tifa because he's afraid of letting her down.

Which we also see in Nomura's interview about Cloud in AC. People always assume this is about Aerith, but that's a very limited way to look at it. Cloud lost his home, past, mother and best friend.

Several times, Cloud hasn't been able to do anything. Nibelheim twice, he couldn't save that scientist, Zack died for him, sector 7 collapsed and Aerith died. There's more to Cloud than that lake scene.

Nojima goes on to say Marlene and Denzel could help Cloud and Tifa work through their problems, which isn't any different to any other relationship where the couple's kids want to keep their parents together.

From the AC prologue we see that Tifa’s described as an abandoned woman. Definitely not how a friend is described. If they're just friends then why does she feel abandoned and why is this line even there? The description would read that Cloud was living there, then left. Instead it's loaded with romantic implication. Nojima even adds at the end that Tifa has expressed her true feelings to Cloud a lot. She doesn't lecture, she lets Cloud form his own conclusions because she doesn't baby him. Even when she does give him a talking to, she feels bad about it because she's not the type to confront others.

So, pretty much all this goes towards building the relationship between them and explaining why Cloud ran away for a few days. His guilt at letting others die, which isn't even his fault, overwhelms him because he thinks he doesn't have a right to be happy. He only starts thinking this way because Elmyra makes him go to the forgotten city. Before that he was doing okay, although he still felt bad about Denzel being sick. So, this is why Nojima says he and Tifa will struggle. Because Cloud's the type to catastrophise everything and make things into a big deal when they're not. He hides it from Tifa because he doesn't want to worry her because one of her traits is to leap into reckless situations when she's feeling hopeless.

This is awhile before the start of AC, and one of the first things that happens to Tifa while Cloud's gone is she nearly dies in the fight with Loz. His worry for her safety isn't unjustified and we see it again in Remake.

When Tifa feels hopeless she does stupid things, so Cloud would do his best to prevent her getting hurt because he's feeling like he can't be the hero everyone expects. Even though, deep down he knows Tifa never expected him to do anything except try his best.

They have a very complex relationship, so it's not easy to sum up in a couple of sentences. Nojima brings up Aerith to say it would be even more hopeless between her and Cloud because she has a duty to the planet, which is more important than Cloud. The comparison is that Aerith can't help Cloud the way Tifa can. It's why she's not Cloud's heroine. Her role is too big for one man to take precedence, but Tifa's role is to be Cloud's heroine, which is why she can take on all of these complicated moments and help him resolve his personal issues. Because of her own problems to do with guilt and loss it's harder for her than normal relationship issues, which is why they both need a little push.

This is literally right after AC finishes, so Cloud is back with his family and they're going home.

Then a couple of days later we have reminiscence of FF where we hear Cloud asking Tifa on a date. And we see a year later in DC that he's still with Tifa and much more playful. There's some cute back and forth between him and Tifa while they're in the middle of a battle, so it's clear he's past things. The group also no longer wear the memorial ribbons for Aerith.

So, taken as a whole and using all of the information about both Cloud and Tifa's characters we can conclude from this earlier interview about AC that Nojima's describing the complex relationship between them and not saying anything negative. The thing people overlook is that when the devs talk about the game and characters they're speaking from a place where they know everything. They know every facet of each character and situation. Nojima knows more about the scenario than anyone because he wrote it. Nomura understands Cloud because he created him, so any background is mostly his insight with some from Nojima's story development.

The fact they know the characters means their comments sometimes don't take into account that the audience isn't aware of the compilation as a whole. We can't look at comments like this and understand exactly what's meant at first glance because we don't know everything. It's why players misinterpret things and then blame the devs for poor translation. It's not a poor translation. It's just different perspectives.

#final fantasy 7 remake #cloud strife #ff7r #ffviir #cloti #tifa lockheart #final fantasy 7r #final fantasy viir #Final fantasy 7 advent children #OTWTAS #Final fantasy 7 #FF7 #Ffvii #Reminiscence of final fantasy 7 #Compilation of FF7

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spn-safeandsound · 4 years

Text

13. Found Each Other

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x19; Provenance

Word Count: 9,972

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, sexual themes

Author’s Note: I’m excited for y’all to read this! Make sure you tell me what you think! Reblog and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Julia tapped her manicured nails against the surface of the table to the beat of the song playing through the bar that she and the Winchester brothers were hanging out in. She hardly paid attention to John's journal in front of her, even though she was supposed to be looking up something for Sam. Her eyes were at the bar, where Dean stood flirting with a pretty brunette woman.

She wasn't bothered by it, not really. Yes, she liked Dean but she also thought that he considered her as his little sister. Really, the only reason she was irritated was because he had been sent to the bar to get them drinks and had yet to come back with them even though she saw the bartender give him the drinks more than five minutes ago.

If she had to watch Dean flirt with a bunch of women, she didn't want to be completely sober.

"Did you find the names?" Sam's question brought her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah," she answered quickly, pushing the journal back over to him. "There you go."

Sam studied the names—and each paragraph John wrote about the people and their death—and then nodded, tapping the page. He looked up in Dean's direction and waved for his attention. Despite the fact that Dean saw him, he continued flirting with the girl, smirking attractively.

Sam impatiently waved at him again; the smile on Dean's face dropped as he said something to the woman, grabbed their drinks from in front of him, and walked back over to the table they stole an hour ago.

Dean slid Julia's fuzzy navel over to her before setting down Sam's beer.

"Oh, look, the ice melted," Julia commented sarcastically, playfully raising her eyebrows at him while taking the straw between her fingers to stir the drink. "Just the way I like it. Thanks, Dean."

Dean winked at her. "You're welcome, Junior."

Julia popped the straw in her mouth and started drinking, enjoying the orange juice and peach flavored alcohol.

"All right, I think we got something," Sam told Dean.

"Oh, yeah, me too," Dean glanced back at the brunette he left at the bar. "I think we need to take a short leave for just a little bit. What do you think? I'm so in the door with this one."

"So, what are we today, Dean?" Sam set down the newspaper he had been studying for the past half-hour. "I mean, are we rock stars or army rangers?"

Dean grinned widely. "Reality TV scouts looking for people with special skills," he told Sam eagerly. Julia snickered and Sam and Dean joined in her laughter. "I mean, hey, it's not that far off, right?"

Sam shrugged.

"I don't understand," Julia piped in, taking another pull of her drink. "I mean, why do you have to lie?"

Dean gave her look that told her he thought that she was crazy. "You're kidding right?"

"No, I meant it in a way that you shouldn't have to lie about who you are," Julia elaborated. "You're hot and you have a somewhat nice personality. You shouldn't have to make up a story."

Dean grinned at her and rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear anything after you called me hot."

Julia fought back her eyeroll—even when he was flirting he was such a little shit—and curled her lips seductively as she coyly played with her straw. Dean's eyes dropped down to her lips to the cleavage her white v-neck showed off, and then down to her hands, following her fingers' movements. Julia's self-esteem shot up a little bit when he bit his lip and his green eyes darkened as she pulled the straw to her lips.

The whole situation was getting intense and she could feel Dean's energy shifting into something lustful and primal. The sexual tension between them could be cut with a knife and she saw Sam look away with a small smile.

She took another drink of her beverage and then smiled at Dean, trying to diffuse the situation. "Then you might have to get hearing aids, old man."

Julia wished that they were alone so she didn't have to break up the little flirting between them. She wanted to see just how attracted Dean was to her and whether he would actually make a move or not.

Dean's light smirk fell slightly and he blinked, standing up to his full height. He took a drink of his beer, looked back at the girl at the bar, and then back at Sam.

"By the way, she's got a friend over there," he told his brother. "I can probably hook you up. What do you think?"

Sam looked taken aback by Dean's offer. "Dean...I...no thanks," he shook his head, almost shyly. "I can get my own dates."

"Yeah, you can but you don't," Dean pointed out.

Sam stiffened slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Dean shook his head and then nodded at the newspaper. "What you got?"

"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home a few days ago," Sam told him, recalling what he read from the article. "Their throats were slit and there were no prints, no murder weapons, all—"

Julia suppressed her smile when Sam snapped at his brother, who was looking back at the girls waiting for him at the bar. Dean looked back at Sam, paying attention again as he drank more beer.

"No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside," Sam finished.

Dean took another gulp of beer. "Could just be a garden variety murder, you know? Not our department."

"Well, your dad thought otherwise," Julia spoke up.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"

Julia dragged John's journal back in front of her and then spun it around so Dean could read the information the right way up. "John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York," she pointed to the first victim's paragraph. "The first one was in 1912, the second one was in 1945, and the third one was in 1970."

"The same M.O. as the Telescas; their throats were slit, the doors were locked from the inside," Sam added. "Now, so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except for Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we got one," Dean stated.

Sam nodded. "Exactly."

"All right, I'm with you. It's worth checking out," Dean agreed and then hesitated, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "We can't pick this up until first thing, though, right?"

Sam gave him a confused look. "Yeah?"

"Good," Dean grabbed his beer and walked away from the table, heading back to the women at the bar. He started chatting with them right away while they leaned in him with flirtatious smiles.

Julia sighed and looked over at Sam. "We can't take him anywhere."

"No, we can't," Sam rolled his eyes. "Wanna head out?"

"Sure."

Julia quickly finished the rest of her drink as Sam picked up their stuff. She made him promise that they could stop by a pizza place—her favorite food to eat while buzzed—on the way back to their motel. Pizza, beer, and whatever movie was on cable sounded like a much better night than watching Dean go home with two women.

"So, last night..."

"Sam, come on," Julia sighed as they continued walking through the Telesca's old house. She had the EMF device in her hand as they walked down the upstairs hallway, checking the empty rooms for any evidence of what happened to the happy couple.

"What, I'm just saying," Sam shrugged as he took the lead into the master bedroom. There was a large bloodstain on the white carpet but there was nothing else in the room. Everything the Telesca's owned was now being sold at an estate sale because they had no other family. "You and Dean were getting somewhere and then you shut it down."

"I shut it down because I don't want a casual fling with your brother," Julia told him. "and I know that Dean isn't really the relationship kind of guy so I'm just gonna save myself the trouble."

"Fine," they left the master bedroom and started back downstairs.

Julia could tell that Sam wasn't finished with the topic of her and Dean but she didn't want to get into it again. She wasn't going to go there with Dean; she couldn't just have sex with him. She was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve and if she did have sex with Dean, she was positive that her feelings would grow. That's just how she was.

They left the house, locking up after themselves so it seemed like no one was there, and walked down the block to where Sam parked the Impala. Dean was still sleeping in the passenger seat when they arrived, his head leaning against the window with sunglasses blocking his sensitive eyes.

Julia playfully nudged Sam and bounded forward, leaning through the drivers' side window to reach the steering wheel. Sam grinned and chuckled as she slapped the horn, making Dean shout in surprise, jump in his seat, and take a defensive stance.

Julia broke out into giggles, laughing harder when Dean whipped off his sunglasses and glared at her. She slid back from the window and stepped to the side, opening her door to slide into the backseat.

Sam was still laughing when he sat in the drivers' seat.

"That was so not cool," Dean grumbled, resting his tired head back on the window. Julia snickered, not feeling sorry for him. He had done worse things to her while she was trying to sleep in the backseat—the worst was when he blared his music and started weaving in and out of the two lanes on an empty highway, making her fall into the space between the seats.

"We just swept the Telesca house with EMF. It's clean," Sam informed him, his laughter finally calming down. "And, last night, while you were...well...out—"

Dean smirked happily. "Good times."

Julia rolled her eyes while Sam continued as if he didn't say anything. "J and I checked the history of the house; no hauntings, no violent crimes."

"And there wasn't anything strange about the Telescas, either," Julia added.

"All right, so, if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents," Dean said thoughtfully. "Like a cursed object or something."

"The house is clean," Sam stated.

"Yeah, I know," Dean gave him an annoyed look. "you said that."

"No, I mean it's empty," Sam elaborated. "No furniture, nothing."

"Where's all their stuff, then?"

"An estate sale," Julia informed him, recalling the information she looked up before they even stepped foot in the house. "It's taking place this afternoon at Daniel Blake's Auctions and Estates."

"Perfect," Dean sat up in his seat, yawning. "What are we waiting for, then?"

Sam started the car and pulled away from the curb, driving out of the expensive neighborhood that the Telescas lived in. As he turned onto the main road through town, Julia leaned forward in her seat to speak to the brothers.

"We should probably change first," she suggested.

Dean looked at her like he was crazy. "Why would we do that?"

"Daniel Blake's auction house is the best of the best," Julia told him. "We're gonna stick out like a sore thumb if we go in there in jeans and flannel. And, without an invitation, we'll get kicked out."

Dean wasn't convinced that they needed to change but Sam agreed with Julia. Once they stopped at a gas station to change into their nicest clothes, they made their way to Daniel Blake's auction house.

The lot was full of luxurious sports cars and the building was huge, with beautiful and expensive pieces of artwork, statues, and furniture. There were plenty of people mulling about and checking out the items, all dressed in very nice clothing.

"Silent auctions, estate sales," Dean muttered under his breath as they walked through the aisles of items. He stole some type of finger food from the buffet and stuffed it in his mouth. "Looks like a garage sale for Wasps, if you ask me."

Julia went to throw him a be-quiet look but a man's elegant yet distasteful voice came from behind them.

"Can I help you three?"

Julia, Dean, and Sam turned around and came face-to-face with an older gentleman, several inches shorter than both of the Winchester brothers. He wore a three-piece suit, his hair was slicked back impeccably, and there was a nasty look on his face.

"I'd like some champagne, please," Dean told him with his mouth full.

Julia nudged him with her elbow. "He's not a waiter," she turned back to the man, her sweet smile that gave her whatever she wanted on display. "Nice to meet you, I'm Julia Petersen—"

"Of the chain of sports shops?" the man asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir," Julia nodded confidently, holding out her hand for him to shake. The man took it, shaking it firmly yet politely. "These are my art dealers, Sam and Dean Connors."

The man gave the brothers a doubtful look. "You are art dealers?"

Sam nodded with a polite smile. "That's right."

"I'm Daniel Blake. This is my auction house," the man introduced himself. "Miss Petersen, no matter how nice it is to meet you, I'm afraid that this is a private showing. I don't remember seeing your name on the guest list."

Before Julia could say a word, Dean scoffed. "We're there, chuckles. You just need to take another look."

Julia had never been embarrassed of Dean and she wasn't now, either. She was annoyed, though. All she had to do was buy their way onto the guest list so they weren't intruding but he had to open his mouth. Mr. Blake would undoubtedly kick them out because of Dean's manners.

A waiter with a tray full of champagne passed by and Dean took a glass. "Oh, finally," he sniffed the glass pretentiously, as if it was a glass of wine. "Cheers."

Sam and Dean walked away from the man, leaving Julia on her lonesome. "Sorry about him," she tried saving grace. "We just arrived in town today and I heard about your showing. There wasn't enough time to buy tickets. Are there any left?"

Mr. Blake didn't seem as put-off by Julia as he was Sam and Dean. She owed it all to her last name and her training when it came to big events like this where her family had to mingle with the other rich people of America. When she was younger, Naomi and Maggie used to go to parties all the time but when Naomi died, Maggie started taking Julia along until she left for Stanford.

"Certainly, Miss Petersen," Mr. Blake nodded. "I'll come find you with the tickets. Please, continue to take a look around."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Blake," Julia gave him a sweet smile and then turned, heading off in the direction Sam and Dean went.

She found them in the area where the Telesca estate was being shown. The Telescas had mostly good taste, a little bit too stuffy for her, but the large painting of a family of five was horrific. She couldn't imagine why anyone would put that in their house, especially if they weren't related to the people in the portrait.

Sam and Dean joined her at the painting, each of them looking at it with furrowed brows.

"A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn't you say?" a woman spoke up as she walked toward them.

She was a couple of years older than Julia and far taller than her but she was beautiful. Her dark brown hair was pulled up elegantly and her black dress was classy enough for the showing but cute enough that she wasn't boring to look at.

Sam looked at the painting in confusion and then back to the woman. "Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," he stated. "But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did."

The woman smiled. "Guilty," she admitted as a waiter came by with a tray of mini quiche that Dean eagerly took from. "and clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam," Sam introduced himself. "This is my friend, Julia, and my brother, Dean."

Sarah smiled at Julia, her eyes sweeping to Dean, who was shoving a mini quiche into his mouth. "Dean," she greeted him. "Can we get you some more mini quiche?"

Dean hummed with his mouth full. "I'm good, thanks."

Julia watched as Sarah's eyes immediately went back to Sam, her expression brightening. "So, can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, actually," Sam nodded. "What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"

"The whole thing's pretty grisly, if you ask me, selling their things this soon," Sarah eyed the Telesca items and people around them. "But Dad's right about one thing. Sensationalism brings out the crowds—even the rich ones."

Sam grinned at her and hesitated for a second before asking, "Is it possible to see the provenances?"

"I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that," Mr. Blake walked over to them.

Sam gave him a confused look. "Why not?"

"I'm afraid I underestimated our ticket sales, Miss Petersen," Mr. Blake turned to Julia, dismissing Sam's question. "Therefore, you and your companions are unable to continue viewing the items. I think it's time for you to leave."

Julia raised her eyebrows at Mr. Blake; his tone was polite but his expression was anything but. He didn't want her business, it seemed, as long as she had Sam and Dean by her side. Well, that was his loss.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Blake," Julia made sure she hid her anger with the man behind politeness. "Next time I come to town, I'll book in advance."

"That would be lovely," Mr. Blake nodded. "Good afternoon."

Julia gave him a tight smile and grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him with her as she walked away. He looked like he wanted to punch the smug expression right off Mr. Blake's face but she couldn't allow that to happen. No matter how rude the guy was, the Petersen name couldn't be tarnished by unimportant auction house.

"That guy needs a fucking attitude adjustment," Dean grunted angrily as they left the building. "What a fucking asshole."

"He's not worth it," Julia tried to placate him.

Dean's temper wasn't sated just yet, though. "He's an asshole who acts like he's better than us just because he has money," he muttered as he and Julia went to their side of the car. "What a dick."

"Hey," Julia grabbed his hand before he could rip open the drivers' door and squeezed it, hoping it would help calm him down. "Don't worry about it, Dean."

Dean sighed, Julia's hold on him actually allowing him to calm down. He squeezed her back and then let go of her hand to open his door. He gave her a small, grateful smile as he slid into his seat. He pointedly ignored the way Sam smiled at him and started up the car as Julia got into her seat.

Julia pulled her duffle bags from the back of the Impala and followed Sam and Dean over to the rooms she got for them. Rooms eleven and twelve were connected—like Dean wanted them to be every time it was her turn to rent the rooms—and were the last two rooms of the front side of the motel.

"How'd you know about that stuff back at the auction house?" Dean asked Sam as he pulled out the key to room twelve. "Grant Wood and Grandma Moses?"

"I took an art history course," Sam told him. "It was good for meeting girls."

"Plenty of time to make a connection when the professor drones on and on about boring crap," Julia teased Sam with a grin, walking next door to unlock her room. "I dropped out the first week."

Dean shook his head at them. "It's like I don't even know you two."

Julia laughed and unlocked her door, stepping into the room. It was decorated in a black and white with a disco theme. There were silvery metal accessories everywhere and the walls looked like a dance floor that was made in the seventies. There were two queen beds a couple feet apart from each other, a table, and a mini bar.

She hoped that Sam and Dean had a room decorated similarly so she wouldn't have to suffer alone.

Julia set her bags down on one of the beds and walked over to the doors that separated her room from Sam and Dean's room. She unlocked hers and opened it before knocking on the one that locked on the boys' side.

Dean opened the door within seconds, peeking into her room. "Looks like Saturday Night Fever threw up all over your room, too."

"Yeah," Julia laughed as he let her into his room. "It must be a real draw to their customers."

"Mmhm," Dean hummed in agreement before turning to Sam, who was setting his stuff on his bed. "What was that providence thing you were talking about?"

"Provenance," Sam corrected him. "It's a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know? We can use them to check the history of the pieces and see if any of them have a freaky past."

"Huh," Dean nodded, impressed. "Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but Sarah..."

"Yeah," Sam smirked at him. "Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin."

"Oh, it's not Dean that Sarah's interested in," Julia drawled as she sat down at their table. Dean pointed at her in agreement, his face lighting up into an amused grin.

"No, no, no," Sam shook his head. "Pick-ups are your thing, Dean."

"It wasn't my ass she was checking out," Dean told him. "Right, Jules?"

"Sarah's into you, hotshot," Julia grinned at her best friend. "Call her up, take her on a date..."

"In other words, you want me to use her to get information."

"Don't think of it that way, Sam," Julia sighed.

"Besides," Dean added, pulling out his cellphone to hand it to Sam. "Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her."

Sam sighed heavily and took the phone, walking into Julia's room so he could have some privacy to talk to Sarah alone.

Dean couldn't help but stare at her. The way her wavy hair brushed against her upper back. The way her hazel eyes lit up when someone was talking to her, giving them all of her attention. The way she wrinkled her nose when she took a drink of Dean's beer. The way her little black dress fit her just right, showing off all her assets. The way she giggled when he told her some lame joke that no one else would laugh at.

Julia Petersen was a masterpiece and he never wanted to look away.

Dean had always found Julia attractive and, of course, after that dream he had, everything had gotten more intense, more heated. But in that bar, where they decided to spend time together while Sam went on a date with Sarah, it was like everything had been turned up to an eleven. This was different than the regular old attraction that he had with Cassie or yoga-teacher Lisa. This attraction to Julia was magnetic; he didn't just want to fuck her, he wanted everything with her.

And that freaked him the fuck out because, other than Cassie—and look how that turned out—Dean didn't do relationships. And Julia wasn't just some random chick that he could hang out with for a few weeks and then ditch. This was Julia Ruth Petersen; he had known her since she was born. He had watched her grow from a cute kid to an awkward pre-teen to the beautiful, intelligent, and strong woman she was today. She was important to him and he couldn't screw her up. He couldn't bring her down.

But it was tough when Julia clearly felt something back for him. He wasn't a stranger to women and he knew when he was wanted. That gleam in Julia's hazel eyes wasn't love that you have for your brother. The way she licked her lips when talking to him about the case they were on wasn't just to make sure the sensitive skin didn't dry out. The blush on her face wasn't from embarrassment.

Despite the fact that the attraction between them was obviously reciprocated, he couldn't do it. He couldn't take that step with her and he had to tell her the truth.

"Listen, Jules," he was trying to be delicate because he didn't want to hurt her feelings—and there was also the fact that he didn't want to do this. He wanted to give in. "I-I can't do this."

Julia's face fell. "What?"

"We have something going on, right? I mean, I know you feel it, too," Dean explain. "but I can't take that step with you. I can't ruin what we have."

"What we have?"

"I don't do relationships," he told her; it made his stomach twist when her pretty lips turned into a frown. "I'm sorry."

Julia eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head. "It's fine, Dean. I-I wasn't expecting anything...I was—we were just hanging out. Like friends."

"Right," Dean nodded, his heart sinking. "Like friends."

"I'm going to get a drink," Julia forced a smile as she stood up from the table they had occupied an hour earlier. "Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm good. I still have..." Dean trailed off when Julia practically ran away from the table; from him. "Okay."

He watched as she walked up to the bar, stepping onto the ledge so she could see the bartender properly. She pulled her fake ID out of her purse and flashed him a big smile before saying something that Dean couldn't hear. The bartender winked at her and then went to start making her drink.

And then a guy walked up to her side and plopped down on the stool next to where she was standing. He was a couple of inches shorter than Dean but still half a foot taller than Julia, with dark brown hair and a medium build. He said something to Julia and she smiled charmingly back at him.

Dean's stomach twisted again and this time it wasn't because he had to reject Julia. Dean was never really a jealous guy—he didn't have a reason to be—but something in him just hated the thought of another guy smiling at Julia and making her laugh. His heart raced and his jaw clenched; when the guy placed a hand at the small of her back, he jumped from his chair.

Mine, the primal part of his brain roared as he stomped over to the bar where Julia was talking with the asshole.

He swiftly wrapped his fingers around Julia's wrist, making sure his grip was light enough where she wasn't hurt. He pulled her off the ledge and tucked her into his side, pulling her away from the guy without a second thought.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" she asked him loudly as he escorted her out of the bar and through the parking lot that connected to their motel. "You can't just drag me around like some kind of ragdoll."

"Well, you can't just go around flirting with any man who smiles at you!" he retorted like he had any right.

Julia stopped in her tracks, only a couple of feet away from their rooms. "Are you joking?" she demanded, ripping her arm away from him as he turned to face her. "Dean, you were the one who said you didn't do relationships!"

"I don't!" he raised his voice. "but that doesn't mean you can just go off and fuck the next guy you see!"

"I'm sorry, I missed the part where you were in charge of me."

"You wish I was in charge of you, shortcake," Dean snapped back. "Then you wouldn't have to fuck random guys at bars."

"Oh, like you don't have your fun?" Julia raised her eyebrows. "How was the threesome last night, Dean?"

"We weren't talking about me."

"No, I think we were," Julia countered. "I think we were talking about the fact that you think that I'm going to sit around pining for you while you get your jollies off with everyone you meet. Guess what, Dean? That's not going to happen. You said you don't want to take that step with me, fine! But don't act like I have no right to do what or who I want."

Dean clenched his jaw so tightly he was surprised his teeth weren't breaking. This wasn't a good combination; he was drunk, he was horny, and Julia was in front of him and she was everything. He was being reckless but fuck it...he could deal with the aftermath in the morning.

He firmly gripped her upper arms and pulled her to him, smashing his lips against hers. Julia didn't even try to protest, quickly returning his affection. Dean didn't believe in divine intervention or fate or anything like that, but it felt like he was made to kiss Julia. Like everything that had happened in their lives had come down to this moment and even though it wasn't perfect, it was them.

Their hands were everywhere; stroking bare arms, gliding over supple curves, gripping firm muscles. Dean didn't even know how they got into Julia's room but it didn't matter; he was gripped her thighs and she was wrapping her legs around him.

And, when they fall onto her bed, there was no hesitation or anxiety. It was trust, pleasure, and, most importantly, love.

Julia wasn't in a field this time but she still knew what was happening. Usually her dreams with her angel were never in the same place, so it was kind of relaxing to know that things were getting back to normal. She was seated in the last pew at her church back home; the church was empty and most of the lights were out but there was still a ray of sunshine beaming through one of the stain glass windows depicting the angel of Thursdays, Castiel.

"Julia Ruth," her angel greeted her.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately. "Usually when you pull me into these dreams I need guidance."

"It is needed, indeed."

"So, what's going to happen this time?" she raised an eyebrow at the window. "I mean, my brother just died and there wasn't a peep out of you. Didn't I need your guidance then?"

"I'm sorry about Levi," the angel told her, a hint of sadness in his voice. "but it might help you to know that he rests in Heaven where he belongs."

Despite the fact that her angel wasn't there in her time of need, the assurance that Levi was in Heaven—like she thought he would be—did help her. The knowledge gave her some peace that she had been missing ever since she learned that Levi died at the hands of Meg and the Daeva.

"So, what are you doing here, then?" Julia wondered. "What's going to happen that I need guidance for?"

"It's not what is going to happen but what is already done, Julia Ruth," her angel answered her. "You and Dean Winchester have found each other."

She struggled to figure out what he meant by that until she remembered what exactly exhausted her enough to fall asleep. She and Dean had sex and it was great—wait, did that mean...?

"You saw that?"

"Yes."

"You couldn't give us some privacy?"

"I am your guardian, Julia Ruth," her angel spoke as if watching her and Dean have sex was no big deal.

"Well, in the future, could you not watch?" Julia's cheeks flushed. "I'm not a voyeur."

"I do not understand."

"Never mind," she sighed. "Just, please, give me some privacy when things like that happen."

"I will try," her angel promised her.

Julia pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes; her angel sure was stubborn. "Okay, so back to why we're here..."

"Do not let Dean Winchester go, Julia Ruth," her angel commanded. "Just as you are chosen, he is chosen as well."

"Chosen for what?" he had said that she was chosen before but she still couldn't figure out what he meant by that. And, what, now Dean was chosen, too? "What does that mean?"

"Do not let him go," her angel repeated, ignoring her questions. "I will see you soon, Julia Ruth."

Julia wanted to protest but there was some banging noise coming from outside the doors that separated the chapel to the rest of the church. The light from the angel window went out as she stood up to see what the noise could be. When she opened the doors, she woke up.

It was morning. She knew that because she had forgotten to close the curtains to the front window the night before and now the sun was streaming into the room. Her eyes stung as she blinked rapidly, trying to remember the details of her rapidly fading dream.

And then there was another knock and she was easily distracted. "Julia, wake up!" she heard Sam call. "I got breakfast!"

Dean wasn't by her side anymore, though she was pretty sure he fell asleep before she did. Her disappointment went away when she sat up and saw a note sitting on the nightstand.

Jules,

Sam got the provenances from Sarah. It's that ugly painting of the family that's been going from victim to victim. We went to go burn the damn thing.

Love,

Dean

Julia got a little too excited when she read 'love'. She quickly stamped it down, reminding herself that Dean didn't do relationships.

Do not let Dean Winchester go.

She heard the whisper like someone had spoken out loud. She looked around, hoping that Sam had somehow gotten through her locked door but she was still alone. Great, now she was going crazy—crazier than she was, anyway.

"J, wake up!" Sam called again, knocking impatiently. "We're eating breakfast and then leaving!"

"I'm up!" Julia called back as she stood up, pulling a sheet up around her just in case Sam did break in and caught an eyeful of her very naked body. "Give me a few."

The knocking ceased so she guessed that Sam heard her. She grabbed a change of clothes and then hightailed it into the shower; she was sweaty, smelt like alcohol, and there was something sticky between her thighs that had her blushing.

When she was done making sure everything was washed thoroughly, she got dressed and unlocked the door connecting her room to Sam and Dean's. She didn't stop to think about any potential embarrassment that came with the morning-after with Dean. She was too hungry for that.

"Finally," Sam sighed when she walked into the room. "I've never seen you sleep that late before."

Julia furrowed her eyebrows and looked at the clock on the wall; it was almost ten. "Oh, sorry," she shook her head. "I guess I was tired."

"I bet you were," Dean spoke up from his seat next to Sam at the table, a naughty smirk on his face that his brother was oblivious to. "Hungry?"

"Yes," Julia flushed at Dean's remark but didn't let it get to her as she went to sit at the table and dig into the food they brought her. "Did you guys burn the painting?"

"Yep," Dean confirmed as she opened the container that held a bagel, cheesy eggs, and sausage; he stood up and walked over to his bed, starting to pack his bag. "In and out; easy as pie."

Julia hummed as she took a bite of her bagel, watching Sam as he frowned down at the table. "You okay, Sam?" she asked after she swallowed. "You look sad."

"Oh, no, I'm okay," Sam assured her quickly.

Julia could see right through him; something was bothering him and she would bet money that it had something to do with Sarah. His energy practically danced around him, full of indecision, guilt, and grief. Julia figured that he liked Sarah but was feeling guilty about Jess; it was a tough situation and she really felt for him.

"Shit," Dean suddenly cursed as he rummaged through his bags. "We have a problem; I can't find my wallet."

Sam seemed thankful for the fact that Dean had distracted Julia and the knowing gaze she was giving him. "How is that our problem?"

"Because I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night."

Julia looked at him in shock. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Dean left his bed to shrug on his jacket. "It's got my prints, my ID—well, my fake ID, anyway...We gotta get it before someone else finds it."

"Dean, I just started to eat," Julia protested, gesturing down to her food.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, shortcake," Dean rolled his eyes at her. "Come on, let's go."

They got to Daniel Blake's auction house fifteen minutes later. They started at the right side of the building first, looking in and around items that were up for show. There was no sign of Dean's wallet any where.

Sam sighed, frustrated. "How do you lose your wallet, Dean?"

Dean threw his hands up defensively and continued to look, walking into the next aisle.

"Hey, guys!" Sarah walked up to them with an easy smile.

Sam practically flailed and almost fell over if it weren't for the fact that Julia grabbed his arm to steady him. "Sarah, hey!" he exclaimed while Julia waved with a smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Uh..." Sam looked at Julia for help but she just smiled sweetly at him. "We—we're leaving town and we came to say goodbye."

Dean walked over from the aisle he was looking in. "What are you talking about, Sam?" he drawled, coming up to Julia's side. "We're sticking around for at least another day or two."

Julia and Sam gave him looks of confusion while Sarah smiled.

"Oh, Sam," Dean dug his wallet out of his jeans and opened it up, taking out a twenty. "By the way, I wanted to give you that twenty bucks I owe you. I always forget," he chuckled and handed him the money. "There you go."

Julia smiled in realization; Dean was being a little matchmaker. It was cute but, at the same time, she didn't want him to push Sam.

Sam practically ripped the bill out of Dean's hands.

"Well, we'll leave you two crazy kids alone," Dean grabbed Julia's hand. "We gotta go do something...somewhere."

Julia furrowed her eyebrows. "We do?"

Dean rolled his eyes and tugged her away from Sam and Sarah. She flushed when she realized that he just wanted to give the two of them some time alone without their presence making it awkward. Knowing Sam, though, he'd make it awkward enough without them around.

"You shouldn't push Sam, you know," Julia told Dean as he led her out to the Impala.

Dean gave her a curious look. "Why not? He likes Sarah."

"Yeah, I know he does but he's also still grieving for Jess," she explained as he leaned against Baby. "He's feeling guilty for liking another woman."

"Hmm," Dean hummed, wrapping his hands around her hips to bring her closer to him; Julia shivered, pleased with the contact. "And how do you know that?"

"His energy," she told him simply, moving to wrap her arms around his waist. "It's getting easier to read you guys since I'm around you all the time."

"Is it?" Dean raised an eyebrow, his green eyes sparkling down at her. "What does my energy say today?"

Julia grinned. "You're feeling mischievous..."

"Mmm," Dean leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"and caring..."

"Of course," he pecked the tip of her nose.

"and excited."

"I think that one's a given, baby," he kissed her lips for only a second, earning himself a pout when he pulled away. "Are you okay with this?"

"Are you?" Julia countered curiously.

Dean could see the worried look in her eye and while he was worried himself, he knew that he couldn't walk away from Julia. Not after all they had been through. Not after the previous night. Not with the way he felt about her.

"I care about you, Julia. In a way that I can honestly say I've never felt before," Dean told her. "and I'm not good at relationships but if we can take it slow..."

Do not let go of Dean Winchester, another whisper flittered through her head.

"We can take it slow," Julia agreed; if that was what Dean needed then she would give that to him. "but I need to know that this isn't going to be a one-sided thing, Dean."

"Like am I gonna fuck around with other chicks?"

Julia clicked her tongue. "Must you be so vulgar?"

"Well, that wasn't what you were saying last night," Dean smirked, causing her to blush and slap his chest playfully. "But yes, Julia, I will not sleep with anyone but you."

Julia grinned at him. "And I won't sleep with anyone but you, too."

"Good," Dean gave her another quick peck. "cause you're mine and I don't share."

"Caveman."

"I'll show you a caveman," Dean growled playfully, smushing his lips to her jaw and pretending to gnaw on the skin. Julia squeaked and giggled, coaxing a few chuckles out of Dean as she tried to squirm away.

They heard the doors to the auction house open and abruptly pulled away from each other, thinking along the same lines. They didn't want anyone to know about this yet; especially since they were taking things slow.

Sam hurriedly walked toward the car, oblivious that anything less than friendly had been happening between Julia and Dean. Julia was caught off guard by the urgent and worried expression on his face.

It didn't take long for Sam to reach them. "We have a problem," he breathed. "The painting. It's still there."

"You're fucking with us, aren't you?" Dean asked him, not taking the bait. "This is because I made you come here, isn't it?"

"What? No!" Sam shook his head. "Dean, I'm not lying. The painting is still there. Like we never burned the damn thing."

The three of them got into the Impala so no one could overhear their conversation.

"I don't understand," Julia admitted, leaning her elbows on the front seat. "How did it survive?"

"I have no idea," Dean grumbled. "but we need to figure out another way to get rid of it," he turned to Sam. "Any ideas?"

"Okay, all right," Sam gathered his thoughts. "Well, in almost all the lore about haunted painting, it's always the painting's subject that haunts them."

Dean nodded. "So, we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creep-ass family and that creepy-ass painting..."

They headed to the local library to do some digging. Luckily for them, the library employed its own local history expert named Keith who was very enthusiastic when Julia, Dean, and Sam went to him to ask about the Isaiah Merchant family. He was especially fond of Julia, gushing over the fact that she looked a little like his oldest granddaughter.

It took only ten minutes for Keith to find information about Isaiah Merchant. He slammed down two large books, one was a regular textbook while the other held old newspaper articles, down onto the table that Julia, Dean, and Sam sat around at.

"You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?" Keith checked one more time.

Julia nodded. "Yes, sir."

Keith happily opened the book of newspapers. "I dug up every scrap of local history I could find," he informed them. "So, are you three crime buffs?"

"Kind of," Dean confirmed as he sat on the table to get a better look of what Keith was showing them. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Keith held up a newspaper; the frontline was about the sinking of the Titanic but Keith tapped on one of the smaller articles to the side. It read, Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

"Yes," Dean pointed at it. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Sam studied the article. "The whole family was killed?"

Keith nodded. "It seems this Isaiah, he slit his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself," he told them. "Now, he was a barber by trade; used a straight razor."

Julia wrinkled her nose. "Why did he do it?"

"Well, let's look," Keith said enthusiastically, turning to the full article and beginning to read, "People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament who controlled his family with an iron fist. He had a wife, two sons, and an adopted daughter...yada, yada, oh...There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave," he looked up to explain, "Which, of course, you know in that day and age...so, instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave."

Keith snickered and made a slitting gesture across his throat; Julia and Sam didn't find it very funny but Dean gave him a couple of chuckles before sobering up when Julia and Sam gave him stern looks.

"So," Dean turned back to Keith. "Does it say what happened to the bodies?"

Keith took another peek at the article. "It says they were all cremated."

Julia, Dean, and Sam exchanged pointed looks before Sam asked Keith, "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually," Keith nodded and set down the newspaper before picking up the book. He flipped to the page that he had marked, showing it to them. "I found a picture of the family."

The picture looked just like the painting that Sam and Dean tried to destroy. There was a little difference between the two, though. When Julia had seen the portrait last, the father had been looking down; in the picture, Isaiah was facing the painter head-on.

"Keith, could we get a copy of this?" Julia asked, giving the man a sweet smile.

"Sure thing," Keith nodded happily. "Just give me a second."

"I'm telling you, man, I'm sure of it," Sam insisted, pushing the picture Keith had printed for them to Dean. "The painting at the auction house had Isaiah looking down. The painting here, he's looking out. It changed."

Dean grabbed the photo and looked at it for a second. "All right, so, you think that daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did to his family?"

"Well, yeah, it seems like it," Sam said quickly. "But if his bones are already dusted, how are we gonna stop him?"

"If Isaiah changed in the painting, do you think that something else changed too?" Julia spoke up, lounging at the end of Sam's bed.

"Could be," Dean shrugged, getting up from the table where he sat across from Sam to plop onto his bed. "Maybe it will give us some clues."

"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?" Sam looked at him skeptically.

Dean hesitated for a few seconds before admitting, "I don't know. I'm still waiting for the movie on that one."

Julia grinned softly and rolled her eyes before focusing on the painting. "Okay, so we have to get back in and see the painting."

"Which is a good thing because you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend," Dean added, pointing to Sam.

"Dude," Sam gave his brother an annoyed look. "Enough already."

"What?"

"What?" Sam repeated in disbelief. "Ever since we got here you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?"

Dean crossed his arms and rested them on his stomach. "Well, you like her, don't you?" Sam shrugged and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "All right, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults..."

"What's the point, Dean?" Sam asked angrily. "We'll just leave. We always leave."

"Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam!"

"I don't get it," Sam raised his voice. "Why do you care if I hook up?"

"Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the damn time," Dean answered him calmly.

"Dean," Julia gave him a warning look while Sam scoffed in disbelief.

Dean sighed and sat up so his back was off the headboard. "You know, seriously Sam, this isn't just about hooking up, okay? I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you," Sam sighed and scratched the back of his head, looking away guiltily. "And...I don't mean any disrespect but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right?"

Julia inhaled softly, shocked to hear Dean use what she told him earlier. She didn't think he was doing it to make things worse; he looked concerned for his baby brother and was trying to give him some guidance.

"Now, I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but..." he hesitated, a faraway look in his green eyes. "but I would think that she would want you to be happy God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?"

Having known Jess for years, ever since they were roomed together freshman year of college, Julia spoke up. "She would, Sam," she whispered. "I know it hurts, I know...but Jess would be happy for you."

Sam smiled fondly, remembering how much Jess loved him and wanted him to be happy. "Yeah, she would," he agreed softly. "and yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica but not the main part."

"What do you mean, Sam?" Julia asked quietly. "What's it about?"

Sam pursed his lips sadly and looked away from her, glancing down at the table. It was strange; Sam used to never shy away from telling her what was going on with him. They used to share everything; from nightmares to relationship insecurities.

"All right," Dean spoke up, knowing that Sam wasn't going to answer Julia; he laid back down. "Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so..."

Sam cleared his throat and grabbed his phone, dialing Sarah's number. "Hey, Sarah, it's Sam," he spoke into the phone. "Good. Good, yeah. What about you? Yeah, good, really good..."

Julia grinned in amusement, giving Sam a thumbs' up when he looked at her with an awkward smile. Dean snickered, whispering something about Sam being as smooth as crunchy peanut butter.

"So, ah, listen," Sam cut to the chase. "My friend, Julia, she was thinking that maybe she'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I think she's interested in buying it...What?!" he exclaimed, standing up in shock; Julia and Dean perked up, wondering what was going on. "Who'd you sell it to? Sarah, I need an address right now."

It turned out that Daniel Blake had sold the painting to a woman named Evelyn, despite the fact that Sarah didn't want it sold so soon after the Telescas' deaths. Julia, Dean, and Sam rushed to Evelyn's house, with Sarah meeting up with them, but were too late to save Evelyn. She had her throat slit from ear to ear while the painting was posted on the fireplace mantle a few feet away from her.

The three of them left the house after pulling Sarah away from Evelyn's body, leaving the freaked-out woman to deal with the police herself. They had gone back to the motel to wait for news and do a little research when Sarah showed up, knocking on the door.

"Hey," Sam let her into the room. "Are you all right?"

"No, actually," Sarah retorted as she stomped over to the table, putting her back to Julia and Dean to confront Sam. "I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's alone and found her like that."

Dean smirked over at Julia and she shook her head at him.

Sam sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, I'm about to call them right back and tell them what the hell's going on," Sarah snapped at him. "Who's killing these people?"

Sam looked to Julia and Dean for guidance; when they both nodded at him, he corrected Sarah, "What."

Sarah gave him a confused look. "What?"

"It's not a who," Sam elaborated. "It's what is killing those people."

From the look that Sarah shot Sam, Julia could tell that she already thought they were insane.

"Sarah, you saw that painting move."

"No...No, I was...I was seeing things," Sarah shook her head, remembering the way that Isaiah looked at her when she found Evelyn's body. "It's impossible."

"Yeah, well, welcome to our world," Dean commented.

Julia rolled her eyes at Dean and then addressed Sarah, "Look, we sound crazy, we know, but that painting is haunted."

Sarah scoffed lightly, tears coming to her eyes. "You're joking," she looked to Sam; when she saw that he was serious, she rolled her eyes. "You're not joking. God, the guys I chose to go out with."

"Sarah, think about it," Sam urged her. "Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting and there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die and we're just trying to stop it. That's the truth."

Sarah inhaled deeply but came around to the idea of the painting being haunted pretty quickly. "Then I guess you better show me," she demanded. "I'm coming with you."

"What?" Sam was taken aback. "No, Sarah, no. You should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and...and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Look, you guys are probably crazy but if you're right about this, then me and my dad sold this painting that got these people killed," Sarah said firmly. "Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell but...I'm not going to run and hide, either."

Julia grinned at Sarah. She was always so impressed when random civilians stood up to do what was right, even if the thing they were standing up against was supernatural. Their whole lives, they didn't know things like this existed but, when push came to shove, they were there to make things right. It was inspiring; it was why she loved people and why she loved what she did.

"Well said," Julia jumped out of her seat and held her hand out for Sarah.

Sarah high-fived her and then looked at Sam expectantly, "So, are we going or what?"

Julia, Dean, Sam, and Sarah broke into the crime scene that was Evelyn's house so they could compare the painting to the picture of the painting. They discovered that the razor in the picture was closed while the razor in the actual painting was open. There was also another difference where the painting inside the painting was of the Merchant crypt.

The four of them went through two different cemeteries before they found the crypt in the third one. The Merchant crypt had an old teddy bear and the daughter's glass doll preserved, along with four urns, which meant that Isaiah Merchant had been buried somewhere else.

While Sam and Sarah sat and had a heart-to-heart, Julia and Dean went to find out exactly if and where Isaiah Merchant was buried. It turned out that the surviving Merchant family was ashamed of Isaiah so they handed his body over to the county, who buried him. When nighttime came, the four of them went to his grave and dug Isaiah up, salting and burning his bones.

Once everything was done and Isaiah was dust, Julia, Dean, Sam, and Sarah drove back to Evelyn's house to check on the painting. Sarah and Sam went into the house by themselves—much to Dean's insistence because he thought Sam should make a move on Sarah—while Julia and Dean stayed in the Impala with the motor running.

While Sam and Sarah were in the house, the door was forcefully slammed shut. Dean and Julia were unable to get it open, despite picking the lock and trying to kick it down. Sam called them and informed them that it was the daughter was the one who was killing people. When the spirit tried to attack Sam, he held her off until they figured out that the girl's doll had been made with her real hair.

Julia and Dean took off back to the cemetery to visit the Merchant's crypt. The glass incasing the doll was thick and hard to break open but Dean eventually figured out that he could just shoot the glass away. Julia took her sweet time trying to lit the lighter, which was not cooperating, but after a couple hundred tries, she managed to light the doll's hair on fire. It was just in time, too, because it turned out that the spirit was just about to kill Sam and Sarah.

The next morning, Julia did some research on the Merchant daughter while Sarah made sure that the painting was being hauled away someone couldn't buy it again. She and Dean met back up with her and Sarah outside of the auction house where they were prepared to say goodbye.

"This was archived in the county records," she informed Sam and Sarah, holding up the papers she printed. "The Merchant's adopted daughter was named Melanie. She was up for adoption because her real family was murdered in their beds."

"She killed them?" Sarah asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "Who would suspect her? She looks like a sweet little girl."

"Isaiah took the blame and his spirit has been trying to warn people ever since," Julia finished. "Poor guy."

"Where's this one go?" one of Sarah's employees asked her, gesturing to the crate where the Merchant portrait was held.

"Take it out back and burn it," Sarah order; her employee looked at her like she was crazy. "I'm serious, guys. Thanks."

When the employee and his partner picked up the crate and carried it out of the show room, Sarah turned to Julia, Dean, and Sam. "So, why'd the girl do it?"

"Killing others or killing herself?" Sam shrugged. "Some people are just born tortured. So, when they die, their spirits are just as dark."

"Maybe," Dean gruffed. "I don't really care. It's over, we move on."

Sarah nodded in realization and looked at Sam sadly. "I guess this means you're leaving."

Julia looked between her and Sam and then back again before grabbing Dean's arm. "We'll go wait in the car," she told them before smiling at Sarah. "Nice meeting you, Sarah."

"See you around," Dean added as Julia started pulling him out of the building; Sarah hardly noticed them leaving. "We're the ones that burned the doll and destroyed the spirit but don't thank us or anything."

"Oh, so bitter," Julia sang teasingly. "The hero didn't get the girl this time. What ever shall he do?"

"I got the girl," Dean grabbed her hand from his arm and twirled her around, wrapping his arms around her waist. "just not the damsel in distress."

Julia smiled happily up at Dean, cherishing the way his green eyes lit up in happiness. She stood on her tip-toes and pursed her lips, giggling when Dean chased them down with his own.

(Gif is not mine)

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