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ellecdc · 4 months

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A Man With a Plan.2

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: angst, smoking, mention of vomiting, Remus spiralling, Peter being v worried, James being a doting mother hen, Sirius being a cheeky bastard.

Remus didn’t stay in potions that day.

He gave Professor Slughorn a hasty excuse and beelined it from the room, earning him bemused stares from Peter, James, and Sirius. He couldn’t stay there – he couldn’t breathe the air you’d been breathing – it hurt, it burned, it was too much.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He huffed to himself as he shakily made his way to Gryffindor tower. He held his hand to his chest the whole way, heaving as if he was close to throwing up – he wasn’t fully convinced he that wouldn’t.

As soon as he walked into (stumbled into) his dorm he flung the window open and shoved his head (most of his torso) out of the window – hungry for fresh air. The change in temperature and slight breeze did calm him slightly, but now he could hear Moony with renewed fervor.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. He seemed to be whimpering morosely.

“She’s not yours.” Remus grumbled. That seemed to aggravate Moony somewhat, as well as piss himself off for talking aloud to...well...himself, sort of?

He hated this.

Remus sat half out the window drinking water and chain-smoking until his roommates returned from their final class.

“What the fuck happened to you, Moons?” Sirius asked as he threw his book bag onto his bed before beginning to strip out of his uniform.

“Fucked if I know.” He grumbled, throwing the butt of his cigarette out the window.

“You feelin’ alright?” James asked, brows furrowed as if Remus was a particularly difficult arithmancy problem.

“I think it’s quite clear that I’m not.” He spat as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it with the snap of his fingers.

“Blimey, Moony. Wasn’t the full moon last week?” Sirius asked incredulously.

It was too much, all of it: the nickname, the moon talk, their voices. The hearth in the room surged and then extinguished again; Remus was officially diminished to accidental magic like he was some kind of unruly toddler.

“Shit, Remus. Relax, okay? We’re sorry.” James placated, watching his mate cautiously as Remus took some steadying breaths.

“What’s gotten into you mate?” Sirius asked quietly after Remus appeared to calm himself.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t feel like...myself.” He settled for, trying to drown out Moony’s pathetically forlorn howling in the back of his mind.

“Alright.” James said. “That’s alright.”

Remus wanted to vomit. Is that not what you had just said to him a few hours ago?

“Do you need to go to see Pomfrey?” Peter asked.

“No.” Maybe.

“Alright, well we’ll bring you something up for dinner.” He offered with a smile. Remus felt like he should return the smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to try.

Remus did eventually go to see Madame Pomfrey, though he kept the full extent of his current predicament to himself. He trudged through the halls, hating the fact that Moony seemed to pick up on your scent, signifying you had been down this hall yourself at some point during the day.

Must go. Must go. Must go. Moony begged.

Go to Madame Pomfrey and then to bed. Remus mentally berated the wolf - the wolf growled in discontent. Remus was becoming increasingly worried about what he’d be like near the full when Moony was closer to the forefront of Remus’ control.

Remus claimed nerves and a migraine as the cause of his request for sleeping draught for the night. The matron narrowed her eyes at Remus, clearly aware the boy wasn’t being entirely honest, but acquiesced to his request nonetheless.

Remus supposed he probably should have requested a dreamless sleep potion instead.

His dreams were littered with images of you. Some were lovely – you and him walking hand-in-hand through bookstores and flower shops, sharing milkshakes and ice cream, snuggling up near the fire, as well as some...steamier dreams. But they were always chased away by horrible ones – you being chased by The Wolf, you finding out about him and running away terrified, you being bitten, you being killed. And those were always followed by his friends becoming disgusted with him, abandoning him, him ending up in Azkaban.

They made him sick.

Literally made him sick; he woke up with a start and bodied James on his way to the bathroom to eject last night’s supper out of his system.

“Moons, what’s going on mate?” James asked quietly, clearly having been getting ready for a run before he was bulldozed by his mate, as Remus moved to the sink and readied his toothbrush.

“Please don’t call me that.” Remus moaned.

James seemed to consider him for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Is Moo- is the wolf giving you problems?” He corrected at the glare he was shot by Remus.

Remus sighed and nodded his head.

“Can’t be moon sickness? You’ve got three weeks.”

Remus finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth out before turning to look at James.

“I don’t know. I think...” but he didn’t know how to finish his sentence. How did he explain that Moony has apparently become obsessed with and hyper-fixated on one of James’ best friends and was actively campaigning to have Remus throne into the psych ward at St. Mungo’s? “When you guys were researching on how to become animagi, you were first doing research on werewolves, right?”

James responded by nodding his head in the positive.

“What’d you find? On werewolves, I mean.” Remus asked.

James grimaced. “Next to nothing, really; we found books and books full of anti-werewolf propaganda before we found anything even remotely helpful.”

“What book was it? The helpful one.”

“There was one line in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that said werewolves solely target human prey and are less interested in other animals as opposed to ‘true’ wolves.” James said.

Remus sighed and nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

“What’s going on?” James tried again.

Remus just shook his head at this friend. “I don’t know yet, I’ll see what I find.”

“You don’t have to do this alone; you know? You’ve got us here.” James said as he followed Remus out of the bathroom.

“I know Prongs. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Remus said with a tired smile. He was lucky, really, he knew that. He had wonderful friends – he’d do anything to keep them.

Which just meant keeping Moony away from you.

Unfortunately for Remus, James had been right; the only useful information he could find in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that a) he didn’t already know or b) wasn't prejudiced or incorrect was the line James had referenced.

“The main difference is in the way they behave; a werewolf is very aggressive in comparison to a true-wolf; they prefer and target human prey, seemingly uninterested in other animals. Though some rumours claim that werewolves will create bonds with animals and other wolves: ‘were’ or ‘true’.”

Remus was ready to give up when he noticed a footnote at the bottom of the page:

(22) From an unknown author’s first-hand account of lycanthropy in Hairy Snout, Human Heart: 1737.

He looked through the works cited section of the text and found the book, which appeared to be an autobiography of an unnamed wizard afflicted with lycanthropy from the 18th century. Remus knew the chances of him finding that book in the Hogwarts library were slim to none. Now I’ll have to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend to try Tomes & Scrolls.

Remus (unwillingly) learned a lot about you as he (impatiently) awaited for the next Hogsmeade weekend.

You had a single dimple on your left cheek that only ever appeared when you smiled brightly. Granted, since you were generally soft around all of your edges, it didn’t appear too often. But it was almost guaranteed to make at least one appearance during every one of your interactions with James.

He hated the both of you.

You hummed. A lot. Sometimes to the tunes of songs Remus could recognize, sometimes to tunes he was sure you’ve made up. It was always quiet humming, and only ever when you were focused intently on a task. It sounded lovely and was almost always accompanied by your tongue poking out slightly between your lips.

He hated it.

You always had some piece of nature on your person. Either grass from having been sat on the grounds, dirt on your hands from your time in the greenhouses, a flower tucked into a pocket or – God forbid – your hair. It was sort of adorable.

He hated that even more.

You made a soft tingling or jingling sound as you walked and moved on account of the many beaded bracelets decorating your wrists. It wasn’t just the sound of the jewelry – because Sirius was similar with his many pieces of silver jewelry decorating his person – but the sound was distinctly yours. And Remus Moony seemed to be able to pick it up from yards away.

It was awful.

You also smelled heavenly. You were lavender blowing in the sea breeze, eucalyptus in a steamy shower, and the fresh grass you seemed to drag in every time you stepped outside. There was also something about you that smelled so distinctly you that drove him mad. He could pick up your scent anywhere.

And that was the worst part.

You were everywhere.

He’d been actively avoiding you since that fateful day in potions, and he still couldn’t escape you. Even if he couldn’t see you, he could hear you and your damned jingles or gentle giggles at something James said to you. And even if you weren’t there, he could still smell that you had been, and then he’d be stuck with Moony’s incessant whining for the rest of the day that they’d ‘just missed you’.

Remus hated it. He hated you for existing. He hated James for befriending you. But he mostly hated himself.

He hated that he got so angry about this; he hated that part of him blamed you for the horrible crime of having been born and that another part of him blamed James for the equally horrible crime of being kind.

He was the problem - Remus and his damned affliction. He just didn’t understand what Moony’s issue was; Remus (and Moony) had met many people throughout his life – Moony even had his own pack, for god’s sake! – what was so special about you to bring about this nonsense?

You seemed either completely unaware or completely unafflicted by Remus’ sudden coldness to you. There were times he’d stopped speaking midsentence when you’d show up or he would out-and-out walk away. James had clearly been annoyed with him about it, but you were still never anything but kind towards him. He was simultaneously grateful to you for it and peeved you were giving him more reasons to like you.

James - still being slightly miffed with his mate for his abruptness towards you – was more than happy to leave him to search Tomes & Scrolls whilst he and Sirius and Peter went to The Three Broomsticks without him. Sirius shot him a confused look while Peter smiled at him sympathetically as they hobbled off after James.

They didn’t have the book he was looking for, but they were able to order it via owl and advised him they’d have it delivered straight to Hogwarts for him.

Reluctantly resigning to his fate that he’d have to wait even longer to find answers, he exited the shop when he slammed into something with a solid oof.

He, being the lanky, larger-than-he-looks werewolf that he was, was able to shake off the collision with little-to-no effort.

You, on the other hand.

You.

Moony started howling in horror when Remus saw you leaning up onto your elbows from the cold cobblestoned road that Remus himself just knocked you into.

“Oh, shit Y/N, are you alright?” He breathed as he hastily reached out his hand to help you up.

Big mistake.

Moony stopped howling and started nearly singing with joy when your skin met his. Prepared for the burning/cold/pain/joy/fear he experienced last time you made contact with him; he was surprised when he only felt peace wash through his person.

Time seemed to slow as you used his support to stand back up again and offer him a breezy smile.

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Remus. Are you alright?” You asked as if you had just bodied him into the ground.

“I – uh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” He asked as he shook his head in confusion.

“Oh, I’m alright. I’m no stranger to spending time on the ground – I’m really quite clumsy you know.” You explained solemnly. He breathed a small laugh at your self-degradation.

“Well, it likely doesn’t help to have a big oaf act as a brick wall when you’re only trying to shop.”

You smiled so sweetly that Remus, the damn sod, couldn’t help but return it. Lo-and-behold, your dimple made an appearance. Moony (and Remus, reluctantly) relished in the fact that he was the one to elicit that wide a smile from you.

“That’s alright Remus. If you hadn’t, I might not have had a chance to apologize to you.”

Remus’ heart went to exit through his feet.

“Apologize? To me?” he asked.

You nodded. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

It was weird that Remus could feel his heart crack painfully since it had already exited his body – but it stung anyway.

“You – you’re not... you haven’t done anything, Dove.” He said as he wiped a hand down his face, the pet-name slipping from his lips without his consent. “It’s me. I promise. I’m a freak.”

You offered him a simple smile, though your eyes seemed to ooze sympathy. “I’ve been told I’m quite odd myself.”

Remus chuckled. “Who told you that? Tell them I want to talk.”

You seemed slightly confused but laughed at his response nonetheless.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to figure out how to end this interaction while also mourning the coming loss of it. “Sorry for knocking you over, Y/N.” He offered quietly as he moved to walk away.

“Thank you for helping me up, Remus.” You responded with a smile as you entered Tomes & Scrolls.

Moony whined at his loss of your company.

Remus whined at Moony’s input.

True to the clerk’s word, a package arrived for Remus that week over breakfast in the Great Hall.

“What? Don’t you have enough books already, Moons?” Sirius asked with a smirk as he shovelled another spoon of cereal into his mouth. Remus responded with a (loving) two-fingered salute.

Remus had somewhat relaxed since your last encounter – there was no sense in punishing himself or you for Moony’s erratic behaviour, and he was sure he’d been driving his friends barmy with his mood swings. There was nothing for him to do except wait for more answers. And said answers were just delivered to him via owl.

“What are you reading now?” Peter asked as he tried to peer at Remus’ new book.

“It’s not a novel, Wormy. This is research.” He corrected.

“Gonna find out why you’re such a wanker?” Sirius snarked as he dodged a piece of bacon Remus threw at him.

“Okay, well, don’t waste food.” Peter chided quietly, looking disturbingly close to picking up said bacon from the ground.

“Hanging out with the lot of you seems to have finally done me in, Pads.” Remus snarked back as he vanished the piece of bacon vexing Peter.

James nodded solemnly. “Fair enough, honestly.”

Remus quickly tucked his new book into his bag before moving to stand.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked as he looked at Remus with ill-hidden concern.

“To the library. Gonna do some research.” He answered plainly as he patted his book bag.

“Rem,” James called out to him, causing him to pause his retreat and turn to him. “you don’t have to do this alone, right?” he continued more quietly.

Remus offered him a grateful smile. “I know Prongs, I’ll get back to you with my findings.”

Remus did noy know how he was going to report his findings back to his friends. This can’t have been it, can it? This isn’t what’s plaguing Remus? This can’t be real... There must be more...missing pages...

“...another version of lunar magic I’ve discovered in my travels - though extremely uncommon - is what some have called a ‘mating spark’. Along with the powerful lunar magic that drives the full-moon transformations and the surge of power it provides magical beings (wizards, witches, wix), there appears to be ‘soulmate’ magic involved with lycanthropy. Long been reduced to myth and lore within wizarding society, it appears the magic of soulmates may in fact be leftover knowledge from werewolf folktales. “The initial ‘spark’ is reported to be painful and distressing. After the initial connection is made, the wolf will become fixated on their mate. The lycanthrope may experience longing, feelings of discomfort when apart and heightened senses surrounding their mate. It has been told to me that feelings of devotion towards the wolf’s mate does not go away, regardless of whether the lycanthrope accepts the bond or not.”

“Fuck.” Remus breathed as he dropped the book onto the table with a thud.

Mine. Moony huffed in response, as if wagging his tail singing ‘I told you so’.

This just won’t do.

Continue to chapter three here.

Taglist: @hanniejji @y0urm0m12 @c0nsc10usworld @aphrcdites @starsval @thepunisherfrankcastle @anuncalledbridge @the-maniac-fly @unstablereader @rai-strangebr @sherry-needs-therapy, @klazina-couch-potato @cancelledkaley @fandom-crashlanding @ttulipwritezz @boo8008

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legally-lupin · 1 year

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Why are you looking at me like that ? Mattheo riddle x Fem!Reader

Slytherin reader

Made this Based off on an edit I made for tik tok ;) (__nxtx__)

You walked to potions. Once again late. Luckily professor snape likes you as you never get detention.

As you entered you noticed Snape wasn’t there and quickly sat down next to Mattheo who smiled softly at you. You quickly got your books out and smiled back at him

“Hey your late again?” He whispered as he took down notes

“Nothing new” you smiled

“Miss l/n you didn’t think I wouldn’t have noticed you come in?” His deep voiced made your eyes widened he the professor cocked a brow

“Sorry professor I was up late doing assignments” you sheepishly smiled as you handed him the assignment

“I’ll accept it” you hear a bunch of Gryffindors mumble

“Silence 10 points from Gryffindor for your childishness” you saw potter glare at you

“What the hell is potters problem?” You spat his last name like it was poison Mattheo clearly amused bumped shoulders with you chuckling.

“He’s just jealous because he got detention for 3 days and you got off with nothing but a smile” Draco said smirking

“Today we are brewing draught of living death. You will be put into pairs. First pair to succeed gets rewarded 50 points. Each” snape read out the pairs

“Y/n your with Mr.Riddle today” you nodded smiling at the boy

“Mattheo I expect you learn from y/n and do not blow up another cauldron and waste my inventory” Y/n snickered as her friend nodded frantically.

You followed the book and used a few tips professor snape taught you a while ago with the potion. Mattheo tried chopping a

beans but one went flying hitting Ron on the head.

“Ow! Who the bloody hell did that” the ginger looked around the room rubbing his head. You grabbed Mattheos arm to steady yourself from laughing too hard. He leaned into you. You took a deep breath to compose yourself from all that laughing.

“You supposed to squish it not chop” you took the knife demonstrating it

“But the book says cho-“

“The book is wrong in some parts. This is a easier technique a wise man taught me this trick” professor snape heard your words when coming over to asses your potion

“You two are doing great 20 points to Slytherin. Keep it up” a small smile came from the professor as he strutted over to tell off the Gryffindors

As you stirred the potion you felt Mattheo staring. You looked up at smiled cheesily

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You laughed as all you got as a response was a big smile

“Can’t I look at a pretty lady?” He cocked his head to the side taking one of your muggle pens and putting it in his mouth smirking

“Don’t chew them. They will explode” you inputted as you continued you stir the potion until you thought it was done a blush slowly settled on your cheeks. he quickly took it out with wide eyes

“Explode? How are you allowed these in here?” You laughed at his response

“Noo not like that the ink will come out that’s all” a wave of relief hit him as he put it back in his mouth

“Y/n?” You hummed in response attention still on the bubbling Potion

“I know this is an odd place to ask this. But you would like to go on a date with me this weekend. To Hogsmeade?” You we’re about to respond when all of a sudden Mattheo was covered in red ink from biting down on the pen nervously.

“Oh Mattheo!” You quickly grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned his face.

“What did I tell you about biting it” the boy just sighed slightly embarrassed and still nervous

“As for your question… yes I will go with you” you cleaned his mouth slowly. Your eyes meeting his he grinned. Teeth all red

“It’s a date” you smiled brightly

“Mr.Riddle what have you done now?!” Professor snape sighed looking at the mess

“Well you two were the first to complete the potion 150 points to Slytherin” the class groaned as you hugged Mattheo getting red ink on your blouse.

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #slytherinboysxreader #slytherin reader #hp imagines #hp x reader #mattheo riddle fanfic

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vixstarria · 6 months

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there was a great piece of art posted here awhile ago (i SCOURED but couldn’t find it again so if you or anyone knows what i’m talking about pls let me know the artist) where astarion and tav were sleeping, astarion was having a nightmare and grabbing his arm super tight, but when tav tried to wake him up he attacked them on accident and was then overcome by remorse. if you’re still taking requests (if not pls disgard) i think it would be really interesting to hear your take on something like that in a fic, especially with your other pieces about their relationship along with his healing journey

Funny you should mention this, I happened to have a small piece along those lines that I had written for something else but scrapped. I've now expanded it, here it is:

Astarion was thrashing in another nightmare. Usually his night terrors paralysed him, but this one was different. You thought nothing of it when you reached out to try to wake him, when suddenly you found yourself pinned to the bed by your neck. He was leaning over you with an animalistic snarl, fangs exposed, and not a trace of humanity behind his eyes. Some rage or pain fuelled demon was wearing his body. Astarion wasn’t there.

The hand on your neck squeezed, fingernails piercing your flesh. You couldn’t breathe. Your trachea was about the be crushed.

Every moment seemed to stretch out into a lifetime as your mind frantically searched for anything you could do, suddenly grasping for survival.

Knee him between his legs? You couldn’t, not the way you were lying. Smash something blunt against his head? There was nothing within reach. Cast a spell? There was nothing you could do fast enough, and your fickle patron seemed to have diverted their attention elsewhere while you slept.

As the inevitability of your demise started to sink in, you saw a trickle of blood running down Astarion’s neck, from the same spots as where his nails were digging into your skin.

The rings.

You shut your eyes and bit down on the inside of your cheek, hard. As your mouth filled with your own blood, you heard a gasp. The grip on your neck loosened, and you instinctively rolled out of bed, coughing and spitting. Your mind was still racing, immediately switching to thinking of ways to prevent this from ever happening again.

Sleeping draughts? Can he drink that? Or something that can keep nightmares away? Is there some kind of amulet of dreamless nights? Or do I just keep an empty bottle on the nightstand, something that will just shatter loudly if need be? Or-

“What have I done..?” Astarion said in a horrified whisper. “I hurt you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry...”

Oh stop fixing and just be there, you jackass! you thought to yourself, as you rose from the floor and flung your arms around him.

“No, no, I’m okay, it’s not your fault.” You took his face into your hands. “Look at me, love. It’s not your fault, you know it isn’t.”

“How tragically typical of me would it be, to kill the one person I care for? The one I want to protect.” Astarion’s voice was small, flat, quiet. “I shouldn't sleep next to you anymore. I can't be without you, I guess I can’t be with you either.”

“Don’t say that, please. It will be fine.”

“And what did you... how did... where is all this blood from?” he said finally.

“The enchanted rings,” you said, getting up to grab a healing potion. “I bit myself to wake you.” You took a sip, swishing it around your mouth, and handed the vial to Astarion. He took it, too stunned to say anything.

“At least if you tore my throat out, yours would have ripped itself out as well. Imagine how stupid we’d look when someone finally found us,” you continued.

“Really? You’re joking about this?! This isn't funny,” he said, looking at your incredulously.

Good, outrage was better than anguish, you thought.

“No, it’s not funny, it’s romantic,” you persisted. “But we’re never taking these rings off, you hear?” you added softly, sinking back on the bed and sliding onto Astarion’s lap. It was only once your body started shaking in uncontrollable sobs that you realised you had forgotten to feel anything for your own sake.

“Never,” he whispered, drawing you closer and pressing his lips against your forehead.

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #asks

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 1 year

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jealousy, jealousy || Han x Reader

Summary: You and Han have been dancing around your feelings for each other for… a while, if you're being honest. It doesn't help that your self-doubt makes it hard to make any move, that you're mean enough to scare most people away and oh, yeah, that his ex hates your guts. So when the three of you are at a party together and there are drinking games involved, what could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.2k

Genres: college AU, friends to lovers

Warnings & Tags: implied past bullying/ostracizing of the reader, jealousy (duh), kissing (rating T on the verge of rating M, so it remains fairly tame), mentioned alcohol, drinking games, self-deprecating narrator, language.

series masterlist

A/N: this took forever because I was almost done with it when I realized what I'd written didn't work with the theme, so I had to start all over again. This is also my first time writing Han, so I hope you'll enjoy it!

As usual, you hear Jisung before you see him. It's not all that surprising, the boy’s pretty loud, and, if you didn’t have a misanthropic reputation to uphold, you might even admit that you like hearing his laugh when you walk across campus, or when you catch him mid rant as you walk into the cafeteria.

Thing is, it also means that he’s around people, and you don’t… do… people. So, even though seeing him is invariably a highlight in your day, when you hear his voice, you find yourself debating whether you should head in another direction. If you don’t, you’ll have to talk to him, and as a result, them, whoever they are, because it would be weird not to, right, and you’re just not sure you have the energy for that right now.

Or ever.

Today, as isn’t uncommon, you freeze for a second, take a step back, then decide to push on. If anyone noticed that, you probably just looked extremely weird, but it’s likely that no one was paying attention, and so you keep going with a minimal amount of mortification, for now anyway. You might ruminate over it later today, like you will if there’s any hitch in the conversation that's coming, but that’s a problem for 2 a.m. you.

You’re somewhat relieved to find that Jisung’s chatting with Chan and Changbin. You’re not close with them, but you kinda get along with Changbin, and though you find Chan intimidating, your interactions with him so far have been fine, which is high enough of a bar to clear as far as you’re concerned.

Jisung notices you almost immediately, which fills you with pleasant warmth, and he waves at you with a bright smile. You choose to take that as an invitation to come closer and an indication that you wouldn’t be interrupting anything — if it’s not, that’s on him because it was unclear — and make your way over to them.

“On your way to an exam?” Jisung asks you once you’ve reached them.

“Do you think I would make myself late to talk to you?” you reply with a frown.

It makes him laugh. Sometimes it worries you, how funny Jisung seems to find you when you’re being mean. If it was when you’re being a dick to someone else, why not, but to him too? Is he okay?

“I can’t tell if this is you being a good influence on him or not,” Chan says, tilting his head. There’s an amused glint in his eyes too. Okay, that means you’re not doing too bad.

“Are you guys done with classes?” you ask. “Were you heading to the studio?”

“No,” Jisung is quick — maybe a little too quick — to answer. “We were just talking about a track we’re working on.”

Four eyes narrow on him, and Changbin grins.

“Yeah, ‘cause Jisung here’s been feeling all romantic lately, right?”

Jisung throws him a horrified look.

“You’ve been turning in very sappy lyrics lately, hm?” Chan keeps going.

“I’m the draught, you’re rain, I’m paper, you’re a poem, wasn’t it?” Changbin quotes from memory, a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Do you want to die?” Jisung asks, eyes so wide they look like marbles.

The two guys exchange a knowing look, both grinning. It’s not that often they get the drop on Jisung and can tease him, for a change. They obviously find that to be a nice change of pace, but you’re not sure where that leaves you.

Because, okay, you’re not completely clueless. The lyrics could be about you. Jisung’s expressed interest in you before. He’s kissed you. Remains the question of whether that interest was romantic or just sexual.

But the thought that the lyrics are not about you? That he feels that way about another person? It fills your stomach with stones and makes it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Just thinking about it make tears spring to your eyes and you glance to the side to will them to go away.

This is bad. You’re way too far gone. What a fucking dumbass you can be, for someone who’s as academically gifted as you are.

“At least it’s not about cheating, hm?” Jisung says, staring at Chan who seems to find the ground very interesting all of a sudden.

“That’s an uncharitable interpretation of the lyrics,” he mumbles, but he appears quite eager to drop the subject after that. You find that a bit suspicious and you’d kinda like to find out what the golden boy on campus might be trying to hide, but Jisung seems relieved to be able to drop the subject as well.

“Hey,” Jisung says the second the topic’s been let go of, attention snapping to another idea so fast it sometimes makes your head spin, “I’ve been meaning to ask—”

“Oh right,” Changbin says, glancing at his phone, “there’s Sana’s party tonight. You guys coming?”

Jisung pulls a face, but you’re not sure why. It’s not like he doesn’t get regularly interrupted — and it’s not malicious either, it’s just that he, uh, talks a lot. Sometimes people end up cutting him off. In Changbin’s case, you suspect he didn’t even notice.

“I already told her we would,” Chan says, and Jisung’s face gets longer. You suspect he’d completely forgotten about it.

“Are you coming too?” he asks you, a hint of pleading in his voice.

See, even this is a dilemma. Going to a party means you’ll be forced to be in the presence of people who dislike you and who you find fundamentally uninteresting, especially since Seungmin’s been a no-show to most of these now that he’s dating. Even if you go only to see Jisung, you know people will be trying to get his attention all night, and you’ll be lucky if you get to spend ten minutes alone with him before midnight — maybe you’ll get him to yourself for a whole half-hour at around four am though. On top of that, there’s a significant risk that people will talk to him while he’s standing next to you and completely ignore you, and you’ll spend the whole time praying for a hole to open under your feet.

On the other hand, you can’t refuse him anything, and it would be far more devastating to pass on the chance to spend some more time with him.

So you just say “Sure”.

After spending more time on your outfit than you feel comfortable admitting — this isn’t a date, dammit — you show up at the sorority Sana’s a part of. Though your dress feels too short, you’re relieved to feel self-assured on your high heels. Yes, it took practicing walking in them, but it’s paying off in confidence, and it’s a price you’re willing to pay.

People are already there when you arrive, gathered on the porch, filling the house, spilling out on the balconies. You get a few looks, but it’s not like you’re not used to them. At least you’re not pretending that you don’t give a fuck. Many of them don’t like you, and you don’t like them either.

Walking in, you find yourself hesitating. Would it be weird if you just tried to find Jisung right away? Should you try to socialize, spend a few minutes talking to the rare people you know and get along here?

You may not particularly care about what people think, most of the time, but you do care about what he thinks. And the thing is, you know people talk, especially about him, especially since 3racha’s popularity blew up last year. The last thing you want is for him to think that you’re some desperate, embarrassing idiot who’s been misreading—

Enough with the line of thinking. If he’s not interested, he shouldn’t have kissed you. And, okay, the first time was a week after the break-up with his girlfriend, and he was crying, and you don’t think it meant anything to him, but the second time, this summer? It had to have meant something. He wasn’t cruel like that— You didn’t think.

You’re still grateful to make eye contact with Changbin, because it makes things a little easier. You go up to him, exchange a few words, he introduces you to some of the people who’ve flocked to him, they pretend to be interested, and once you decide that you’ve made enough of an impression, you leave them with a polite, though forced, smile.

Finding Jisung isn’t all that hard, you just have to follow the laughter.

You know that he likes his peace and quiet, too, but on a night like that, he’ll be prepared to entertain. Someone else might think that it comes naturally to him, the jokes, the antics, the comedy, but you know better. You know that there’s a surprising amount of work that goes into how good he is at this, how easy he makes it look. You know that, when he’s around you, he’s actually fairly quiet, that he sometimes hangs out on your couch, on his phone, while you’re reading, but pouts if you leave the room.

When you find him, it seems him and the group he’s with are in the middle of some drinking games. You hesitate, again. You recognize some of the girls there as part of the girls’ swimming team, the one whose captain is Jisung’s ex. Who’d hated your guts since first year, independently from Jisung, and then, uh, dependently from Jisung, you’re pretty sure. She was single-handedly responsible for half of campus thinking you were a bitch, a feat that even you find somewhat impressive.

You’d almost respect it, if, you know. It hadn’t made your life hell until you managed to stop giving a fuck.

But Jisung spots you. He always does. You don’t know how he does it, half suspect that he’s on some Spiderman shit, but he finds you in the crowd, and his eyes widen, and his smile brightens, and God, it’s not fair, how he makes you feel when he’s not even yours.

Having Jisung’s undivided attention is— one of the best feelings in the world. Genuinely. He just has a way of making you feel like you matter. It’s a bunch of things he does, one of them being the way he makes people laugh. He always— caters his jokes to the person around him. That means he pays attention, means he remembers, means he cares. That’s already a lot.

“You made it,” he says, a soft edge to his tone, when you reach him. His hand reaches for your arm, pulling you into the circle, then hovers at your elbow, sometimes brushing against your skin. This is another one of the changes that have happened since the summer. He’s more— tactile, and it does all sorts of things to you.

You don’t mind. You don’t mind at all.

“You look good,” he adds, voice low enough that you’re the only one to hear it. You do your best to repress the shiver it sends down your spine.

“Thanks,” you reply, your usually sharp tongue unable to find something to reply.

“Jisung!” some voice calls, and you manage at the last second not to roll your eyes — thank God, ‘cause there’d be hell to pay if you had.

Because it’s Jihyun. Because of course it is. If there’s one thing you can’t take away from her, it’s that she always has impeccable timing. Not for you, naturally, for herself.

If it was just you, you’d be out the door in seconds, leaving the scene before risking any kind of confrontation. Being with Jisung right now means that she won’t directly be a bitch to you, she’s never done it upfront in front of him. She instead goes the passive-agressive route which, bless his precious heart, he basically never picks up on.

You also never spoke about it with him. At first because she was his fucking girlfriend and he clearly adored her, even if there was so much that set them apart, and since then because, well, you’re still afraid you’ll come off as some jealous bitch or he won’t believe you or, worse, take her side. Tell you that you were every bit the bitch she says you are, and that she was right for the shit she put you through.

You only have seconds to brace for impact. But as you compose yourself, not bothering to smile, Jisung’s hand settles on the small of your back.

Which, hmmm, you’d be happy about in pretty much any other circumstances, but right now? Right now it might not be the best thing for you.

“It’s been a while,” she tells Jisung with a stunning smile. “How have you been doing?”

Jisung smiles too, though somewhat tighter. They’re on good terms, from what you’ve heard, but that’s not really something you’ve discussed with him. You force yourself to tune them out quickly, letting your eyes wander in the room. Just being around her makes your chest tighten. You feel on edge, feel the need to watch all of your gestures and anything that leaves your mouth in fear that it will be used against you.

Fuck, you were supposed to be over that.

Whatever Jisung answers, it makes her laugh. She leans forward, puts her hand on his arm. She makes it looks so easy, so natural. Same with how she pushes her hair behind her ear, keeps her voice at the right pitch, even laughs the right way, light and airy. If you tried to flirt the way she does, you’d only embarrass yourself. You'd look delusional. There’d be nothing sexy or attractive about it.

You’re just bad at making people like you.

It’s impossible not to be reminded of the fact that this is who Jisung went for. You don't know if you can go as far as to say she’s his type, but he did choose to date her, and you know how much he cared for her.

With her around right now, it’s really fucking hard to think that he would go for someone like you and that you haven’t been letting yourself get carried away.

On a related note, are you going to have an emotional break down in the middle of the room?

“…and things are looking pretty good for the team, we think we’ll get to the nationals this year,” Jihyun concludes cheerfully.

Wow, that’s impressive! Shouldn’t she be training for that then?

Maybe she has a point. You are a bitch.

“That’s cool,” Jisung says. “Well, it was nice running into you again.”

Her smile falters, just barely, but you don't miss it. She’s good at hiding things, but you’re better at noticing them. Know your enemy and all that.

You’d almost feel bad for her. If you’d had Jisung’s undivided time and attention, and you lost it? Yeah. You don’t know how you’d cope.

But then her eyes light up again, and again, she’s really fucking good at that shit.

“What are you guys playing?” she asks. “I’d love to join.”

You’re not unaware of the way Jisung’s hand closes slightly on your back. As he turns around, he ends up pulling you a little closer to him and your stomach tightens. Less because of his proximity, though obviously that affects you too, and more because you have the sinking feeling that this is about her. Is he— using you to make her jealous?

No. There’s no way. He would never do that.

Right?

“Just some never have I ever for now,” Sana chirps in answer. She gives the three of you a warm smile, and you think she means it. You’ve never gotten shit from her, and that says a lot. Normally you’d argue that people shouldn’t be neutral or anything, but in your case, neutral seems to be too much to ask for, in most cases.

“Alright!” Jihyun grins, lifting her cup as if to signal that she’s ready to enter the game. “Never have I ever… had sex with someone at a party.”

She drinks almost immediately, a cute giggle slipping past her lips, and so do a bunch of other people.

“None of you get close to my room,” Sana warns sternly, and several people laugh.

It’s not until you feel Jisung moving to drink from his cup and catch a glance of his burning red ears that you realize what Jihyun’s point was. With someone else, it might be self-centered to assume you were the intended target. With her, you don’t doubt it a second. Just a little reminder that he used to be hers.

There are a few whistles at Jisung’s attention, but he keeps his eyes down. It doesn’t surprise you that it would make him uncomfortable. It kinda surprises you that she wouldn’t care, though. She’s evil incarnate, but she seemed to care about him, in her own way.

“Aw,” she says, staring straight at you with her sweetest smile, “don’t worry, we’ll find you someone.”

There was a time where that might have upset you, but right now you won’t give her the satisfaction. You let your gaze flicker over her, face-shoes-face, and then glance away with a scoff. It makes you look like a haughty bitch, but, well, you’re already known for being a haughty bitch, so who cares.

Jisung chuckles discreetly next to you. That makes it worth it.

The game goes on without catching much of your interest after that. Jihyun’s sentences remain pointed — either towards Jisung or you, you’re pretty sure, though you doubt anyone notices. At least Jisung doesn’t move away from you for most of it, chin sometimes coming to rest on your shoulder, fingers running gently over your arms, the occasional whispered comment in your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach the whole time, and you’re unable to focus on anything but him. His firm body’s pressed against your back, his proximity overwhelming. You feel that you should drag him away and finally talk about what’s going on between the two of you, but you’re afraid you’ll break the spell if you do.

Eventually, he’s the one who does, peeling himself away from you when Chan shouts from downstairs to get his attention.

It feels cold when he’s gone.

It feels colder when Jihyun’s eyes zero in on you.

Hm. Maybe flight would be the better option right now.

You’re not sure how it happens, but the game shifts not long after Jisung’s left. A bottle appears on the floor, and you tilt your head. Aren’t you all too old for that?

Apparently not, or at least not when so many people are that drunk and giggling at the idea. Soon, some are making out. Others excuse themselves and find a more private spot — Sana reminds everyone that her room should not be that spot, but you’re not sure how efficient that is.

You’re thinking about retreating when you hear someone call your name and again, of course, it’s Jihyun. She gives you a warm smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s your turn!”

There’s tension in the air as you just stare. You don’t want to—

“C’mon, it will be fun!”

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care about what she makes you out to be. But in that moment, you’re back to your first-year self who was still trying to fit and figure out how to make people like you.

So you lean forward and spin the bottle.

It takes you less than a second to realize that that was some dumb fucking decision making. You don’t want to kiss anyone here. The idea vaguely nauseates you, actually, but less than the uncomfortable realization that no one here wants to kiss you. You might be seconds away from facing a harsh, unpleasant rejection. That was probably her point, actually. You fold your arms over your chest, but you still feel your shoulders sink. You know you’re unwanted. You don’t need—

The bottle’s grinding to a stop when a hand shoots out to grab it.

You frown, glance up.

And it’s Jisung. He flashes you a bright smile, then winks.

“Wanna make out?”

Jihyun laughs lightly, tells you to ‘go get it’. But even you can see her heart breaking in her eyes.

None of it matters when Jisung strides over to you and takes your hand in his to pull you away. More people than you’d have expected cheer.

He pulls you into some random room, closes it behind him, and then hesitation appears in his eyes when he looks at you.

“We don’t have to— I mean, I wasn’t trying to make you— If you want to go kiss someone else—”

It sounds like he is down to kiss you, and even if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him before that, you think that little knight in a rock band t-shirt moment would have gotten you going anyway. So you shut your brain up, grab him by his t-shirt, and in the stunned silence that follows, an extremely rare occurence with Jisung, you pull him down towards you.

His lips crash against yours, warm and soft, and after the first few seconds of surprise, during which you see him blinking at you with impossibly wide eyes, he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. One of his hands comes up to cup your face while the other’s at your waist, squeezing and bringing you closer, not quite daring to make the move to your ass. Yet, anyway.

There’s urgency in the way he tilts his head to get better access to your mouth. Your hands trail from his shirt to his arm, feeling his toned biceps underneath you fingers, and you feel him grin against you.

“Find something you like?” he teases, before kissing you again.

This time his tongue brushes against yours, and a moan escapes you. You could feel self-conscious about it, but you don’t, not with him. If anything, it only seems to spur him on further, and he gets closer, his toned thigh pushing between yours. You feel hot all over, anywhere he touches you set ablaze, and oh, do you want this. One of his hands slides up your leg, hitching your dress higher.

“Have I told you I really like this dress?” he asks, because apparently he can’t shut up even in moments like that.

He doesn’t let you answer though, and again he’s kissing you, making your head spin. You can’t figure out what to focus on. The softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, how his hand is slowly making its way higher up your thigh, setting your skin ablaze, probably intentionally teasing you. Whatever it is, you’re melting under his hands. You want more, undeniably so.

He pulls away for just a second, catching his breath. His chest is heaving quickly, his lips swollen, and you can’t help but think that this is your doing, a thought that somehow turns you on even further. Dark, dilated pupils meet yours, and you think you see a desire that mirrors your own. He licks his lips briefly, glances at the bed in the room. Then his eyes meet yours again. He swallows.

“Do you—”

You jump away when someone tries to open the door.

“Is someone in there?”

Shit. Shit.

It’s Sana.

“No one better be in there,” she says threateningly.

You exchange a panicked look. She’s the sweetest person in the world, but you don’t want to cross her.

In a second, Jisung steps away from you and he’s at the window. He opens it, looks out, and then he throws one leg over the edge.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“Saving our lives,” he replies very seriously, stepping out fully on what you assume is the roof over the porch. “Come on,” he adds, “I’ll help you out.“

You roll your eyes, walk over to him and close the window, shooing him away with a gesture of the hand. Then you open the door, and though Saya eyes you suspiciously, you think she believes your story about being tired and wanting a rest and not having realized you’d locked the door.

Then you walk downstairs and let yourself fall on a couch, right next to Jisung, who seems to be all pouty that you refused to escape with him. His thigh brushes against yours, and your stomach does a somersault, but neither of you says anything about— well. About the thing you should be talking about. The moment’s passed, and self-doubt is assaulting you all over again.

Still, right now, you’re the person who gets to let your head fall on Jisung’s shoulder, and it’s your hand he intertwines his fingers with.

In that moment, you’re sure that the two of you will be alright eventually. It’s probably going to take a while, ‘cause you’re too much of a coward and Jisung’s— well, you’re not quite sure what his deal is, but there’s definitely something there.

But, eventually, you’ll be alright.

And there is no space in your brain, at that moment, to spare a single thought for Jihyun, because she’s lost him a long time ago.

Even if neither of you seem to be able to admit it, in all the ways that matter, he’s already yours.

okayyy, again, there's kinda Lore there. i don't know if i'll end up writing it, but in case you're wondering, OC was paired with Jihyun for a class during their first year. essentially, Jihyun was pretty busy due to being on the swimming team and other personal stuff. OC ended up constantly doing all the work for the both of them, and sometimes Jihyun would say she'd do stuff and not do it. eventually, after OC was forced to complete stuff in one night and abandoned for a group presentation, there was a nasty altercation with Jihyun and the teacher became aware of the situation, resulting in a bad outcome for Jihyun. lots of people felt that OC was unfair and should have been more understanding, and OC still doesn't know if that was the right thing, but felt used and upset during the situation. Jihyun also vilifies OC when talking about it, a lot, and OC ended up being kinda ostracized after that. so yeah.

if you read all this, uh, thank you, i hope you enjoyed this, it's my first time writing Han and I love him dearly and I hope this works. it would mean the world if you could reblog this, leave a comment or anything like that! as an author, this is really the only way we get to see that our work is appreciated and it's trully what keeps me writing so it's super important :) thank you for reading and i'll see you later for Hyunjin!

#stray kids #han #han jisung #han x reader #han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #stray kids imagine #han imagine #skz imagine #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #han fanfic #han jisung fanfic #candywrites

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thisbuildinghasfeelings · 2 months

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HI CAN WE BE FRIENDS? (Ok I already consider you a friend so.) How are you surviving this lone star draught? At least we’re getting crumbs now. But I really just wanted to say HI. 👋😊

Hi, Jamie!! 🥰

Yes, we are already friends!!💜

I am...surviving. Just barely!! When they started filming earlier this month, it felt so good to get the crumbs! But now that we have a few actual details coming it, I feel like it's getting harder again! Can I really wait another SIX MONTHS?? Well, I have no choice, so I guess I have to 😂

I hope things are going well with you!

#answered ask

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stonedregulus · 2 years

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Hello lovely!

"It would be better if you stayed away from me." but make it Ronarry

hello hoe 💗

You’re Somebody Else

Harry shakes—his whole body trying to fight against this, whatever this is.

“Can you stop trying to leave?” Ron says, his voice strained as he glares at Harry’s hand on the doorknob.

The last time Harry heard Ron so broken was back in that forest. In the tent. It somehow feels simultaneously like both a million years ago and just days ago.

In reality, it’s been one year. One year since them yelling at each other. One year since Ron pulled all of Harry’s fears out in front of them. One year since Ron left them. Left him.

Harry longs for him to leave now.

Not because he doesn’t want Ron here—he wishes Ron to never leave his side again, but he doesn’t want to hurt him. Whatever this is, this curse, this thing that feels like it’s eating Harry from the inside out, it could be contagious. Harry can’t let Ron catch it. He can’t let Ron get sick.

He can’t let it kill him, too.

Because Harry knows, whatever this is, it’s killing him.

"It would be better if you stayed away from me,” he whispers as Ron takes another step forward.

“In what universe? No, Harry, in what universe d’you think I’d be better off away from you?”

“Probably all of them. Imagine how much easier your life would’ve been if you’d never met me.” Harry laughs hoarsely, chuckles quickly turning into deep wheezing coughs. He doubles slightly, staring at the ground as he tries to catch his breath between the rattling convulsions of his lungs. The thing inside him threatens to claw its way through his ribcage, digging its thorny roots through the flesh of his throat.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Ron says, closing the space between them before grabbing onto Harry’s shoulder and squeezing tightly. Ron’s touch moves through him like fire—licking through the searing agony in his chest like a pain potion, coating his throat like a cough draught, quelling his shaking like a tonic. He looks at Ron sheepishly over the rims of his glasses without lifting his face.

“Just… Don’t want you to get sick,” Harry mumbles, before standing up. He can feel the relief slowly fading away as Ron releases him.

“Enough is enough, mate. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s. You need a bloody Healer.”

“I can take myself. I’m not a child. Besides, they won’t let you stay with me, you’re not family.”

“Bullshit. We’re brothers.”

Brothers.

It’s like the word sends a bolt of lightning through Harry’s rib cage and he gasps before coughing again. He nearly falls over from the force of his wheezing.

“I’ll get you some water,” Ron says, but Harry barely hears him over his hacking. Something hot and wet falls into his hand as he finally catches his breath again. When he pulls his hand away from his face he sees a vibrant orange petal covered in dark, crimson blood.

“Alright, mate?”

Harry wordlessly vanishes the petal before spinning on his heel and shooting Ron a small smile. He accepts the glass and chugs the water, letting his thumb slide around on the quickly formed condensation before pulling it away from his lips.

“Fine. Let’s go then?”

Ron eyes him nervously but nods before opening the door to Harry and Ginny’s flat, “Let’s go.”

#ronarry #rarry #harry potter #ronald weasley #ficlet angst prompts #hanahaki #angst #unrequited love

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deejadabbles · 2 years

Text

Spells of Defiance (Atem x Reader x Yugi) Chapter 9

NINE: MEMORIES

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// Five //// Six //// Seven //// Eight //// Nine //// [Ten coming soon]

Summary: The Circle of Magicians protects the world from rogue, murderous fey. The police who keep bloodsuckers and flesh-eaters in check. You’ve hunted vampires for years, earning a reputation as one of the best magicians in that field; but what happens when an encounter with a particular vampire makes your already fragile loyalties split? Supernatural/Demon Hunter AU. Vampire!Atem x Reader x Incubus!Yugi (yes, a polyamorous relationship). Warnings for cursing, vulgar language, violence, and some sexual themes.

A.N: I'M FINALLY DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER!!! So, one of the main reasons this took me so long was because there was this one scene that I hated every version I wrote of it. I kid you not when I say I deleted and rewrote it at least four times. I think I finally got it to a version I like, though, and I hoped it came out okay. I also hope you guys enjoy this long overdue update.

Soft hands were raking through your hair, soothing, full of comfort and affection. Everything hurt, pain came and went in aching waves through your body with every breath and beat of your heart.

At least you felt safe.

The warmth around you as the fingers combed your ruffled hair, the soothing voice that hummed assurances, the knowledge that someone cared. The pain waved on, but at least you had this, at least you had the warmth and safety. The healer’s wing at the Sanctuary had always been cold and sterile, hard beds meant for efficiency and nothing else and prodding hands that cared little if they hurt before they healed.

At least, it was that way when she wasn’t there, and you were grateful when she was. Although, now you had a vague thought of preferring the cold and harsh, if it meant you didn’t have to feel the wet tears and hear the shuddering sobs.

“I can’t believe they did this to you,” her voice cracked overhead, and another warm droplet fell on your cheek. “My sweet little one, how,” another sob, “How can I save you? How can I stop them from forcing this- this disgusting future on you?”

Your eyelids, still heavy from fatigue, started to lift and more pain came when the lights of the healer’s wing invaded them. Her face was above yours, and it was only then that you realized she had laid your head in her lap. Her eyes were red and puffy from the tears and you had the urge to shy away from her, as if that would stop them.

“You should be resting,” she said, and put on a fake, watery smile. “I’m sorry I woke you, I should get you a sleeping draught so you can-”

“No,” your tone sounded scared, though you had no idea why, “No I don’t- I don’t want to sleep! Don’t make me sleep- Not again-!”

She put her finger on your lips, shushing you, and her smile fell. “Sleep helps. Sleep heals. Please let me heal you.”

She sobbed again and more wet warmth dripped onto your face. Only this time, it was red.

Fear crept in to grip your heart as blood filled her mouth, “My child- my sweet little one. I can’t save you. I can’t help you.” Her tears mixed with the red and both spilled down her chin and neck. Then it was pouring from her eyes. “I’m- I’m so sorry! Please forgive me, forgive me.”

Her sobs broke through the empty room as the blood poured down on your face and you began thrashing and crying in turn.

“Forgive me forgive me forgive-”

A muffled shout left your raw throat, as if it were scraping against bark, and pain shot through your ribs as you scrambled to sit upright. Your breathing was labored, your skin soaked in a sickly-feeling sweat, and- and fucking hell did your body ache!

Someone whispered your name in the dark, and you flinched when a warm hand touched your cheek. The same voice made a reassuring, calming noise as you felt a body shift closer to you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” again he whispered your name, trying to draw you in, calm you down. “We’re here, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

Another hand had slipped into yours by the time your breathing was even again, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep any rising tears at bay.

Yugi must have expected tears because his thumb was soothing as it rubbed gentle circles over your cheeks and under your tired eyes. Atem’s hand gripped your own, firm and assuring, pulling you back to reality, to remind you they were there.

“So, I made it?” You finally managed and cringed at how rough your voice was. You remembered laying in a numb heap on the cracked pavement, raking in every last ounce of energy you could muster before attempting a final teleportation...and immediately passing out a moment after casting said spell.

“You did,” Yugi said in a tone so breathy with relief, you wondered if he had kept all that worry in his chest until the moment he heard you speak again.

The hand around yours tightened as Atem said, “We managed to get that poison out of your body, and tend the rest of your injuries as best we could. You’re going to be just fine.”

“But you still need to rest,” Yugi interjected, and you felt his hand slide from your cheek to guide your shoulders back down the cushions.

You obeyed and began sliding back under the warm blankets, and the urge to crawl in there for a decade or two was strong. Again you were made painfully aware that the poison wasn’t the only thing that almost killed you, especially after you felt the dried paste of poultices patched all over your body as you moved. The skin under the flaking patches was tight and itchy, but you knew they were important for your healing. They honestly could do a bit more for pain management, though.

Now that your eyes had adjusted to the dark, you realized you were in the bedroom the boys insisted you call yours, laying on the bed they had offered you, wrapped in the blankets they gifted you. It was comfortable, warm, soft. Not only the bed though, and you noticed that you were dressed in a pair of draw-string sweats, and an oversized flannel.

They smelled like Yugi, airy and clean, with a vaguely floral scent like lilies floating on spring water. Your face went hot as you wondered, very very briefly, if this was what it was like to be embraced by the incubus.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Atem’s fingers wove between yours as he asked, a seemingly absent-minded action. “You sounded like you were upset,” his voice was barely more than a whisper and your face stayed warm as he shifted to sit on the edge of your bed.

Had they been by your bedside this whole time?

“I’m okay,” you answered, though your tone sounded much less flat than you had expected it to. “It’s not the first time I’ve had the dream. I’m actually kinda used to it.”

“...It’s about your mom?” Yugi pushed on, after a moment, and his tone was cautious, treading lightly and ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

You shifted, scooting under the covers just a bit more, “Yeah.” Even though you had had every intention of leaving it there, more words started coming, “She was a healer at the Sanctuary. I used to get injured a lot and one time when I was roughed up pretty bad as a kid, she managed to convince the others to let her be my healer. Now, when I get serious injuries...I don’t know, I guess it just reminds me of her.”

In the dark, you still noticed the way Atem’s eyes shifted toward Yugi’s, his face looking...distressed. “She had to convince them to let her heal you?”

You nodded your head, knowing they’d see since their eyes were made for the dark. “Families...they aren’t the same where I grew up. Do you remember when I told you that children are taken from their magician parents pretty young? Magicians still think it’s their duty to procreate, but the parents, especially the mothers are...discouraged from having much to do with their children while they’re growing up. It’s considered weakness to show attachment, even to your own kids.” You tucked further under the blanket, as if hiding your mouth and face would hide the shame of that philosophy. “But she was always...I think it was hard for her to stay away from me. She used to get in trouble with the council when she’d bend the rules to see me or spend time with me. That time I got hurt and she healed me, I remember her crying so much, she was so upset over seeing me hurt...it was the first time I remember feeling how much a person could care for someone else…”

You heard a sniffle in the dark and wondered if Yugi was getting emotional from the words. You hoped not, it wasn’t your intention to make him cry. When his hand reached out and touched your hair you wanted to melt into the affection.

“I bet you have some good memories of her too, since she tried to see you all the time.”

The urge to crawl under the covers and never come back got stronger. “She died. She got sick and died when I was really young. Besides that memory in the healer's wing, the only other clear one I have of her was her sneaking me into the herb garden and showing me the flowers. I remember her giving me a sprig of lavender and telling me to keep it under my pillow to keep nightmares away,” a small sniffle that you tried to hide, “She even petrified it with magic so it would keep its full bloom forever.”

Despite the tears trying to work their way up your throat, this felt nice. It felt good to talk about her, to mention her, and remember her without fear of a mentor berating you for getting ‘too attached’.

“Do you still have it? The lavender,” Atem asked, his voice so gentle you almost didn’t hear him.

Your mind had been mulling over the memories of all the times you had held the flower in your hands, curled up in bed and trying to remember her and her warmth which had been so alien, but so comforting. You frowned though, when you realized you didn’t actually remember losing it, or having to discard it. The circle often had everyone's quarters “cleaned”, routinely scrubbing everyone's possessions down to the bare essentials. They claimed it was to ensure that magicians didn’t hoard expired potions, collect harmful objects, and a host of other half-baked excuses. You had watched them throw out so many of your things over the years, the small things you had collected for yourself from the outside world, not being able to do anything about it. You were about fifteen the last time you remembered holding that sprig of lavender, which added up, they must have thrown it out once you started collecting nicknacks from your field missions.

“No, they sweep everyone’s quarters every now and then and throw out anything they don’t deem useful. They threw it out as an expired herb a long time ago.”

“Bastards.” The flat curse coming from Yugi’s usually soft voice actually made you give a little wet laugh.

“Yeah, they’re bastards alright,” your little nod accompanied the words, and you thought you saw Yugi almost join the laughter if he wasn’t too preoccupied with being so annoyed with the cult who raised you. “But it’s okay, I have a better home now, a real home.”

You hadn’t even realized the words were on your lips until you were saying them, but they were true, sincere, and you didn’t have to see the boys to know their expressions had softened. Some silence passed for a while, and when it was clear there was no more reminiscing on your mind for now, Yugi’s fingers were back to stroking your hair.

“You should get some more sleep, I’ll use some of my own magic to keep the nightmares away this time.”

You wanted to say something, more than a word of thanks, but your mind came up empty, at a loss for how to express how much this- all of this, meant to you. How much they meant to you. Instead, you settled for a simple, “Thank you both, for everything.”

And drifting off to sleep had never been easier.

It was late. Late enough that Yugi had finally nodded off, long after soothing you to sleep with his magic and combing fingers. Neither of them dared leave your bedside, Yugi having dragged in a couple of old chairs from the storage room across the hall so they weren’t sleeping on the floor.

Not that Atem was sleeping at all, of course. He tried to let yours and Yugi’s steady breathing lull him to rest, but his mind wouldn’t stop tormenting him. The memory of your blood wouldn’t stop flashing behind all his senses. The way it smelled, the sickening way it tasted sweet to him, the way it looked coating his hands and face. He knew sealing the wound with the curative on his fangs was the right call, you were on the verge of bleeding out, after all, but it didn’t stop him from feeling sick with himself.

It didn’t stop the assault of memories; of other blood staining his hands and filling his mouth.

All the years, all his victims. He remembered each and every one. Heard them in his dreams. Mourned the days of their deaths every year. And, in moments like this, moments where he was reminded so wholly and devastatingly of what he was, he saw them every time he closed his eyes.

A sickly, helpless beggar forced to sleep in the exposure of the streets. The traveling merchant who had picked the wrong time and place to make camp in the woods. A pair of locals displeased with his drifter's ways. The old widower who had taken him in from a snowstorm.

The pain of those kills had not subsided in time, but, Atem always seemed to be the most raw to whatever memory was freshest. His most recent memory of hurt and blood and pain.

New York had not been a kind place in the 1870’s, but, Atem had been a true pox on the populace, and gods did he wish he had left as soon as he arrived.

Obsessions did not care for logic, though, and he still remembered the dirty streets and smell of rot as he poured over the mission that still plagued his eternal life. If he were more callous, he would have pinned her death- all the deaths, on Marik’s head, but the guilt of Atem’s failures were his cross to bear and his alone.

She was one of the few he never had a name for, and that just made an extra layer of disgust coil inside him. Everything else about the event was so damn clear, everything but the name of the woman he had broken.

The rough brick scrapped his palms as he gripped it for support, his breathing labored, face coated in sweat. He had waited too long, too long to tend to the hunger puling and twisting his stomach in two. He knew that obsession care nothing for his contintion, but he still cursed himself for such carelessness.

With a thud, his back hit the building as he reached down and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He needed to alleviate the tightness closing in on him from all sides, and his breathing only slowed at all when he practically ripped the jacket from his shoulders.

What had be been thinking? Weeks spent cooped up in his ratty, mildewed apartment, and he hadn’t even though to stave off the worse of his hungar with the rats infesting the whole of the city. But he was so close, so close to finding him.

Marik had chosen his hunting ground for New York well. Despite his body count reaching double digits last night, no one but Atem seemed to be investigating. Atem had seen it in other cities, in other countries and kingdoms. What law enforcer cared when a immegrant factory worker or lady of the night went missing? Marik always chose his hunting ground, and his victims, well.

Dirt ground under his fingernails as Atem gripped the brick behind him again. Marik had to be stopped, even if it meant he had to run himself to near starvation, even if stumbling-

Atem smelled her before he saw her.

Memories of warm flesh against his mouth snapped him out of his hunger hazed stupor, just as a girlish, melodic voice called out to him. “My my, what have we here?”

He could feel his fangs growing, pricking his tongue as he met her eyes. She was standing in the mouth of the alley way, hair done up in a messy heap, and the tops of her breasts exposed from her gaping neckline. Atem could practically feel the veins pulsating under the perfumed skin.

“Oh my!” she giggled, taking a step closer to him, “That’s quite a look you’re givin’ me, mister, but I’ve seen that look plenty before.”

Her heels were sticking in the dirt of the alley, but she was still only an arms length from him when she tilted her head to the side. And he had to hold back a desperate whine at the site of her exposed neck.

“Why don’t you come with me, handsome? I’ll make sure to show you the fun you’re lookin’ for.”

When she tried to tease him by fanning the open flaps of her bodice, he wanted to be sick. The smell of her was pressing in against that overwhelming tightness, but he managed to slip further down the alley, away from her, as he found his voice.

“N-no!” it was weak, garbled by the fangs filling his mouth, but he kept going as he said, “I’m quite alright, have a nice night, ma’am.”

He thanks the gods that she didn’t try to follow him, content to call after, saying to come find her if he ever got ‘too lonely’ as he retreated down the alley.

But Atem’s trials of the night did not end there.

Butchers were always he preferred means of getting food. Though he received strange looks, they seemed content to be paid for something they usually threw out, and Atem always made sure to locate a willing vendor whenever he relocated.

So, one can imagine the scream of turmoil that wanted to rip free from his throat when he realized his supplier in New York was unavailable. His shop was closed, due to a family emergency according to the shops neighbor. Though rarely one for destruction, Atem actually broke into the shop, slipping in through the backdoor unnoticed. But of course, the owner was sure to sell off his stock before leaving, lest he return to a shop full of rotted meat. The place wasn’t exactly clean, but there was nothing to salvage that would help Atem.

Not all hope was lost yet, however, there were other butchers in the vast city, plenty who could give him what he needed.

Or, so he had foolishly thought. Hours were spent scouring streets for someone who could end the pain hazing his mind and tearing his stomach asunder. And in that haze, Atem had forgotten just how hard it had been to find his willing vendor when he came here.

The first butcher he came across made a different brand pain shot through his chest. The man practically begged Atem to leave him and his family be, that they didn’t want any trouble. It had been a long while since Atem had seen such fear on a humans face.

The second almost made Atem wish that he was willing to harm humans, as the trader rambled on in bigotted ignorance about voodoo and an array of racial slurs. Atem was barely able to restrain himself as he wrestled a knife from the man.

The third must have known what Atem was, as he kept his tone calm while thumbing a silver dagger at his hip and warning Atem to never darken his street again. Had be been any more desperate, Atem might have threatened him into getting what he needed, but he left without another word, like the previous shops.

He had managed to find a miniscule reprieve that night, even if the savage act and fur scraping at his mouth did make him want to vomit. But it wasn’t enough, he needed more, far more than the small creatures that littered the streets.

The next night brought more hunger, more pain and more desperate need. Atem had even cast his work aside early, abandoning his ever present mission to find Marik so he could scour the city for another source of blood. He had never expected to run across the woman again.

It was just a block away from his hovel this time, and he had only stopped to try and smell out another non-human blood source when he caught her scent on the air. He could feel his pupils dilate, his mouth water as he turned towards the smell. The same faded dress, the same tossled hair. She greeted him with a wide smile.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mister Lonely. Come looking for me after all, then?” She stopped just short of him and Atem clamped his mouth shut. “I’m glad, I like a pretty face in my line of work, and you’re definitely a handsome one.”

Atem hissed, jolting out of her reach as she lifted a hand to touch his cheek. He recognized the fear that flashed across her face, the widening of her eyes, the tightening of her jaw, and she actually flinched away from him.

Had she expected him to strike her? What else could she assume, men weren’t exactly known for treating women of her profession with gentility.

“Please, miss,” he choked out, moving to rush past her, “stay away from me.”

She didn’t call out to him like last time, and Atem breathed a sigh of relief. When he did not see her again over the next two nights of searching for sustenance, he was even more relieved.

He should have known fate would not be so kind.

All he remembered was the feel of rain drenching his suit and the putrid smell of sick before he black out.

It was nothing but black when he tasted something rich and sweet on his tongue, satisfying fire burning down his throat to ease the emptiness in his stomach. At a snails pace his other senses came back to him. Metal and a pungent rosey perfume filled his nose and ensnared him long before the darkness started to fade. His lips were clamped around something so soft and warm, so delicate- something that was convulsing.

Dirty brick walls with nothing but a moon to light it; a filth-filled alleyway.

With a gasp Atem was pulling away from the sweet fire, the rosey perfume, and the oh-so-inviting softness, only for the pain of horror to rip his throat raw with a scream.

He had been pinning her to the ground, fangs buried deep in her neck.

“No- please no!”

She was pale, the left side of her face and neck covered in blood from the wound his teeth had torn open. Her body was shaking, clinging to life, and Atem pulled her up, held her in his arms and against his chest as if it could help.

“I’m sorry- I’m so so sorry- please-!”

His fangs weren’t the only wound he had given her, he must have dug claws into her to keep her from moving because blood was pouring down her front and arm. He clamped his hand over the open wound, and it was only then that he realized he was shaking too.

“Stay with me, please stay- just hold on! Please!”

Her bodice was torn open to bear her neck, another ministration of violence he had committed in his hunger. He pulled it closed again, a pathetic attempt to mend. His throat was raw and hoarse but he repeated his pleas and his apologies over and over as he tried to stem the bleeding, even though deep down he knew it was too late. Soon enough her body slowed its shaking, its attempt to cling to life.

Then she went still, her eyes staring open but unseeing at the moon above.

Atem started into those eyes for the longest moment of his eternal life- before another scream wracked his body.

He had no right to touch her, but he held her body as hot tears burned down his face, repeating his apologies again and again. Now he was rocking, back and forth and only moving his hands from holding her to swipe at the disgusting blood coating his mouth. If anyone saw him there he didn’t notice, even if they had he would deserve anything that came to him.

But no one would care that she was gone, would they? No one who could bring her peace or justice, in any case. Just like all the victims Marik left on the street, she’d be carted off and left forgotten in some splintered pine box. She didn’t deserve this, to be bled out in some dirty alleyway.

None of his victims deserved what he had done to them.

A shift in the chair across from Atem blinked him out of his thoughts and gave him a moment’s distraction. Yugi mumbled something in his sleep, cheeks puffing out as if showing his annoyance with the dream. Atem had the urge to crawl into the same chair, ignore the spacial limitations of it and just tuck himself around Yugi if only to feel his warmth and breathing. He definitely would have if Yugi wasn’t already asleep, Atem hated the idea of waking him; even if he knew that Yugi would accommodate his body on the limited cushion without question.

Instead, he kept drifting his gaze between your’s and Yugi’s sleeping faces, trying and failing to keep his mind distracted. At one point he snuck out of the room just long enough to wash his face, hoping it would help cleanse his thoughts. When it didn’t, he thought about working on cleaning the living room some more. Anzu had taken it upon herself to sweep up the worst of the glass and wood, but there was still more that needed to be done.

He wandered in there, intent on making himself useful, but he had barely begun soaking the couch with stain remover before he found himself wandering back to your room and planted firmly by your bedside. At least he set the bloodstains to soak before curling back into his chair.

He was glad that Yugi had eased you back to sleep with his magic. You looked peaceful, even in spite of the bruises across your face. By this rate, you should be well rested in a few hours.

After that, Atem was almost startled by the sound of birds chirping on the other side of the window. Morning. Not long after that, he saw the tips of sunlight peeking in from the bottom edges of the curtains. You might rise soon, even with your injuries and the spell, and Yugi was sure to wake with you, so Atem got up and decided to make both of you a hearty breakfast.

Or, at least he tried.

Yugi wandered in some time later, blanket wrapped and bleary-eyed only to see Atem scraping charred eggs off of their best frying pan. Bacon was also popping and sizzling on the stove, but Atem had the good sense to dart over and flip that before it could also smoke dangerously close to the fire alarm.

“Atem, you know I could have done that when I got up, right?” Yugi yawned, tucking the blanket more securely around his shoulders as he stepped to the stove.

Giving up the pan as a bad job, the vampire let out a sigh, “I know, but I wanted to do something for you both. I would say you should go back and rest, but...I’m already a little scared that you’ll hate me for ruining this,” he waved the skillet with its black battle scars.

Yugi actually gave him a smile and Atem felt relieved with the quick pecked Yugi placed on his cheek. “Nothing a soak in vinegar can’t fix...hopefully. How about we both finish breakfast? Besides, Anzu will be by later, we should save some for her.”

The joint effort was a good compromise, and together they whipped up a decent spread, including some herbal tea steeped from remedies that Anzu insisted they make you drink during every meal. It didn’t smell great, but Yugi made a good point that you should be willing to gulp it down when you heard it had pain-killing properties.

After piling a tray full of food and herbal tea, they ventured back upstairs to your room. Atem rushed ahead and opened the door for Yugi, but paused when he saw his face fall and the tray rattle in his hands.

“What are you doing?!” he snapped, and Atem was startlingly reminded of a mother scolding her child.

When Atem moved to look into the room, he understood the maternal outcry. You were at the side of your bed, one hand bracing yourself on the mattress and the other clamped to your side as you tried to shuffle forward.

“I was just-” a face scrunched in pain interrupted your explanation, “just trying to reach the bathroom.”

The tray was suddenly and quite unceremoniously shoved into Atem’s arms as Yugi rushed forward. “Then you should have called one of us, we could have helped you.”

The smell of breakfast could not hide another scent that hit Atem, something fresher than the other lingering smells of the house.

“You’re bleeding again,” he hadn’t meant the words to come out as a hiss, but he still saw the way your eyes darted away from his.

“Yeah, that’s why I was heading to the bathroom, thought I’d wash up.”

Yugi took in a sharp breath, then placed the hand that wasn’t supporting your back gently against your ribs. “You shouldn’t be moving so much, lay back down and we’ll get some warm water,” when you looked ready to protest, Yugi brought out the big guns, aka, those large pleading eyes of his. “Please,” he added quietly, and Atem knew all too well the powerlessness you were experiencing at the moment.

Without another word you half sat, half flopped back onto the bed while Atem set the tray aside and ran to get the warm water and washcloths.

Why did he have to break out the sad eyes?

You would think after years of facing down the most dangerous and intimidating creatures on earth, you wouldn’t even flinch at Yugi’s attempts to subdue you. But here you were, bowing to his wish because of nothing more than a look.

Though, you supposed words like ‘subdue’ and ‘bowing’ were a bit dramatic. The most heartache you could claim was some embarrassment at being tended to like a child. In truth, Yugi was only trying to make sure you were alright.

With you sitting on the edge of the bed, he was kneeling on the carpet in front of you, so that he was eye level with your stomach and ribs for easier work. And if ignoring your scratchy throat and aching body wasn’t enough, his hot breath on your bare skin was the unbearable cherry on top.

A hiss of pain left you when he started replacing the salve over your ribs.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “too cold?”

You shook your head, “It’s fine,” was all that you managed as you looked away from him again.

Despite the fact that Yugi was only looking at your wound, you couldn’t keep the heat from your cheeks and neck. With nothing but a thin blanket slung across your chest, you were practically half-naked in front of the incubus. It shouldn’t have mattered in the current state of things, but the way your bare skin prickled under his gaze had you twisting the pillowcase in your hands tightly.

“Sorry,” Yugi muttered again, “I’m almost done.”

He must have sensed your discomfort and you cursed yourself for being so uneasy around him, none of this was his fault.

Again you thought back to the way Yugi had so easily convinced you to let go of your continued independence. That look of his, the slight frown of his lips, the worried curve of his brow, made any argument you had melt on your tongue. The fact that you had caused such a look added a drop more guilt, and it was no wonder you’d do practically anything to keep his face free of that expression.

You were glad that Yugi was as kind as they came, because he could most definitely use those looks for some true evil if he desired.

“There you go,” he whispered eventually, then his handsome face was smiling up at you, “all patched up again.”

Oh yes, looks that could get you to do anything indeed.

“Thank you, Yugi,” you all but coughed, even as he rose and turned his back to let you slip your shirt back on.

Almost as soon as Yugi left to dump the hot water bowl, Atem slipped back into the room. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

‘Like a pumpkin carved open with a poisoned dagger’ was what you said in your head, but kept the unnecessary bite to yourself.

“Lousy, but I’ll live,” is what you answered out loud.

Atem picked up a tray from the dresser and the delicious scent of food filled the air, “Eat up, and drink the tea, Anzu says it will help with the pain.”

Just as he set it next to you on the bed, Yugi returned. They took only a moment to gather their own plates and sit down in the chairs opposite you before Atem started in again.

“Now, since you’re more awake, are you going to tell us what happened?”

After taking a bite of fruit-covered toast, you actually sighed. “It was a trap. Two magicians tasked with hunting me down convinced Bonz to lure me into a trap.” The fruit tasted oddly bitter as it went down your throat. “I should have known, it was an apprentice-level slip-up, going after a known informant is what I would have done.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Yugi assured, those eyes dangerously close to ‘the look’ again. “You got back to us just in time, that’s-”

Whatever Yugi said next was drowned out, the heat of sudden panic prickled your skin as you realized something like a shot to the heart. ‘You came back here!’

A plate clattered and Yugi let out a shout as you jumped to your feet, but before you could even take a step, the world around you tilted. Your head light and stomach reeling, it took you a long moment to get your bearings back, even when you made contact with something soft and warm.

“It’s okay,” came Yugi’s voice, your name spoken close to your ear, “I’ve got you.”

Loose arms around you tried to coax your weak legs to straighten, but all you could do was tighten your grip on his shirt to keep upright.

“I- I came here,” you managed, “They could have tracked me, I need to seal up the house!”

He kept you from falling again as you tried to wriggle past him and he called your name.

“I need to make sure they can’t use me to find you two, I-”

Yugi's voice was as firm as you had ever heard it when he repeated your name, “It’s okay! I have seals around the house already, they won’t be able to track you here, I promise.”

Something peaked through the fog of your dizziness, a vague memory of Yugi showing you the seals his grandfather had taught him. That’s right, they couldn’t use spells on this place, or you while you inhabited it.

A soft “oh,” left you as you let yourself slump against Yugi’s chest just a little. He had caught you, in more ways than one, and you couldn’t even care about the literal sense with your dizzy panic still settling.

The scent you had picked up from the borrowed clothes was stronger now, pressed into Yugi’s chest in the would-be embrace. Unfortunately, the more your mind cleared, the more unbearable to position became.

Embarrassed, yet again, you managed to stand a little straighter, and Yugi took the cue to set you back down on the bed gently. Dizzy and exhausted, weak as a newborn fawn. It was good that the council couldn’t see you now, or they’d be sure to scold you for your dependence.

When Yugi collected the fallen silverware, you said “I’m sorry, my mind’s still reeling from everything, I forgot.” ‘About the seals and my sickly state,’ you added to yourself.

“It’s okay,” Atem was the one to say it this time, as Yugi sat back down next to him. “But I’m going to beat Yugi to the punch when I remind you to eat. It should help with your lightheadedness.”

You took in a deep breath and saw no issue with complying, swallowing another bite of food before continuing your story. “Anyway, Bonz didn’t actually have any information for me either, so all this,” you waved a hand broadly over your various injuries, “was for nothing.”

“One of them poisoned you,” Atem stated, tone rather quiet as his eye darted down to your stomach.

“Yeah, Keith. He’s a real piece of work and doesn’t mind backhanded tactics if it gives him an edge. We’ve had…issues in the past. It’s no wonder they sent him on my case.”

Yugi made a noise low in his throat, “So they’re just sending executioners after you?! They’re that scared of someone who isn’t under their complete control?”

“Oh, apparently they wanted me alive, Keith just decided his old vendettas were more important.”

Yugi tilted his head back, eyes narrowing as he looked out the window in thought, “If they come after you again, they’re going to get a nasty surprise.”

You found yourself smiling at that, and Atem was too, even as he looked back at you and said, “I’m sure our little spell caster gave them quite a beating of her own, aibou.” Then he pointed at the cup on your tray, “Don’t forget the tea.”

When you picked up the mug to oblige your nose caught quite a putrid scent. You almost set it back down, but, not wanting to risk Yugi’s look again, you took a tentative sip. It tasted better than it smelled, but not by much.

You had just downed the last of it and were about halfway through your meal when the sound of a faint knock came from somewhere in the apartment.

“Oh!” Yugi got to his feet, “That must be Anzu,” and with that, he was dashing down the hallway.

As you vaguely heard him somewhere in the living room, you turned to Atem. “Anzu’s herbology came in handy with me, didn’t it?”

Atem took in a breath, lacing his fingers together as he watched the door, “If it wasn’t for her, I’m not sure we would have been able to get the poison out of your body. You were…” he sighed and shook his head, saying nothing else, but you could sense the words on the tense air between you.

You had been very, very close to dying.

Looking at him was suddenly uncomfortable, and you looked down at the empty mug. These people, who barely knew you at all, who had every right to fear you and those who raised you, had saved your life. Without question or payment or even a bitter word. It had taken so long for you to realize that people like that even existed, and it was all still so fresh. So…alien, in a way.

You barely registered footsteps approaching the room before you turned your head and-

“Alright, who did this to my girl?! I have a cross bolt with their name on it!”

Next thing you knew slender arms were pulling you into a hug that has also been quite alien at one time.

“Just give me a name and they’ll wish they were never born!”

“Hello, Mai,” you wheezed, then tapped her arm, “can you- you’re kind of crushing me.”

The blonde released you, but kept her arms on your shoulders as she stared daggers, “And you! How dare you scare me like that, I was practically frantic when Anzu called me last night, saying you were bleeding out on the floor!”

You could have sworn you heard Atem say something about ‘not leaving you on the floor’ over Mai’s shoulder, but your friend’s continued tirade distracted you.

Eventually, Anzu took pity on you and stepped up beside her, “Mai, I should check on her wounds before you lay into her, kay?”

“Oh, Mai flipped a strand of curly hair over her shoulder, “of course. But don’t think I’m done scolding you, missy!” she made sure to add before stepping out of the way.

Anzu asked everyone to wait out in the hall while she set a black case on the bedside table, and once everyone was out, she turned a smile on you. “I’m not going to be dumb and ask how you’re feeling, especially since I’m sure that Yugi and Atem already covered that ground,” she opened the case and began pulling out baggies of dried leaves and bottles of brews, “but I will ask where you’re hurting most.”

A sigh left you, “Honestly? Everywhere, but, I guess my face is where I’m noticing most right now.”

Anzu’s face pitched in a cautious kind of understanding, “Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“Does it look that bad?” you managed a small smile as she grabbed a cotton ball and an amber bottle.

“For a badass who just escaped death’s door? No, not at all.” Anzu winked, before wetting the cotton ball, “Close your eyes for me, and, sorry in advance about the sting.”

The sting in question wasn’t all that bad, though just how tender your skin and nose were became blaringly apparent as she dabbed and rubbed gently.

There was silence for a few moments, then, “I hope you don’t mind me telling Mai. I just thought she’d want to know since you two seemed to be friends…”

“No, it’s okay, honestly it’s probably a good thing you told her. I would have forgotten to, and then she’d give me more to hurt over when she found out.”

Anzu chuckled at that, “She’s definitely someone you want to keep on your good side. You better hold her back when you find Marik, or she’ll insist on coming with you to tear him a new one.”

“It wasn’t Marik’s doing, actually. I got ambushed by magicians sent to bring me back.”

Anzu froze mid-dab. “You mean… you’re saying the circle did all this?”

You shrugged, then regretted the movement instantly.

Anzu stared a while longer, then pursed her lips as she turned back to her portable apothecary. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You defied them, so of course they’re going to treat you like some sort of dangerous criminal.” She slammed one of the drawers shut, “Honestly, it’s a miracle my grandma escaped them.”

She turned back to you, a jar and herbs in hand, but you couldn’t quite meet her eye this time. There was a silent heartbeat, then a soft call of your name.

“Hey, you know when I say ‘them’ I am not talking about you, right?”

“Yeah, I know I just…” You drew in a long, slow breath, “Never mind. And trust me, I agree with you.”

Anzu looked unsure for a moment, but ultimately didn’t comment and just asked to see your other sore spots.

After that, the unofficial check-up didn’t take long. After some fresh (and even itchier) poultices were put on and she reexamined the scar across your stomach, you were free to dress in a clean shirt. When Anzu told Yugi, Atem, and Mai they could come back in, you were surprised to see Yugi and Atem looking a little anxious. Or, expectant perhaps.

“I hope she didn’t give you any drowsy painkillers,” Mai started as she took one of the only seats in the room. “Because I’m afraid I’m not here just to check up on you. I got some news for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, “News?”

“About Marik.”

A.N. The scene I had trouble with was Atem's flashback. If I'm honest I'm still not 100% happy with it but, I finally got so fed up with it that I just decided to go with the version I didn't completely hate and move on, especially since it hadn't updated this in like, two years. Anywho, again, I hope this satisfies you guys, please leave comments if you liked it <3

#atem x reader #yugi x reader #yami x reader #atem x reader x yugi #polyamorous #atem #yugi #ygo #series: spells of defiance

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heniareth · 1 year

Text

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 1: Making Friends

(Whole chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 5799

WARNINGS:

- fear of dogs - general creepiness and hivemindlike behaviour associated with darkspawn - fantasy racism against elves

Light; rocks; a green sky. A dragon’s maw, malformed, rotten, twisted, bearing down on her.

Astala bolted upright and tried to run. She fell and landed on… grass. Grass and moss, not rocks and stone. The sounds and smells of the army camp rushed towards her. The dogs barked in their kennels. Soldiers marched past her, elven servants and messengers skipped through the ranks, the Chant of Light sounded somewhere above it all. It smelled of wooden benches in the sunlight, swamp flowers and late mornings. She was sitting under the branches of a small grove of fir trees, a group of twenty or thirty tents beyond it and the bedspread she had apparently fallen off next to her.

A nightmare? It had seemed so real.

And there was Ilanlas, in another bedspread. He was breathing. He was alive! And he was snoring slightly.

“Good morning,” somebody greeted her.

Astala looked up and saw Alistair standing above her.

“How’re you feeling?”

Alistair handed her a waterskin and Astala drank greedily.

“There was a dragon,” Astala croaked, then coughed and discovered how dry her throat was. “Do you have water?”

“Ilanlas is alright, by the way,” Alistair said. “We might as well let him sleep. Poor sod needs it. Come, lets get you to meet everyone else.”

Astala took another long draught from the waterskin before she stood up. Alistair started leading her through the tents, but after a few steps he stopped, waiting for her to catch up and then continued walking next to her.

Weird guy.

“So, the dragon you saw was the Archdemon,” Alistair started. “Not the prettiest of fellows. I know I screamed like a little kid when I first saw it. But, that’s why we’re here, right? To make sure it stops popping up in our heads like some kind of diseased mole.”

He stopped talking, evidently waiting for Astala to say something. Astala hadn’t expected him to do that and was left floundering.

“It’ll be fine,” she finally managed with a shrug. Then her stomach growled. Loudly. “So long as I get some food.”

“That’s where we’re headed,” Alistair said and grinned. “Breakfast’s right this way.”

He turned first left, then right. His head almost stuck out above the relatively squat tents. The sound of voices talking got louder, and then they stepped into some sort of a square between the tents: a large, cleared space where the grass had been trampled into the dirt, and where a sizeable group of people were gathered. Most of them were humans. Most of them were men. With a jolt, Astala recognized the uniforms, the faces, the postures. These were the people from last night. The people who had been standing around the stone platform, tightening the circle more and more as Ilanlas fell unconscious, as Daveth choked, as ser Jory bled out. These were the Grey Wardens.

There were about fifty of them, walking around leisurely, talking amongst each other, playing cards, eating food—Astala took note of the large pot hanging over a fire, tended to by a bald man in his fifties. It smelled good. Her stomach growled again. As if nothing had happened the night before.

Alistair turned around, his smile even broader, and lifted his arms. “So, here we are! Introductions will probably have to wait but have some breakfast for now. I think there’s still porridge in Martin’s pot. Make sure you eat a lot, the Joining leaves you hungrier than you’d believe.”

Astala nodded.

Alistair’s smile wavered a bit and he scratched his neck. “Well, I better get back, check on Ilanlas. He’ll want an explanation too.”

Astala nodded.

“Well… See you around!”

Astala nodded again and let Alistair turn around and walk away with a wave.

Just like that, without his broad frame blocking the view, she suddenly felt very visible. And this even though people weren’t staring at her.

Right. Thoughts later. Breakfast first.

Astala gingerly made her way through the crowd and kept an eye out on her surroundings. The only non-human she saw was a dwarf. She was a very pretty young woman with big eyes, chin-length blond hair and a round figure. She was sitting alone on a log. Astala made a mental note, then approached the cook—Martin, Alistair’d said—and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me? Ser Martin?” she said. “I’d like to ask if you still have some food left?”

The cook looked up and gave her a smile and a look of recognition. Had he been at the Joining too?

“Just Martin is fine,” he said with a distinctly Orlesian accent. “It is good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“I…” Astala didn’t know what to say.

Martin only nodded. “It is alright. None of us were feeling our best afterwards, especially not when some of our fellow recruits died.”

Astala swallowed. Ser Jory’s dead eyes stared up at her.

“At least you were already tainted before you went through it,” Martin observed while he filled a bowl with porridge. “The voices in your head should not be that new then.”

“They’re not, no,” Astala forced out and accepted the full bowl.

Martin gave her a sad smile. He had quite a lot of sad wrinkles, now that Astala noticed.

“You will find your footing again,” he said. “For now, sister, eat. You will need it.”

Astala thanked him and walked away.

Sister? Oh, that was so weird.

She made her way through the crowd again. Even now, the wardens didn’t stare. There was a passing glance here and there, one or two nods. Nothing more.

Weird.

But what could she expect from people who drank darkspawn juice?

She made her way over to the log on which the dwarven woman sat and pointed at the spot next to her.

“May I?”

The woman looked up and pulled an apologetic face, gesturing at the side of her head.

Astala frowned and couldn’t quite make sense of it. So she tried again. “Is that spot free?”

The dwarven woman’s eyes lighted up in understanding and she nodded. Astala gave her a quick smile and sat down.

The porridge was good. She would’ve put more spices in it, but there was some apple, which was nice. And there was something dark… no plum though. Probably just a bit of burnt oats. But it was good! It was good. Her stomach was happy.

At some point, she noticed that the dwarven woman looking at her. Astala quickly pulled another smile to her face. The woman smiled back. Then she pointed at Astala’s head and gave her a thumbs up. Astala lifted her hand and found her short hair.

“You like it?”

The woman nodded.

“Thank you,” Astala said. “My friend cut it for me.”

Was Ilanlas her friend? She sure hoped he was.

The dwarven woman fiddled with her own, uneven strands. It looked like somebody had chopped off whatever length of hair she’d had before in a hurry. Poor girl.

“What’s your name?” Astala asked in an attempt to make conversation.

The woman, who was scraping the last bits of porridge out of her bowl, didn’t answer.

Astala frowned and leaned into her field of view. “Hey, everything okay?”

The woman jumped up a bit, as if surprised, and gave her another apologetic grimace. Again, she gestured to the side of her head. She was pointing at her ears.

“You… oh!” Understanding dawned on Astala, accompanied by embarrassment driving heat up into her cheeks. How hadn’t she noticed before? “You can’t hear?”

The woman shook her head.

“But you can understand me?” Astala asked.

The woman nodded, gestured around her mouth with her hand in a claw shape, and then to her eyes with two fingers before flicking them over to Astala. Astala moved her hand to her mouth. No, she didn’t have any porridge hanging off there.

Oh, wait, no.

“You can read my lips?” Astala swung one leg over the log on which they were sitting, fully facing the woman. “That’s so cool! And you can understand me well?”

The woman hesitated, then made a pained expression.

Astala bit her lower lip. Her only experience with people who were hard of hearing came from the time she spent following the hahren around the Alienage. Grandma Tinashe had been one of them. What a nice lady. Always worried about who was keeping her hair after her mother had died. She’d even tried to teach Astala some braiding patterns to keep it. The old woman had needed everyone to speak into her left ear and practically shout. But for Alu, a kid from up a few buildings up the street, shouting had made everything worse.

Only one way to find out.

Tentatively, Astala raised her hand with the palm up to illustrate her words. “D’you want me to speak louder?”

The woman frowned and gave her a questioning look.

“Louder,” Astala said. “Do you want me to speak louder?”

She was asked to repeat herself another time before the woman understood. When she did, she shook her head and thought for a moment, studying Astala with an intense look of concentration on her face. Then she brought both her hands up, palms facing Astala, and pushed two times against the air.

Astala looked at her hands, then back at her. The puzzlement had to be clear on her face, because the dwarven woman sighed and looked off into the distance. Suddenly, her face lit up. Astala followed her line of sight and spotted another dwarf: brown-skinned, red hair pulled back in a low ponytail, with a face that managed to be both broad and bony at the same time. And he held the biggest bowl of porridge Astala had ever seen between his hands. Where’d he gotten that?

The woman snapped her fingers at him until he got his attention, then started signing quickly. Her friend—if they were friends—seemed to have no trouble keeping up. He leisurely made his way over to them, sat down on the ground, kept his massive bowl of porridge firmly squished between his knees and answered, also signing. The woman frowned and signed back. The man—who had a dark brand on his cheek in the form of a long-stretched five—held her gaze for a few seconds before he looked away and showed a big spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

“Fe wandf u do fpeak slowa.”

“What?” Astala answered.

The dwarf chewed, swallowed, washed the load of porridge down with a big gulp from his waterskin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I said: ‘she wants you to speak slower’,” he repeated. His voice was less deep than she would've expected. It kinda matched his build, which was also less broad than she was used to from a dwarf.

“Oh. Thank you.” Astala turned to face the woman and tried again, slower. “Is this better?”

The woman nodded and gave the other dwarf a sweet smile. He returned it with a well-crafted blank look and returned his attention to his porridge. Astala followed his example and thought of a way to continue the conversation.

“What are your names?” she finally asked.

The dwarven woman picked up a stick and scratched something into the dirt. Astala recognized letters.

“Sulri?”

The dwarven woman nodded and stretched out her hand. Astala grinned as she shook it.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Astala.”

Sulri asked her to repeat her name and she did until Sulri gave her a satisfied nod.

“And you?” Astala asked, turning to the other dwarf.

“What’s it to you?” the dwarf asked, still bent over his porridge.

Astala frowned. “Well, I’m just getting to know you.”

“That’s great,” the dwarf said flatly. “Making friends. How nice.”

He shoved another load of porridge into his mouth. Sulri tapped Astala’s shoulder and pointed at the ground, where she’d scratched new letters into.

“Ked,” Astala said. “Kheed? How do you pronounce your name?”

The dwarf swallowed. “Khêd. Short ‘e’.”

“Thank you,” Astala said pointedly. Then she turned to Sulri. “Is he always like that?”

Sulri leaned back into the sun, shielding her eyes with one hand, and nodded.

“You two are also Grey Wardens, right?” Astala asked. “I saw you yesterday at the Joining.”

“Your point?” Khêd asked.

Astala shrugged. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t we get along?”

“You planning to stab me in the back?” Khêd asked.

Astala frowned. “No?”

“And in the front?”

“No!”

“Good enough for me.” Khêd turned back to his porridge, which had already disappeared, and scraped the bowl clean. Then he set it to the side. “You going to eat that?”

Before Astala could answer, he’d already lunged forward and grabbed her bowl. Astala just managed to rip it out of his hands.

“What the fuck, man?” she screamed. “That’s my fucking food!”

“The duster can swear,” Khêd chuckled and lifted his hands in surrender. “Don’t get your ears into a twist, you can have your food.”

“What the absolute fuck,” Astala spat and hastily shoved the last bits of porridge into her mouth. When she stood up, she clutched her bowl tightly to herself.

Khêd held his empty bowl up. “If you want to keep your food safe, might as well get me more too.”

Astala raised both eyebrows in a most unimpressed gesture. Then she demonstratively took one long step past Khêd and his bowl. Sulri just managed to tap her leg. When Astala turned towards her, she held her bowl up, head tilted to the side.

Astala switched to a bright smile. “Of course I’ll get you more food!” She raised her voice. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Sod you.”

“Don’t touch my fucking food.”

She didn’t stay to wait for Khêd’s answer. Astala walked away with long steps, quietly grumbling to herself.

All in all, despite the shem everywhere and Khêd's assault on her breakfast, this was a nice change of pace. Like in the Korcari Wilds, there were no birds here, but the wind was blowing cheerfully through the fir trees and over the Wardens’ tents. It rattled the banner standing in the middle of the group of tents. The silver griffon on blue ground provided a stark contrast to the crown’s yellow and gold. What had Alistair said yesterday before the Joining? Something about standing in the shadows. Fitting. The banner seemed to be made out of the night and moonlight under whose cover she had entered the order.

Somewhere further away in the king’s camp, a horn sounded. The dogs were barking much less, which Astala appreciated. Martin had filled both bowls generously, which did the rest of the wonder needed to improve her mood. Maybe she’d even find it in her heart to forgive Khêd his trespassing once she had a bit more food in her stomach. Then, suddenly, she heard something else. Or felt it more than heard it.

It was like a low rumble—or a pull, she wasn’t quite sure. She did know that it was stuck in her blood; made her skin crawl and her fingers itch in a desire to scratch it away. Before she’d noticed, she was lifting her head and turning south; to her horror, every other Grey Warden, Khêd and Sulri included, was doing the same thing. All of them had stopped in the middle of the sentence, in the middle of the step, in the middle of the gesture, to lift their head, turn and face south. As if something had called to them.

Then it was over. Like a shiver running through the whole group, everybody turned back to what they had been doing. Astala’s shoulders twitched up. There was nothing on the horizon except dark clouds that would probably bring a thunderstorm. Quietly shaking her head, she made the last few steps and sat down. Sulri was busy looking at Khêd, who spoke his signing out loud when Astala sat down.

“This blighted shit should stop already.”

“What was it?” Astala asked.

Khêd shrugged, still signing as he spoke. “I don’t know. Some blighted shit.”

Astala handed Sulri her bowl and stabbed her spoon into the porridge.

“That was the Archdemon.”

Astala left her spoon be.

The one who was divulging that cheerful bit of news was, of course, Alistair. He gave her a smile as he shooed a bleary-eyed Ilanlas towards them.

“You look lovely,” Astala said and couldn’t bite back a grin at the sight of Ilanlas’ frankly impressive bedhead, with strands of hair sticking out at every angle.

Ilanlas let out a quiet grumble but sat down next to her on the grass with his own bowl of porridge. Astala caught him discreetly observing both dwarves. Something was… different about him.

“This is Ilanlas,” Astala said, directing her words at Sulri and pointing at the aforementioned. “Ilanlas, Sulri. She can’t hear, but she can read lips. And that’s Khêd. He steals food.”

“Ha ha,” Khêd grumbled, “very funny.”

“Deserved,” Astala answered.

“Do not touch my food,” Ilanlas said.

“Well, aren’t you two a delight,” Khêd said and crossed his arms. “Are you related?”

Astala lifted her eyebrows high. Next to her, Ilanlas frowned.

“Are you blind? We could not be more different.”

“I might go blind with the sodding thing up there.” Khêd pointed at the sky. “But no. I’ve seen people more different than you two being siblings.”

“Siblings?” Astala looked at Ilanlas. “Are you serious?”

“Hey, I never asked anybody what their parents were up to,” Khêd said and shrugged. “The eyes did throw me off a bit.”

“The eyes,” Ilanlas deadpanned. “Not the different skin colors.”

“Or the different heights,” Astala added.

Ilanlas gave her a dead stare.

Again, Khêd shrugged. “I’ve never seen silver eyes before. That normal up here?”

Astala frowned, then took a closer look at Ilanlas. Were she could’ve sworn had been two brown eyes were now indeed light grey irises. Like those of the soldier they’d found in the Korcari Wilds. The one who'd died on his way to the camp.

“Lady preserve us,” she muttered and turned to Alistair, who’d been quietly following the conversation. “Is that normal?”

Alistair shrugged. “It’s one of the possible side effects of the Joining.”

“Maybe you have gone blind,” Khêd said and shrugged.

Ilanlas’ eyes widened slightly, but he was quick to brush the concern aside. “I can see.”

“Good for you then,” Khêd said and turned to face Alistair. “When’s the screeching thing going to stop?”

“Well… as soon as the Archdemon’s dead?” Alistair scratched his neck again. “The darkspawn are all interconnected, and since we carry their blood in our veins, so are we. That is how we can sense them, and that is how we can hear the Archdemon command its troops.”

“Great,” Khêd said with a big smile. “So we have a blighted dragon poking around our heads. Awesome. How do you stop the night visions?”

“The what?” Alistair asked.

“The night visions,” Khêd insisted. “I keep seeing things while I sleep.”

“Those are called dreams,” Ilanlas said and then he stopped. “Our Keeper told us dwarves do not dream.”

“You mean you do this dream thing often?” Khêd asked.

“Almost every night,” Ilanlas answered.

Khêd made a face as if Ilanlas had told him a horror story. “Sodding ancestors…”

“What do you mean, dwarves don’t dream?” Astala asked. She turned to Sulri. “Do you dream?”

Sulri signed, and Khêd translated. “I see things at night ever since we went through the Joining two nights ago.”

“Can we make it stop?” Khêd added.

“There is no stopping dreams,” Ilanlas answered.

Khêd grumbled, and stood up, holding his bowl like a stuffed animal. “This is a load of sodding bullshit. I need more food.”

The remaining four of them watched him leave. Alistair was the first to break the silence with a sigh.

“You will get used to it,” he said, slowly, with a smile in Sulri’s direction. “It won’t happen every night. And, if the king has his way, the Archdemon will be dead by tomorrow.”

“So the Archdemon is real,” Astala said.

“Very much so,” Alistair said. “This is how we know this is a real Blight.”

They sat around in silence for a good long while. Khêd came back, bowl only filled half with porridge. Either Martin was running out, or Khêd didn’t stand in the cook’s good graces. Maybe he’d tried to steal food from him as well. Alistair spoke up again.

“We can’t go around preaching the end of the world, however. Nobody can know about the Joining, and so nobody can know that we can sense the Archdemon and see it in dreams. The Grey Wardens were exiled once from Ferelden, and we can’t have that happen again. We need support; best not to go around announcing that we share blood with the very monsters we’re fighting.”

Astala thought back to the taste of tainted blood in her mouth and the viscera-laden sculptures they had passed yesterday in the Wilds. Suddenly, she felt sick.

“At any rate, once you are done eating, we should get you prepared for the battle this evening,” Alistair continued. “Ilanlas, you should have everything, but Sulri I think needs new boots and Khêd’s shield is… uh, done with. And you could use a whole new suit of armor if I remember right.”

Astala nodded.

“Alright then,” Alistair said. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll leave.”

Astala passed the rest of her porridge to Khêd. He looked up, surprised.

“You’re not eating that?”

“Have at it,” Astala said.

Khêd didn’t ask again and promptly scooped the food into his oversized bowl. Astala stood up and dusted her trousers off as she walked away. Her stomach was clamped up. Having a battle looming over her head apparently made her nervous enough to not eat. Go figure.

She went back to the bedroll she had woken up on and retrieved her pack. What had compelled her to leave it there in the first place was beyond her, but everything was still where it should be. She had a ton of scrap metal looted from various darkspawn corpses. Most of it was filthy. Still, with a bucket of water and a day of work, she’d get it into a presentable enough state to make a bit of money off of it. For now, however, she had to keep it somewhere safe while she was away from the bedspread. There was a washed-out hollow under one tree’s roots where it curled over the stone. Astala shoved the bundle of metal under the root and found some big stones. Over that came loose earth, leaves and finally some branches until she stepped back, hands on her hips, and gave her work a critical look. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but there were enough trees around that nobody would venture more than a passing glance through this particular area of the camp. Maybe she could ask Ilanlas for help later to make it more inconspicuous. For now, however, it’d work.

How much of this would she have to give over to the wardens?

You are a warden now, a voice in her head said. They called you sister.

Bloody good that’ll do for any kind of relationship, Astala answered.

The quartermaster was a burly looking human who, of course, mistook her for a servant. While Alistair explained to the man that, no, she was actually a Grey Warden and allowed to carry weapons, Astala looked about the shop. The… clearing between the trees? She hoped the man ferried his ware under some cover every night, or the armor displayed here wouldn’t be worth shit.

It turned out not to be something she’d have to worry about. The quartermaster had no armor that would fit an elf, even one as tall as she was. And for ill-fitting armor thought for humans, she already had her looted suit, thank you very much. She did drag the search out, however, hemmed and hawed over the decision, asked for different makes and builds and wanted to know the price of everything. She’d seen Khêd sneak off somewhere at the beginning of the conversation. If that human was going to mistake her for a servant, he should actually get robbed and also have an eye on her at all times so the suspicion wouldn’t lie on her. The whole plan fell through when the man caught Khêd—and really, hiding behind a box that somebody could open was such a bad idea—and made him return everything in his pockets. Alistair’s face couldn’t have gone redder if he’d tried. Astala kept to the sidelines of that particular argument and then wrapped up the deal quickly. Sulri got her boots. Alistair convinced the quartermaster to very reluctantly furnish Khêd with a suitable shield. Khêd gave the man a pointedly cheerful smile, showing off three missing teeth. The quartermaster frowned back with such an offended look on his face that Astala had to stifle a laugh.

When they were a bit of a ways away, Sulri reappeared next to Khêd and handed him several stolen flasks, pouches with powders and other trinkets.

“And why do I have to carry this?” Khêd grumbled.

Sulri sighed audibly, rolled her eyes, and pulled out some coin.

Khêd sighed and shrugged. “At least I’m getting paid.”

“Really?” Alistair said, voice rising a whole octave. “After he already caught you stealing?”

Khêd crossed his arms. “I can’t steal for shit. He caught me behind a box. If that bothers him that’s his problem.”

“You know exactly what it looked like,” Alistair said and crossed his arms. “The captain warned me about you, you know? You can’t pull these stunts in the king’s camp and drag her into this.” He pointed at Sulri.

“Drag her-?” Khêd looked at him with wide eyes. “This was all her idea!”

Alistair turned to Sulri. Sulri looked up at him with the biggest, most innocent eyes.

“Was it?”

“Oh, sod it all.” Khêd turned around and continued walking. “‘The wardens are different’. ‘Nobody will judge a criminal’. Ancestors’ asses they-”

Loud barking interrupted him mid-rant. Astala whirled around. Barreling towards them at full speed, past tents, soldiers, and Chantry sisters, came a mabari. Astala screamed and drew her blades, staggering backwards, dagger between her and the slobbering beast. Alistair shouted. The mabari slowed down but didn’t stop. Its teeth gleamed white, its large tongue flickered over them as if in anticipation of tasting elven flesh. Astala snarled back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ilanlas carefully stepping around the dog, an arrow aimed at it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Alistair said, stepping between them and the dog. “Easy there. No need to hurt anybody, this fellow is probably just-”

“Grey Wardens?”

A man approached, clad in thick leather armor, streaks of dark paint on his face. The dog wore similar markings.

“Are you?” the man asked, grabbing the dog by its collar and hauling it back without any apparent effort. “Are you Grey Wardens?”

“That we are,” Alistair said.

Astala lowered her weapons. She didn’t trust the situation enough to sheathe them, however.

“Thank the Maker.” The man yanked on the mabari’s collar as the dog tried to wriggle itself free. “We’ve got one sick hound. Survived a darkspawn ambush, but he’s showing signs of infection. Can you help him?”

“Of course,” Alistair said, descending into his serious warden voice. “Lead the way.”

The man led them to the dog kennels, steps so large that Khêd and Sulri had to jog to keep up. Khêd was cursing quietly. The sick mabari had apparently lost its owner—a grave tragedy for a mabari, apparently, as they imprinted upon specific people like ducklings. Astala hoped the beast found a new one soon who’d keep it in check. Or that it would grow small, cute and fluffy like an actual duckling. Alistair was explaining to the man that they could slow the spread of the infection, but for the actual cure he would have to talk to his senior wardens. Astala quietly sidled up with Ilanlas, who wasn’t much more comfortable with the pace set than the dwarves.

“You ever seen one of these dogs?” she quietly asked him.

Ilanlas nodded, never slowing his pace. “Once.”

The arrow he had been holding was still at the ready in his hand.

The kennels were at the southern edge of the camp, close to what would’ve been the fortresses’ outer wall when it was still standing. The infirmary was not too far from it either. Why an injured person would want to hear the barking of the dogs day and night was a mystery. And the smell! Shem were weird.

The dogs were all in small paddocks where they could eat, sleep, and roll around in the dirt. Astala wasn’t fooled by the wooden fences. She knew how high those beasts could jump. She sheathed her sword and dagger, however. There were tons of shem about, and if she so much as looked at one of these animals wrong while having her weapons drawn that would be it for her. She doubted even the Grey Wardens would be able to save her from the general outrage if she dared hurt one of these precious mabari.

“Any of you ever handled a mabari?” the man in the leather armor—who’d introduced himself as an Ash warrior—said.

Did watching your cousin almost get his throat ripped out by one count as “handling” a mabari? She didn’t know. Astala opted to shake her head.

“I have,” Alistair said.

“Oh, good.” The man seemed relieved. “I mean, even if none of you had, nothing would happen. Not when I’m here, and the hound is sick. He’ll give you no trouble.”

Yeah, right. At least it looked like Alistair would bear the brunt of the work.

“You might want to go in and muzzle him, then,” the Ash warrior said. “I would do it myself, but-”

“It’s safer if I do it,” Alistair said and nodded.

“And one of your companions could administer the medicine.” The man looked at each of them, until his gaze fell on Astala. “You, maybe? I’m sure you’ve seen a mabari up close, haven’t you?”

Astala bit the insides of her cheeks and looked past the fence. The biggest mabari she’d ever seen lay in there. She could see the whites in its eyes as it peered past the lattices at her.

The Ash warrior looked around once more.

“Don’t look at me,” Khêd grumbled. “I’m not getting in there.”

“Come on,” Alistair said. “You’re a Grey Warden! You’ll let this poor bugger die of the Blight?”

“Insults first and now an appeal to my, what, sense of decency?” Khêd scoffed. “I don’t have one, salroka. Get yourself another volunteer.”

“Well, Sulri can’t do it,” Alistair shot back.

Sulri was evidently not following the conversation. When Khêd translated, however, her expression fell. Astala wouldn’t have thought her capable of such a dark glare as the one she was levelling at Alistair.

“What?” Alistair protested. “You can’t hear the dog if it growls, or us if we want to give you instructions. Or warn you.”

“Fenedhis lasa. I will do it,” Ilanlas said.

“I-” The Ash warrior stepped in. “No offense, uh, Warden, but if the dog wanted to bite, you wouldn’t be more than a mouthful for him.”

The vein growing on Ilanlas’ forehead would’ve been funny if this had happened at any other moment.

“Well?” Alistair asked, giving her a hopeful look. “Shall we?”

Astala sighed. But she nodded. The Ash warrior thanked her, clearly relieved, pressed a health poultice into her hand and opened the door to the kennel. Just like that. Astala only followed Alistair when she’d made sure that the dog wasn’t about to jump out of its cage. Hearing Alistair mutter “here goes nothing” wasn’t encouraging at all.

When they entered the kennel, the dog just barely lifted its head. Astala wasn’t about to be fooled by a momentary display of weakness, but when the big beast didn’t even properly sniff Alistair’s hand, she carefully stepped closer. Now that she was closer to it, the mabari actually looked… sick. Really sick.

“Hey buddy,” Alistair said quietly. “Having a rough time, huh?”

The dog let out a quiet whine and did its best to nudge Alistair’s hand.

“Yeah, me too,” Alistair said with his own sympathetic wince and took a closer look at the dog’s injured side. He let out a low whistle through his teeth. “Well that looks… bad.”

The dog whimpered in agreement.

Astala bent over Alistair’s shoulder to get a closer look. The dog had a big gash on its flank, as if something serrated had ripped through fur, skin and flesh. The edges of the wound, which had been cleaned and bandaged, were weeping dark refuse. Just like the bite wound she had left on Ilanlas’ forearm.

“Definitely tainted,” Alistair said. “Here, can you feel it?”

Astala tried to focus. There, there it was; the faint pull in her blood, looping straight back to the mabari.

The dog yelped and Astala jumped back.

“Easy, easy.” Alistair steadied the dog with a hand on its withers. “Here, I’ll muzzle him. Let’s get you some medicine, hm?”

The dog didn’t even make a move to protest as Alistair secured its mouth shut. He then split some Andraste’s Grace with Astala. They chewed it up, and while Alistair held the dog in place, Astala carefully extended her hand and laid it next to the dog’s wound.

A shiver through its skin was the only reaction she got.

She stayed alert while applying the chewed-up herbs and the health poultice—and it was weird, to go around wasting something like a health poultice on a dog—but the mabari kept absolutely still. Alistair unmuzzled the dog. Astala stowed the empty container of the health potion in her pouch. Surely the Ash warrior wouldn’t need it now, right? Then suddenly something warm and wet brushed over her hand and she flinched back violently, scrambling to her feet and putting Alistair between herself and the dog, whose big red tongue was lolling out of its mouth.

“Aw, he’s just saying thank you!” Alistair said. “Here, if I hold him down again-”

“We’re done here,” Astala said and left the kennel.

Alistair followed. The Ash warrior shut the door to the kennel. Astala wiped her hand on a patch of grass and cast a glance back; the mabari was looking at her. It whined again, sounding almost hopeful, and Astala quickly looked away again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ilanlas return his arrow to his quiver.

#5. the battle of ostagar #the story of one astala tabris #astala tabris #ilanlas mahariel #khêd brosca #sulri aeducan #dao #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfic #dao fanfic #my writings #warden aeducan #warden brosca #warden tabris #warden mahariel #alistair #barkspawn #dog the mabari

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jojolightningfingers · 2 years

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i am here to receive words about words for AO3 wrapped: 3, 5, 10, 17, 28, 29!

>:3c

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Flirting with Death aka the hitku manifesto. You love to wrangle a rarepair into working out.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Same answer, I was straight up not expecting it to actually gain any comments at all aside from yours of course because uhhh lots of people don’t like DBS already (fools) and hitku is one of those rarepairs that you have to HARDCORE contrive but instead I got several people saying they liked it???? it has almost 700 views, what the hell.

What work was the quickest to write?

hough. UM, if we’re only counting stuff that i actually wrote this year and didn’t repost/polish up from sometime earlier then probably Concatenation or Breaking Bread. the power of vignettes.

Your favorite character to write this year?

Gogeta but that fic isn’t out yet :3c Android 18′s bits from Integrated Circuit were my favorites, actually. She’s perpetually Done(tm) but she’s still very dangerous and anything but flighty.

Favorite work you wrote this year?

I’m ngl I really like the Good Cell AU, mainly because i’m not hugely a writer of AUs that change something as major as a character surviving or switching sides? Like teethmarks was pretty much just, Bleach canon but a little to the left, but having an alternate Cell alive after the Cell Games could really change around some bits of the plot, and especially some character interactions. (I might also be percolating a third entry for it revolving around Cell and Trunks...)

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

hoo many good ones to pick from... I’m rather fond of this one from ch3 of where the heart is:

Therion can’t see Olberic’s face in this light (and, well, he’s sauced enough by now that the room’s gone bleary anyway) but disapproval roils off of him in waves.

Gods, he’s in no mood to deal with this right now. He makes a point of ignoring the old knight in favor of forcing down another hefty draught. Despite the clarity of the message, Olberic sighs like he’s the inconvenienced one here, which kind of really pisses him off.

“Did you at least pay the barkeep for that bottle?”

Therion glowers at him. “I’m a thief. Th’fuck do you think?”

also this, from Concatenation:

“Easy,” he says, unthinkingly steadying Vegeta when the senzu jolts him upright with a stunted gasp. His eyes are blown wide, whites ringing dark irises. “You okay?” This, warily. (They are not friends.)

and this from Flirting with Death (again):

The skin there is fragile as his own—it yields bitter blood to Goku’s teeth and tongue, and then he leans back.

Vindication. Hit clearly didn’t realize how close he was standing either. He’s still as the grave, eyes wide, mouth stained the color of plums.

“How ‘bout that,” Goku says, grinning. “So’s yours.”

I just like. Goku being perhaps a little too cheeky for his own good.

#oooo it's the fuckin words #IM SO CLOSE TO BEING DONE W GOGETA FIC AUGH. AUGH. DEATH. PAIN.

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linhlotus · 2 years

Text

Truce? Ch. 4

The night Harry was released from the hospital wing, he snuck out to sit by the lake. It had been four long days since the quidditch match and he felt like he’d been let out of a terribly small cage.

Madam Pomfrey had barely let him get up to use the toilet for the past four days without getting in a tizzy. She had stood over him as he forced down his meals and made him drink sleeping draughts every night, giving the nightmares the perfect chance to creep into his mind. He hadn’t woken up screaming again, but he was always drenched and shivering when he resurfaced.

Tonight he was determined to enjoy the cool night air on his face and forget about his stay in the hospital wing.

Harry pulled off his shoes and dipped his toes in the water, relishing the sharp bite of the cold.

The frosty grass crackled as someone approached him from behind.

Malfoy sat on the shore next to Harry, shoulders draped in a thick, emerald green cloak.

After a few minutes of silence, the Slytherin decided to speak, his quiet drawl echoing eerily on the surface of the lake. “Are you okay, Potter?”

It was surprising, how soft his voice was, when he wasn’t insulting Harry, how little venom it held. It would be sweet if they hadn’t been enemies since before their first term had even started.

Despite all the time they had been spending together, Harry still didn’t think he could tell Malfoy the truth. What would he even say? ‘Sorry you feel like that but I don’t really care because we’re not friends.’ No. It was better to lie.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Why was he asking again? Did he really care or was he trying to find a weakness to exploit?

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just . . . If . . . Nevermind.” Malfoy sounded disappointed and, maybe, a little sad?

That couldn’t be right. It had to be a trick of Harry’s imagination. Malfoy didn’t care about his feelings. He couldn’t.

------

Draco stepped into Potions and saw Potter sitting in his usual seat pouring over his battered copy of their potions book. He felt Crabbe and Goyle waiting for him to take the lead and antagonize the scrawny half-blood. It had been longer than usual since they’d interacted and the other Slytherins were starting to get suspicious.

The pressure was building to do something and he had to keep up his reputation. He pulled back his shoulders, plastered on his meanest smirk, and marched over to Potter.

“Still got this ratty old thing?” Draco slipped the book off the table and held it up in the air.

“Looks like Potter is too broke to buy a new book,” he announced loudly, his heart squeezing painfully when Harry —Potter— looked up at him, resignation in his green eyes.

“Give it here, Malfoy,” he sighed.

He had to push through the guilt and do what was necessary. For himself. For the Malfoy name.

“No. I think I’ll keep it.”

Draco examined the cover of the falling-apart book. It was stained and fading. He honestly didn’t know why Potter didn’t just buy a new one. He had enough money. Did it have sentimental value?

He felt another stab of guilt at that thought. He didn’t want Potter’s already very unstable mental health to get worse because Draco stole something dear to him.

He would just have to make it easy for the Griffindor to snatch it back. Or maybe he could bring it to their meeting place that night if he didn't get it back now.

There was no need, it seemed, as the book was slipped out of his hand from behind.

“Hey!”

Draco spun to see that Weasley had reached between Crabbe and Goyle to snatch the book back.

“You little weasel,” he snarled, lip curling.

“If I remember correctly,” Granger chimed in from next to the redhead, “you are the one Professor Moody turned into a rodent.”

She pulled Weasley around the Slytherins and sat next to Harry.

Draco felt his face heat with embarrassment at the memory of his weakness from a mere two years before. Granger was never going to let him live it down.

He was saved from finding a snarky retort when Professor Slughorn entered the room and called for the class’s attention.

Thank you so, so much to my fantastic betas Charm and Aprilsonata!!

First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter

#drarry fanfiction #lgbtq #sixth year #artist draco #harry is trying to cope with sirius's death #Insomnia #Depression #grief/mourning #Harry Potter has a gay crisis #draco malfoy has a gay crisis #eating disorder #enemies to friends to lovers

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artificialqueens · 1 year

Text

🏳️‍🌈 Euphoria, 2/10 (Greentia) - Juno

Summary: After receiving some surprising news from Divina, Veronica teams up with Tia to do some songwriting.

A/N: Part 2 of Eurovision au!! Big thanks to everyone who has let me annoy them about this fic, and there is more content on my blog!!

“Good morning everyone, it’s twelve minutes past nine and you’re listening to Kofi Mornings with me, Tia Kofi, looking to get you caffeinated and ready for the day! You’ve just heard two hits from …”

The second time that Veronica joined Tia on the radio went much better. Helped by the fact that this time she knew where she was going, and that she’d actually already met Tia this time, the whole process was smoother.

Veronica let Tia do their usual speech, looking around to see what had changed, but nothing had - just another photo added to those next to their computer, this one with their arm around the tv host Lawrence Chaney and a few of their friends, including two people who had been in the band, Vanity and Victoria.

They must all hang out together frequently still, even though they split up ages ago -

“… Veronica Green, then you can after this number!” Her thoughts were interrupted by her own name in Tia’s voice again. They flicked the button and the dial on the computer, adding some flair to their movements this time, and then sat back, exhaling with a contented sigh.

“And we’re good,” Tia muttered, picking up their mug of coffee and taking a long draught. “That’s better. Hi again, Ronnie! You alright, babe?”

Veronica smiled at them. “Think I’ll be better when I’m not using annual leave to take half days in the morning and come and do promotional interviews. Not - not that I don’t want to do it!”

“Yeah, that’s rough.” Tia nodded.

It was, they were right. Veronica was trying not to think about her boss calling her into his office yesterday morning to talk about the amount of half days she’d had to take the last couple of months to go and do interviews with people. This one in particular, the third this week due to what would be her second number one, must have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“My boss said I now have to give him a week’s notice of any leave. And no Fridays.” She huffed, leaning her head on the heel of her hand. “It’s bollocks.”

“God. Tell me about it. When I first did X Factor, Tescos said I had to dedicate myself to my job more than being on that stupid show and that I couldn’t keep taking holiday just because I was on TV now.“

Tia wasn’t looking at her any more, rolling the drawstring of their hoodie around one finger. Veronica shook her head in sympathy.

“So shit. It’s like they don’t want people to fulfil their dreams. And he knows why I’m taking leave! He knows about my singing! I told him when I signed the contract that my singing career might be picking up and it wasn’t a problem for him then!”

“He probably just didn’t think you were serious. Most of them don’t.”

There was a little too much bitterness in Tia’s words for Veronica to believe there wasn’t something behind them. But when Tia looked back up at her, their expression shifted into a small smile.

“Honestly, Vee, from the way your singles keep going up the charts, you may not be going to a day job much longer.”

But a shiver of anxiety went down her back. In a way, Veronica liked having a day job. It was stable and kept her bills running regularly from the joint account she and Joe had set up. Knowing that she would be paid a certain amount for a certain number of hours worked was … safe. Secure. The thought of not having that? Of maybe giving up her job and relying on money from her singing? The idea was so surreal … but the more she thought about it, the more it was growing like a little amoeba chewing its way through her thoughts, getting large and lazy and lingering longer and longer.

Would she ever be able to do that?

But before she could think any more, the song was fading, and Tia was leaning back to their mic.

“We’re back on the studio, and as promised we have the lovely Veronica Green with us again this morning, I’m sure you’re all familiar by now with …”

She watched Tia put on the same cheery voice they used on air. Completely different to the one they spoke to her with.

“… hands together! Hi, nice to see you again!”

That was her cue. Tia was playing the applause effect and she had to start talking now. “Nice to be back, Tia!”

This time, there was no issue with the mic, the sound perfect. Tia gave her a grin and a thumbs up sign.

“So Ronnie - can I call you Ronnie?”

“Yeah, all my friends do!” Veronica laughed, this time easily, and the smile Tia gave her in return was something Veronica wished she could print from her memory and put in a frame.

“Stunning. So Ronnie, last time we spoke you had been at the number one spot for two weeks, and now you’ve just been announced as this week’s number one for your new single, Just Once More - why don’t you tell us a bit about that?”

Veronica uncrossed and crossed her legs again. “It’s a really personal song, but when we wrote it, we wanted to make it really fun and dancey but not in a normal way. It’s really about how much we all love to express ourselves, and about letting ourselves be free and let go just once more, so I’m so happy that the public love it as much as we loved creating it.”

Tia’s eyes flickered, and then they renewed their smile. “It’s so great when you get to create stuff that you love and you get that response. It’s so validating. And - you say we, who is your muse for songwriting?”

“Oh - my friend Joe. I play guitar and he plays piano and we just like to mess around and write music.“

“Interesting. So how did you both start writing together?” Tia unfurled their legs from the chair and crossed their ankles. “Did you meet through a music group?”

“No, we,” Veronica paused, realising that she probably shouldn’t say the real reason she and Joe had started playing music together, as this show was pre-watershed. But Tia blinked at her, waved their hand, and she realised she’d have to paint over the truth a little. “We played music together when we were at uni, and then we both ended up in London together, so we just … carried on.”

“Oh, I see. Amazing. Do you two have similar taste, did you go to gigs together?”

“Well,” Veronica couldn’t help but laugh, it simply spilled from her mouth, “we don’t have too similar a music taste to be honest; he’d probably be more comfortable in either a mosh pit or a cabaret, but we make it work.”

For a moment, when she looked at Tia, she saw their expression glaze over, but they shifted their weight and quickly got over that.

“A - oh okay!” Tia laughed. “That’s great, that’s great. Okay, well we’ll play your single now, and when we get back after, we’ll go through some questions our listeners have brought for you!”

Tia pushed the buttons up, playing the opening bars of the song, and then shut off the microphones. “We’re good. That was so good! You did loads better than the first show! Have you had more practice now?”

Veronica nodded. “Had a couple of magazines, a newspaper, and two radios. One back home, I went home! First time I’d been on the radio there in two years. Felt weird! I feel like I’m getting a bit of a platform now!” Veronica put her hands to her mouth at the realisation. “God, I’ve come a long way since I won Rochdale’s Got Talent!”

“Wait, what was that?” Tia asked. “Is that something Rochdale made or was that official? Did you get Amanda Holden visiting?”

“God no, it was a contest held in Rochdale, and there were a few people who entered, and I made it to the final and I won! Good thing really, I almost lost to a tiny old man and his dancing dog!”

“Dancing dog? I’d have had to leave, I’m scared of dogs.”

“Oh, this one was alright,” Veronica said, “it was a tiny little fluffy thing. Dead friendly.”

“What did you sing?”

“At the final I sang this song I wrote ages ago, but at the start I - I sang -“

Her mouth went slowly dry and her face was turning hot, but Tia’s face flooded with realisation, their eyes widening.

“Did you sing one of my songs?”

“Yeah. I sang … Real To Me.” Veronica put her face in her hands, skin burning her palms, but Tia’s voice echoed around her.

“Oh, god, that one was … Wow. I wrote that one in like, twenty minutes one night at like 2am.”

Veronica looked up through her fingertips in time to see Tia gazing at some point in the distance before they turned back to her with a small smile.

“Look - feel free to say no,” Tia murmured, scratching at their chin, “but would you be up for a session together? At mine? I have some stuff and we could do a bit of a jam together if you want?”

——

“Wait, what did you say?” Veronica looked up from her phone. Joe, one eyebrow quirking up towards his hair, adjusted the blanket around himself where he lay on the sofa, and gave her a wry look.

“I said, you sounded so much happier this time on radio, Rodney,” Joe said again. “So relaxed. Nice one. Did you feel better? You look like you did; you haven’t stopped smiling at your phone for the last five minutes.”

“Oh.” She fought to make her face neutral again, but an echo of the smile stayed etched there. She glanced down once more at the string of messages Tia had sent her and locked her phone, putting it down and curling herself towards Joe instead.

“Yeah, yeah I did. Much better.”

“Good. And what’s his name - Nathan?”

“Neil.”

Joe waved a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes. “Whatever - he didn’t give you too much hassle when you got back to the office, did he?”

Veronica chewed her lip, twisted the hem of her shirt into a ball.

“Oh, Rodney.” He sighed and opened his arms, and she drifted into them like always, rested her chin on his shoulder and started to unwind while he rubbed circles into her shoulder blades.

“He just doesn’t get it.” Veronica thought she sounded like a petulant child, but her words kept coming. “I told him I was singing as well, and looking to get into the industry, and he said it was alright then! But now that it’s happening he’s suddenly got a problem! And he even listens to Kofi Mornings. And he said he liked me on it! And he … he’s a dick.”

“I know.“ Joe murmured absently. He’d heard most of this plenty of times before, and he just continued to rub her back, and she could feel the knot of anger at her gut loosen and fade out of her body.

“Once my album comes out,” she said firmly, “I’m quitting.”

“Well,” Joe said, raising his head, “even now you might want to take a look at reducing your hours. Maybe look at working four days with two mornings free to get yourself time to go to interviews. Because I can’t see it slowing down for you from here.”

Veronica shut her eyes, opened her mouth to say that it wasn’t that easy. She had to have stable income.

But he was right about one thing. She definitely wasn’t slowing down.

She silently ran through everything else she’d been booked on for summer. Divina had booked her for a magazine interview next weekend, three radio interviews for July and one for August so far; plus an interview with Sunday Brunch on Channel 4 in September. Along with a slot singing at a festival in the middle of nowhere in Oxfordshire, a monthly upcoming talent night somewhere in Vauxhall for the end of June, and potential for a singing place at Pride in London over the bank holiday in August. On top of that, she had some studio time booked during October and November to work on an album, and had been writing songs with Joe every spare moment.

All while holding down an office job, to keep the roof of the flat she shared with Joe over her head.

He let her go, rubbing her biceps. “Have a think about it.”

She huffed. “Alright.”

“Good.” He swung his legs from the sofa and made his way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on. “You want a cup of tea?”

But Veronica didn’t hear him; her attention was on her phone, buzzing against her hand in her pocket.

The message from her agent was strange. Veronica rubbed her eyes once or twice to see if she’d misread it, but there it was in black and white on her screen.

Divina @18.44: Spoken to the execs on the label, and thanks to your new single’s success they said they are going to put you forward as one of the candidates for sponsorship for Eurovision. Congrats! xx

Veronica blinked, and blinked again. Eurovision? Me? Why?

She scrolled back a little further up the messages to Divina.

And then she saw it. A message from the party she’d gone to back in May, or just after it, that she must have sent just before falling asleep, because she had no memory of it whatsoever.

Her chest was cold, and she put a hand to her forehead.

I got drunk at that party and told Divina I wanted to go on Eurovision! Oh, god. Never drinking again.

Scrolling back to the foot of the screen, she started tapping words on there to send to them now and stop this.

Changed my mind, not sure I’m up for doing it any

But she hesitated on the last word, not sure if she was going to type any more. It was a silly idea, just a silly thought she’d had, but something in the air seemed to hold her hand still, unable to type anything else. She didn’t hit send, didn’t go any further, but she deleted the words she’d typed.

“Joe,” she whispered, and when he looked over at her, she showed him the message on her phone.

“Oh, that’s tiny, I’m going to have to find my …” and he paused, patting himself and then the flat surfaces until he found his monocle and put it to his eye, his eyebrows furrowing.

Veronica couldn’t help but laugh. “I always just want to sketch you or something when you wear that thing. You look like a caricature.”

“Thanks, darling, that’s because I am one.” He leaned a little nearer, and then the monocle dropped from his face as his mouth dropped open with an emphatic gasp. “You’re going on Eurovision? The queer Olympics? That’s wonderful news, absolutely excellent!”

“Well, not quite Joe, I’m just being put forwards -“

“Oh, don’t be silly my love, they’d be mad not to pick you.” Joe shook his head as if the mere idea was absurd, then paused, running his fingers over his chin. “How do you actually apply?”

“No idea -“

“Is it like applying for a driving licence? Do you get a form? Or is it more … y’know, up in the air, mystical? Do you need to do a personality test? An MBTI? Do they need a sample of blood? Your star sign? I mean, do you even need a song?”

“Yes, I definitely need a song.” Veronica rolled her eyes. “That’s kind of the point of the contest.”

“Well, do you have one?”

Veronica opened her mouth and closed it again.

“We’ll have to write you one then - when does it have to be done by?” Joe grabbed the diary he still insisted on keeping and flipped it open to the month ahead. “Shall we schedule some times when we’re both in and we can have a piss about with the piano and your guitar and see if we can’t -“

“Joe,” Veronica held up her hand, “I was thinking …”

But there was no easy way to say it. He was watching her expectantly, but she didn’t know what he’d say. Would he be offended?

Joe, for his part, nodded with a face that was the picture of solemnity. “Thinking. That’s a dangerous activity, darling.”

Veronica snorted. “Joe! I mean … I was thinking. About … about writing. Writing this song.”

“That’s good. You do need to think about it in order to write it -”

“No, I mean - when I was on the radio with Tia, they said they’d like us to write together. Me and them. As well. So.” Veronica gave a cough as her throat seemed to close up a little. “I said I would write with them at some point.”

For a moment, Joe’s face didn’t change.

Then it split into a grin.

“Rodney! That’s an excellent idea! They’re already an established pop star, they’ve written most of the things on their solo albums, they did lots of writing collaborations with other people too! You should see their writing credits. Did you know they wrote with -“

“How d’you know all this?” Veronica giggled. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well.” Joe shrugged, arranging his face into some overt nonchalance. “You pick things up. Here and there. Don’t you?”

Veronica stared at him for a moment, as he diverted his attention to polishing the monocle with the hem of his shirt, peering at it over and over again and re-polishing.

“Yeah, yeah I guess,” she said finally.

And then her phone buzzed again.

This is a dream. I’ve gone off into la la land.

@officialtiakofi: Hey hun, let me know if you want to do any brainstorming ideas or writing or anything. Will have to be in the afternoon but probably after this month as i’ve got some things on. Want me to ping you a few dates?

Veronica sighed.

Tia Kofi is in my dms. Not my shoes - no, my actual dms.

She looked up at Joe, staring at her curiously, holding the mug of tea in one hand and stirring with the other. “Rodney, why are you holding the phone against yourself like some damsel in a Jane Austen novel?”

Veronica realised, hastily bringing the phone away from her chest. “Just - it’s - the light was hurting my eyes.”

She arranged her expression into what she hoped was the same overt nonchalance as he had just done, although her face was growing hot and her heart thumping. Joe just raised his eyebrows with a smile.

“Alright, alright - I’ll leave you to it. Eurovision star.”

Joe left to his room, taking his tea to his piano he’d somehow crammed into his room, filling the house up with gentle nocturnes as he did several times a week. Veronica took to Google, tapping into the search bar applying for Eurovision and drinking in every article she could find on it.

There were so many rules for each entry. She scanned down them all, wondering how anyone could get a song through them all. The most annoying rule was the three-minute allowance on the song. That would seriously limit her length of singing and her creativity. But, she thought to herself, it would make her think in ways she wouldn’t have before.

@officialtiakofi: I have a couple of engagements the next weekends but how about 5th July? 1pm? I can’t do any earlier I always need to nap after my morning shows lmao

@callmeronniex: OK sounds good :) x

She mentally slapped herself. A kiss? That is not your best friend Veronica, that is -

@officialtiakofi: Great :) I’ll send an uber to the tube to get you x

Oh. They’d sent one back.

——

The rest of June, Veronica’s weekdays were exhausting. Daytimes were spent in the thick-walled office in what seemed like a never-ending heatwave, and nighttimes in bars and venues underneath the city, strumming her guitar and singing covers for a few quid here and there. She’d find Joe in the same place at the end of the night, grinning at her through the shadows, always wanting to meet her after his own shift and take the Tube back with her, and they’d stroll the last few yards to their home, fanning each other with copies of the day's Metro.

Other weeknights were spent sitting in Joe’s room, writing a line or two to a song and then spending an hour too tired to continue, descending into conversations about aliens or clouds or whatever other things seemed to plague Joe’s mind when he was meant to be at work.

All of it kept the roof of the flat over their heads. And really, it was comfortable. But as summer drew on, having sessions writing music in their own flat, the balmy air with Joe’s previously invigorating piano sounded more and more like a swamp, pulling her down.

A change of scenery would do her the world of good.

Early in July, she went to Tia’s house for the first time. She was alone - Tia hadn’t met Joe yet, and it seemed rude to ask to bring him.

Bright sunshine greeted Veronica off the tube at Sloane Square, still far too hot. Her shirt stuck to her and her hair was wet at the back of her neck, but she didn’t worry about that now; she could sort that when she got there.

Tia’s home was not a block of flats like hers, but a pretty row of terraced houses that Veronica had seen pictures of but had never dreamt she’d be going into. They were all painted beautiful and different pastel colours, reminding Veronica of bunting, and spring flowers, and afternoon tea. They were all covered by high fences, plants weaving along and through them.

Once she was buzzed in - buzzed in! By a guard! - she was led inside, through the iron gate and into the house.

Inside, she found herself alone in a single large reception room, much cooler than outside even while bright from sunlight streaming in through the blinds. The guard pulled the door closed behind her, but Veronica didn’t move, twisting her fingers and looking around.

The room was as large as the living room at her flat, decorated with lemon-coloured walls and a wooden floor polished so brightly it looked like the still waters of a lake. The sofa and coffee table were both soft white, and the beautiful rug underneath them a marbled grey. A few shelves were embedded into the opposite wall, the same pale yellow as the wall, with eucalyptus plants and tiny cacti and a huge pot of bright orange and purple flowers in the centre.

Otherwise, it was dawning on Veronica how sterile it was.

There’s no books. No records. No tv! What is this?

Tia finally entered, pushing the door open. Veronica immediately once again felt too overdressed. She could feel her eyeliner smudging on her face, the foundation running with rivulets of sweat on her forehead. Tia was fresh as always; another shorts and shirt and converse combo, their hair cropped a little shorter than the last time she’d seen them at the radio station, rubbing their free hand on the back of their neck.

“Afternoon.” Tia rubbed their forehead and let out a huge yawn. “Sorry. I always have a quick nap after the show and it overran.”

“‘S okay.” Veronica stifled her own yawn behind her hand. “I was running a bit early anyway.”

“Sorry. Anyway,” Tia motioned towards her, “come on through, you’re not staying in here all day.”

Veronica blinked at the slight derision dripping from their words, but followed them through the door, along to the back rooms, and her mouth dropped.

She got the distinct impression Tia was a tornado and she herself was Dorothy, whisked away to Oz. The kitchen-diner area was much larger than the room she had just been in, decorated in a sunset orange, and through the arch and into the living room, it was more cluttered, more lived in. Silk flowers sat at each corner, a tall pile of books leant precariously next to a deep red loveseat, pictures and mirrors adorned the walls like sparkling jewels, and a plethora of personal items and decorations ran along the shelves, in shades of pinks and burnt yellows and signs of life, of having been lived in. Beyond that were french doors leading into a small garden, teeming with grass and rose bushes along the edges.

Tia stopped at the kitchen area, a huge space, and opened a cupboard, filled with cups and glasses.

“What do you normally drink when you’re songwriting then?” Veronica couldn’t help herself. “Tea or coffee?”

“Oh - G&T.” They cocked their head to the left and gave Veronica an ironic smile, before reaching into the cupboard. “D’you want a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something else?”

“Tea is fine.”

“You sure?” That smile was back on their lips and Veronica’s chest fluttered with words that for some reason didn’t rise to her mouth this time. Tia took the pause with a chuckle. “I’ll get you a G&T as well if you want.”

Veronica opened her mouth, then gave a little laugh and closed it again.

“G&Ts, for Tee and Vee,” Tia nodded, grabbing two tall glasses, then turning back to Veronica with a frown. "You - you don’t mind being called Vee?”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Okay stunning. Well, I’ll bring you to the music room while I get these sorted.”

Tia led her through the kitchen, up the staircase and along to the back of the house, where one of what was obviously meant to be a bedroom was converted into a music room. It was painted a beautiful deep indigo, stark contrast to the white shelves.

“Back in a minute,” Tia waved, heading back to the stairs. “Make yourself comfy.”

She listened to their footsteps on the staircase fade, turning to take her guitar off her shoulder and remove it from the case.

Most of the room was filled with accolades. Veronica didn’t want to move too much, didn’t want to disrupt anything, but she carefully walked up to the shelves as if worried it would wake up if she disturbed it. The first shelves were a little newer, and the ones closer to the door had older items - the earliest awards from their career, things from the line of merchandise from when they had been in the band and all the accolades, all lined with a sheen of dust.

The band merchandise was the strangest to see now that the band hadn’t existed for almost five years, but it came with a warm nostalgia for Veronica, who had watched her sister get into the band as a child and teenager. Keyrings, badges, patches, books, cds, posters. Merch in colours that would come to define their entire careers - magenta for Vic, royal blue for Vanity, orange for Tia and emerald green for Krystal.

She got to the Barbie doll set that had been made of them all, and remembered with a jolt of warmth her younger sister wanting one (Krystal, of course; all the kids in her class had wanted Krystal), but that would have been a toy, while these had been handled like collectors items. All still in their boxes, they’d been arranged alphabetically, Krystal on the left, then Tia, Vanity, and Victoria on the right.

She couldn’t help smiling. Krystal probably wouldn’t be seen dead in that green jumpsuit now. And god, the backlash this set got for making Victoria look nothing like herself -

“I miss the dolls.”

Veronica leapt backwards at their voice. “Sorry, I -”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to remember.” Tia chuckled at the dolls. “Funny that we have a reminder of the people we were ten years ago. Or at least, the people we thought we were.”

Veronica held her tongue at that last statement, watched as Tia sat down at the keyboard, putting their fingers down to no sound, before rolling their eyes and flicking the power on. “That would help, wouldn’t it. So. What sort of things do you already have lined up for your album? Is there something in particular you want to write? Do you have some lyrics already and you want to put them to a tune, or do you want to go full into just …” They played a chord with each hand, “just into some music and see where it takes you?”

“There is something I’m working on at the moment,” Veronica began slowly, “or that I need to be working on, anyway. A side project.”

“A side quest?” They chuckled to themself, picking up their tablet and putting it on the keyboard stand. “Okay well, we can have a play with that if you want. Any theme to the side quest?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but it can’t - it can’t be political,” Veronica counted off her fingers, “and it can’t be over three minutes, and it needs to be … like, clean, no swearing or anything in it - ”

“Wait, hold on.” Tia interrupted her, jaw slackening. “Are you entering Eurovision?”

Veronica nodded fervently. “Yeah, actually! Are you a mind reader, how did you guess!”

"Oh, just - ” they shrugged. “But that’s great news. Who’s your label again?”

“Meridian."

"Oh.” Tia extended their mouth around the sound a little more than necessary, giving a nod. “Right. Okay, well what do you want to write to send to Eurovision then, do you want to something fun and poppy, do you want a dance tune -”

“I don’t know to be honest, I just know I can’t say fuck!”

Veronica laughed at her own remark, and Tia smiled, not joining in.

“Okay, stunning. Do you want a particular key?”

Working with Tia was very different to working with Joe. She was used to playing her guitar while he played his piano, and working with him was slow, but always fun; full of breaks for cups of tea or cigarettes, and never short of innuendo and rude rhymes to her lyrics that didn’t make the final cut but were fun to think of nonetheless.

But Tia was obviously a professional. Completely focused, tapping things into the screen as they went along, trying out lots of different sounds and suggesting things she hadn’t thought of - key changes, effects, timings that she wouldn’t have used.

Even singing in front of them - something that always worried her when she’d never done it before - today the notes were looser, more fluid with every strum of her plectrum. The nerves that always overgrew her ribcage like weeds in a garden had shrivelled away, her voice ringing out in the small room, while the afternoon faded into a golden evening.

Before they realised, it was half past eight, and Tia put their hand to their mouth.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, think we lost track of time -“

“No it’s been great, really.” Veronica put the guitar down and dropped her hands into her lap. “We’ve done loads!”

Tia’s smile was stiff. “I’m - sorry, I think I’m a bit rusty, I haven’t written in so long -“

“It’s great, are you joking! We’ve done so much! I’m sorry we’ve overrun, I just got really into it and kept on going!”

“Alright.” Tia linked their hands and stretched them over their head. “It’s been great. But I think it’s time for a bit of a wind-down now.”

“What did you always do after you’ve written a song?” Veronica asked Tia.

“I’ll show you what I’ve done since I came here.” They held out their hand to her. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

She tried to ignore the vague tingle in the palm of their hand when Tia led her out the room and up the stairs to a tiny attic room, decorated in the same sunset orange but with a projector screen on one wall and a few scattered chairs. But they didn’t stop there, leading her out the door there to the rooftop.

“I come out here.” They gestured with a wide sweep of their arm, and Veronica looked all around the view.

The sun was behind them both, and a cool breeze lifted Veronica’s hair from this height. She could see the river from here, glistening with sunlight, the sky turning pale and the first stars appearing from behind the buildings along the horizon.

She sighed. “I can see why.”

——

Summer went fast with a project.

Hot, sticky days blasted through London for all of July, and getting the Tube was like walking into a furnace, but Tia’s whole house had air conditioning, and all the free afternoons were much more comfortable inside their wonderful peach-tinted haven. She’d take her guitar to their house - normally Saturdays, but sometimes Sundays - and practise with them until the sun dipped low against the skyscrapers on the horizon, and then rest on the rooftop, relaxing with one of the books from Tia’s pile.

The contrast to working with Tia, having spent so long working with Joe, was striking. Tia saw music as a construct, a mathematical formula, something that working within rules could produce a beautiful and carefully detailed result; while Joe saw it as pure art, as a voice of the soul, that defied regulations.

Veronica continued to write with Joe as well, mostly weeknights, things for her album; but his relaxed method of working was totally different from Tia’s focused attitude. It was always so free with Joe, just two friends - or maybe more - playing from the heart, making something self-indulgent. But Joe had never worked professionally in the music industry, unless getting hired to play at schools and drama clubs for panto season counted, right now in the middle of summer.

By the end of July, it was time to bring her two worlds together.

Joe had raised his eyebrows at the guard outside the gate of Tia’s home, more in amusement than anything else, but when he was inside he looked in awe at the lounge, gazing around at the plain and sterile environment of the fake home as Tia called it.

And when they came out to greet them both, Veronica saw him swallow, and a tendon in his neck pulse, before he smiled his award-winning smile and accepted their handshake.

"The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a tiny wink, and Veronica could have sworn she saw the muscles in Tia’s face straining, holding back a smile.

Veronica led him up to the music room while Tia stayed downstairs to grab some drinks, and like a moth to a lightbulb Joe wasted no time upon entering to leap onto the stool next to the keyboard, straighten his back, and play a solemn but slightly tinny Clair de Lune. Veronica shook her head with a laugh at his doleful expression as he stroked the keys, and once she’d put her guitar down, she headed back down the stairs to the kitchen to help Tia.

She found them next to a tray with three tumblers, standing at the sink with their hand on the tap, letting the water run, but not moving to put the jug they held in the other hand under it, frozen like a statue. They had tilted their head upwards, glassy-eyed, to listen to Joe’s playing through the ceiling, and Veronica watched a little smile start, and spread across their cheeks, and her heart melted like the ice cubes in the long-forgotten jug in Tia’s hand.

“Tia.”

They blinked rapidly, putting the jug under the water and looking at her.

“Oh. Hi. Is that …” they pointed upwards, and she nodded.

“He does this all the time at home.”

“Oh, gorgeous.” Their voice was so quiet it was hard to hear over the water, now overflowing from the jug, and Veronica picked up the tray herself and headed up the stairs.

Part of her stomach was still knotted with nerves, unsure how this would work. After all, Joe and Tia were very very different on the surface with how they approached music and writing songs.

In reality though, Veronica had rarely seen Joe laugh as much as when Tia was up in the room, and Veronica loved how freely Tia danced around, spinning in circles, hooking arms with Veronica and laughing while Joe freestyled melodies for them both. Writing came so easily, so completely with the three of them together, as if they’d already been in a band together and were re-forming. Music flowed, words embraced the notes, song formed itself in a neat parcel.

By eight in the evening, they were exhausted, but not too exhausted to climb to the top floor, go out onto Tia’s rooftop balcony. It was still warm, July turning to August like day turned to night, and the humid air

Joe stood at the far side, his lighter clicking and clicking as he tried and failed to light his cigarette he’d held off smoking until now. Tia and Veronica stayed at the front, gazed out at the river, tinted orange and blue by the waning sunlight in the sky, breathing in the warm air.

“It was good, today, wasn’t it.”

She turned to Tia at their words, finding a solemn expression facing the horizon still, their teeth taking their bottom lip into their mouth.

For one bizarre moment, Veronica pictured herself doing that to them, too.

“It was … really lovely. Thank you.” She smiled, pushed the thought down. “I’m really happy with how well we all worked together.”

She glanced at Joe, still clicking his lighter, rapid frustrated noises.

“God, I wish we could do this more.”

“We could do this all the time. If you lived closer.”

Veronica snorted. “I can’t see myself being able to afford to live here any time soon.”

Tia made a noise in their throat. “Course you will. Once your career takes off. And it will.”

They didn’t look at her while they spoke, staring straight through the horizon as if seeing something in another universe that Veronica had yet to know.

She could guess though.

Eurovision was something that was watched by millions - no, hundreds of millions of people. It was more than a concert. It was a spectacle, an event, a religious experience for everyone watching.

And because of that, it had the power to make her or break her.

One wrong step, one flat note, one fall, one protester hurling eggs at her - and her entirely fragile career could be over before the clock struck midnight like some warped retelling of Cinderella. She’d probably lose her contract with the music label, she’d lose Divina, she’d lose any hope of signing somewhere else. Everything she was building upon, her singing career demolished from the very cornerstones.

But if she got it right …

Pride Challenge Points: 2285

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #tia kofi #joe black #veronica green #tia x veronica #eurovision au #pop star au #lesbian au #fic challenge #juno #euphoria

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thequibblah · 2 years

Text

a snippet from 51 ✂️

spoilers below the cut, obvi

Dorcas’s voice came through the open door just then. “Who are you talking to?”

“The bloody Marauders—”

“Well, would you shut the door and then argue?”

Sirius saw his chance here. Half-worming past Germaine, he said, “Can we de-pixie the dorm first, Walker?”

Dorcas groaned. She had a pillow over her face, and was lying flat on her bed — head at the footboard, Sirius noted. It was very strange to see girls in their natural habitat. He had been inside a girl’s dorm before, but considering that had been one single time to give Isobel Park a note about Quidditch — and also had resulted in a lot of (unnecessary) shrieking — that did not quite compare.

“You don’t want to de-pixie the dorm,” said Dorcas, her voice muffled.

“Sorry?”

“Shut the door, please.”

With another heavy sigh, Germaine inched out of the way to allow them entry. The boys trooped past her — Peter at once stubbed his toe on a bedpost — and sat on the carpet, much like they might have in their own room. Sirius half-expected to see Remus get up to put a record on. Once the door was shut again, the differences between the two dorms fell into shadow; when his gaze snagged on Dorcas’s prone form again, he was genuinely surprised at the sight of her.

She’d shifted the pillow off her face to scan them. “Only three of you,” she said.

“Astute observation,” said Sirius.

She pointed his way. “That’s Mary’s bed. Don’t sit.”

He had barely been leaning against it, but Sirius scooted forward obediently, rolling his eyes though he knew she couldn’t see. Dorcas with a migraine was altogether too imperious for his liking.

“And you’re not here for the pixies,” Dorcas continued.

“Should she be talking to us? With the migraine?” Peter whispered, first to Remus and then to Germaine. “Should she—”

“She can hear you,” Germaine said. “And it’s a migraine, not bloody dragon pox. You won’t catch it from her.”

“Fine,” Sirius said, ignoring this aside, “I’ll bite. Why do you think we’re not here for the pixies?”

“Awfully suspicious, you three showing up here at this hour.” And then she covered her face with her pillow again.

She wasn’t wrong, of course, but Sirius wasn’t about to go and tell her so, not when he’d argued his way into the dorm in the first place.

“Where’s Sara?” he said, directing the question at Germaine.

“Dunno. She was doing her Divination work in the common room. I expect she’ll be down there.”

Sirius shot a meaningful glance at Peter and Remus — or, he tried to, anyway. It was difficult to tell how successful or productive any of his subtlety was when he couldn’t see a damn thing.

Remus gave a faint, weary sigh — a fantastic sign, because it signalled his reluctant participation in the whole scheme. “And Mary will come back here, yes? With the draught?”

“I see that we’re just allowing this to happen, at this point,” Germaine said, apparently to no one in particular.

Dorcas was pressing the pillow to her face with a concerning amount of concentration. Sirius wondered if it were possible to accidentally smother oneself, and if so, should one of them intervene?

“If you’re here—” Dorcas said, and now it really was difficult to hear her “—we may as well get some information out of you.”

The boys exchanged looks now, and Sirius did not have to see their expressions properly to know that they were all equally confounded.

“Er,” said Peter, which about summed it up.

“How long have you three known that Lily fancies James?” she said into her pillow.

#ct snippet #51 #ct spoilers #come together

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kohanayaki · 3 years

Text

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 4

Snape looks back on your days at Hogwarts, how your friendship came to be, and how it came to end.

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 4 .:Budding Feelings and the Beginning of the End:.

Severus Snape had made a lot of mistakes in his life, and seeing you again after all these years was forcing him to relive every single one of them.

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, shrouded in the darkness and grim silence of his empty house. He never thought he'd see you again, and certainly not under these circumstances. When he'd laid his eyes on you in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place he couldn't believe it. He, much like the rest of the Order (except for Molly, apparently) assumed you wouldn't be at these meetings any longer. After James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, you'd left London and headed to New York under the Ministry's alliance with MACUSA, hoping to help bridge the gap between muggle-borns and purebloods in America. He knew you had been back to meet Harry a handful of times, but he also knew that being in this city brought up painful memories for you, so he was as stunned as anyone else to see you standing there in the doorway, greeting them as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

He could see that traveling had been good for you. He'd heard through the Hogwarts circuit that you were back on auror duty across the world, taking special assignments from Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. You seemed like you were doing better, but when you turned to smile at him he could see the hesitation and the sadness that brewed behind your eyes, likely his doing.

He desperately wanted things to go back to what they were before—

Before he'd ruined it. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1974 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright students,” Professor Slughorn said as everyone finished filing inside the room, “today we're going to be pairing off into new partners for the upcoming project.”

Groans and nervous chatter flooded the sound space immediately, no one very thrilled with having to work with someone new out of their control. You cast a glance over to Lily who looked equally displeased. You liked being her partner, you both excelled at the subject and worked really well together.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Slughorn said, waving the complaints off, “However, I am going to be giving you the luxury of choosing your own partners this time, but everyone—”

The energy in the room instantly shifted, everyone shoving around people to get to their friends.

“—keep in mind, if I see any slacking off or trouble brewing in these new partnerships I will not hesitate to rearrange them!”

Slughorns's words were completely lost among the commotion as people paired off before you could even get your bearings. Snape stalled as he stared at you from across the room; Lily had already been dragged away by Mary, and his brain was trying to work out how to ask you to be his partner.

Suddenly an arm was slung over your shoulder and you turned towards the new presence in surprise. You looked up to see Evan Rosier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his Slytherin tie loose around his neck.

Oh, sod it, Snape cursed internally. He was too late.

“Wanna partner up?” Rosier asked, a crooked grin gracing his chiseled features, “It'd be my honor to have the smartest Potions partner in class, not to mention the most attractive.”

You rolled your eyes at the praise. Evan was your friend, and he was nice to look at, but if he thought that you would be willing to do all the work for the both of you in exchange for some cheap compliments, then he had another thing coming. You locked eyes with Snape from across the room

“It would be your honor,” you smirked up at Rosier, “but I already have a partner, sorry.”

It took Snape a few seconds to realize what you were doing, but once he snapped out of it he made his way towards you. You almost chuckled at how robotic he looked as he did, clearly shocked.

Rosier looked between the two of you and rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he said, letting you go and pushing you lightly in Snape's direction, “but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He sent a wink your way that left Snape's blood inexplicably boiling,

“Thanks for that,” you grinned, “and just so you know, I would have chosen you even if he didn't come up to me, so don't get all pouty about it, okay?”

Severus just looked at you blankly. Even after four years it was frightening how well you were able to read him; for a moment he was scared that he'd accidentally projected his thoughts to you, but he wasn't anywhere near that level of legillemency yet. He wanted to say something that had some semblance of gratitude but settled on:

“Whatever.”

To which you just laughed and dragged him to your now shared desk.

You really were something else.

“Now then,” Professor Slughorn addressed the room, “today we will be beginning the new unit on toxic concoctions, starting with the Draught of Living Death. If you would all turn to page ten of your books, we will get started presently.”

You turned open your book and Severus did the same. As he did, you noticed that nearly every page was covered in small notes littering the margins, with some of the instructions circled, crossed out, or modified. You were hardly surprised, Snape had been pouring over this book since last year when he'd stolen it from a fifth year Slytherin who'd been speaking poorly of you (that last part you were unaware of).

You turned your attention to the directions, reaching over to preheat the burner so your cauldron would be hot enough by the time you began. However, as soon as you lit the flame with the tip of your wand, your cauldron shot up into the air, hitting the ceiling with a loud BANG! before crashing down back onto your table, breaking several of the glass instruments that were settled there.

Your face burned embarrassment as everyone in the room turned to look at you in shock.

“Snape, (L/n),” Slughorn said, surprised, “whatever happened?”

“I. . .” you began, not knowing what to say, “I don't know, I'm sorry, Professor.”

“Quite all right,” he said uncertainly, restoring your table and equipment with a wave of his wand, “just be sure whatever that was doesn't happen again.”

“Of course,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the snickering around you. If you noticed the way that it stopped as soon as Snape sent a deathly glare at the culprits, you didn't show it. You reached down to grab your cauldron, noticing that the bottom was dusted in some sort of orange powder. As you turned it over, a note fell out of it.

You're welcome, (L/n). Sorry I couldn't be there for the fireworks~

J.P.

“That sneaky little, ugh,” you crumpled the note, growling in frustration.

“What is it?” Severus asked, peering over your shoulder to glance at the paper. However, as soon as you tried to show it to him it vanished in your hands in a wisp of glowing embers. You turned to look at Severus who was still staring at you expectantly.

“It was Potter,” you rolled your eyes.

Anger flashed in Severus' eyes before confusion replaced it momentarily.

“But that was your cauldron, not mine. Why would Potter want to mess with you?”

And now the anger was back again. Snape was used to Potter’s crew targeting him; bullying and suffering through minor hexes had become an everyday occurrence, but when he imagined them doing anything to you it was enough to make him see red.

“Ah, well. . .” you trailed off, deciding that telling him you'd yelled at the group of Gryffindors: 'if you jerks want to have a go at Severus you're gonna have to get through me first!' was a bad idea.

“I sort of, maybe, kind of. . . started it?” you said. Severus raised a brow at you. “Look, Potter was asking for it, okay? It was about time someone messed with him for a change. And besides, it was hilarious, even Lily got a kick out of watching that broom hit him in the head.”

Severus chuckled at that, a hint of pride welling in his chest at yours and Lily's shared distaste for the Potter boy.

“But that was the last straw,” you declared, grabbing a Sopophorus bean from the bowl in front of you and a knife to cut it as per the instructions, “I'm sick and tired of him acting like he's better than everyone else,” you said, stabbing down with your knife for emphasis. The Sopophorus bean jumped as you did, sliding out from under your blade and skidding across your cutting board. You huffed as you grabbed it again, placing it back down and holding it in place. “And he walks around with that little posse of his like he runs this school!” You brought your knife down again, moving your fingers at the last second, but the bean still managed to slip away, trying to bounce back into the bowl.

“This means war!” you seethed, grabbing the runaway legume again, now at your wit's end, and crushing it in your fist. It stopped jumping as the beet-red juice of the plant dripped down your arm, and Severus looked at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Well, that's one way to do it,” he said.

“Shove off,” you said playfully, throwing the bean in his direction. He dodged it easily, his smile growing.

“No, really,” he said, almost more to himself than you as he scribbled out the word 'cut' and replaced it with 'crush' in his notebook, “you might be better at this than you let on.”

You blushed at the unexpected compliment, backhanded as it was.

“Excuse you, I happen to be fantastic at Potions,” you said, grabbing another bean and avoiding his gaze.

“Right, that's why your cauldron exploded.”

“That was sabotage,” you shot back.

“I was talking about last week,” Severus said cheekily, taking in your flustered expression.

You both went back to your ingredients, eventually discovering that crushing the beans with the flat of a knife was the best way to extract the juice without them jumping. You watched Severus out of the corner of your eye as he measured out the African Sea water, adding it gradually as he stirred the mixture counter-clockwise. The elixir turned a bright blue color, shimmering as if light were being reflected off of it. He continued on with the formula, snapping off a few fluxweed sprigs before adding them and lowering the heat with his wand, hardly looking at the instructions at all.

You wondered where this newfound confidence had come from. Severus was usually so rigid and withdrawn, but right now he looked more at ease than you had ever seen him. A spark was present in his eyes as he worked that you rarely ever saw, and it made you smile despite yourself.

The rest of your potion making process went on without a hitch, and you silently applauded yourself as you watched the other students around you struggle to get their concoctions together. Even Lily seemed to be having trouble, though Mary wasn't really helping other than offering moral support.

You turned back to focus on your own potion, stirring it with the ladle and mesmerized by the way it began to turn a deep plum color. Meanwhile, Severus was cleaning up your shared station, looking over at the brew. His brows furrowed as he examined it.

“Just stir it a bit more,” he said, coming up behind you and placing his hand on top of yours, “the color is still off.”

Your face burned at the unexpected contact; Snape certainly wasn't a touchy person, so the act caught you completely off guard, though you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. Severus nearly jumped backwards, absolutely mortified when he realized what he was doing. It was him micromanaging more than anything; he was so focused on getting the potion right he didn't even notice he was moving his own body as he gave you the instruction.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling quite possibly the lamest he'd ever felt in his life.

“It's okay,” you said, biting the inside of your lip nervously and continuing to stir like he said. Your light response allowed Snape to relax, his shoulders lowering a full three inches. He'd been certain you would have reacted to his mistake with disgust or repulsion, but you didn't. What did that mean? You were utterly confusing. Despite how well you could read him, Severus was unable to get a read on you at all. If he had been, he would have noticed the tiny smile on your face as you stirred, silently wishing his hand were back on yours.

You and Snape stood at attention as Slughorn peered down at your potion, looking mildly impressed. He reached into his robes, procuring an oak leaf from who knows where, and dropped it into your cauldron. The leaf floated on top of the liquid for just a moment before its edges began to burn. It furled from the unseen heat, folding in on itself and disappearing into the inky depths of the liquid. Slughorn's expression lit up, his impression no longer mild.

“Merlin's beard, it's perfect!” he exclaimed, “in all my years I've never seen a pair recreate this potion exactly as you two have done today.”

You beamed at the praise, your smile only widening as you saw your emotions mirrored in Severus' face, albeit more subtly.

Over the course of your fourth year, you and Snape continued to excel in Potions, receiving much praise from Professor Slughorn and a lot of glares from your fellow students. However, there was something else that continued that year, and that was your increasing interactions with James Potter.

“I just don't get why you even bother with him,” Snape had said to you one day while you were in Potions. Your prank war with James was at its peak, and you were sidetracked that day in class coming up with new ideas to get back at him.

“It's a full on battle now, Sev,” you said, “I can't back down! Now, for my next one I was thinking something along the lines of a callback to one of his earlier stunts. Maybe get him back for tampering with my cauldron at the beginning the year.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I've got a few friends in Gryffindor, and apparently he talks about his prank plans way too loudly in the common room, so I have a head start on this one. They mentioned something about my shampoo—“

“(Y/n),” Severus stressed, finally catching your attention. You looked up at him, embarrassed at you rambling. “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, “he's just baiting you. You know that.”

“It keeps them from doing anything that targets you, right?” you questioned back.

Severus didn't know what to say at that. It was true, ever since you had declared war on James, he and his stupid friends hadn't really bothered with him at all. Were you doing this for him? He didn't know what to do with the thought.

You were, of course, but you thought it better not to mention that in the last few months this had been going on, you'd also begun to find the rivalry and banter between you and James fun.

“Gather 'round students, gather 'round!” Slughorn beckoned the class over, disrupting your train of thought and putting an end to your conversation, “now, would anyone like to identify the potion in this cauldron here?” He gestured to a shockingly pink liquid that seemed to swirl on its own. Plum and periwinkle smoke wafted through the air above it in delicate spirals.

“That's Amortentia,” Lily said, “it's a love potion that's supposed to smell different to everyone depending on what scents attract them.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans,” Slughorn said proudly, “would you like to tell us what you smell?”

“Cinnamon,” she started slowly, “warm spices, butterbeer, sandalwood. . .” her cheeks reddened significantly, as if she'd made some sort of realization. “Th-that's all.” You stared at her quizzically but she just shook her head. You'd have to ask her about this later. . .

“(L/n),” Slughorn said, “would you be so kind as to do the same?”

“Sure,” you said, stepping up to the cauldron. It was captivating, almost drawing you in physically. “Wild lavender,” you said, smiling, your mother had a garden full of them when you were growing up, “rain when it hits the pavement, and old leather books.” Scents you wouldn't realize until much later all correlated with a certain person.

“Very different scents for very different people,” Professor Slughorn said, “thank you for demonstrating, you two. Now, we will not be brewing this potion today for obvious reasons. It is incredibly dangerous, capable of creating not true love, but unhinged obsession. What we will be doing, however, is studying its effects. . .”

“Strongest love potion in the world, huh?” Evan suddenly appeared at your side, “funny, I could have sworn it smelled just like you, although you wouldn't need a potion to reign me in~”

“Put a sock in it, Rosier,” you said, shoving him away playfully.

“Aw, come on, just one date wouldn't hurt,” he said, “I'm pulling out all my best lines here!”

“That's the best you've got?”

“Ouch.”

Snape couldn't help but glare at the Slytherin boy, not liking how close he was to you. Nice as he seemed, Snape knew how he could really be. He didn't think you'd be such good friends with Rosier if you knew he was knee deep in the dark arts as soon as the sun set on the castle. Then again, Severus wasn't one to talk.

Over the course of the year he noticed that you only grew closer to James, something that bothered him immensely. He was grateful that you had gotten his bullying to stop, but he hated that the way you had gone about it was to turn Potter into a friend. . .

“Merlin, he keeps looking over at you, Lils,” you said.

Lily and Severus looked over to where James sat with Sirius, Remus, and Peter in their corner table as usual. Somehow they always managed to be at The Three Broomsticks at the exact same time as your trio, almost as if they knew you were there. James Potter was, in fact, looking towards your table, until your friends not-so-discreetly turned to look at him and he diverted his gaze elsewhere.

“Idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you took another sip of your butterbeer.

Lily looked between you and James' table for a moment before turning back to you.

“Actually, (Y/n), he's staring at you.”

You looked at her like she'd grown a second head but then began to laugh.

“Is he? Jeeze, what a creep,” you said, but with affection in your voice that wasn't missed by Severus, “it's probably because I saved his ass the other day and he's still reeling from it.”

“Oh,” she said, a hint of what you swore was relief in her tone until she realized what you said, “Wait, you what?”

“Sirius and I were talking in the forest and we got ambushed by Malfoy's motley crew,” you said, “and Potter showed up because of course he did. It was just a little duel, no big deal.”

“What?!” Lily said, concern written all over her face, “they fancy the dark arts, (Y/n), you could have been hurt!”

Severus stared into his drink, unable to look at either of you.

“I'm fine, Lils,” you insisted, “and trust me, I don't think Malfoy's going to be bothering anyone anymore. Just show him a picture of a squid and he'll probably screech like a banshee.”

Lily laughed along with you, partially in confusion, until the first part of your statement hit her with a slight delay.

“Hold on, you were in the forest with Black? And did you just call him Sirius?” she asked, her teasing making your face flush.

“We just. . . figured some stuff out. . . It was nothing like what you're thinking, so drop it,” you grumbled, taking another drink to hide your embarrassed face.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n),” Lily sang, taking a sip of her own drink.

Severus felt jealousy bubble up in him like a disease. He cast his gaze upwards, his eyes locking momentarily with James'. His arch rival rose a cocky brow at him, his gaze unmistakably shifting to you and Lily before staring Snape down again. Severus took a sharp breath to steel himself, that feeling in the pit of his stomach never really going away.

That was the beginning of the end.

Read chapter 5 here!

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy

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the-dream-team · 3 years

Note

hi dylan! i've seen you around a lot but never interacted with your posts before (a tragic error) so i wanted to remedy that by saying that 'July' was very beautiful and utterly perfect!

P.S. I've heard some mumblings about Shirtless James May 👀👀 here is my formal request for you to participate 😂

Oh my gosh, hi! I’ve definitely seen your username around, so it’s lovely to finally say hello :) That’s so sweet, I’m glad you liked July- it was very fun to write! And you know what else was fun to write? This ridiculous one shot for Shirtless JP May, dedicated you, @sunshine-marauders <3

Three Times Lily Evans Did NOT Want to See James Potter Shirtless and One Time She Most Certainly Did

***

“Mr. Potter, please put your trousers back on, my boy!”

“Sir, I would, but there’s just no way of telling if this potion might be poisonous, and I’d rather play it safe.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed as she shrugged off her own robes, now covered head to toe in acidic slime from the Dungbomb that had just exploded in her and Sev’s cauldron. The purple liquid smelled something foul, but there was nothing poisonous about what was once a perfectly brewed Sleeping Draught. James Potter knew that, but he’d stripped down to his pants regardless.

“Really, Professor Slughorn, I don’t mind,” Potter continued while he sauntered back to his own workstation, bare chest puffed out as though he wasn’t practically nude in the middle of the damn classroom. His display garnered a collection of giggles from around the dungeons and a wolf whistle from Remus. “And who am I to deny my fellow third years of this view?”

Lily scoffed. She couldn’t speak for her classmates, but she knew her own view consisted of scrawny limbs, knobbly knees, and the most insufferable smirk known to wizardkind. And when he turned to her with fingers running through his hair and an infuriatingly pointed look in her direction, Lily balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms to keep herself from reaching out to smack that stupid grin and those lopsided glasses clean off his face.

***

“There’d better be a good explanation for this, Potter.”

“It kills me, Evans, because there is an excellent explanation for our current predicament- one that I think you’d find admirable and impressive- but unfortunately we’re sworn to secrecy, so you’ll just have to assign us detentions and continue on with your rounds for the night.”

Lily turned, exasperated, to Remus, whose Prefect’s badge looked awfully heavy on his robes that night. He didn’t meet her eye, instead focusing on his three naked friends standing before them in the middle of the first floor corridor. Well, mostly naked. Each of the fifth year Gryffindor boys held strategically placed Shrivelfig leaves to cover their most intimate areas, but only Peter looked as though that protection was a matter of life or death. Sirius stood as casually as he always did, completely unphased to find himself caught clothesless in the middle of the night, and James somehow looked more confident than usual (if that was even possible) with his chest on full display. He seemed to be strategically flexing every Quidditch-trained muscle as he grinned down at her with that pointed look she’d become far too familiar with. She spent every last drop of concentration keeping her eyes locked on James’ face to avoid any potential… drifting.

“Did you have any luck?” said Remus after a moment. Lily whipped around in shocked betrayal. He couldn’t possibly approve of this behaviour?

“Not this time,” Sirius responded, “but I got bloody close. Don’t think having clothes makes a difference, but it was worth trying.”

“I’d say we should be on track to making it work before the end of the month,” added James, his crooked grin turning into a proper smile.

Remus’ eyes sparkled. “Holy shit, that’s brilliant.”

Lily let out a frustrated grunt before turning on her heel to storm away from the disrobed boys and her fellow Prefect, upset that Remus wouldn’t take their duties seriously, but thankful to be out of sight from James’ sharp gaze, finally able to let the blush she’d been desperately fighting back escape across her cheeks.

***

“I’m sorry, Evans, but I don’t make the rules. You’ve got to lose an article of clothing or else you’ll have to forfeit.”

“That’s bollocks, Black, you literally came up with the idea for Strip Exploding Snap this evening.”

The sixth years were circled up around the Common Room’s fireplace, loose socks and sweaters littering the floor, a half-empty bottle of stolen Firewhisky passing around from hand to hand. If it weren’t for Mary’s ridiculous crush on Sirius, Lily would never have found herself anywhere near this kind of event, but she’d decided to be a good friend, and now she was down to an undershirt and knickers. It was unclear whether her face burned red from the whiskey or the nerves.

“Look, Evans,” Sirius continued with an air of indifference, “if you’re not going to participate, you can just put your cards back in the pile-”

“I’ll do it for her!” James nearly shouted as he jumped up from his seat, swaying slightly. His eyes as glossy as the crooked glasses falling down his nose. He reached for the collar of his white t-shirt, grabbing hold to pull it over his head, but a competitive rush propelled Lily to her feet.

“No!” she protested before the shirt could make its way too far up James’ stomach. He froze in place, peering over the fabric at her in confusion. “You can’t just play for me, Potter, that’s not fair. I want to win on my own.”

“Really, Evans, I don’t mind,” laughed James, finally following through to remove the shirt completely. His glasses came off in the process, stuck in the fabric, and Lily nearly choked as her mouth went dry at the full sight of him, broader and fuller than she’d remembered. Had she ever seen him without his glasses before? His face as naked as his torso? She needed another drink.

“I’m not going to let you cheat,” she said, actually stomping her foot in the process. And to prove the dedication to her claims, she stripped down to her bra and sent James her most determined, pointed stare. His glasses made their way back to his face so fast, he nearly poked his eye out. “Now, put your shirt back on, Potter, or I’ll come over there and do it myself.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is, Evans,” he breathed, nearly choking on his words.

Lily thought her leaping heart must be horribly visible through her exposed skin.

“Do you both need the rest of us to leave?” chimed in Sirius, throwing Lily from her rapidly spiraling thoughts.

She immediately sat back down, throwing James his shirt in the process, desperately trying to contain the butterflies threatening to escape through her throat. His shirt never made it back over his head and the rest of the night no longer passed in minutes, but instead in glances stolen from across the room.

***

“Whatever is the problem, Miss Evans, my dear?”

“Sir, I accidentally spilled an entire vial of Mermaid venom all over Potter. It’s burned straight through his robes and I’m worried it might be serious. Do you mind if I leave to take him to Madam Pomfrey’s?”

Professor Slughorn fumbled out a concerned response, granting his blessing, and Lily spared no time grabbing James by the wrist to drag him out of the classroom and through the dungeons. His eyes were wide as he studied the golden liquid eating through the fabric of his sweater. “Is this poisonous?” he asked, fingers fumbling with his deteriorating uniform.

Lily spun around with emerald fire behind her eyes. “It is,” she responded, stopping him in his tracks as they turned a corner. “So we ought to play it safe and get these off you.”

She watched his eyes flash with sudden realization before she pulled off his sweater and made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

The knowing grin that broke out across James’ face sent waves of elation through her heart, radiating out to find him again and pull him down to her. Their mouths met with smiling lips and heavy sighs, eager to reconnect after what felt like ages apart, but in reality, couldn’t have been more than an hour.

“What did I do to deserve this?” James asked through jagged breaths as he grabbed for the door handle to the nearest broom closet, dragging Lily in after him by the waist.

“You gave me that look,” she said, laughing slightly as she moved her hands up his warm skin to comb through his tousled hair. “That bloody pointed look you get that drives me crazy.” She kissed him and he deepened it before pausing.

“Wait. You poisoned me because I looked at you?”

“I spilled poison on you because I wanted to get your shirt off.”

He beamed, his smile brightening the dim, crowded cupboard as he brought his hands up to hold her face. “Well, in that case, who am I to deny you this view?”

She scoffed. Then kissed him again.

#shirtless james potter may #i wasn't going to participate to this extent #but you asked so nicely!#<3 #jily fic #jily #james potter #lily evans #one shot #shirtless jp may

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milkiane · 3 years

Text

radio silence

pairings: fred weasley x fem!reader

warnings: character death, panic attacks, grief, mental breakdowns, tell me if i missed anything.

word count: 1676

note: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGST for @love-peachh’s writing challenge

“hello there! you’ve reached fred and y/n weasley’s fellyto--”

“fred, it’s called a telephone,”

“--fellytone. unfortunately, we can’t come to the phone right now, so leave us a message after the beep!”

beep. beep. beep.

a long excruciating silence was the only thing surrounding your dark and gloomy room after that. you sighed, turning the dials to give it another call.

“hello there! you’ve reached fred and y/n weasley’s fellyto--”

“fred, it’s called a telephone,”

“--fellytone. unfortunately, we can’t come to the phone right now, so leave us a message after the beep!"

it doesn’t make any sense. nothing makes sense.

you should really change your answering machine, because it doesn’t make any sense anymore. it’s not fred and y/n weasley’s fellytone anymore. it’s just y/n weasley’s telephone now.

but it’s the only way you could hear his voice again.

you sniffed. click, click, click.

“hello there! you’ve reached fred and y/n weasley’s fellyto--”

“fred, it’s called a telephone,”

“--fellytone. unfortunately, we can’t come to the phone right now, so leave us a message after the beep!”

it’s been five months. five months without fred. five months without the light of your life.

it’s ridiculous, honestly. how you still haven’t moved on from what had happened.

fred always told you how he admired you for being strong. you knew that he would be disappointed if he was watching you right now, how the love of his life is nothing but a tiny ball of misery.

so you took a bath and cleaned yourself up, making sure to spray an extra amount of perfume that fred loves. loved.

you shook your head, walking towards your mirror. you plastered on a smile. because today is a brand new day, you aren’t going to walk around with your head down. you aren’t going to feel so blue today. for him.

one second.

two seconds.

three seconds.

it faltered away. clenching your jaw, you stared into your reflection.

how can you be such a selfish person? how can you still manage to smile when you’re alive and fred is not?

you took a shaky breath, placing a hand on the mirror. you touched it ever so lightly, letting your fingertips caress the cold surface before smashing the glass. you broke down, grabbing a fistful of your hair as you sobbed on the heap of the floors, shards of glass prickling your skin.

i’m sorry, freddie, maybe next time.

you brought the cups with you when you made your way towards the living room. one was a cup of coffee with the right amount of milk, and the other one was a cup of tea with a spoonful of honey and a cube of sugar.

you placed the cup of tea on the table’s coaster, making yourself comfortable on your couch.

you took a sip of your coffee, watching the steam of the unattended cup of tea slowly rise. looking around your silent house, your eyes stopped on the muggle radio fred had bought the time you went on a date in muggle london.

you set down your warm drink down on the coffee table. slowly dragging yourself towards the device. you held it in your hands, trying to turn it on as you sat back on the couch.

“and we'll build this love from the ground up,

for worse or for better,

and I will be all you need,”

you gasped, tears welling in your eyes the moment the music enveloped you. your hands shakily tried to turn off the radio.

of all the songs that could play, they chose to play your song. the song you and fred would always slow dance to.

when your trembling fiddles did nothing to stop the noise, you whimpered, dropping it on the carpeted floor. your hands immediately finding home by covering your ears, whispering a chorus of no’s and stop’s to yourself.

and as if sensing that you were in distress, george apparated in with a pop, inviting himself in for his usual visit.

he ran towards you immediately, trying to figure out what was triggering your attacks. you were already doing so well. you haven’t had any attacks or meltdowns for a few weeks now.

“what’s wrong, y/n?” george asked softly, pulling you into a hug.

“turn it off,” you whispered, “please turn it off.”

george looked around, his gaze falling onto the radio. truthfully, he didn’t know how it worked. it wasn’t like the old one his dad owned, so he just twisted and turned every button there is, consequently making the music grow louder than before.

you cried, frustration and anguish taking over you as you snatched it off his hands and threw it against the wall.

realizing what you did, you sobbed, rushing over the broken pieces, “no, no, i’m sorry,” you looked at the frozen man in your living room, “fix it george, please,”

snapping out of his state, he walked towards you, trying to remember the simple spell to repair the broken apparatus, “i-”

“george, please, i’m sorry,” you continued to weep beside him, tears still falling down stubbornly no matter how many times you’ve tried to wipe them away.

he sighed in exasperation, “give me a moment, y/n,”

once he remembered what the spell was, he immediately placed the radio away. george looked at you in sadness, fishing out the emergency draught.

“no, george,” you shook your head, retreating backward until your back was against the wall, “no, we don’t- i don’t need that anymore,”

george’s heart broke as he watched you gasp out for air, tears relentlessly falling down your cheeks, “shh, please don’t cry, y/n,”

he immediately tackled you on the floor, wrapping an arm around you to prevent you from thrashing around as he forced the draught down your throat.

george waited a few moments for you to calm down and let the potion do its work. he thought you were okay now, you were doing so well.

he sighed, carrying your body towards your bedroom.

george was seated on the sofa near your bed. fred thought it was necessary for the room, though it hasn’t really been used until now. he was reading one of your books when you woke up.

“it’s our anniversary today,” you murmured, your voice raspy from your breakdown and from just waking up. george looked at you, but your eyes were focused on the calendar affixed on the wall.

NOVEMBER 20th.

george stayed quiet, so you continued to speak, your words still being slurred from the effects of the potion, “i wish i could fix my calendar, y’know? because there’s no more freddie, meaning there’s no more anniversary.”

he sat beside you on the bed, letting you sob on his shoulder, offering silent company.

“i’m so exhausted, george,” you cried, clutching his sweater, “i can’t keep playing pretend. i can’t- i can’t,”

“shh, it’s alright,” truthfully, george doesn’t know what else to do, he doesn’t know what else to say, not when he’s going through the same pain you’re feeling.

“he’s always in my mind. i can see him everywhere. everything reminds me of him, and how it used to be and it hurts,” you cried, “it hurts and i just want the pain to stop, just make it stop, georgie,”

george was crying by now, his body shaking as he held yours, “i wish i could, y/n, i really do,”

when you were certain that george was already sleeping somewhat peacefully in the guest room, you sneaked out of your own with your blanket wrapped around you.

you turned the lamp on once you’ve reached the living room. sitting down, you composed yourself, trying to convince yourself that you wouldn’t cry again, for him.

with a last shaky breath, you grabbed the radio. you turned it on and gently lowered the volume.

settling it down on the mahogany coffee table, you steadied yourself on the couch, letting the smooth melody coming out from the device shroud you.

the lyrics of the familiar song going from one ear and out the other, tears yet again blurring your vision.

you and fred have been stuck in your kitchen, trying to bake a cake for molly. your flour-covered fingers tracing through each word of the recipe book, “hey fred, can you grab the-- ergh,”

fred laughed as he smeared the frosting on your nose.

you scoffed, dipping a finger in and smearing it from his nose down his lips. you smiled up at him, stepping onto your tiptoes as you gave his frosted lips a peck.

the both of you smiled through the kiss, “i guess the frosting is perfect now, no?”

“when we have a child, can we name them after constellations?” fred asked, still running his hand through your hair, “or at least their second name will be named after a constellation?”

you smiled, “of course, freddie,”

“after the war, we’ll start our own family,” he beamed, “i mean, we’ve got the house already. all we need now is our ginger babies.”

“are you sure they’ll be gingers?” you laughed, turning to look at your husband.

“us, weasleys, we’ve got the strongest genes, ‘course they’ll be gingers.” he boasted, flexing his arms to prove his point.

“we’re going to make it out here together, alright?” fred whispered, his forehead on yours, “we’ve got a whole new future out there waiting for us,”

“i love you, freddie,” you mumbled, pulling him into a kiss.

“i love you, too, darling,” he said, kissing your forehead before pulling away, “i’ll see you later,”

click, click, click.

radio silence. you sniffed, carefully setting down the device.

radio silence. the only deafening noise you could hear after turning off the radio.

radio silence. the only deafening noise you could hear in the house which was once filled with love and laughter.

radio silence. the only thing you’ve faced after losing the love of your life.

radio silence. because fred weasley brought all your happiness and lightheartedness with him when he… radio silence.

general taglist: @daltonacademia @inks-and-jinx @weasleyyy @oldschoolkiddo @accioweaslcy @inglourious-imagines @buckysbeloved @iwritesiriusly @fives-cup-of-coffee @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @band--psycho @marswilson24 @miraclesoflove @chokemepansy @spideyspixies @lolooo22 @justfangirlthingies @sw33tgirl @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

golden trio taglist: @bromelain-blessednereid @oldschoolkiddo @sweetnspicysimp @cherie-draco @eunoniaa @acosmis-t @georgeweasleysbabe @gaycatlord-stuff @cedrics-grave @dracosgoodgirl @hufflepufflesbianthings @magicalxdaydream

#scheduled #fred weasley #fredrick gideon weasley #fred #weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred x reader #fred x you #fred x y/n #fred weasley angst #fred weasley one shot #lovepeachh600writingchallenge #useramourtentiaa #tuserliane

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