#and if Latin is concerned I get awkward reassurance

[voiceless-terror]

The Breaking Down of Walls (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Seven: Carrying

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood

CW: Sickfic

Summary: For all his grumbling, he doesn’t think Jon actually minded it that much.

He squeaked and protested when Tim threw him over a shoulder, but he went soft and pliant after about a minute of being carted around. He’s almost gotten used to being picked up and bodily moved out of the way by Tim instead of getting a simple ‘excuse me.’ Tim once caught him smiling after he’d been perched on the break room counter while Tim cleaned up a glass he shattered. It quickly morphed into a scowl on eye contact, though.

Jon was small. Portable. Travel-sized for convenience. Jon did not like this pointed out to him.

So Tim made it his job to point it out as often as possible. 

“Hey there lil’ guy!” was his favorite greeting back in research and Jon would always return it with a furious glare and a grumbling, futile protest. See, Tim’s a tall guy. Of course everyone would seem small to him. But Jon was genuinely small. Like, he has to jog to keep up if you have a brisk pace. Watching those little legs work overtime to catch up to him in the hallway was one of Tim’s greatest joys. The man was five foot and change, if the change was pennies on the dollar. Tim particularly liked to rest his elbow on his head; the afternoon silent-treatment it got him was well worth it.

For all his grumbling, he doesn’t think Jon actually minded it that much. 

He squeaked and protested when Tim threw him over a shoulder, but he went soft and pliant after about a minute of being carted around. He’s almost gotten used to being picked up and bodily moved out of the way by Tim instead of getting a simple ‘excuse me.’ Tim once caught him smiling after he’d been perched on the break room counter while Tim cleaned up a glass he shattered. It quickly morphed into a scowl on eye contact, though.

Tim believed he protested too much. Jon liked friends and company despite his prickly exterior. No one leaned into a touch like that if they didn’t want it. So Tim took the complaints with a grain of salt.

The dynamic changed when they moved down to the archives. Jon had distanced himself, locking his office door and trying to seem like a far more serious man than he was. Tim understood- with Elias breathing down their necks, anyone would be worried about professionalism. But it was wearing on Jon both physically and mentally. He was not very pleased with Tim’s moniker of ‘lil boss’ so he cut that out right quick. He looked tired and harried every day and was prone to snapping at the slightest of inconveniences- these days the inconvenience was more often than not Martin.

Poor Martin. He was the odd man out, the only one not to come out of research. Elias assigned him to the archives which put Jon immediately on guard. But Martin was a nice kid, just trying to scrape by like the rest of him. It wasn’t his fault his Latin was terrible and Jon was exacting. Well, maybe he could work on the Latin. But he brought them tea and asked about their day which was more kindness than anyone here had experienced in quite some time. He was working very, very hard at trying to break down Jon walls. He brought him tea on the hour and tried to coax him out for lunch. He took every insult and rejection with a mask of politeness that Tim knows must have taken him some time to perfect. He let Martin do the mothering; Tim doesn’t know how to express his concern in a non-tactile fashion. 

Jon hadn’t been out of his office all morning. This was not unusual, not these days. Martin expressed his concern more than once and Tim decided to check up on him at the end of the day if he hadn’t come out- he’s knee deep in research and on a roll. Sasha’s out investigating a case and it’s only the three of them in the office. The clock neared three and Tim yawned; he really needed this weekend to come quick. 

“Tim!” he heard a strangled voice call. Martin. “Tim, can you come here please?” This couldn’t be anything good. He hurried out of his chair and made his way down the hallway to- you guessed it- Jon’s office.

“H-He won’t wake up!” Martin stuttered, hands hovering uselessly over Jon, who was currently collapsed in his office chair either snoozing or deeply unconscious. Damn. “I-I know he looked bad today but he told me to leave him alone so I did and now look at him!” 

Jon indeed didn’t look or sound well. His hair was out of its bun and in a tangled mess that hid most of his face, but what he could see was flushed a bright red. His breathing was labored, a slow and uneven wheeze. Tim immediately started making his way over. “Does he have a fever?”

“I think so,” Martin replied. “But I didn’t check. Didn’t know if he wanted me...touching him.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I think this is an exception.” Martin clearly wasn’t comfortable enough with the man to bully him just yet (Jon seemed to do most of the bullying nowadays). He needed a firmer hand when it came to taking care of himself and Tim and Sasha were usually the ones to give it. One hand to Jon’s forehead and he knew the man had worked himself sick, again. It’d been a while since this last occurred- it used to happen with some frequency back in research, at least until Tim and Sasha convinced him to take it easy. But they had been distant and it’s clear that Jon’s fallen back into old habits. Tim sighed, brushing a lock of Jon’s hair behind his ear. “What are we gonna do with you, hm?” he murmured softly, well-aware of Martin’s eyes on his back.

“I-I can set up the cot in the back!” Martin suggested, moving over to the door as if to do it immediately. “I can sleep on the break room couch, it’s surprisingly comfy.” Tim had forgotten that Martin had been living in the archives- Christ, what has this place come to- but it was a Friday night and he didn’t want Jon here all weekend; he would likely just work himself into exhaustion yet again. So Tim made a decision.

“I’ll take him home. He’ll recover better if he’s out of here,” He looked at Martin critically. He wasn’t in the best of shape either. There were dark circles under his eyes and he couldn’t be getting great sleep cooped up in the basement like this. ‘Why don’t you come too?” Martin's eyes widened in surprise. “You could do with a good night’s sleep and my living room couch is legendary.”

“I couldn’t-”

“Nope, I’ve already decided for you,” Tim gave him an easy grin, hoping to seal the deal. “Go get us a cab, will you? I didn’t drive and we aren’t taking the tube.”

“O-Okay! If you’re s-sure.” 

“I’m always sure.” He threw in a wink for good measure and Martin was out the door. Works every time.

Getting Jon out of the chair turned out to be tougher than expected. He was contorted around his desk; he’d clearly been in this position for quite some time. As gently as possible, he wound an arm around his knees and titled Jon back until he fell against his chest and against his other arm. “There we go,” he mumbled even though he knew the man couldn’t hear. “Let’s get you home.” Jon felt incredibly warm in his arms and Tim’s worry increased; he hoped he had medicine back at his flat that hadn't expired. The man was even lighter than expected and Tim almost stumbled backward with how he overcompensated for his weight. Another thing I’ll have to talk to him about.

Martin came back downstairs, his footsteps quick and loud on the tile. “Cab’s here- oh.” He paused, staring down at Jon and blushing for some reason. Tim looked at him quizzically before gazing down to his arms- at some point Jon had nuzzled himself into his shoulder, one hand gripping his shirt in a tight little fist. He had to admit it was an adorable picture, but they didn’t have time for Martin’s crush right now. “I’ll just go and uh, grab my things then.”

They end up in the back of a cab, all three of them. It’s not particularly comfortable but they manage to sprawl Jon across the both of them, head still tucked into Tim’s shoulder and legs stretched out into Martin’s lap. Tim is only a little amused with Martin's awkward placement of his hands in an attempt to avoid touching Jon, though he ends up grabbing onto his legs to keep him in place about two minutes into the ride. They fell into a silence on the way, the only noise was Jon’s breathing which sounded more labored by the second.

“Is he- was he always like this?” Martin asked quietly, allowing himself one more glance at Jon. Martin’s face was still red, much to Tim’s amusement. “Working himself to death?”

“Never this bad,” Tim replied, running a hand through Jon’s hair. He remembered doing this back in research, back when it was okay to touch him. Was he taking advantage? Perhaps a little, but Jon looked like he needed it. “New job’s wearing him down, I think.”

“W-What was he like before?”

Tim paused. Frankly, he’s a bit unsure of what Martin’s looking for here. Jon’s always been Jon, but the promotion seems to have dialed up all of his worst habits past ten. Habits that Tim thought they’d put behind them. It’s not like Jon’s particularly changed- perhaps regressed was a better word. He’s rebuilding the walls that took him years to deconstruct. He’s scared, Tim realized. Don’t know why it took me this long to see it.

“He’s actually quite soft,” Tim stuck to the present tense. Jon’s not lost, after all. Just a little in his head. “Once you get to know him. We were- we are friends. He’ll get used to you,” Martin deserved a little reassurance. “Just gotta invest some time. Like you’re already doing.”

Martin went quiet. He didn’t seem convinced. 

“One time he sprained his ankle on the way into work,” Tim smiled, remembering the day from about a year ago. “Idiot thought it would be fine to walk around the library like nothing happened. You should’ve seen Sasha when she found out. Full of fury, that one. Never get on her bad side.” Sasha’s mother-hen instincts were even worse than Martin’s, though hers were much more intense and full of scolding. “Made a deal that if he was going to work he’d have to sit the fuck down. ‘Course Jon’s not going to do that- he may seem like he sits in his office all day, but I’m sure he’s actually pacing up a storm in there.” A fond smile down at the man in his arms. “So whenever he got up I hauled him on my back. Sasha has a picture somewhere. He was horribly embarrassed, of course, but I think he came around to the idea.” He nudged Martin in the side. “He secretly likes all of that fussing, I promise you.”

“He hides it well, then,” Martin rolled his eyes though he was smiling.

They got to Tim’s flat in a thankfully short period of time. “Make yourself at home,” he said to Martin as he opened the door with just a small adjustment of Jon. “I’m going to get this one settled in my room.”

“Alright,” Martin ducked his head shyly, standing awkwardly in the middle of Tim’s living room. He’ll warm up to it, Tim thought as he made his way to the bedroom. He’s glad he decided to clean the place a couple of nights ago- Jon deserved some freshly-laundered sheets and clean air. Better than that stuffy basement.

Jon blinked his eyes open as Tim gently laid him down on the bed. They were watery and fever-bright, his brow furrowed in confusion.”T-Tim?” he croaked. Yikes, that sounds bad. “S’at you?”

“There you are, lil’ guy,” Tim murmured, wondering if Jon could even hear him. He propped a pillow up beside him and sat on the other side of the bed, tucking Jon against his side. “Took you back to my place. You’ve done a number on yourself, y’know.” Jon groaned and leaned into his shoulder, clearly looking for comfort in his vulnerable state. Tim would give it to him. “When you’re better we're going to have a talk, young man.”

“Hate talks,” Jon whined, rubbing his face into Tim’s shoulder. Ah, so we’ve reached the brat stage of illness. Right on time. “Just gonna sleep. Gotta...got work to do.”

“No you don’t,” Tim replied and squeezed Jon’s shoulders. “You’re going to take some medicine and eat. Have a nap. And maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you watch me play video games. But only if you’re good.” He paused, remembering Martin in his living room. “Also, Martin’s here. Just so you know.”

Jon didn’t seem to have any complaints about that. Huh. Maybe he doesn’t mind him as much as I thought. “S’he gonna make tea? Want tea.” Tim couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his throat.

“Yeah,” he promised. “He’ll make us some tea. Maybe cook us breakfast in the morning. The whole sha-bang. Gotta earn his keep.”

“I think Martin can make good eggs.” Yeah, Jon’s not going to remember this conversation.

“How can you tell?” He humored him anyway.

“It’s his face,” Jon’s tone left no room for argument. “I can jus’ tell from his face.” Alright then, Jon.

The man was starting to doze off and Tim took this as his cue to grab some medicine while he still had the chance. He carefully maneuvered around Jon, making sure he was properly tucked in the bed and not in danger of falling off. “Be right back, okay?” No answer, but Tim hadn’t really expected one.

He took a second to look down at his friend, soft and familiar in his bed. This weekend will be good, Tim decided. For all of us. It took him years to break down Jon’s walls and he was willing to do it again. Because Jon was his friend.

And Tim couldn’t lose anyone else.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876779

[tea-and-cardigans]

Lay With Me - Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn

Read on Ao3

Summary: Following from S02E03: Macy is still not sleeping after the encounter with Abigael and her sisters and Harry are becoming more concerned about her state of mind. Harry has been doing some research on how he may be able to help, there is however a catch.

“Do you think we should be worried that the Elders have an actual dungeon in this place?” Mel commented as she returned up the stairs to the hub of the command centre. Macy looked up briefly from the dagger in front of her on the table before running her fingers over the blade again.

“Seems about right,” Macy muttered, after the story of what had happened to Mel and Harry in the astral plane, not much surprised her now about the Elders. Personal torture seemed to be their default.

She placed the dagger back onto the table looking up at Mel who took a seat next to her, starting to go through the pages to the book of the Elders, the one she couldn’t even touch without being thrown across the room. She felt like a blunt weapon, a tool to be used up and then disposed of when the cost was too high.

“Anything about that scarab thing?” Macy hadn't attempted to try even touching it, instead eyeing it warily from the other side of the desk.

Mel shrugged, “Nothing yet.”

Macy sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“You should go rest,” Mel told her, unable to mask the worry in her voice, and Macy knew she was right. Being knocked out was the most rest she had been able to get in days. She was running on empty and she knew it. Abigael had almost gotten the drop on her because she felt like she was barely even here.

The draw of sleep was so powerful, and the temptation to rest her eyes for even a second was almost irresistible. But what she might find in her dreams once she did surrender herself to it kept her focused on avoiding it.

“I’ll let you know if anything happens,” Mel rested her hand over hers, “promise.”

Macy gave a defeated sigh and got up from the desk.

“Harry’s there,” Mel added as Macy headed for the secret exit, pausing at the mention of their whitelighter’s name. Her breath hitching as she wondered if Mel had noticed the awkwardness between them.

“He said he was working on something, non-powers related.” Macy returned Mel’s gentle smile and nodded in response.

“At least I’ll have some company then.”

Solitude was the one thing she was craving. The ability to be alone with her own thoughts without the threat of someone intruding on them. She knew her sisters were keeping tabs on her. She had messed up with Abigael, removing the blindfold, allowing her into their fold so easily.

She had wanted to believe so badly that if she was half witch, like herself, then she was good, she had to be right, because if the demon side always defined you then, well, she knew the rest.

She decided to walk back to the house. Money from Maggie’s job only stretched so far, and an Uber was a luxury at this point. Besides it was a mild night and the gentle breeze managed to bring her some relief however brief.

Until she could almost hear her name on the wind.

Calling out to her, begging her to come to it, to stay, to talk, to dream. She shook her head trying to clear her mind, looking up at the street signs constantly to ensure she was on the right path. That she wasn’t being pulled in another direction. Her strides becoming faster as the safe haven of home was just within reach.

A sense of relief washed over her as she came around the corner to the seemingly empty construction site.

Home.

She stepped up where the steps should be and found they became visible as she did so before she disappeared into a nothingness entering the front door.

She pulled off her coat placing it on the rack beside the door, pulling the sleeves of her ‘Safe Space’ hoodie over her hands, finding peace in the small comfort of the soft material against her skin.

“Maggie?” A voice called out from the study, and Harry appeared in the doorway a book open in his hands, “Ah, Macy.”

“Maggie is still at ‘Safe Space’, new management responsibilities. Mel’s keeping an eye on the map while I got some rest.” She replies with a small smile, in her heart knowing just how unlikely that will be.

“They think you're pushing yourself too hard.” Harry responded moving towards her, “You still haven’t told them?”

Macy shook her head, “There is enough going on without them needing to know that I’m receiving visits from the assassin when I sleep. They think it’s because I can’t let go. They look at me like I’m about to crack again, almost afraid.”

Macy pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes closing at the pressure before she was jolted by the sensation of a hand on her shoulder. She moved away immediately, her arms wrapping around her body, as Harry pulled back his hand.

“Sorry, I,” he rakes the hand through his hair, and Macy wants to reach out to him remind him that none of this is his fault.

“It’s, I’m just on edge. He came again, he knows I’m avoiding sleep, avoiding him.” She slumped down on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest, while Harry took the seat on the other side of the room, the book now closed on his lap.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. And I’m afraid that if I don’t that-”

“He would torture you-”

“That I might give in,” she interrupts, the words hanging between them as she stares at the floor, trying to block out the way that he makes her feel. Desired, worshipped even, it sends a shiver down her spine.

“I may have something,” Harry says gently, a hint of trepidation in his voice. Macy straightens at his words, at this point willing to try anything to find some peace.

He moves over to the couch, sitting next to her as he opens the book between them, flipping the pages until he stops. The pages are clearly written in latin and Macy looks at him expectantly, sure an explanation will follow.

“It came to me, while I was with Mel accessing the astral plane. This spell is a type of meditation, it allows someone to enter your space instead of their own. It may serve as a type of protection against the assassin.”

“That I would be in your dream space where he wouldn’t be able to enter.”

“Exactly, in theory anyway, and even if he did manage to break through.” His hand rested on her arm, “I would be there.”

“Harry, I-”

“You can’t go on like this Macy. We have to at least try.” His grip tightens on her arm, his thumb running over her skin, firm enough that she feels it through the material of her sleeve. She knows the sensation like the back of her hand, the way it makes her feel, safe and protected.

“Okay,” she replies with a nod. The offer of even a few hours of uninterrupted sleep is too good to pass up.

Harry clears his throat, “there are, um, some conditions.”

***

Macy pulled at the sleeves of her pajamas, the black satin soft against her skin. Her heart had skipped when she saw her satin snakeskin nightie hanging in her closet, like an apple dangling in front of her and she had had to pinch her skin to make sure she hadn’t slipped away again and he was coming.

She pulled back the duvet on her bed, smoothing out the material with her fingertips. A familiar routine that had become foreign to her.

Harry entered the room, similarly dressed for bed, there was a nervousness to his demeanor that did not go unnoticed by Macy. Harry didn’t give much away when she had told him about her dreams. She thought perhaps there had been a flash of jealousy but she reasoned that it must be concern for his charge. Duty was important to Harry even without the watchful gaze of the elders.

He placed the tray with two cups and saucers on her bedside table. Picking up a cup, gently blowing on the liquid before handing it to her. She took it with a smile, smelling the liquid before instantly regretting that decision.

“This smells worse than you ‘hair of the dog’, Harry.”

He returned a small chuckle before picking up his cup, breathing in the scent, “Can’t say I disagree with you on that one.”

He indicated for her to take a sip, and thy both did, quickly swallowing the liquid to dissipate its taste.

“Hoc auxilium somno introducat in locum concordiam penitus permitto, at mini parce esse.” Harry recites the incantation before finishing the remainder of the drink.

“At mini parce esse.” Macy repeats before finishing her own. They continue to look at each other before Macy makes a move for her side of the bed.

“Okay,” Macy climbs into her bed, already feeling the softness underneath her body, the temptation of sleep calling her, as her head lands on the pillow. Her duvet pulled up securely to just under her chin.

She feels the bed dip next to her as she concentrates on the ceiling above her with a level of intensity the task does not deserve. She feels his fingers brush up against her own, as the interlace together, trying to ignore the way it makes her feel. Her mind bombarded with what she has seen in her dreams, the way his fingers have felt against her bare skin.

“To aid the connection,” he murmurs, his voice soft, as she turns to meet his eyes, the concern she finds there assures her that she has not yet fallen asleep. He is real.

Her Harry she reminds herself.

“I understand if-”

“No, it’s okay,” she reassures him as her fingers grip his tighter, as she closes her eyes allowing sleep to finally take her.

[the-quiet-winds]

Make a Move Just to Stay in the Game (part three)

hello and welcome to the new chapter!

in unrelated news, guess who just made a big fuckup at 8:30am! me. so have the chapter bc i’m upset. @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts i hope you’re having a better day than me.

also we love an ass in this story, so they are here, and they are horrible, and try to say / do horrible things.

[part one] - [part two]

[Part 3: I Can See the Pain in Your Eyes]

over the course of the next week, jane can hardly keep up with katherine.

parr is rigorous and thorough with her lessons, but never hesitates to answer any questions or explain something again.

they generally spend the mornings on latin and arithmetic, then history, trade studies, and latin again after lunch.

by the end of her first week with parr, katherine is breezing through paragraphs in latin, translations easy and nearly perfect every time.

mid-way through the second week, however, their second latin lesson of the day was cancelled.

“her majesty told me you’ve taken some music lessons before, is that true?”

katherine nods half heartedly, knowing that those lessons didn’t contain a whole lot of actual music. she fights a shudder at the thought of them.

“i reached out to some of my colleagues for a new music teacher, and one jumped at the opportunity. i think they should be here any minute-“

“good afternoon lady parr, lady katherine.” a suave voice greets, sending immediate chills down katherine’s spine. she’d know that voice anywhere.

low and behold, tall and dark henry mannox strolls through the door, a horn in one hand and a leather folder of papers in the other.

katherine prays he doesn’t recognize her, but he catches her eyes and winks, and she knows he does.

katherine jumps out of her chair, backing away. she doesn’t care how her behaviour seems to parr right now, all she cares about is getting as far away from mannox as possible.

“parr, i would like to leave,” she says, quietly and evenly, taking all her restraint not to scream or cry. parr looks incredibly concerned, glancing between mannox and katherine, clearly sensing katherine’s discomfort.

“is everything okay, lady katherine?” she asks. mannox waves a hand.

“i’m sure lady katherine is just nervous.”

“don’t,” katherine practically hisses. she doesn’t wait for permission, instead running from the room as fast as she can. months ago, perhaps, she might have stayed out of fear, but now she has someone who understands what she’s been through and won’t make her go back there with him.

katherine bursts into jane’s bedchamber with a clatter, surprising the queen.

“kat? what’s the matter?” jane takes a second look at katherine and her face drops immediately, seeing the distraught look on katherine’s features. “oh, love, come here.” she opens her arms and katherine flies into them, clinging to jane as tightly as she can.

“he- it’s him-” she manages to get out before bursting into tears, no longer needing to hold them in while jane is here. jane’s heart sinks as katherine’s words dawn on her; there were only a few people katherine would refer to as ‘him’, and none of them were good news.

parr was dumbfounded. katherine's reaction to mannox was visceral and nearly painful to watch. would her colleagues really have recommended someone that...bad?

she decides to follow katherine to the only logical place she could be going. mannox follows, and parr can't tell him no. maybe if katherine is properly introduced to him, then all will be well.

they enter the queen's chambers to find katherine holding onto jane like a lifeline. jane sees them enter.

"your majesty," parr starts, hesitance evident in her normally confident voice, "i did not intend to upset lady katherine. my associates recommended mister mannox here as a music tutor, and-"

jane doesn't hear the rest of parr's explanation. mannox is an instant trigger in her head, aided by katherine's increased trembling in her arms. she remembers a vague story of tiny eleven year old katherine and thirty six year old mannox and her face hardens.

"mister mannox," she begins with the regality of a queen, "i request you leave the premises at once."

mannox gives a low bow in an attempt to cover up his sliminess with a veneer of courtesy. “your majesty, i don’t know what you have been told, but-”

“mister mannox,” jane repeats, even firmer this time. “you will leave the premises right now, or I will have you escorted out by my guards.” she holds katherine even tighter, letting the girl cling to her and sob desperately into her shoulder. “i will not repeat myself again.”

parr realises there’s something more going on here, something she wasn’t aware of before, and she feels absolutely terrible to have played a part in it, no matter how unwittingly.

"your majesty," mannox tries to appeal again, "i don't entirely know what you were told by little kat-"

"don't you dare," jane absolutely seethes, "address the ward of the queen in such a way." she fixes him with a glare most murderous and then looks to parr. "if you wouldn't mind finding a few guards on patrol, lady parr, i think mister mannox here has some trouble with which way the door is," she says, voice sickly sweet and deadly sarcastic.

parr nods and steps into the hall. the absence of one more person causes katherine to cling to jane tighter. her hand finds the back of katherine's neck, teasing some of the hairs in what jane has found to be one of her most soothing measures.

"mister mannox," she says again, "you are very lucky that i am not trying you for what i know you have done to my ward. but if you ever step back on the land of any single royal property, i will ensure you are prosecuted to the fullest extent of our laws."

mannox’s face twists into a kind of snarl, but before he can say or do anything parr arrives, followed by two guards.

“escort this man off the premises immediately,” jane says coldly. “and make sure to it that everyone knows he is not to be permitted back.” the guards nod and take hold of mannox’s arms, pulling him roughly from the room. the door closes behind them, leaving jane, katherine and parr in silence.

katherine doesn’t let go of jane, even now, but her breathing evens out slightly now that mannox had been removed. jane continues to soothe her gently, whispering soft reassurances to her. parr hovers awkwardly near the doorway, unsure of what to do.

jane holds her close, katherine hiding her tear-stained face in the crook of jane's neck. it feels like forever before jane's quiet words and slow ministrations to her hair are enough to lower her heart rate back to where it should be.

"let me say," parr begins quickly, hands nervously fiddling with the material of her dress, "how incredibly sorry i am about whatever i just caused." she gulps. "i didn't know anything about him or his past, and i deeply regret not having done more research before bringing him in." in a bold move, she steps forward and puts a very light hand on katherine's shoulder. "i am very, very sorry, lady katherine."

katherine flinches ever so slightly and parr immediately drops her hand, looking regretful.

“i understand if you wish to remove me from my post,” she says quietly. “i failed in my duty of care, and for that i will never forgive myself.” she turns away, making her way to the door. “i shall collect my things and escort myself out.”

she’s halfway towards the door when a very quiet croak of a voice reaches her ears.

“don’t go.”

parr turns around to see that katherine had shifted slightly. she was still clinging to jane, but her head had turned to face her at a slightly awkward angle. katherine’s eyes were red and her cheeks tearstained, but she held parr’s gaze surprisingly firmly.

“please, i- i don’t want you to leave.”

parr’s gaze flits from katherine to jane, who is strangely silent. she seems to be letting katherine make the decision entirely, and considering what parr knew about jane, it was very likely this was the case.

parr nods once, hesitantly. "if that's what you wish, lady katherine."

katherine looks at her again, eyes red yet surprisingly tender. "please."

parr gives a small half-smile. "of course i will stay here, lady katherine." she looks to jane, who gives the solemnest and tiniest nod. "i won't leave, as long as you'd like me here."

katherine's lips twitch upward before she turns back to jane, letting the woman hold her, fingers lightly stroking up and down her back.

"i've got you, kitty-kat," jane murmurs very quietly. she kisses her temple. "mum's got you."

parr feels as if she’s intruding on the moment, but she stands dutifully as she was asked as jane reassures katherine. after a long while they finally break apart and jane retrieves a handkerchief, gently wiping away the tear tracks from katherine’s face. when she’s finished she places a quick kiss on the tip of katherine’s nose which makes the girl giggle slightly, even with her voice still hoarse from tears.

there was a rather large elephant in the room; parr, of course, didn’t know why anything had just happened, and she honestly wasn’t sure if she was going to get an answer. she certainly wasn’t going to pry into their business if katherine and jane didn’t want to tell her.

jane is immensely relieved when katherine calms down without too much more of an incident. katherine’s episodes of panic could be violent and destructive, no matter what jane did to help. but she knows that katherine knows, deep down, that she will never have to go with men like mannox again, and none of the will be able to hurt her. not while jane is around.

jane catches parr lingering by the door, feeling very out of place, and leans in close to katherine. “you’re under no obligation to explain, love,” jane says seriously. “it’s completely up to you what you want to do.” she turns her head slightly to kiss katherine’s cheek. “i’m with you always, kitty-kat.”

katherine nods silently, voice not quite recovered yet. she’s exhausted from such intense emotions of fear and then sudden relief, and she doesn’t quite want to let go of jane just yet. jane seems to realise this and sits down on the couch, gently pulling katherine with her. katherine curls up, almost on jane’s lap, as jane keeps holding her and playing softly with her hair. katherine turns slightly to look at parr.

“could-” her voice is hoarse and croaky, and she coughs to clear it. “could you sit down, please?” she rests her head against jane’s shoulder as parr hurried over to sit down on the chair opposite, her normally calm demeanour not having returned quite yet.

katherine looks ashen, very shaken up, and emotionally drained. kat asks herself if this is really the right way to go about this, but she does it anyway. the quick version, at least.

“before i started working here,” she starts, voice thick and heavy with clinging-on emotion and rasp. “when i was much younger, mannox was my teacher.” she coughs and continues. “he didn’t teach me much music, he was more focused on...” she shudders a bit, and jane strokes over her hair again, “...other things.”

parr’s face fell into confusion, then almost instantly into utter horror. “oh.” the word is spoken barely as a exhale of breath. katherine weakly nods her head.

katherine can’t say any more, can’t bring herself to go into any more detail, but she doesn’t need to. parr’s look of absolute heartbreak shows she’s understood every word.

“lady katherine,” she says, voice laden with sorrow. “i am so, so sorry. i should never have brought him here, and i will never do anything of the sort again.”

katherine is too emotionally drained to reply properly, but she can tell from parr’s compassionate eyes that she believes her story and actually doesn’t blame her. it’s strange, she thinks, to go her whole life without a single person who didn’t blame her, and now she has apparently found not just one, but two.

[sirius-archive]

Chaos Theory Pt. 4

Warnings: Swearing, Underaged drinking. 

Word Count: 6064 (holy Heck)

A/N: omg this is sooooo late I’m sorry guys. Like, really, I am. It’s been freaking insane and I’ve been literally going out of my god damn mind. Anyway, I finally got this finished so yay. Also, I could not find a translator that could properly communicate what I was trying to say so I’m sorry for people who actually speak Latin and read this and are like ....wtf??? 

Summary: While staying at the Burrow, Reader has an awkward interaction with Harry, and the Trio get into an argument of sorts. She thinks that things can’t get any worse until her father makes a surprise visit. 

Chapter Four:

On a good day, Adrien Arden is an award-winning journalist.

The charismatic and charming editor-and-chief of the largest source of wizarding news in the world. A clever leader adored by his colleagues and friends. A winner of several accolades for his service to the wizarding community and a personal friend of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. He’s the handsome, brooding widower with eyes that have the ability to draw you in and a smile worth more than all the gold in Gringotts. During his years at Hogwarts, he had been destined for success; a Slytherin Prefect and Head Boy and was regarded fondly by peers and professors alike.

On a bad day, Adrien Arden is a father.

A perfectionist with standards higher than a crowd of rowdy teenagers at a Weird Sisters concert. A workaholic and a ghost who drifts in and out of your life like the tide; pulling you in when he thinks it’s necessary and pushing you away when he realizes it isn’t.

Sometimes, you pity Adrien Arden.

It must be such a lonely existence; to work and work without receiving a reward. To have such ravenous ambition that has consumed every aspect of your being, pushing you further and further until you reach the edge. To realize that he’s repelled all the people who matter away, to not realize that all those galleons that sparkle and glitter in the family vault are worthless compared to the love and respect of his two children.

And it’s this pity that motivates you to keep a calm and level-head. It’s this pity that compels you to be the good little daughter for the sake of relative peace. And it’s this pity that helps you realize that family is the only way to keep your mother’s wishes alive, even though she isn’t.

Luke, however, is not so forgiving.

You don’t think there was ever a time where Luke got along with your father. Perhaps they are too similar, and for this reason, they clash. Whatever the reason is, though, it’s clear that Luke hates Adrien with every cell in his being, and if anyone ever doubts that, then all they had to do is step into the Weasley’s kitchen and glimpse at the razor-sharp glare Luke is giving your father right now.  

A heavy tension blankets the room in uncomfortable warmth, grating against your skin like sandpaper, and you fiddle with your bracelet to expel the nervous energy tickling your fingertips. You can almost feel the anger igniting the air around Luke, stiffening his spine, sharpening the edges of his jaw, curling his hands into fists.

Mrs Weasley must sense it, too, because she rolls her sleeves up and flashes a dimpled smile, “I’ll let you three spend some quality time together.”

Luke scoffs but doesn’t say anything more, most likely out of respect for Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley hurries off as your father draws a carefully guarded smile across his lips. It’s polished and professional, much like he is.

“I’m so relieved that you’re all okay,” Adrien says, and for a moment you actually believe him.

“Took you a while to remember we exist,” Luke spits, indignantly. The insult bounces off Adrien’s layers like a Protego spell.

“I’ve been...busy at work,” he says, calmly, “I’m sure you can understand.”

A derisive scoff issues from the back of Luke’s throat.

“It’s okay, father,” you say, trying to keep your tone reassuring, “We know that you’re busy.”

“Too busy to be a father,” Luke mutters, darkly, not meeting his eye.

Adrien ignores the comment, “I don’t have a lot of time but I just wanted to check in and see how you’re both going. Did you have fun at the World Cup anyway?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “it was nice. I mean, before all of the chaos it was actually a really lovely night.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Adrien smiles fondly.

“Oh, Mr Arden,” says a familiar voice from behind you, and a shy, blushing Hermione steps forward. Ron and Harry follow behind her.

“Hello Hermione,” Adrien flashes her a smile and nods at Ron and Harry, “Hullo boys. Good to see you three again. How are you all?”

Harry shrugs, “We’re good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, considering the night we just had we’re not exactly going to be prancing around picking flowers and shooting rainbows out of our asses,” Luke snaps, coldly, and Adrien narrows his eyes on him, working his jaw, grinding back whatever he wants to say. 

A loud, obnoxious beeping startles you, and Adrien glances down at his screeching watch.

“That’s all I have time for, for now. I have to head back to the office and submit some papers.”

“Glad you could fit us into your tight schedule,” Luke scowls, “Just leave. No one wants you here anyway.”

Your father clears his throat and bends down to embrace you awkwardly. You wrap your arms lightly around his neck, wondering whether its normal for a fatherly embrace to feel like you’re hugging a pole. He pulls away quickly and straightens, moving toward Luke. Luke folds his arms across his chest and steps away, refusing to look at his father. Adrien heaves a heavy sigh.

“I’ll see you...later,” he says and he gives your friends a weary smile, “I’ll send you an owl.”

Adrien walks into the kitchen, thanks a blushing Mrs Weasley for her hospitality, and leaves. You turn to Luke.

“Well that was...” you trail off, silenced by the expression on Luke’s face. His mouth is screwed shut and his eyes are glaring daggers in the direction where your father left, “Luke?”

Luke isn’t listening, though. Instead, he charges forward, nearly knocking you aside, and strides toward the door.

“Luke!” You call out, but Luke reaches for the door knob, yanks it open and slams it shut in your face. You push it open and peek through the crack.

“Why did you really come?” Luke demands, storming up to his father, “You don’t just decide to pop in after weeks of not seeing us!”

Adrien sighs, exasperated, “It’s as I said; I really was concerned for your wellbeing. Both you and your sister.”

Luke lurches forward and for a moment, you think that he’s going to tackle Adrien to the ground in a fit of fury. Instead, he rises up to his father, spine straightened in deadly determination. “Keep my sister out of your rotten mouth.”

Adrien narrows his eyes coldly on your brother, like a sniper taking aim, “Is that a threat, boy? Because if it is, you’d better follow through with it. I did not raise a coward.”

Luke bristles, “You have no right to think of her as your daughter when I was the one who raised her. I looked after her and protected her and held her as she mourned. I was the one who took her to Diagon Alley, bought her her first wand and school robes. I did the job you were supposed to do while you wallowed in self-pity and abandoned us as though your own children were a burden, stopping you from your precious work.”

Adrien steels, a dark expression falling over his sharp features, “Lukas Adrien Arden, if you ever doubt my responsibilities as a father again, I will personally ensure that it is the last thing you do.”

Luke steps back from the looming figure of his father, “You’re up to something, I know it. And I’ll find out, I always do.”

Adrien’s entire demeanour shifts and an amused ghost of a smile teases the corners of his lips, “I don’t doubt that. You are my son after all.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Luke spits, venomously.

“Oh but you are,” Adrien clamps a hand on Luke’s shoulder. Luke struggles under Adrien’s grip, but his grasp is like a vice, locking Luke into submission, “And when the day comes that you realise you are, you’ll regret every bad word you’ve ever said to me.”

You stare as Luke jerks away from Adrien’s grip and staggers backwards. The tension is stifling, like an ominous cloud of thick fog creeping over you, and you have to physically step back from the door to remember how to breathe again.

It’s sort of distressing, seeing Luke so riled up when he’s usually so smooth and refined. He looks and acts like a completely different person like someone has hijacked Luke’s body and is puppeteering his words and actions. It’s a persona that emerges whenever your father is around, a defence mechanism Luke has carefully honed after years of loathing and disgust.

It’s...unhealthy. Unnatural. Worrying.

Stepping away from the door, you turn and start toward Luke’s room, hoping you’ll be able to chat with him later. You doubt you’ll have any luck but he needs to know that you’ll be there for him in all the ways he was for you. Before you can make it up the stairs, though, you walk into a nervous-looking Harry.

“Hey,” he says, tearing a hand through his hair.

“Hey,” you echo, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I...wanted to apologise-” Harry starts, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

“-You seem to be apologising a lot, lately,” You say, and Harry’s lips quirk into a sheepish smile. You mimic it as you continue, “I don’t know what’s going on, and if you don’t want to tell me then I respect that. I just...I want you to know that you can talk to me. I’m here for you, I always have and I always will be.”

Harry hesitates for a moment, his mouth moving around silent words, as though he’s carefully stringing them together. Laughter echoes from the backyard, ringing through the silence. You’re just about to say something when Harry beats you to it, his voice low, “Follow me.”

Intrigued and a little surprised, you watch as Harry scales the winding stairs, the sound of the floorboards groaning in protest filling the growing distance between the two of you. You start to follow him until you reach his and Rons shared room and he pushes the door open, inviting you in. You climb onto his bed and Harry closes the door behind you, fidgeting nervously with his glasses. Something in his expression seems hesitant, as though he’s debating on what to say. You wait patiently.

“It’s my scar,” he finally murmurs, “It’s been hurting lately and– I think it may be connected to the attack at the World Cup.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to swallow back the distant ache throbbing in your throat, “Oh, Harry. This is...this is serious. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I was going to tell you,” Harry says, quickly, the words flying from his lips like a practised excuse, “In the Forrest when we were looking for the Portkey. But then...then Cedric came and I didn’t get a chance to talk to you alone.”

You study Harry for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his fidgeting form. He seems unsettled, a little nervous, perhaps hesitant, like he’s trying to tackle something on his tongue back into his throat. You figure it could just be his nerves, but you can’t help but wonder if he wants to say more.

“Is that what you guys were arguing about this afternoon?” You ask and Harry nods, “Why was Luke there?”

Harry blinks at you, “What?”

“Why was Luke there?” You reiterate, calmly, “I heard him arguing with you.”

Before he can answer, there is a tentative knock at the door and a moment later, Ginny’s head pokes out from behind it. A small blush blossoms beneath her freckled cheeks when she notices Harry but then her eyes drift toward you and she raises a sharp brow.

“Mum says dinner is ready,” she says, her voice soft.

“Okay,” you and Harry blurt at the same time and Ginny nods as she closes the door.

You slide off Harry’s bed and straighten, “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

Harry chortles, his smile loose, relieved  “Yeah, I could really go for some roast chicken right about now.”

You smile at Harry, “Thanks for telling me.”

Harry nods and gives a half-hearted smile, “Thanks for listening.”

As you descend the staircase, chatting lightly and smiling easily, a sense of nostalgia overcomes you like a wave of warm sepia and it almost feels like old times without all the secrecy and nervous energy. It almost feels like, for a fleeting moment, it is just you and Harry and nothing between the two of you. 

Almost.

***

After a delicious dinner and a scrumptious dessert, you and Hermione sit in front of the fireplace, Hermione in the armchair and you sitting crossed-leg on the floor. Your Quidditch World Cup article sits in your lap as your eyes scan the parchment, reading and re-reading. 

“Is Luke okay?” Hermione suddenly asks, not even trying to clip the worry from her voice, “He wasn’t himself at dinner.”

You look up from your work, pushing your hair off your face, “He always gets like that around my dad,” you admit with a small shrug, pretending that it doesn’t bother you, “He just needs his space.”

Hermione nods, though there is an expression of worry creeping over her face and you study her, noting her features carefully. Before you can question her, Fred sidles up to the two of you, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Hey you two,” he greets, smirking wolfishly, “We’ve got a couple bottles of booze and absolutely no regrets. Wanna join us?”

“Please tell me this isn’t a giant orgy or something,” you retort and Hermione blushes furiously.

“Nah,” Fred shakes his head with a grin, “Though I’m open for persuasion.”

You snort and shake your head, smiling, “Only in my nightmares.”

Fred clutches his chest in mock hurt, “Aw, we could have been something special.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“And what exactly are we going to do?” Hermione asks, her brows raised expectantly. Fred straightens importantly.

“Get pissed.”

“She was only asking,” you quip and Fred rolls his eyes.

“Get sloshed. Buzzed. Wasted. Inebriated. Intoxicated,” he narrows his eyes pointedly at you, “Drunk. What else are you supposed to do with fire whiskey? Bathe in it? Because we’ve tried and it’s not…good.”

“But we’re underage?” Hermione says, eying Fred suspiciously.

“So?” Fred shrugs, “You’ve already broken the law by helping a wanted fugitive escape, not to mention several hundred school rules. What’s another stupid law?”

A pale pink blush tickles the apples of her cheeks and Hermione averts her gaze, “Right.”

“Come on guys,” Fred whines, imploring you with large, pleading eyes, “You’re always putting yourselves in constant danger. Why not relax for the night?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug, turning to Hermione. She chews her bottom lip thoughtfully, giving Fred an appraising look. Finally, she glances at you and gives a small nod.  

“Alright,” she says, lifting her chin slightly, more confidently, “but I’m filling my own glass. I don’t want you pouring me a drink.”

“Why? Don’t you trust us?” Fred asks, grinning wickedly.

“You don’t want me to answer that question.”

Fred shakes his head, forlornly, “All you young whipper-snappers going around and breaking an old man’s heart.”

“As (Y/N) said, ‘You’ll get over it.’”

You bark a laugh and high-five Hermione. Fred wipes an imaginary tear away and pouts exaggeratedly.

“We’re meeting at 11pm,” Fred leans in and lowers his voice to a not-so-quiet whisper, “That way, mum and dad will be asleep, and they won’t get suspicious.”

With a smirk and a wink, Fred whirls off and saunters out of the room. You watch him leave, nibbling your bottom lip, twirling and twisting your bracelet between your nimble fingers. Somehow, for some reason, you have a feeling that the night isn’t going to go as smoothly as Fred thinks.

***

At ten to eleven, you, Hermione and Ginny tip-toe out of her bedroom and make a slow start to the stairs.

The corridor looks odd like this; cloaked in darkness and completely void of sound or movement. The Burrow has always felt alive, pulsing with life as though it were a heart pumping blood through the veins of the house. Come night time, that heart seems to falter to a stop, leaving the house eerily quiet. You shiver.

“This is weird,” you whisper, “It’s so quiet. I feel like I’m walking through a graveyard.”

Ginny shudders, and in the pale light of your wand, you see her face contort into a scowl, “Thanks for the commentary. Now I feel paranoid in my own house.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione murmurs, softly, “Mrs Weasley and Mr Weasley are here, too, don’t forget.”

“That makes me feel even better,” Ginny drawls, sardonically, “If a murderer doesn’t leap out and slaughter me where I stand, my mum will.”

“No one is going to kill anyone–” 

A loud groan interrupts Hermione mid-speech and you all jump, spinning around to face the source of the noise. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you muffle your shriek as Hermione gasps and staggers backwards toward the railing and Ginny fumbles with her wand. It slips from between her fingers like a stick of butter and clatters on the ground. Heart racing, you raise your wand and heave a sigh of relief.  

Harry and Ron both stare at the three of you, eyes wide, faces flushed and chests heaving. Harry bends down and grabs Ginny’s wand, handing it to her with a gentle smile. Ginny squeaks a breathless ‘Thank you,’ and darts back to your side. Ron gawks at you, his expression somewhere between bemusement and frustration.

“Bloody hell,” Ron curses under his breath, “It’s just us.”

“Well don’t sneak up on us!” you hiss, “You nearly scared us to death!”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, sheepishly, “Let’s just go before we get caught.”

You start toward the stairs and begin descending the creaking staircase. 

Somehow, every step you make seems to amplify, ringing through the house like a blaring siren, as though the house is designed to alert Mr and Mrs Weasley that their children are sneaking out after curfew. Trying to balance on the tips of your toes, you slowly descend the never-ending staircase, contemplating whether it was such a good idea to leave the comfort of your bed in the first place.

“Luke seemed kind of off at dinner tonight,” Harry mutters leaning forward, “Is he…y’know?”

“He just hates my dad,” You whisper back, surprised that Harry noticed. You’re about to make a joke out of it but Hermione shushes you into silence from over her shoulder. As she turns back, though, she misses a step and stumbles forward.

“Hermione–!” Ron gasps from behind you and you listen for a loud thump, but it never comes. You direct your wand to the end of the staircase and find Hermione lying in someone’s arms.

“Oh, Luke,” Hermione murmurs, flustered, several shades of red rippling across her face, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he smiles softly at her and she straightens, brushing down her clothes and combing a finger through her hair.

You all reach the bottom of the staircase and playfully punch Luke in the shoulder, “Looks like she fell for you.”

To your surprise, Luke doesn’t respond to your terrible joke. He just scowls and shakes his head, moving toward the back door. You blink at him and follow.

“C’mon, really? Nothing?” you ask as he pushes the door open, “No ‘I thought you were better than corny puns?’”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Luke murmurs, stalking through the backyard and toward the tree house. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Hermione asks beside you, watching him with concern in her eyes.

You chew your bottom lip nervously, “I–I don’t know…”

The tree house is actually a lot safer than it looks, which is oddly ironic since Fred and George give no consideration to safety whatsoever.

Thick planks of wood are nailed to a gap in the large tree as though they are sitting in its palm, branches stretching like fingers around it. There is a wooden railing that surrounds the platform, fairy lights intertwined around it. Alternative pop music plays on low, the sound prevented from leaving the treehouse by the silencing charm Fred had cast, containing it in a bubble of sorts. There are light bulbs, all different shapes and sizes, strung together and hanging from the branches overhead that act as a roof. Right in the centre of the ‘roof’ is a large hole that brags a beautiful view of the midnight sky, freckled with stars.

It’s actually kind of beautiful. Serene, almost.

You down the rest of the drink and raise your chin to the stars, lost in their beauty. You can almost feel the stardust raining down on you, sinking into your skin, filling you up with a beautiful, ethereal light, like there is an entire galaxy bursting to life inside of you. You’re not sure if it’s the fire whiskey humming in your veins or not but you feel like you could just step off the balcony of the treehouse and float away.  

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a familiar voice says from beside you, and you turn to find George Weasley gazing up at the stars with you, an expression of awe painted across his face, “Do you know who else is beautiful?”

“Please, don’t finish that sentence and ruin this beautiful moment,” you murmur and George snorts.

“You don’t like hearing compliments about yourself?”

“I don’t like cheesy pickup lines.”

George shrugs, “That’s fair. Though I was going to say that I was beautiful but never mind.”

You chortle, shaking your head and grinning broadly at him. He echoes it, lips curving into a grin you may never get tired of seeing, “You really know how to cheer a girl up, don’t you?”  

“Only the ones I like,” George smiles softly, softer than anything you’ve ever seen him wear.

“Well, I’m grateful anyhow.”

George drapes an arm over your shoulders and pulls you to his side protectively, provoking a laugh to burst boisterously from your lips.

“So, are you and Cedric…?”

You flush, cheeks burning, “I–I don’t really know…”

“Well, just so you know, he talks about you a lot,” George says, “Our friend, Juniper Cross. You know Juniper?” You nod, recalling the beautiful Hufflepuff in George’s year, “Anyway, she says he talks about you like you ‘put the stars in the sky.’ His words, not mine.”

An odd, sort of airy feeling circles around you and floods you like helium, lighter than air, ascending the five layers of the atmospheres and disappearing into the universe.

The moment is broken by Fred, who yanks another bottle of fire whiskey from a crate and holds it over his head.

“Who’s up for a game of ‘Never have I Ever?”

“What’s that?” Hermione asks and Fred blinks at her.

“You’ve never played ‘Never Have I Ever?’” George asks, bewildered, “Hermione, what have you been doing with your life?”

“Never Have I Ever is a classic drinking game,” Luke says, sitting beside Hermione, “Basically, you have to say something that you’ve never done and everyone who has done said thing has to drink. For instance, if I say ‘Never have I ever… snogged a girl from France’–”

“–We would call you a liar,” Fred interjects, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“–Everyone who has snogged a girl from France would have to take a drink.”

“And we would call them liars,” George sniggers and you snort, bumping his fist with your own.

“The person with the most alcohol left in their glass wins,” Luke continues, ignoring the snickering Weasley twins.  

“And if you say a ‘Never have I ever’ and no one else has done it either, you have to drink from everyone’s glass,” Fred smirks deviously, and Hermione raises her brows, her fingers finding the hem of her sleeves.

Luke studies her with benevolent eyes, his past frustration melting off his shoulders like ice in the early spring, “If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to play.”

A gentle shade of soft pink flourishes on the apples of Hermione’s cheeks and her lips quirk into an awkward smile, “No, it’s okay. I’ll play.”

“Are you sure? We’re all friends here, and we want you to be comfortable,” Luke smiles, reassuringly.

Hermione nods, and George claps a brotherly hand on Luke’s shoulder, “Ever the gentleman. If I wasn’t in an exclusive relationship with myself, I would totally date you, man. Like, put out and everything.”

Luke just gives a half-hearted smile and a modest shrug. He looks like such a different person to the Luke you saw earlier that day, seething threats at his own father and brewing in a venomous mood. Even when you met him in the kitchen earlier that night, Luke had seemed guarded and brooding and nothing like the sweet, considerate and boyishly charming man he is with Hermione.

You all sit crossed-leg on the ground in a circle and, with a looming sense of doom, you find yourself sitting between Fred and George, an unsavoury position for anyone to be in. Before you can escape to the other side of the circle, Fred and George begin filling up several glasses and hand them around the group. Fred pauses in front of Ginny, sculling her fire whiskey with a wince and filling her glass with chocolate milk. Ginny folds her arms across her chest, glaring dangerously at her brother.  

“No alcohol for anyone under 14,” Fred says, wagging a finger at Ginny, “It rots your brain.”

“Good thing you don’t have one, then,” Ginny grumbles, rolling her eyes and snatching the glass of milk out of her brothers’ hand. Once everyone has their glass, the game begins. Unsurprisingly, George volunteers to go first.

“Never have I ever…met a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon called ‘Norbert’, tried to smuggle Norbert out of Hogwarts but got caught in the process and consequently lost Gryffindor one hundred points,” he says before adding, “Oh, and got sent to detention, too.”

You, Hermione, and Harry exchange guilty glances and take a swig of your drinks. The fiery liquid surges down your throat like molten lava and pools delightfully in your lower belly, the alcohol crackling in your veins.

“Technically, I wasn’t there when they tried to smuggle Norbert out,” Ron argues, raising his arm to reveal the thin scar knitted into his skin, “Norbert bit me, so I was in the Hospital wing.”

“You still met him,” George points out and Ron’s confident expression falls, grumbling as he takes a sip from his cup.  

“Alright, Harry, you’re up next,” Fred grins, pointing at Harry with his glass.

Harry’s brows furrow as he thinks, the tip of his tongue poking out between the soft cushions of his lips. Once again, Harry seems so…relaxed. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, or the company, or both, but it’s a relief to see him so unguarded and it shows in how easily he’s smiling, how warm and inviting his gaze is. And when he catches your eye, his lips quirk up into a small smile and it feels…nostalgic.

It feels like it used to.

“Never have I ever…been kicked out of a bar?”

Fred and George groan in unison and take a swig of their drinks. To everyone’s surprise, Ginny does, too. While the rest of the group gapes at Ginny, their jaws slack and eyes wide in disbelief, Ginny gives a nonchalant shrug, her eyes glistening in the low light as she recalls the moment.

“I may or may not have hexed a certain, misogynistic Ravenclaw who was getting on my nerves,” she gives a sharp, cat-like smirk, resembling her rebellious, older brothers “I don’t regret anything.”

Fred and George pretend to sob tears of pride as they slap Ginny on the back, “Look at how far our precious, little sister has come. We taught you well.”

The game moves around the circle, jokes and laughter thick in the summer air as your drinks slowly begin to dwindle.

When it finally reaches Fred, he flashes a scheming grin, and he raises a confident brow, “Never have I ever…had a crush on Cedric Diggory…”

Everyone narrows their eyes on you expectantly. You sigh, rolling your eyes as Fred sniggers devilishly.

“Fuck you, Fred!” you snip, throwing the rest of your drink back. Your head spins in languid circles as try not to splutter, and in the warm ambience of the room, your eyes find Harry’s; gazes colliding for a long, lingering moment. Harry doesn’t shy away, in fact, he’s the boldest you’ve seen him since the World Cup, and something hooks around your lower belly, yanking it up into your throat.

“Okay, (Y/N), your turn,” Fred juts his chin at your glass and eyes you hopefully. You heave a sigh.

“Alright. Um…” you pause thoughtfully, and then your lips pull into a grin when you catch Ginny’s eyes, “Never have I ever…had a crush on someone in this room.”

Fred and George stare at Ginny and she sighs, taking a swig of her chocolate milk. She pokes her tongue out at you playfully and you give her an apologetic look. She shrugs nonchalantly, though she doesn’t seem entirely bothered. Strange, you think, she must be getting over Harry. You never really anticipated that.

You never anticipated Hermione and Harry taking a nervous sip from their drinks, either.

“Woah,” George says, eyes flitting between the two of them, “What’s going on here?”

They seem hesitant in their answer, weighing their options, gauging each other for a response like they’re dancing tentatively around the subject. You and Ron exchange a surprised look, the tips of Ron’s ears an odd shade of red. Something tight and nasty coils inside of you like a sleeping snake.

Hermione and Harry exchange a look, and Harry shrugs “Nothing. We’re just answering the question.”

You blink at Harry, then at Hermione. They seem to be avoiding your gaze, eyes darting around the room like they’re trying to pull excuses from the air around them. Is that what all the secrecy is about? Are they…?

“So you both have had a crush on someone in this room?”

“Er…” Harry flicks a glance at Hermione and then sweeps his gaze to you before hastily averting your gawking stare, “…yes? Why?”

“Huh,” Fred shrugs, “No reason.”

Hermione frowns, “What? It’s not like we like each other.”

“Whatever you say, Hermione.”

Hermione’s mouth twists into a thin frown and Harry furrows his brows at Fred’s blatant, off-handed remark. Tension has steeled his spine like an iron rod and he fidgets uncomfortably, his nervous mannerisms unspooling as time seems to drag by. The sepia-stained nostalgia that you had so willingly embraced begins to crumble the more he glances between Hermione and Ron, and the needlepoint sting of hurt pricks the inside of your wrist.

“Um, I think it’s your turn, George,” Ron says, quickly, nervously glancing at Harry. Does Ron know something–?

George nods importantly and continues the game, but you’re still rooted in time. As everyone else takes their turn, your eyes continue to stray to Harry, studying, observing, realising, that this is so much more than his scar. His cheeks are rosy, flushed pink from the alcohol and embarrassment, his eyes a startling shade of green against the sun-kissed skin of his face and the electric shock of dishevelled, black hair and as you study him, your head begins to spin.

You take a long swig of your drink, gulping back your anxiety, wishing that you had trusted your gut in the first place. 

***

Somehow, you make it back to your room without making a complete fool of yourself.

Hermione’s avoided you for most of the night, though you can tell that she’s nervous by the way she chews her bottom lip; it’s red and raw, the moon-crescent bite marks curved into the delicate skin of her lower lip. You want to talk to her, to ask about the secrecy, but your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and your eyes are like heavy golf balls stuck into your skull and you really just want to sleep–

You pull your camisole over the top of your head and rip your bra off, an envelope falling out from its grasp.

“Oh,” you say, to no one in particular, “My letter.”

Between the visit from your dad and the Weasley’s drinking game, you had completely forgotten about it. Bending down, you scoop it off the ground and study the envelope. Your name and address are writing in elegant curlicue cursive to the point where it’s nearly unreadable. You squint, following the loops and curls, and turn the envelope over. No return address. Odd. You open it anyway, unfold the letter…

And gasp.  

It doesn’t make sense.

Your stomach is twisted into a tight, thick knot, heavy in your abdomen, weighing like an anchor plummeting to the ocean floor. Ice gushes through the deltas of your veins as though it were blood pulsing through the arteries of a cold-blooded monster, freezing your spine, paralysing you.

You can’t tear your eyes away. 

You stare down at a photo of you and Cedric at the World Cup, stained in shades of black and grey, frozen in time, smiles fixed onto your faces. And it would have been a beautiful photo, it really had, if it weren’t for the blood-red insignia scarring the back of the photo; a snake eating itself, circling around what looks like a cross between a Scarab and a skull moth.

And, beneath it, eight words strung together, bleeding into the paper like a wound.

Mus uni non habeat fiduciam autem serpens esuriit

A mouse does not trust a hungry snake

Suddenly, you wish you were drunk again.

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench @harrvjpotter @depressed-octopods-art (i’m sorry i didn’t tage you before!! i just realised you replied to one of the posts!) @romanofftasha @moonpeachs

[embrace-tranquiliity]

Curse (Castiel x Toddler!Reader)

Word Count: 1758 -----------------------------------------------------------------

The witch had cast a spell on you, and at first, you hadn't realised what had happened. You went to bed in your room in the bunker. As usual, the Winchester brothers stayed up late, Sam doing research as Dean rocked out to AC/DC and ate pie. How he wasn't fat? No one knew.

It finally reached morning and you woke up like normal, except your bed felt and looked a lot bigger. You looked down to see your hands and feet quite small and baby-like. What the hell? Castiel walked into your room after knocking a few times; you hadn't answered any of the times.

"Y/N, are you okay?" He asked, concern flooded in his voice and eyes. The two boys had left early in the morning to go on a hunt and Cas had stayed with you. You didn't ask him too, then again you never needed to ask him to stay with you, he always would. When he came into your room he didn't have his trench coat on, he only had his suit shirt and pants.

You tried replying but all that came out was a small gurgle and a few scattered words and noises. Cas couldn't hold in the smile anymore. He smiled at how cute you looked, just sitting there all innocent and adorable.  You didn't understand what he was so smitten about and he realised that you looked very confused. He walked over to you and picked you up in his hands. Woah, why can he hold you against his chest with your legs in one hand and your chest in the other? He walked into the bathroom and put you in front of a mirror, showing you that you were now a toddler. The memories of last night came back and hit you in the face; the witch had put a spell on you that made you a toddler. It all made sense now!

Seeing as it was just you and Cas, he promised to look after you until the brothers were back home and could figure out how to change you back to normal. Normally, Cas would simply get the brothers straight away, zap to them and then zap them back home. But he was enjoying this too much, seeing you as a toddler. He promised to take care of you and now he would.

Being a toddler had its downsides, for example; not being able to talk. But it also had its perks, such as Castiel acting as a father towards you and being overly nice. Although you still had the mind of your 22-year-old self, he didn't know that and decided he would treat you like a 5-year-old. You decided just to go along with it, to see how he would look after a child. He picked you up again and took you out to the lounge room where the TV was. After picking up the remote he turned on Cartoon Network and the two of you watched TV together.

A few hours passed and the boys still weren't home so you guessed that they weren't coming home until the next morning. Typical Winchesters. Cas held you on his lap and you started to cry. You were bored and starting to get hungry and since your words didn't seem to work, crying was the only way to get his attention. He looked down at you and into your (e/c) eyes, your gazes locking and your crying stopped immediately. It was like he had cast a spell on you. He hadn't but his eyes were so mesmerizing that it felt like he had.

"What's wrong little girl?" He asked softly, not wanting to start up the crying again. You smiled back at him and hugged him. Your hands barely fit around his sides but they reached far enough to feel small bumps near his shoulder blades. After rubbing them, you heard him sigh and wriggle around a bit. He moved your hands back to in front of him and he looked you in the eyes again. "Do you want to see my wings?" He asked, hope in his voice. In response, you simply nodded. Since when was it possible to see angel wings? Oh, right. He probably means when a bright light shines and you can see the shadow of his wings.

Suddenly, he started chanting something in Latin as his eyes started glowing white. A bright light shone from behind him, momentarily blinding you. Once your eyes adjusted back to normal lighting, you saw to monstrous, black wings behind him. They weren't fully expanded but you could imagine how big they would be when fully extended. They had a metallic green shimmer to them and they were at least 2 meters each side, half folded. Luckily the bunker was spacious so even if he was to stretch them out, they wouldn't hit anything.

"You like them?" You nodded in response, still in awe. "Sorry Y/N, but whenever they materialise I need to stretch otherwise they hurt my back." Castiel made a quick apology as he put you down on the bed. He got up and stretched, his wings stretched outwards in each direction. They were at least 5 meters each side, fully expanded. They were glorious. The light reflected off every metallic green feather, creating a shimmery looking surface. You reached your hand out to touch them, only to realise he was too far away and he probably didn't want anyone to touch them.

"You can touch them, it won't hurt you or me," Castiel said, reassuring you as he moved closer and turned around so his back faced you. The wings and where they were attached to his back were now clearly visible. He must've cut holes out of the back of his shirt where they expand out of, seeing as there were holes exactly where the wings protruded out of his back. They were beautiful, and as soon as Sam and Dean were back to fix you, you were sure as hell going to tell him.

Your hand reached up to stroke the wings. There was something wrong though when you touched them you realised that your hand was a lot larger than it was a few minutes ago. It was back to normal. You looked down in shock to see the rest of your body back to its normal size. Castiel turned around and smiled, almost like he already knew that you were normal once again. He folded his wings back up but they didn't dematerialize; the simply sat neatly on his back.

"When an angel's soulmate touches their wings, any curse or sickness will be lifted," Castiel spoke proudly, as his wings slowly started to untuck themselves. Furrowing your eyebrows, you were deep in thought; it all made sense now. Whenever you were sick or cursed by a witch you'd always heal almost instantly. It now occurred to you that you weren't the one healing, it was Cas healing you. He must've touched you with his wings when you were asleep so you wouldn't notice and freak out.

You looked up at him and smiled, mumbling a small 'thank you'. He gave you a side smile back as you stood up to face him better. He was taller than you by quite a bit, but that was fine with the both of you because every time you two hugged, your head would rest on his shoulder. You reached your arms out and hugged him. His arms and wings moved at the same time and engulfed you in a hug, the wings forming a protective shell around the two of you.

As if on cue, Dean stood at the doorway and coughed, loudly. Castiel instantly let go and turned around to face Dean, his wings unfurling from around you. The wings stiffened a slight bit as they took a defensive stance behind Cas, only to release tension when he saw it was just Dean. He brought his wings back to sit on his back and you walked forward to stand next to him. One of his wings, out of habit, expanded once again and sat behind you, curling a slight bit at the end to brush against your arm. The black feathers were as soft as rabbit's ears.

"We- uh, we found a cure. But I see it's already been taken care of." Sam spoke up who had recently almost walked into the room before bumping into his brother. A slight crimson colour spread across Cas' face as he looked at you and realised that his wings were still visible to not only you but your two brothers as well. He blushed a bit deeper and started to slowly retract his wing back, out of embarrassment. Until you reached out and softly grabbed the end and pulled it back around you. Cas didn't struggle when you held his wing, he simply looked down at you and smiled, a loving smile.

"Alright, that's enough for me. I'm out!" Dean hollered and made a salute sign with his hand. He walked away as his brother huffed a laugh at him. Sam, after realizing that he was now standing at the doorway alone, awkwardly smiled and made an exit, shutting the door behind him. You laughed at his awkwardness and offered Cas to stay the night with you. He gladly accepted and you both laid down in your bed. His wing slipped under your back as you laid down.

"Cas, won't it hurt if I lay on it? Won't it break the bones?" You asked, frantically trying to get up without pushing against the wing which was practically impossible because of its size. He simply smiled at you and gently pushed you back down to lay on his wing. He rolled over to face the back of your head, spooning you. His other wing wrapped itself around you and you snuggled into him. You cuddled the tip of his wing, playing with the small slits between the feathers. Almost instantly you fell asleep in the arms of your angel.

---- extended ending ----

"Gross," Dean whispered to his brother as he lightly hit him on the chest to get his attention. Sam pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, arguing that it was cute, you could agree with that

[jennycalendar]

s2e15: phases

synopsis: jenny and giles, who have been arguing nonstop since jenny’s secret came out, are sent on something of a team-building exercise by buffy, where “team-building exercise” means “looking for a werewolf.”

INT. LIBRARY — DAY

Buffy enters with a pastry bag and a cup of coffee, sticking her head in a little warily. Jenny’s the only one there, passed out amidst ancient texts and printouts. Buffy smiles a little, looking almost sad, and crosses the room, placing the cup carefully down next to Jenny.

BUFFY

Hey, sleepy, class starts in half an hour. Might wanna get some coffee in before then.

Jenny doesn’t stir. Buffy rolls her eyes a little and shoves Jenny’s arm.

JENNY

(mumbling)

…conjugating Latin if you’re not using Sumerian…

BUFFY

Ms. Calendar. I made coffee. If you don’t wake up, it’ll get cold, and then all my hard work will have been totally wasted.

Jenny groans, then pulls herself up.

JENNY

How much time do I have?

BUFFY

Like I said, half an hour.

(hesitates)

Any luck finding the curse? Or, you know, a curse?

JENNY

None so far, but I’m doing my absolute best.

BUFFY

Hence the coffee.

Jenny gives Buffy a grateful smile and picks up the coffee, taking a long sip. She winces a little.

BUFFY

Did I put in too much sugar? My mom always likes it with cream and sugar—

JENNY

No, this is — it’s great. Thanks.

Buffy sits down next to Jenny, very clearly thinking about her next words carefully.

BUFFY

(finally)

Have you and Giles talked things out?

Jenny suddenly looks very sad. She doesn’t answer.

BUFFY

Oh.

(reassuring)

Well, he’ll come around.

JENNY

Can we change the subject?

BUFFY

To what? My murdery boyfriend? Hate to break it to you, Ms. Calendar, but there aren’t a lot of great conversation options as of right now.

JENNY

(nods)

Fair point.

Buffy fishes in the pastry bag and pulls out a scone, starting to eat it. After her first bite, she scoots her chair a little closer to Jenny.

BUFFY

You’re his best friend. He’s not gonna keep being mad at you till the end of time, especially since you guys work together to save the world through the power of books or whatever.

JENNY

Computers.

BUFFY

Hence the “or whatever,” obviously.

JENNY

(smiles)

Obviously.

Giles enters the library, looking very purposefully detached.

GILES

Ms. Calendar, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to clear out. Class starts in thirty minutes and I need the library tidy when students start using it.

JENNY

Ah, yes, because so many people use the library so often.

Buffy giggles at this. Giles looks a little affronted (why is Buffy on Jenny’s side?).

GILES

Be that as it may—

JENNY

I gotcha. I’ll be out of here when I’m done with my coffee.

BUFFY

I can help with the tidying up, Giles! I could use the busy work.

Jenny and Giles exchange a worried look without thinking about it, both of them concerned about Buffy. It takes them both a moment to remember that Giles is mad at Jenny, and another moment to recalibrate. Giles is looking very annoyed with himself. Jenny has started smiling.

GILES

Thank you, but Ms. Calendar has created enough havoc in my library that I think I would prefer to sort through this round of chaos alone. Better chance of fixing all the damage she’s done.

Jenny stops smiling. Without a word, she puts the coffee down and leaves, not looking back.

BUFFY

(reproving)

Giles, that was cold. She doesn’t deserve that.

GILES

I really couldn’t care less.

BUFFY

Okay, so you all of a sudden don’t care about Ms. Calendar. I’ll pretend for a second that I buy that. But can you at least not act like a five-year-old about it? I need my Watcher here.

Giles looks surprised by this, then touched, then guilty.

GILES

(finally)

I’ll do my best.

BUFFY

Good.

Buffy starts picking up books and placing them in random stacks. Giles winces a little — he’s got a system, and Buffy’s not following it — but realizes that maybe she really does need some busy work. He starts helping her stack.

INT. LIBRARY — DAY (LATER)

The library’s still a mess. Giles is sort of staring at the random stacks of books, looking very sad for a reason that probably isn’t disorganization. Behind him, Jenny opens the door and slips in.

JENNY

Hey, Buffy said you needed me for research purposes?

At Jenny’s voice, Giles composes himself.

GILES

(not looking at her)

Yes, I do. Do you have any articles on werewolves? My books aren’t very detailed regarding tracking them down.

Jenny looks visibly hurt.

JENNY

So just research, then.

GILES

That would be best.

Jenny crosses the room to the computer, sitting down amidst the books and turning it on. Giles goes back to staring at the stacks.

JENNY

(concerned)

Are you okay? You usually live for vigorous research.

GILES

I really don’t want to have this conversation, Jenny.

JENNY

I just—

GILES

There are a few books set aside regarding werewolves, and I’ve marked pages of interest. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d prefer you to do the briefing.

JENNY

(upset)

You love doing the briefing. You get all dorky and giggly and you draw a bunch of weird diagrams on that whiteboard you keep specifically for briefings.

GILES

Jen—Ms. Calendar, I-I don’t want to have this conversation right now, and I would appreciate it if you respected that request, all right?

Jenny really does look up at Giles at that, initially indignant. She sobers upon seeing the genuine hurt on his face, though he still isn’t looking at her.

JENNY

(quiet)

All right.

INT. LIBRARY — DAY (BRIEFING)

The kids look a mixture of confused and unnerved. Jenny’s standing in front of a haphazardly drawn chart with a few stick figures, and Giles is standing behind her with a blank expression on his face.

JENNY

(helpless)

Okay, um, that’s — the moon, I think, and that’s — a person turning into a wolf.

XANDER

You think? Didn’t you draw this?

JENNY

No heckling. I’m pretty sure I’m running on like two hours of sleep right now. Anyway, um, research—research shows that moons impact our psyche, even though scientists say—

GILES

(terse)

“The moon.” Not “moons.” There’s only one moon.

JENNY

(borderline shrieky)

You’re the one who wanted me to do this, Rupert, so either let me do this or sit down and shut up!

Buffy and Willow exchange extremely worried looks.

BUFFY

Um, guys? We’re all friends here, okay? Just — Giles, don’t you want to say something about werewolves or something?

GILES

(blackly)

Werewolves turn into werewolves three nights in a row and cannot control themselves, and we need to subdue and capture this one before it causes any more harm to Sunnydale.

(to Jenny)

And that is how you do a briefing, Ms. Calendar.

JENNY

No, usually you do a briefing with lots of ridiculous diagrams that no one can make sense of and spend fifteen minutes talking about what could be explained in basically two seconds. Isn’t that how you do it, Mr. Giles?

BUFFY

(to Willow)

This is really bad.

WILLOW

This is worse than when they actually hated each other.

JENNY

(to Giles)

If you’re going to behave like a little kid when I am genuinely trying here—

GILES

I am not having this conversation.

JENNY

You’re never having this conversation!

XANDER

(loudly)

Giles, Ms. Calendar, don’t we have actually serious business to deal with right now? 

WILLOW

(anxious)

We already have a werewolf ripping people to shreds. You two don’t need to start on each other.

Buffy’s watching Giles and Jenny argue with a strange expression on her face.

BUFFY

I think Giles and Ms. Calendar should go track down the werewolf tonight.

That shuts Giles and Jenny up.

JENNY

No way.

GILES

Out of the question.

BUFFY

Look, you guys obviously need to learn how to work as a team even when you’re mad at each other. I’m going to scope out Lovers’ Lane, and I think you should go up there too and search together.

WILLOW

Buffy, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.

XANDER

You’re pretty much setting them up to kill each other. You do know that, right?

BUFFY

(sardonic)

Well, maybe they’ll take down the werewolf while they’re at it.

JENNY

Buffy, I know you want—

GILES

Don’t presume you know what she wants—

XANDER

They really are going to kill each other, aren’t they?

WILLOW

I’m not a betting girl, but I think the odds on that are pretty high.

BUFFY

Listen! We don’t just have the werewolf to deal with, we have Angelus and we have vampires and we have God knows what else, and now is not the time for our team to be falling to pieces just because you two can’t keep it together! So either you work things out right now or you work them out looking for that werewolf, because—

Buffy’s voice catches. For a moment, she looks very small, very afraid.

BUFFY

I need to know everyone’s behind me. Not at each other’s throats.

Giles and Jenny look abashed. Willow reaches out and places a hand on Buffy’s shoulder.

JENNY

(soft)

Okay.

GILES

I — suppose I can manage one night.

BUFFY

Good. You’re going to have to.

EXT. MAKEOUT PARK — NIGHT

Giles and Jenny meet in between two cars. There’s an incredibly awkward silence.

JENNY

Anything yet?

GILES

No.

JENNY

Are you going to start being nit-picky and awful like you were during that briefing?

GILES

(scoffs)

Now you’re just trying to provoke me.

JENNY

Rupert, I—

(swallows)

I don’t like not being friends with you. It’s a lot worse the second time around, and it’s even harder when you won’t even talk to me.

GILES

I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?

Jenny presses her lips together, then nods.

JENNY

Fine. Okay. Let’s just get back to searching, then.

BUFFY (O.C.)

Giles!!

Giles’s eyes widen and he takes off towards Buffy’s voice, leaving Jenny in the dust. She stares, indignant, then sprints to follow, grabbing his arm so that she can keep up.

GILES

Stop that!

JENNY

Your legs are longer than mine, you can’t just run off and leave me in the dark—

GILES

Seems as though you’ve kept me in the dark for a good long time, Jenny, I’m simply evening things out a bit.

Jenny stops, pulling Giles to a stop with her.

JENNY

You cannot possibly be serious.

Giles pauses, as though he’s about to say something. Then he takes advantage of Jenny’s distraction, shaking her arm off and running in Buffy’s direction.

JENNY

Ugh!

Jenny runs after him, skidding to a stop in the middle of a clearing. She collides with Giles, who has his hands in the air and his eyes on Cain and Buffy, the latter of whom is up in a net.

GILES

Buffy’s in a net and there’s a man with a gun, so—

JENNY

Wow, thanks for the warning.

BUFFY

Can you two cool it for one solitary second?

JENNY

Wait, who’s that guy?

CAIN

The name's Cain. I'm the one with the gun. Which means I'm the one who gets to do the interviewing.

BUFFY

You know, before we get all chummy, could we do something about this 'me being in a net' thing?

Cain looks up at Buffy, takes a knife from his belt and slices through a rope, dropping Buffy and the net to the ground. Jenny moves to help, but Giles sort of shoves her out of the way in a bid to get to Buffy first.

GILES

(to Buffy)

Are you all right?

BUFFY

I could have done without the poking.

CAIN

So what’s the deal here?

JENNY

I’m sorry?

CAIN

Is it you and him, him and the girl, or you and the girl?

JENNY

(matter-of-fact)

You’re disgusting.

BUFFY

And totally off the mark. We’re hunting down a werewolf.

A beat. Cain breaks into laughter.

BUFFY

Sure, it's funny if you don't believe in werewolves…

CAIN

No, it's funny thinking about you three catching one!

(re: Giles)

This guy looks like he's auditioning to be a librarian. The lady is about your size. And you, well, you're a girl.

GILES

I assure you, Buffy’s quite capable.

JENNY

(snippy)

And I’m not?

GILES

(sarcastic)

Yes. That’s exactly what I meant.

Buffy, sensing another argument, gives Giles and Jenny an annoyed look. They shut up.

CAIN

(to Buffy)

Let me ask you something, sweetheart. Exactly how many of these animals have you taken out?

BUFFY

(hedging)

As of today?

Cain shows the collection of teeth on his necklace.

CAIN

I tore a tooth from the mouth of every werewolf that I killed. This next one will bring the total to an even dozen.

JENNY

You're just going to kill it?

CAIN

Well, see, that's the thing. Their pelts fetch a pretty penny in Sri Lanka, and it's a little hard to skin 'em when they're alive.

GILES

(incredulous)

You hunt werewolves for sport?

CAIN

Oh, no. I'm in it purely for the money.

BUFFY

And it doesn't bother you that a werewolf is a person 28 days out of the month?

CAIN

That's why I only hunt them the other three.

Cain smiles and starts to pack up his gear.

CAIN

I'd really love to stay and chat, but I'm on a tight schedule. Any idea where else the boys and girls like to get together in this town?

BUFFY

You looking for a party?

CAIN

No, but the werewolf is. They're suckers for that whole 'sexual heat' thing. Sense it miles away. But since the little doggie ain't here, it must have found another place.

BUFFY

(covering)

Sorry. Wish we could help you.

CAIN

But you don't know squat? Gee, what a surprise.

He goes off. Buffy grabs the bag of hunting supplies out of Giles' hand and starts away. Giles moves with her.

GILES

Where are we going?

BUFFY

I think I know where to look. I just have to make it there before Mein Furrier. You two stay here and keep an eye on Lovers’ Lane in case the werewolf comes back for seconds.

JENNY

I don’t think that’s—

GILES

Buffy, I can—

BUFFY

Just do some staking out. Maybe talk. Either way, you guys need to work out all that weird tension, because I was up in that net for way too long.

Buffy leaves. Jenny looks apprehensively up at Giles.

JENNY

She does have a point.

GILES

Yes, she’s rather good at that.

JENNY

We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, Rupert. We can just stake things out in silence. Practice the whole teamwork thing.

GILES

I think I’d like that.

Giles starts walking back towards the car. Jenny watches him for a moment, then follows.

INT. GILES’S CAR — NIGHT

Jenny buckles herself in.

GILES

We aren’t driving.

JENNY

We might have to start if the werewolf shows up. I’m just planning ahead.

GILES

Good to know you’ve started doing that.

JENNY

And what’s that supposed to mean?

GILES

Did you even consider telling me why you were here? It was such a small thing, and if you’d given it even the slightest amount of consideration, you might have—

JENNY

Maybe I don’t tell you everything exactly when you want to hear it, but I did tell you. Doesn’t that count for something?

GILES

You told me because you had to.

JENNY

I told you because I thought the whole damn thing was my fault, Rupert! I told you because Angel was gone, and he’d been nothing but kind to me, and I was so scared and so sad and you’re my best friend. I wanted you to tell me that things were going to be okay, and instead you just—

Jenny’s voice breaks and she scrubs at her face. Giles is staring at her with wide eyes, shocked.

JENNY

You just shut me out. And I know I shouldn’t be asking you for your forgiveness, I know that’s your decision to make, I, I—

Giles places a hand on Jenny’s shoulder and kisses her. Hard.

Jenny gasps, then kisses him back, grabbing his jacket as he pulls her into his arms. Her seatbelt catches and she unbuckles it, letting Giles tug her on top of him and into the driver’s seat.

They’re kissing passionately for a good few seconds before there’s a noise outside, and then the werewolf lands on top of the car. Giles and Jenny don’t even notice until there’s the screech of claws on metal.

Slowly, they pull apart. They both look completely stunned. Jenny’s lipstick is all over Giles’s mouth.

GILES

(strangled)

That’d be the werewolf on the roof, wouldn’t it?

JENNY

(weak)

Um, yep. Probably. Yes.

Giles honks the horn.

JENNY

What are you doing?

GILES

Trying to scare it off. Maybe it’ll get startled and fall off the roof.

JENNY

What is wrong with you? Just drive. Just drive, Rupert. Just drive.

GILES

(panicked)

Stop telling me to drive!

JENNY

(high-pitched)

A lot just happened to me in a short amount��of time, I have very reasonable grounds to start getting very hysterical—

Giles floors the gas. The werewolf is thrown off the car as it peels out of Lover’s Lane.

JENNY

(awkward)

I’m still on your lap.

GILES

Yes, I’m aware of that.

JENNY

Can you stop so I can get off?

GILES

Priorities, Jenny.

JENNY

Oh my god, sexual energy. Oh my god. Oh my god.

GILES

(not even close to convincing)

I was — trying to attract the werewolf, all right? I panicked, and, and it seemed like a good idea—

JENNY

(shouting)

How is that a good idea? That is objectively the worst idea I’ve heard all night!

GILES

Don’t yell, Jenny, I’m driving and you’re still on my lap—

JENNY

And whose fault is that?

GILES

You kissed me back, so I wouldn’t say I’m completely responsible for this situation—

(realizes)

You kissed me back.

JENNY

Let’s just get back to Buffy.

GILES

(reeling)

You kissed me back.

JENNY

(voice catching)

I don’t want to talk about this.

Giles takes this in. Both of them look extremely upset and uncertain.

GILES

I’m sorry.

JENNY

It’s fine. It’s fine. Friends kiss friends all the time and they bounce back and anyway, we’re not mad at each other anymore, right?

GILES

(quiet)

No. Not, um, not really.

JENNY

So that’s good. That’s great.

GILES

Excellent.

As Giles drives, Jenny climbs off his lap and buckles herself back into the passenger seat.

JENNY

(weakly)

Should’ve buckled this thing tighter, huh?

Giles tries to smile.

INT. HALLWAY — DAY

Buffy and Giles are walking down the hall, Giles holding a large stack of books and papers. Buffy’s briefing Giles about the werewolf situation.

BUFFY

—and I had the chain around its neck, I was this close to getting—

Jenny rounds the corner. She stops walking when she sees Giles, who nearly drops all his papers as they stare at each other.

BUFFY

Hey, Ms. Calendar—

(noticing)

You guys okay?

GILES

(high-pitched)

Fine, yes, completely normal—

JENNY

(nervous, laughing)

Yeah, totally. Why wouldn’t we be?

Buffy looks between them, frowning a little.

BUFFY

Look, even if you guys didn’t kiss and make up, I’m fine. I just really need you both to act like adults, even if you’re still mad at each other—

GILES

(too loudly)

No one said anything about kissing!

Jenny buries her face in her hands.

BUFFY

You know what? I think I’m going to choose to ignore that one.

(pats Giles’s shoulder)

See you in a bit, Giles.

Buffy heads into the library, leaving Giles and Jenny still standing there, staring uncomfortably at each other.

GILES

(breaking the silence)

In, in college, I kissed a friend of mine and the friendship never really recovered. I don’t want that to be the case here.

JENNY

Me neither. It’s just—

(nervous laugh)

It was a good kiss.

GILES

It was.

They both smile a little shyly.

GILES

Jenny, I’ve never been as honest with anyone before as I have been with you. It was upsetting to know that my honesty wasn’t completely reciprocated, and I overlooked the fact that I shouldn’t feel entitled to know everything I want to know about you. I acted childishly in shutting you out. I’m sorry.

JENNY

I told you the truth about everything that mattered to me. You know that, right?

GILES

I think so.

JENNY

Just so happens that my priorities aren’t always all that great, I guess. 

GILES

I’d argue that your priorities are one hell of a lot better than mine, at times.

There’s still a lingering awkwardness, but then Jenny steps forward and places her hand on Giles’s shoulder.

JENNY

My priorities are relatively okay because I have a really great friend to talk things

through with. Okay?

Giles is smiling, but he looks a little sad.

GILES

Okay.

[trb-reacts]

The Raven Boys, Chapter 12

Adam wasn’t waiting by the bank of mailboxes in the morning.

Oh no. Please tell me Adam was fine and wasn’t caught. Tell me no one hurt our sweet, elegant boy. 

Actually, more properly, he’d used it as a place to turn around and head back the way he’d come. […] At the sight of Gansey’s Aglionby sweater, Adam’s father had charged out, firing on all cylinders.

Lol, oh, Gansey, turn around and head back the way he’d come. I’m also just very afraid for Adam though. If Adam’s father reacts this way to Gansey in his Aglionby sweater, just how exactly does Adam’s father react to Adam attending Aglionby?

For weeks after that, Ronan had called Gansey “the S.R.F.,” where the S stood for Soft, the R stood for Rich, and the F for something else.

Lol, something else, huh?

His watch said he had eighteen minutes to make the fifteen-minute drive to school.

It’s okay, Gansey, I’ve done 10 minute walks within 5 minutes, because I always leave the house too late and have no sense of time. I managed, though, and made it on time, with 2 minutes of lateness. Yay me. 

Noah had let him leave his journal behind at Nino’s after all, and its absence was surprisingly unsettling.

I’m sorry, Gansey, but how old are you? Noah let you leave your journal behind? Have a sense of responsibility, would you, tho I would admit that I would be exceedingly upset if I lost my journal full of my writings.

And Dick Gansey II had let his son know that if he couldn’t hack it in a private school, Gansey was cut out of the will.

He’d said it nicely, though, over a plate of fettuccine.

Oh, the rich people’s version of B+?? You only got a B+?? Only Asians get the threat of a beating (semi-kidding), while rich people get the threat of a fortune taken away with they get below a B. I wonder which one is worse. 

He felt the old fear creeping slowly out of his lungs.

Don’t panic. You were wrong about Ronan last night. You have to stop this. Death isn’t as close as you think.

… I would like to be reassuring and tell Gansey he’s right, except Whelk’s friend did die when they went on their quest to search for the king. And I mean, a beating and death is not that far apart for Adam, is it? I’m concerned, especially with this unexpected radio silence.

Adam must’ve taken his bike, he must’ve had work, he must’ve had errands to run and forgotten to tell him. The rutted drive down to the neighborhood was still empty. Come on, Adam. Wiping his palms on his slacks, he put his hands back on the steering wheel and headed for the school.

Gansey, I’m admittedly a little disappointed in you. School > friend? I mean, I get it, I’m a student crazy about my grade too and most of the time, the worse case scenario isn’t usually actually what happens, though, Gansey? You called him out last night, knowing that consequences would be bad if Adam was caught. You called him, asked him for a favor from one friend to another, and Adam granted it, gave it to you without much more than a second thought for his own wellbeing, because you asked. And now you leave your wait for Adam, without knowing what happened to him at all? You coulda at least went by Adam’s home to see if he is there and then walk in late to class, though I admittedly don’t know how well rich boarding schools take walking in late to class.  

Ronan was head of class in Latin. He studied joylessly but relentlessly, as if his life depended on it. Directly behind him was Adam, Aglionby’s star pupil, otherwise at the top of every class that he took. Like Ronan, Adam studied relentlessly, because his future life did depend on it.

He studied joylessly but relentlessly, as if his life depended on it. Oh, me in every single one of my classes. Joyless and relentless, because my future life depends on it. Not the star pupil like Adam, though I try. 

I’m also getting the Ronan/Adam vibe again. Adam, top in every single one of his class except for Latin, the only class that Ronan tries and therefore excels at. I wonder if Adam gets infuriated by Ronan, the way Ronan doesn’t care about anything including his own talent and intelligence, but shines so brightly when he does try like a light flickering to life at night. 

…. Would it be a stretch if I add ‘and Adam is helpless drawn by it, like moth to flame.’? Probably, but I don’t care. Ronan probably won’t burn Adam much tho. Probably. Hopefully. 

He’d originally resigned himself to taking Latin in order to translate historical texts for Glendower research, but Ronan’s proficiency at the language robbed Gansey’s study of any urgency.

I’m so both amazed by Gansey’s dedication to his reasearch to even consider learning an entire other language (i understand how tough learning another language could be, since I suck at it, even without considering reading and writing formal text in another foreign language) and amused by Gansey’s typical student laziness. I don’t need to take it? Great, not gonna bother then, thank you very much. 

Ronan hissed, “Where’s Parrish?”

Oh, no. Adam!! Also, Ronan cares~

Behind Gansey, someone punched his shoulder blade and said, Gansey boy! as they trotted by. Gansey halfheartedly lifted three fingers, the signal of the rowing team.

Gansey boy! Lol. Also, Gansey’s in the rowing team? He is popular.

A few months earlier, Gansey had offered to buy Adam a cell phone, and by so doing had launched the longest fight they’d ever had, a week of silence that had resolved itself only when Ronan did something more offensive than either of them could accomplish.

I’m so… I don’t know. I understand why Adam would be like, fuck you, I’m not a charity case, but at the same time… sometimes when you see your friend struggling, it physically hurts to have the means to help and just not be allowed to help. Gansey should say stuff like, “Oh, it’ll be easier to help me contact you, which would aid us in our quest. Also, think of this as me investing in you. You can pay me back for the phone later.’ Or just… sell Adam one of his old phone for cheap, idk. 

This reminds me of *spoiler if you haven’t read The Foxhole Court* Andrew buying Neil a phone and Neil looking at it like it’s the devil the first time around. Though, to be fair, Neil and Adam are in different circumstance here. 

Also, I’m so amused by this: a week of silence that had resolved itself only when Ronan did something more offensive than either of them could accomplish. Glad to see Ronan’s antagonistic nature has its perks. No one can seem offensive when in comparison to me!

Thank you, Ronan, thank you. 

“Lynch!” the call came again. “I’m going to fuck you up.”

Wow, that’s… a very strong sentiment. Also, wow, I just noticed but Ronan’s last name is Lynch. Lynch, as in, *give me a second to google the formal definition* 

lynch /verb/:

(of a mob) kill (someone), especially by hanging, for an alleged offense with or without a legal trial.

synonyms: execute illegally, hang, kill; informal string up

“he was lynched by the mob”

Lynch, with all those good feels here. The word lynch reminds of of martyrs and I wonder why I feel like Ronan would be the martyr, despite his strong personality implying/faking that he would be the one doing the lynching. 

Gansey contemplated if he could give Ronan a curfew. Or if he should quit rowing to spend more time with him on Fridays — he knew that was when Ronan got into trouble with the BMW. Maybe he could convince Ronan to …

Gansey boy!: the Mom Friend of the group. 

Gansey asked, “Why are you carrying that bag? Oh my God, you have that bird in there, don’t you.”

Whoops, I forgot about the raven. How could I forget about Chain Saw!! 

“If you get caught with that thing —” But Gansey couldn’t think of a suitable threat. What was the punishment for smuggling a live bird into classes? He wasn’t certain there was precedent.

Ronan, breaking boundaries and making history left and right. I feel like Ronan is the type that prompts people to make new, weirdly specific rules like, “Guys, please, place your hand over the bleaker and gently wave a bit towards you. By heavens, don’t stick it under your nose and sniff like you would with drugs and most of all, I can’t believe I have to say this, but Do Not Drink It! It’s not edible, do you hear me, and definitely do not miss your mouth and accidentally splash it all over your eyes and then knock everyone’s bleaker over and spill the contents all over someone else’s eyes! This is a Safe Zone, you hear me, and we’re gonna Keep It That Way.”

“If it dies in your bag, I forbid you to throw it out in a classroom.” “She,” Ronan corrected. “It’s a she.”

I love how Ronan corrected the impersonal ‘it’ to a ‘she’. Oh, Ronan is such a softie underneath everything. 

Though there was no reason to think Whelk cared about their conversation, Gansey had the strange idea that the lifted piece of chalk in Whelk’s hand was because of them, that the Latin teacher had stopped writing merely to listen in. Adam’s suspicion really was beginning to rub off on him.

Um, Gansey dear, actuallly, Adam’s suspicion is very well founded and also, just listen to your gut instincts. Your guts Knows, alright, it Knows, Gansey. 

Ronan caught Whelk’s eye and held it in an unfriendly sort of way.

Oh, I love Ronan. Stare ‘em down, Ronan, stare ‘em down. 

Because he despised everyone, Ronan wasn’t a good judge of character, but Gansey had to agree that there was something discomfiting about Whelk. A few times, Gansey had tried to hold a conversation with him about Roman history, knowing full well the effect an enthusiastic academic conversation could have on an otherwise listless grade. But Whelk was too young to be a mentor and too old to be a peer, and Gansey couldn’t find an angle.

If Gansey finds it discomfiting every time he can’t find an angle to talk to someone, he would not like my awkward little life or attempts at small talks. I’ll need to know you for a full three months before I can comfortably greet you without thinking ‘Am I overstepping my boundary? Can I greet them and acknowledge them outside of where we met? Do they even remember me or find my greetings too bothersome?’ Yeah, I have lots of anxiety about lots of stuff. 

 Also, Gansey’s such a nerd that he finds it weird when he can’t nerd out with someone who is supposedly a fellow nerd. 

Ronan kept staring at Whelk. He was good at staring. There was something about his stare that took something from the other person.

Me, covering my mouth with a hand, tear brimming my eyes as I reenact the ‘you’re doing amazing, sweetie’ meme. Probably shouldn’t be encouraging him, heavens knows Ronan doesn’t need more encouragement, but I love it when Ronan acts so... him. 

And: there was something about his stare that took something from the other person. I love it!

Gansey would’ve basked once more in the odds of Ronan of finding a raven, but at the moment, with Adam missing, his quest didn’t feel like magic; it felt like years spent piecing together coincidences, and all he had made from it was a strange cloth — too heavy to carry, too light to do any good at all.

Oh, love it. Some doubts from Gansey on his quest, the what-if my faith isn’t really faith, but rather delusions? What if there really isn’t magic and these coincidence (fate, magic) really are just coincidental events that a mad man strung together thinking that they had any correlation or significance at all? 

Also, I love the metaphor with a cloth!!  Too heavy to carry, too light to do any good at all; I spent too much time and energy and faith on it to abandon it now, and yet what had all the time and energy and faith invested really given me in return? Only strings of nothings connected by the thin, nebulous thread of ‘coincidences’.

"You seem to have an extremely large bag today, Mr. Lynch," Whelk said. "You know what they say about men with large bags," Ronan replied. "Ostendes tuum et ostendam meus?" Gansey had no idea what Ronan had just said, but he was certain from Ronan’s smirk that it wasn’t entirely polite. 

So, when faced with untranslated babbles of unknown because I’m not cultured enough to be fluent in more than one language, I can never resist finding out what they mean by turning to the trusty google translate. 

Before that, let me guess what he says without translating the Latin phrase and then maybe we can compare my guess to what he actually said. 

Guess 1:  “You know what they say about men with large bags. They have large baggages,” because symbolism is so my thing. Except Ronan’s Latin phrase ends in a question mark and I think symbolism about bags and baggages is more of my thing than Ronan’s. 

Guess 2: “You know what they say about men with large bags. They have huge dicks,” because I can imagine Ronan making a dick joke here, except that’s also not a question. Ronan, what did you say????

Okay, I’m gonna cheat. 

Final Guess:  “You know what they say about men with large bags. They have huge dicks, amiright?” There, I got the question mark in there now. Totally showed that stupid question mark. 

Answer: Ostendes tuum et ostendam meus?  = You show me yours and I will show

... I’m not entirely sure what that means, so here’s another two guesses, this time on what this translated Lain phrase mean. Gee, Ronan, I like you, but you’re driving me nuts. 

Guess 1: I’m totally right and it’s a dick joke. “You show me your, erm, jewels, and I’ll show you mine.” I like this one because I inappropriately like random oblique dick jokes in Latin, but also because it means Ronan is maybe not entirely straight so my ship with him and Adam might actually be able to leave the port. 

Guess 2: I’m sadly wrong and Ronan is a bright diamond, meaning he’s not only shiny and awesome, but also damn sharp. (Actually diamonds aren’t the sharpest, I’m thinking about... hardness. Diamond’s the hardest of all rocks, I think, and I just compared Ronan to a diamond, so I’ll just leave that here.) Ronan is onto Whelk and he knows that Whelk’s been keeping an eye on them, so Ronan is saying, “You show me your cards, your secrets, and I might impart mine as well, including telling you about what’s in my ‘extremely large bag’.” (I really needa stop making dick jokes.) 

Anyway, the second guess unfortunately sounds more plausible, though Ronan’s smirk seem to imply a bit more of the first guess. Yeah, I don’t know. Tell me if there’s an official interpretation of this or if I misunderstood?

"Being a shit in Latin isn’t the way to an A," Gansey said.

Ronan’s smile was golden. "It was last year."

Ronan’s smile was golden!! *cries* Oh, my son!! I love him so much. 

Adam never showed.

And the somber reminder came back. I really, really hope Adam is okay. I miss him, and I’m sure the boys do too.

[kurokoros]

Bippity Boppity Oops!

For @ochakos-trashcan for the Halloween fic exchange! This is longer than expected and kind of weird, so enjoy!

Ochako has never been the best with spells. It’s not that she doesn’t understand how to do them, it’s just that her mind tends to wander and she stops reading the words right. She’s always been a little absentminded, but most o her friends find it more endearing than anything else. While she might not be the best at spell casting, Ochako is nothing less than determined to do her absolute best. Besides, in most cases a backfired spell has no real consequences. They come with fail-safes, in a way, little reassurances for the ever present “oh shit” moment that comes with being a witch. No one has ever died from Ochako miscasting a spell. Sure, Kirishima lost his hair once, and Tsuyu was stuck with a purple tongue for a day, but things certainly could have been much, much worse.

This is much, much worse than either of those things combined.

This is something she doesn’t know how to fix.

Ochako bites her lip as she glances at her bed, nervous gaze flickering between the small, furry creature glaring at her from her pillow and the spellbook on her lap, wondering how she could have messed things up so spectacularly. It was only supposed to be a simple spell, really. It wasn’t supposed to end up like this.

On her bed, Bakugou twitches, glaring between her and his fluffy tail, his ears flat against the top of his head as he hissed at his sleek new appendage. He practically bristles, looking about ready to blow something up. Ochako doesn’t know if he can still perform magic like this, but she’d rather not find out. Bakugou exploding things is stressful enough on a good day; Ochako doesn’t think she could handle seeing the ball of fluff on her bed cackling maniacally and setting things on fire.

Be that as it may, she’s very proud of him for not lighting her room on fire so far. He’s showing a large amount of control all things considered. She isn’t sure if it’s because he actually likes her in some way or another or if his fluffy paws don’t allow him to cast magic, but he hasn’t started yelling or threatening to scratch her eyes out, so it’s an improvement of how things could have been.

Clearing her throat, Ochako crosses her legs beneath her, shifting awkwardly as Bakugou stands on wobbly legs, taking an awkward step, limbs stiff. His claws pull at the yarn of her quilt, and she winces when he causes a snag, but she doesn’t say a word, not wanting to unintentionally make things worse.

He stumbles around like a baby for several seconds, hissing something she can’t hear under his breath. His tail puffs up to three times its former size, his pupils nearly blocking out the red in his eyes.

“Bakugou,” she starts slowly, unsure what to say that won’t sound stupid, “I know this looks bad…” She trails off when Bakugou sends her the nastiest look he can manage as a cat. “Umm, I can fix it?”

He looks at her like he wants to scratch her eyes out, but doesn’t say a word, though she expects him to curse and scream and cause her landlord to bust down her door. The last thing she needs is her entirely normal old landlord to have a heart attack when he sees her talking cat.

Bakugou’s eye twitches and then suddenly he begins to yowl in the most ungodly way imaginable.

Ochako sighs and slaps a hand onto her forehead. “I’m calling Kirishima.

Ochako is absentmindedly playing with Bakugou’s tail and ignoring his glare on the side of her face when she hears a knock at the door, muffled voices coming from the other side of her apartment, laughter and mumbled words of concern. Someone snickers, and then there’s a smacking sound and a yelp.

Kirishima and Kaminari. Great. She sighs, running a tired hand down the side of her face and trying not to scream. Kirishima’s help she appreciates. He’s the only one that can really calm Bakugou down when he starts screaming and lighting things on fire in his adult tantrum kind of way. Kaminari not so much. Usually he just antagonizes Bakugou, and that’s the last thing any of them need right now.

Scooping up Bakugou in her arms, Ochako leaves her room, ignoring Bakugou’s grumbled threats. His long tail tickles her bare leg, flicking madly, a testament to his irritation.

“Put me down,” he demands, nails digging into her arm. He glares at her, baring his teeth, but she only sends him an unimpressed look.

“No.” Her reply is simple, but he takes it about as well as expected. A low growl rumbles in his throat, Bakugou beginning to struggle in her arms, short legs scrambling for purchase as he’s dangled nearly five feet in the air. “Bakugou! Knock it off!” As much as she would like to put him down, she doesn’t really feel like dropping him. Cats always land on their feet, but Bakugou is turning out to be a lousy cat.

“Uraraka, I said--”

She cuts him off before he can finish. “I know what you said and I don’t care,” she snaps at the struggling feline. Bakugou blinks back at her, pouting, but he stops struggling. For a moment, she almost feels bad for him, his kitty face more adorable than his usual grumpy face. As much as she’s panicking about this, she can’t even begin to imagine how he must be feeling.

There’s another loud knock at the door before she makes it halfway across the living room. “Bakugou!” Kirishima yells through the wood. “Are you dead? Did you murder Uraraka before we could get here?” Her eye twitches at the thought, but she keeps her mouth shut, aware that Kiri uses humor to cover his stress. Sometimes she wishes she could do the same, but there’s really nothing to laugh about in this situation. At least, nothing to laugh about that wouldn’t get her eyes scratched out by a pissy feline.

“I wish,” Bakugou grumbles, finally settling into her arms, though he doesn’t look happy about it. She doesn’t know if he’s referring to himself or to her, but she decides she really doesn’t want to know. Ochako pinches the tip of his tail and he hisses at her.

“Shut up, Kiri!” Ochako mumbles, glaring at the door. Bakugou scrambles onto her shoulder and she crosses her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. Really, all she wants to do is take a nap and never look at her spellbook again. She’s utterly convinced at this point that Kirishima and Mina fucked with her book and switched out the Latin when she wasn’t looking. And if they did, well, Cat Bakugou can be their problem, not hers.

She sighs. “Door’s open!”

“You better be wearing clothes, you two,” Kaminari jokes, snickering to himself. The doorknob jiggles and Ochako rolls her eyes, in no mood for their jokes at the moment. There’s another whacking sound, and a yelp, and then silence.

Bakugou’s tail flicks. “I’m not.”

She nearly throws him off her shoulder as she turns to glare at him. “Bakugou!” Her cheeks turn a bright cherry color, her heartbeat skyrocketing. He sends her a bored look in response, nails digging into her shoulder to steady himself. Any other day she would praise him for being honest, but now is definitely not the time for it.

“Too late!” Kirishima calls before kicking down the door. It bangs harshly against the wall and Bakugou jumps, the hair on his spine standing on end.

“Bakugou,” Kaminari begins, glancing around the room with a frown, trying to find where his friend is hiding, completely ignoring the random cat sitting on her shoulder. “Where are--what the fuck?” He blinks stupidly at the cat that happens to be Bakugou. Bakugou glares at him, hissing, and Kaminari cocks his head to one side curiously, confusion clear on his face.

Kirishima glances between her and the feline, seeming unsure what to say. Ochako has never expressed any interest in getting a cat, and even if she did her landlord would never allow it. “When did you buy a cat?” he asks her, slow and even, something like recognition forming in his eyes though he looks horrified at the thought.

“I didn’t,” she tells them simply, hoping she doesn’t need to spell it out for them. She already feels silly enough over what happened, she really doesn’t need their input.

Bakugou isn’t quite as tactful. “It’s me you dumbasses,” he sneers, standing on her shoulder and huffing. He moves to leap from her shoulder, but she stops him before he can go far, aware that he’s more likely to scratch someone’s eyes out than cuddle up to them. He may look adorable and fluffy, but she knows better than to think he isn’t the devil incarnate when he wants to be.

She made the worst combination. Bakugou is practically a psychotic pyromaniac and cats are literally Satan and squishing them together is bad for her health. And what’s worse is that she has no idea how to fix him. It would have been mildly entertaining if she merely turned him into a fluffy kitty for a few minutes, but this? This is about as awful as things can get. Not to mention that some spells become permanent after several hours, especially the curses.

Not that she cursed Bakugou. At least, not on purpose.

Kaminari’s mouth drops open in shock. Kirishima only blinks, his lips twitching as if he’s unsure whether or not to laugh. As amusing as the situation may be in the future, Ochako is halfway to a panic attack and Bakugou looks ready to claw someone’s eyes out.

“Dude,” Kaminari begins, sighing heavily, clearly exasperated, “please tell me you didn’t buy a cat to fuck with us.” He crosses his arms, unimpressed, and Ochako suddenly feels like strangling him. Kaminari squints at Bakugou before peering around the room, as if he’s hiding somewhere and making the cat’s mouth move just to fuck with them. Kirishima raises a dubious brow, and Bakugou growls, his nails digging into her arm as she squeezes him tight against her.

“Why would I buy a cat?” Bakugou yowls, finally leaping from her arms before she can stop him. He growls at Kaminari, clawing his way up his pant leg. He settles on Kaminari’s shoulder, swatting at him as he continues to shout, “I don’t even like cats!” He hisses and spits, Kaminari screaming and flailing to throw him off. “That’s not even a good prank, you dumbass mother--”

Ochako cuts him off, smiling awkwardly at Kirishima, both of them ignoring the screaming pair. “I, umm, had a little accident while practicing today.” She scurries over to Kaminari’s side and pulls Bakugou off of him, a dozen lovely red marks decorating Kaminari’s face, his hair a mess from Bakugou’s clawing. The cat--Bakugou--huffs in her arms, but doesn’t fight her, too busy glaring at Kaminari to care about her cradling him and playing with his tail.

“Well shit,” Kirishima mumbles, looking utterly bewildered about the situation. “Did you try reversing it?” Ochako glares at him for insinuating it, and the three of them begin to bicker as they try to figure out exactly what’s going on.

Kaminari squints, shifting so he’s half-hidden behind Kirishima, using him as a shield. His expression turns an odd combination of pensive and mischievous. “Did you try kissing him?” he asks them.

“What the fuck?” Bakugou yowls. He squirms and she drops him, face coloring to a rather dashing shade of scarlet. All of the blood rushes to her face, her hands feeling sweaty, and she barely has the sense to grab Bakugou again before he can kill Kaminari for real this time.

“Me?” she sputters out, a warm feeling spreading through her stomach and chest. Briefly, she imagines kissing him, a fantasy that she would never admit to thinking about on a regular basis. Bakugou’s cursing shoves the thought from her mind, however.

Karishima frowns, but nods slowly. “Yeah, you know, Denki might be right, for once.” Ochako looks at him like he’s completely lost it, and Bakugou starts screaming again. “I mean, isn’t that what usually happens in fairy tales when one of them is turned into an animal?” he asks, shrugging like it makes perfect sense.

Ochako’s mouth drops open. “Why do I have to kiss him?” she blurts, glancing down at Bakugou awkwardly before turning back to Kirishima. “Why don’t you kiss him!” She jabs a finger in his direction.

“No one is kissing me,” Bakugou hisses, shooting Kiri a nasty look, tail flicking angrily.

Kiri just shrugs again, exasperated. “Fine, stay a grumpy cat forever, Bakugou,” he drawls sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Want to watch Hocus Pocus?” he asks Ochako and Kaminari.

“Hell yeah.”

“Fuckers.”

None of them are sure what they should be doing. Ochako has tried to reverse the spell twice since the boys showed up, Kirishima has corrected the book’s shitty Latin for her, and Kaminari has been providing them with snacks, popping popcorn excruciatingly slowly as she and Kiri tried to figure out just what was happening. Kirishima tried a different spell on Bakugou meant to turn animals into humans, but all that happened was a dull popping sound and a flash of light that did absolutely nothing.

In a way, they were all just hoping things would go back to normal on their own, that maybe it was just some weird dream or the result of way too much alcohol, but evidently not. Bakugou is still a cat, Kaminari has eaten all of her snacks, Kirishima is just as lost as she is, and Ochako isn’t sure if she wants to cry or take a nap for six years.

In the end, they end up watching Hocus Pocus to take notes, Bakugou complained the entire time about the movie, though he eventually settled onto her lap and began to purr--which she really wishes she caught on her phone because Bakugou was purring.

After the movie, they threw a vial of fairy dust at him, which didn’t turn him back to normal, though it did make him float and cover him in glitter. Bakugou was not happy and Ochako will find glitter on her floor for the next twenty years.

Eventually, Kaminari loses a game of rock-paper-scissors with Kirishima and has to call Momo for assistance.

Ochako drums her fingers against her knee, glancing down at Bakugou, still nestled in her lap, tail flicking, though not in an irritated way this time. She scratches beneath his chin and he purrs loudly, leaning into her touch, though he doesn’t appear to notice it. “Maybe someone should kiss him,” she blurts, feeling her face color for even suggesting it. “I mean, it always works in the movies, right?”

It’s not like she wants to kiss Bakugou. Of course she doesn’t! Not even a little bit! But she doesn’t exactly want him to stay a cat forever wither.

Kirishima quirks a brow at her, and Ochako steadfastly ignores Bakugou’s eyes on her. “I kissed him once in college,” Kiri says dryly, “I did my time.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, though there’s a mocking smile on his face when he looks at Bakugou, a joke she isn’t privy to. Bkugou merely rolls his eyes as best he can as a cat, huffing and turning his back to Kiri. He doesn’t yell for once, which is odd, but appreciated.

Kaminari walks back into the room “Momo and Jiro think I’m having a psychotic episode or I’m drunk and refuse to come over until I’m sober.”

“Awesome.”

They settle into an easy silence for a moment, Ochako lazily stroking Bakugou’s spine and Kirishima flipping through her spellbook for the twentieth time, looking for anything that could help them out. Kaminari plops down on the couch across from her, draping himself over the side of it, one foot tossed across Kirishima’s lap. If Kiri notices he doesn’t appear to care.

Ochako sighs and drops her head back to rest against the back of her chair, rocking it slightly, and hums to herself in an effort to distract her from how ridiculous all of this is. She turned Bakugou into a cat. She turned Bakugou into a cat. Of all the people she could turn into a cat it just had to be the most surly person she’d ever met. Then again, he did agree to help her in the first place, so technically he brought this upon himself.

Ochako peers down at Bakugou, eyes narrowed, a small frown pulling at her lips. He’s been oddly helpful lately, offering to help her with her magic even though he knows that she tends to fudge things up. He knows all of this and yet…

“So has Ochako kissed you yet?”

She nearly chokes at Kaminari’s question and ends up yanking on Bakugou’s fur, making him hiss. She sputters for a moment as she looks at Kaminari and Kirishima, both boys wearing sly smiles. Her mouth goes dry as she thinks of something to say, her tongue thick and sticking to the roof of her mouth when she sputters out, “why do you keep asking that!” It comes out more shrill than she means it to, and Bakugou winces, his ears sensitive.

Kaminari only shrugs, hiding a shit-eating grin behind a bowl of popcorn. “Because in stories kissing always solves everything.”

“No it doesn’t, Kaminari,” she mumbles, unsure whether to blush or wince. Because it’s not kissing that breaks the curses. No, it’s true love. Her face flames at the thought, and she bites her lip, holding in a sigh. Her face must fall, because Kirishima’s expression slips into one of concern. He doesn’t say anything, but Ochako thinks he must know what’s on her mind. He’s always been perceptive, even if he tries to pretend he’s not.

“Do you think maybe it’s because you’re an asshole?”

This time she does choke. “Excuse me?” she asks Kaminari, wide-eyed at the accusation. She hasn’t exactly done anything to warrant name calling today. At least, not from Kaminari, of all people.

His eyes widen, and he back-tracks when Bakugou begins to growl at him. “Not you Uraraka, you’re an angel!” His expression turns apologetic for a moment before he turns to look at the cat on her lap. “Bakugou, on the other hand, is the devil.” Well, she can’t really disagree with that.

Kirishima groans. “Do you really want him to scratch you again, Denki?” he hisses, rolling his eyes.

The last thing she needs is a catfight in her apartment at nearly eleven at night.

“Just listen!” He raises his hands in a pacifying gesture, glancing between Ochako and Kirishima slowly. “In Disney movies when people are turned into animals it’s because they need to stop being shitty people, right?” he asks them, dragging out the last word, prompting them to answer.

Kirishima starts to answer, but stops after a moment, eyes narrowing as he mulls it over. “Yeah, but Ochako is the one that turned him into a cat,” he reminds his friend. Honestly, Ochako almost wishes it was some cosmic force that cursed Bakugou for being an asshole to people. At least then it wouldn’t be her fault and they could potentially get Bakugou to become a nice person. Well, nicer person. She’s not going to push it.

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any ideas, Kiri!”

“At least I’m doing something instead of coming up with shitty theories,” Kirishima counters, glaring at Kaminari and waving the spellbook in his hand, practically daring him to respond.

Ochako can feel a headache coming on.

The boys continue to bicker for several minutes, mostly about who’s doing what and “I’m coming up with ideas and “take your ideas and shove them up your--”

“Guys!” she shouts, cutting them off with as nasty of a glare as she can muster. She’s been on friendly terms with Bakugou for long enough to master his scowl by now, and it works wonders on the boys. “Could you please knock it off?” She practically hisses at them, and perhaps later she’ll feel bad for it, but right now she just wants them to shut up and let her think.

Kaminari looks away frist. “Sorry, Uraraka.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima adds, sending Bakugou a sly look before standing. “We’ll, uh, we’ll grab some dinner. Seafood?” He sends her a smile that’s so fake it nearly hurts her to look at, Kirishima more awkward than she’s ever seen him as he yanks Kaminari off the couch and begins dragging him to the door.

“But I don’t want--”

“Yes, you do. Shut up.”

The door slams shut behind them. Ochako gets the strangest feeling that they aren’t coming back.

Instead of worrying about it, she merely shakes her head and floats her book back over to her, absently flicking through the pages to try finding a counter spell, though she’s slowly losing hope that one might exist. Counter spells are always listed with their curses, just in case anything should go wrong, and there’s always a nullification spell as a last resort, but that hadn’t worked when Kirishima said the incantation. There was a poof! And then nothing. All they succeeded in doing was turning Bakugou into a Soot Sprite, which he was none too pleased about.

As if hearing her thoughts, Bakugou begins to growl under his breath, nails pricking at her skin. She blinks down at him, concerned, but Bakugou doesn’t notice. His tail twitches violently, and he swears under his breath, the hair on his back standing on end as he stares at something across the room, practically glaring at it. “What’s wrong with you, Grumpy?” she tries to joke, bit it falls flat, Ochako too exhausted to make proper jokes.

He glances at her over his shoulder, glaring. “Oh, I don’t know,” he bites out sarcastically, much more subdued than he usually is. By now he’s usually making things explode, but the worst he’s done so far today is pull out a chunk of Kaminari’s hair with his teeth, leaving a lovely bald spot on his head. “I’m a cat and everyone keeps telling me to kiss you,” he spits out, rigid on her lap.

She tries to ignore the sting of hurt that comes with his words, but there’s something crushing in the way he says it, like it’s the worst thing he can think of. The cat part she can understand, though she tends to look on the brighter side of things. On the other hand… “What’s wrong with kissing me?” she asks him, softer than she intends to. Ochako bites her bottom lip, worrying it as she waits for him to respond, afraid that he might mock her for it.

Because if she’s being honest with herself, she kind of likes Bakugou like, a lot. Probably more than she should.

He sighs and turns around so that he’s facing her, an annoyed look on his face. Her heart seizes, disappointment seeping into her bones at the anger in his eyes. “I’m a cat, Ochako,” he says suddenly. It’s honestly the last thing she expected him to say, more the cat thing than her name but that’s nearly as surprising. “A cat,” he repeats, stressing it.

She frowns. “So what?” She’s kissed plenty of cats before. Besides, it’s not like she was planning on making out with him while he’s like this. She doesn’t exactly want gobs of hair in her mouth the first time she kisses Bakugou for real.

“I can’t kiss you if I’m a cat,” he hisses at her, ears flattening against the top of his head. He looks more irritated than before, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s arguing with him or if it’s because she doesn’t seem hindered by the cat thing.

What really makes her pause is how much he’s stressing the cat part of the equation. She fully expected him to abhor kissing her, but he seems more reluctant because of the fur and whiskers part, rather than it being her. “Do you want to kiss me?” she asks suddenly, blinking at him owlishly.

“I don’t know, maybe?” If cats could blush, she thinks he would be. Bakugou tucks his head close to his chest, looking more bashful than anything else. His whiskers twitch and it’s honestly the most adorable thing she’s ever seen.

“Aww,” she coos at him, “Bakugou!” Ochako sits up, scooping him into her arms and lowering her face close to his, grinning so wide her face starts to hurt. She leans in just enough to place a kiss against his nose, making him twitch, his eyes blown wide.

Of course, that’s the exact moment Bakugou decides to stop being a cat.

There’s a poof and smoke and then Bakugou is leaning over her, cherry red and wide-eyed. His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t say a word, tongue-tied for the very first time since they met. Ochako giggles at his stunned expression and leans in to press another quick kiss on his mouth before pulling away. He doesn’t let her go far.

[fanficwriter013]

The Angel With The Metal Wings

Pairing: Sam Wilson X Angel!Reader

Summary: When you fall from the sky in front of the Avengers, they take you in and things happen from there.

Word Count: 2733

Warnings: I suck at summaries. Mute reader, Clint signs, communication issues.

Author's Note: This has art from the lovely @ceasdraws. See reblog.

Everything hurt, the world was too bright for your eyes. The foreign noises you could hear were the equivalent of knives being thrown into the target of your eardrums. Your body felt heavy and awkward, and yet you were shivering for the first time.

It seemed like it took forever but your eyes finally adjusted to the assault of the rays from the sun. It was then that you saw him, the angel with the shimmering wings. Unlike your wings, which were now part of your flesh and bloody body, that ruffled and curled around you in an attempt to keep you warm. These wings were unlike any you had seen, sleek and foreign.

The person attached to these metallic wings swooped in, having no doubt just witnessed your fall. You watched his eyes as he took in your wings, and cautiously approached you.

“Hey there, you alright? That was some fall you just had.” He was making foreign noises with his mouth. Something whispered to you that he was trying to communicate with you, but this language was as foreign to you as the idea of feathered wings was to this metallic Angel. “Do you speak English?” The only thing you caught was that these noises were called English.

“Wanda, I need you over here.” The noises had been harsh and hard to listen to at first, but now it was becoming smooth and gentle. A female landed next to your metallic angel. She gave you the same odd look, as her eyes took in your feathered blanket.

“Seems to be healthy, thought patterns are normal. But there’s not a lot that I can see in there.” You tilt your head, you’d felt her presence in your mind. But this was a mortal, she shouldn’t have that ability. You tentatively pushed into her mind, immediately seeing yourself appearing and falling from the sky. Your wings unable to move, as you plummeted to the ground.

“Telepathic abilities.” The girl is telling your metallic angel so she can feel you in her mind. You send her a usual greeting between your people, and she tilts her head. “Definitely not English. We need Thor.” She tells the winged man, but you’re starting to get used to these noises they make. Another person drops in front of you.

“Let me link your brain with mine. Doesn’t seem to be able to verbalize.” The girl tells this new man. You feel her open her mind, and pull a blue presence in. Then she looks at you softly. “Try that again.” She says, both verbally and mentally. You send the same greeting.

“It’s an old Latin dialect,” Thor explains. “That phrasing is a common greeting between Angels.” You hear your dialect come back at you in a hesitant way as if it hasn’t been spoken frequently.

“You speak my language just fine.” You send back, and the big blond one gives a nod to his friends. He holds a big hand out to you, but your wings curl around you.

“It is okay, little Angel. We do not wish to harm you.” It’s a loud rumbling in your language. Slowly your wings unfurl from around you, the hand is still waiting for you. You tentatively place your hand into his big one, and he helps you to your feet. Supporting most of your weight, as you stumble and almost fall.

“Why don’t we get your injuries looked at?” This time the girl is the one speaking, and you can see her looking at your ruffled feathers, areas matted down with blood, and a large round spot around your rib area that seems to concern her. Your metal Angel was also watching you closely, and you couldn’t detect any malicious content within them. You nod.

“Hold on tight, little Angel.” The big blond one that is holding you sends you. Without another warning he scoops you up, being mindful of your wings. He seems to create some sort of wind, and then you’re back in the air.

They take you to a sleek looking massive structure. The blond one lands with you on some sort of landing pad and walks through big open doors inside, with the girl close behind him. Everything in the human world is foreign to you. They’ve got weird things hanging on the walls, although you catch a glimpse of one of them and it’s a pretty forest scene. The smells are almost overwhelming to your nose, and they get even worse as you’re carried into a big, bright white room.

“Thor, you can put the patient down on the bed over there.” It’s a new voice speaking in that English racket. You tilt your head, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“It’s alright, little one. This is Doctor Banner, he’s just going to look you over.” It’s the girl sending you the reassurance, and you probe this newcomer. His mind is different, there’s a small green portion that when you reach for it slaps you away. You look to the girl again.

“Doctor Banner is different, but he can be trusted.” She tells you, and you look to the brunet they called Doctor Banner. He’s got his arms held out, and you assume that means he wants you to unfurl your wings. You slowly unfold them, watching his eyes as he cautiously examines them and you. His hands are gentle as he looks through your feathers, and bending them at the joints. He finally makes his way down to your ribcage, fingers brushing over your newly pink and tender skin there.

“Remarkable, you said. You guys watched the fall, correct? There were injuries, you saw them?” He asks, and the girl nods at him. “There’s not a single wound now.” He’s speaking over your head to Wanda who stayed with you.

“I guess Angels have quick healing rates.” You send her, and she nods her understanding to you. You turn back to Doctor Banner who gives you a nod.

“Says that might have something to do with being an Angel,” Wanda tells him before she looks at you. “You’re all healthy, feel free to explore the Tower.” She sends you, gesturing you out of the white room. You stand slowly, unsure if these human legs will hold your weight. You’re a bit wobbly, and your wings struggle to help you keep your balance.

It takes a couple of moments, and you can feel the awe and astonishment radiating off Doctor Banner, as he watches your wings work. But you finally find your footing. You send the girl a picture of the Metal Angel since you’d never caught his name.

“That’s Sam,” she says. “He’s doing aerial exercises, I’ll take you to him.” She sends you, and you nod at her. You expected her to take you somewhere outside, instead, she leads you back to the small box which moves up a couple of floors before stopping.

The doors open onto a massive open space. It composed what you assumed was three or four floors of this building. Your metal Angel, Sam, was flying about the room practicing turns and maneuvers that you’d seen and perfected before you had fallen. Some of his turns reminded you of ones you’d seen, but others were awkward. Slowing him down. When he noticed you and Wanda in the room, he came over landing in front of the two of you.

“Clean bill of health?” He asks, and Wanda nods. You tap your temple pointing at him, in a way of asking permission before entering his mind. He gives you a nod, and you enter his mind sending him a picture of eyes, as you flutter your wings. Once you’re sure that Sam will watch, you take off. Stretching out your wings, and flying more deftly than you’d ever be when walking. You fly in concentric circles before you move onto the exercises that he had just been doing. Showing him what was off with his positioning.

When you land beside him, he looks at you for a moment before he starts to laugh. You tilt your head to the side, trying to figure out what this means. He gives you a smile. “Already showing me up here.” He half-jokes, and you think you get the meaning of the words. You point to yourself, gesture around the space, and then at him.

“I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two.” He says, nodding upwards. Sam flies up a little bit, turning and waiting for you to join him. Your wings quickly lift you from the floor. The two of you fly until your back hurts, and your wings are tired. Sam would still need to learn a lot more, but he had already improved greatly.

As the days stretched into weeks, and then months. You found yourself facing many challenges of living within the world of the humans. You’d been given a place to stay within the walls of the Tower, they had said it was to keep you safe. Sleeping had been an ordeal all its own. In the time before you had fallen, you hadn’t needed to sleep. Now that you had become flesh and blood, you had to get used to a whole new variety of things.

Clothes. They had been a whole other fiasco. Natasha had tried to dress you, but your wings made the shirts that you could wear few and far between. The man they called Tony wound up having to make you a suit with panels to fit your wings through. And it was quite comfortable.

Eating had been another thing that was a new challenge for you. Especially when you were expected to eat with this team that called themselves the Avengers. Now while you didn’t exactly care for human food, you enjoyed the times that these people sat down together for meals. It was through these interactions that you found yourself learning this language the humans had called English.

It seemed that not only was your healing speed impressive but so was your capacity for understanding. It took you three months before you had fully learned English. But, while you could understand it. When you tried to send English to them telepathically, it wasn’t right. It had only taken Sam a month to learn all the aerial maneuvers you could show him. Teaching your Metal Angel the ways of real Angels had forged a bond between the two of you.

You’d sit together for meals, you’d train together. Allowing you to point out any errors or inconsistencies he would make when executing turns. You had also forged ties with some of the other Avengers. Thor was easy because he spoke your language. Wanda was next because she’d been able to gain or take, Allspeak from Thor. Meaning that she too could speak your language.

The one that had been the most surprising was your friendship with an archer. You thought it was due, in part, to the fact that he had communication issues just like you. Once you had mastered English he was able to explain to you that it was another form of speech, Sign Language. You were absolutely enamored with this ability to speak with your hands and had practically begged Clint to teach you. You could feel your telepathy weakening, and you didn’t want to lose the ability to communicate with the humans that had so generously taken you in.

With the understanding of English under your belt, learning Sign language was easier. It took you a little over a month for Clint to give you the okay. This meant you could speak fluently with the archer, but the others weren’t caught up on sign language. This also meant that you would sign, and then FRIDAY would speak for you. Which was okay, but you wanted to have your own voice. To be able to carry on conversations without pause, without a translator.

One day, it all became too much for you. You’d woken up with just a whisper of what your telepathic abilities once had been. And you were getting increasingly frustrated with the computer repeating everything that you were saying. You needed space, but you were sure you wouldn’t get much time to yourself.

You were in training with Sam, when you finally just snapped. He arced at a slightly off angle on a move he’d had down for half a year. You waved him down, using FRIDAY to replay the maneuver. Pointing at the wrong movement. But you just got a blank stare, normally Sam was into training. And if he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t be either.

You didn’t say anything, you just turned to the wall of windows. One of them would open, and you pushed it open before jumping out. You let yourself fall for a moment, before snapping your wings open and gliding on the current. You weren’t sure where you were going, so you just let your wings do the work.

You wound up perched on the roof of the Tower. You didn’t really want to be seen by anyone else, and the Tower was tall enough you could still feel the air on your face. As you suspected, you’d only be sitting on the ledge of the roof for a handful of minutes before the door scraped open. You didn’t even need to look behind you to know that it was Sam.

“Are you alright? No, don’t answer that. That’s a stupid question. You’re obviously not okay, you jumped out a window. You know that you can always talk to me, right?” Sam asks, coming over to lean against the half wall. You shake your head, making a waving away gesture with one of your hands. While your wings fluttered angrily.

“That was hostile,” Sam observes. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.” He says, tone of voice clearly supporting his threat. You turn to look at him, he’s still got his pack on. If you jumped now, he’d follow. You turn fully and climb over the wall. Standing in front of him.

“I’m losing my telepathy, and I want to be understood when I speak.” You angrily sign to him, he watches your hands intently but waits for the computer woman’s voice to echo you before answering.

“Alright, I get where you’re coming from. It can’t be easy to lose your connection with your people.” He says, and you snort.

“I’m Fallen, what do they care? They banished me.” You quickly sign back. Sam holds his hands up, in a gesture that you’ve come to learn means a handful of things.

“Slow down, I can only follow so much,” Sam says, and you narrow your eyes at him. Feigning like your hitting your hand against your forehead.

“How do you think I felt? Now that I can communicate, the only one that actually understands is Clint.” You sign, trying to slow yourself down. But you just want to be understood, and the frustration isn’t making it easy to sign slowly. Natasha also knew sign language, but she always looked like she wanted to kill you. You tried to keep your interactions with her polite, and as short as possible.

“Okay, I get it. We should be making more of an effort to learn. It’s just that with Clint when he has his hearing aids in he’s good to go.” Sam says, it sounds like there’s another sentence he wants to say. So you stay quiet, tilting your head minutely. The man in question sighs as if he’s trying to find the right words.

“It’s just that I feel especially guilty because you, I, we.” He stops, looking you so deep within the eyes that you begin to question if he can hear your thoughts. “Is there something here?” He asks quickly, gesturing between the two of you. You’re not sure you know exactly what this mannerism means, but you think you get the gist.

“You mean romantically?” You sign for clarification. Sam looks like he’s about to be sick, but he nods. “There is on my end.” You sign, and you can see Sam relax.

“Will you go out on a date with me?” It’s both spoken and signed. In slow, clumsy sign language. You nod at him, and his face breaks out in a blinding bright smile.

Tags: @avengersandlovers @dontyouforgetaboutme @graysonmalfoy @supersoldierslover @rotisserierogers

[sfw-haikyuu-nsfw]

Hi Emmy could I please have HCs for Oikawa,Kuroo,Tendo, and Kageyama getting jealous/upset seeing their s/o who does international competitive Latin ballroom dance dancing with their dance partner and notices the pairs partner chemistry(even though it's strictly a professional relationship.)

OH, OH, OH! I love this! Seriously, those professional dancers that have that kind of chemistry with their partners look like they just want to bang each other on every surface that they own! It’s so beautiful to witness and I can definitely see how they can make someone on the outside a little bit jealous.

I hope that you enjoy, Anon!

Oikawa Tooru

He would be so excited to see their performance, especially with them always away at practice, he just couldn’t wait until they were up. He’d be all settled into his seat and when their name was announced he’d nudge whoever is next to him and start telling him that that’s his significant other!

And he would be so enthralled when they first began. His eyes would be glued to their hips and the way that they moved and the way that their body would bend and he would just start to think about all the things he would do to that body later when–

Holy shit, the way that their gaze would be glued to their dancing partner and how their hand would trail down their side or over their hip. Omg, he wouldn’t know how to comprehend what he was watching because shouldn’t he be the only one they touch and look at that way?

He would be proud of them for sure, there is nothing that could make him any less proud, but he’d definitely question what kind of relationship that they have with their partner - it was something he hadn’t thought he would need to be worried about until then - and would begin to feel much better about everything when they reassured them and also started to get to know their dance partner better!

Kuroo Tetsurou

I feel like Kuroo knows their dance partner really well - like they probably all hang out a lot together and stuff - so he knows them and he knows that there is nothing to worry about in the slightest when they’re staying late at the studio rehearsing and such.

But when the dance came for their performance, he’d begin to wonder if he shouldn’t have been as lenient as he was with everything. Because, hell, he thought they only gave him that look while they were being intimate and yet here they were giving the same deep stare at their dance partner while swinging their hips around in such a seductive way.

He honestly wouldn’t know how to feel, because he’s seen the two of them together and they’re nothing more than professional partners, good friends at best, and yet here he was doubting and overthinking every interaction he had ever had with the two of them together.

He’d probably end up making some off hand comment about them being together afterward and his significant other would instantly be all over setting him straight. There was nothing going on between the two of them. He’d probably get all awkward for assuming and apologize if he had made anyone uncomfortable with the way he had behaved.

Tendou Satori

Oh, imagine Tendou also being a contestant with his own dancing partner? (cause, trust me, when that boy is focused, he can totally dance!) So, he gets the whole relationship between dance partners and such, so he’s not concerned when he walks in on them during practice and their in some compromising stretch position or something like that, right?

Cause I’m more than sure they’ve also seen him and his own partner practicing and in similar positions. He gets how chemistry works and how it is necessary for translating the meaning behind any dance.

But when the day comes where they actually perform, something happens where he sees a deeper connection than the one he witnessed in the studio, even one deeper than what he has with his own dance partner. It makes his stomach twist and he doesn’t know why he feels this bad because he should be the one that understands it.

And even though he felt that way while they were dancing, the feelings would drift away the moment they dropped their personas. Because the sexual tension is no longer needed between them and they’re rushing into his arms and he feels so bad that he let his thoughts run away with a ridiculous notice. He probably admits it to them later and they’re more than happy to prove that he is the only one for them.

Kageyama Tobio

I can see Kageyama actually going to a lot of their rehearsals - or maybe more like showing up after volleyball practice and hangs out while they’re finishing up - so, like Tendou, he sees them within their own little dancing bubble a lot. And the jealousy thing was definitely something he’s had to work on from the very beginning.

Aw, he probably walked into the studio the first time with their foreheads pressed together and their lips literal centimeters apart and FREAKED out, demanding to know what was going on.  After an explanation of everything, watching them practice every now and then probably just makes him feel better.

But then when the competition rolls around and he sees how intensely they seem to be into each other and it’s more than he’s ever witnessed before - because, ya know, this is THE performance, they gotta give it their all? - and he can feel that burning in his chest all over again.

And, you know - which he’ll end up telling them later - it’s not that he doesn’t trust them or anything like that, I think it’s more like he’s worried that he can’t give them the same intensity that they seem to be portraying with their dance partner and he’s scared that they’ll want that instead of him? So, he’s in for a long time of them proving just how much they want him!

[ssundeadau]

Chapter 2 ~ Changes and Cryptids

Content Warning: Some gore and death

Thomas, Roman, and Patton looked up, alarmed, as Virgil and Logan ran in.

“So, there’s been some… developments,” Logan told the others. “Virgil, would you like to go first?”

Roman, Thomas, and Patton watched with wide eyes as Virgil moved the hood of his jacket aside. The blood had stained his neck. It left a red, splattered pattern around two small puncture wounds. Around the wound, the skin was pale, and a faint trace of skin was visible through the transparent flesh. The black eye shadow which was once for dramatic effect now hid the blue circles under his eyes. A small hint of red shone in his pupils.

As he placed the hood back on his neck, Patton glanced at him with sympathetic and worried eyes. He glanced back, hoping to reassure his friend. As he did so, Logan began to roll the bottom of his left pant leg up.

Roman drew in a bated breath. Thomas and Patton’s faces contorted in horror. The injury below Logan’s calf was worse than the one on Virgil’s neck. A large chunk of flesh was missing from his leg. The serrated edges of the hole gave it the appearance of a bite. The layer of skin left at the bottom of the wound barely covered the muscle underneath. The hair around the wound had grown thicker and unkempt. He had an alert look in his eyes, which in themselves looked lighter. 

An awkward silence fell on the room as Logan rolled his pant leg back down. It transpired for several seconds, and was only broken by Roman.

“So, uh… Are we going to sit here awkwardly or move on from that?” He asked the group.

“How do you two feel?” Thomas asked Logan and Virgil.

“Tired,” Virgil responded.

“I feel quite the opposite, actually,” Logan remarked.

“I’m also very confused,” Virgil added. “None of this makes sense. Like, how is Logan okay after that-” He gestured at Logan’s leg-”happened to him?”

“Does it hurt at all?” Patton asked Logan with a concerned tone in his voice.

“It stung when it was fresh and feels weird when things come into contact with it now. Other than that, it doesn’t bother me too much,” Logan replied.

As everyone let the news sink in, Logan and Virgil disappeared into Logan’s room. They began to research what could’ve happened. Virgil started to become frustrated as his research led him nowhere. His head suddenly snapped up and he let out a disgruntled moan. Logan looked over to him, worried.

“Virgil?” Logan addressed him.

“I haven’t found anything.” He complained, staring at the screen of his laptop. “I’ve looked up types of snake bites and the symptoms I’ve been having, but I haven’t found anything.”

“Well, even if you haven’t found any answers, you’ve ruled other possibilities out. So, you have made progress.”

Virgil felt a sharp pain in his canine teeth, causing him to wince. As his hand shot up to his mouth, all the hairs on Logan’s neck stood on end. His thoughts fell on their walk in the woods.

“The medallion,” he said, struck with a realization.

“The medallion?” Virgil asked, hoping for clarification.

“It depicted a mouth with a normal and elongated canine tooth.” Logan blurted out, finding a lead on Virgil’s plight. “We have to go get it.”

“Last time we were in the woods we almost died. Are you sure it’s safe for us to do that?”

“It’s 3 in the afternoon, if we don’t go in too far we should be fine.”

“Don’t you think we should bring someone else with us to make sure nothing happens?”

“I suppose that would be wise. Who should we take?”

“Probably Patton. He’s Thomas’ morality, so if anyone’s going to stop us from going in too far, it’s him. And if we take Roman, he’s going to want to go in father and explore.”

They found Patton sitting on the couch in his cat onesie. 

“Patton, we need you to come with us,” Virgil told him.

“You should take the onesie off,” Logan suggested.

“Aw, why?” Patton asked, disappointed.

“It’s going to get dirty in the woods,” Logan told him.

“Wait, you guys are going back in the woods? You got hurt last time,” Thomas remarked, worried.

“That’s why we’re taking Patton with us,” Virgil reassured him.

“Why are you taking Patton and not me?” Roman petitioned, offended.

“You’d want to go farther into the woods, Roman. We can’t risk that again,” Logan disclosed to him. 

“Fine,” Roman said in a drawled out groan.

As Patton, Virgil, and Logan left the house, Roman and Thomas exchanged worried glances.

                                                        ~ ~ ~

When they entered the woods, Virgil’s heart began to race with rapid, uneven beats. Even with Patton’s usual happy attitude and Logan’s newfound alertness, he couldn’t shake the sensation. He didn’t know if there was something there or if it came from his previous experience in the woods. Logan seemed to sense something too, as he looked at Virgil with a hint of suspicion. Far into the woods a stick snapped. 

“Did you hear that?” Logan asked the others.

“No,” Virgil answered. He glanced over at Logan, and noticed a yellow tint in his iris, along with a few wispy hairs on the side of his face.

“Wow, it’s awesome in here!” Patton exclaimed. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in here before!”

“We have to be careful. We still don’t know what’s in here.” Logan said. As a small breeze passed, he felt a strange tingle on his face, and he felt small, delicate hairs below his cheek. He noticed Virgil looking at him, as if to tell him he saw it too. As they came upon the stump, Logan picked up the medallion.

“We found this when we were in here last night. We don’t know what it means,” he explained to Patton. Taking a closer look at the medallion, he noticed strange writing on the bottom. The characters looked like a mixture between those of the Greek and Latin alphabet.

“Virgil, do you have your phone on you?” Logan asked him.

“Yeah, why?” He responded.

“Can you take a picture of this? We have to find out what it says.”

Virgil took his phone out and took a picture. As he did so, Logan’s eyes widened as he heard a faint rustling from behind them. Figuring it was a squirrel, he ignored it. The noise grew louder, catching the attention of the rest of the group. Logan and Virgil turned to each other and Patton turned around, gasped, and fell silent. His body hit the ground with a thump. Logan picked him up and they ran out of the woods.

                                                        ~ ~ ~

  Logan paced around the living room. Virgil, Thomas, and Roman stared with pale faces at Patton’s lifeless body. A slick layer of blood dripped down his throat. Everyone was too shocked and confused to react. Virgil hid his face in his hands, feeling as though it was his fault. Logan began to speak.

“This is all my fault,” he groaned. “If I hadn’t decided to go in the woods the three of us would be fine.”

“You never would have known this would happen, Logan,” Thomas said.

“Patton’s dead, Thomas! He’s dead because of my decisions!” Logan burst. His tough, emotionless exterior was broken. 

“I’m the one who talked you into taking him with us,” Virgil said, his voice weak and cracking.

Deceit appeared in the living room, startling everyone. As he surveyed the room, he walked to Patton’s body. He picked up his cold, clammy hand and laced its fingers with his own and held it for a moment. With a sullen expression on his face he slowly let go of Patton’s hand. He slunk away, disappearing from the living room.

Everyone exchanged curious looks. Roman broke the silence.

“What should we do?” He asked. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“We have to bury him,” Logan said. “He deserves a proper burial.” He picked up Patton’s body and carried him to the back yard. He set him down on the glass table on Thomas’ deck with tears in his eyes. He grabbed a shovel from the shed and dug a hole in the back corner of the yard, where no one would walk over it. He placed Patton’s corpse in the grave and began his eulogy.

                                                        ~ ~ ~

No one slept that night. A bleak atmosphere fell upon the house. Logan and Virgil spent the night researching the strange medallion from the woods. Logan remembered the conversation he had with Roman, Thomas, and Patton that morning. Roman had said Patton brought up the idea of Banshees residing in the woods. He began to think it may be something paranormal. His nails clacked on the keys of his keyboard. That was the first time he had noticed it. His nails had begun to turn dark black in color, and had grown past his finger tips.

He brought his attention back to his research. Clicking on an article by Folklore.com, he found what he was looking for.

“Virgil,” he said, breaking the silence that had lasted in his room for several hours. “Look what I found.” The screen of his computer displayed an old drawing of the medallion they found. The caption read: “A vampyre medallion. Engraved with the universal mark of the species and a phrase written in their language.”

“Do you really believe it’s something paranormal? Doesn’t that defy logic?” Virgil asked.

“All three of us had something happen to us in the woods. We didn’t even see what killed Patton. We’ve been experiencing changes to our bodies that wouldn’t happen if we were bitten by animals.”

Virgil surveyed Logan’s face. The small, wispy hairs on his face had grown thicker, despite Thomas’, and therefore the Sides, inability to grow facial hair. Similar hair had begun to grow on his arms and legs. His eyes were now almost completely yellow. His pupils had the same red tint as Virgil’s. Virgil turned his attention to the mirror in front of them. His ears began to form a point at the tip. His skin was even more pale and transparent. He opened his mouth enough to see his canine teeth, which were beginning to elongate into fangs.

“I guess so. I’d have no other way to explain it.”

While Logan and Virgil researched, Thomas lay restless on his bed. His thoughts wandered. He thought of Patton, and Virgil and Logan’s strange injuries. As his thoughts raced, he heard a loud bang from the kitchen. He summoned Roman to his room. As he drew his sword, the two cautiously went to the kitchen. The refrigerator and a few cabinets and drawers were open. A bag of white bread and jars of peanut butter and Crofters jam were placed on the counter. Thomas summoned Logan and Virgil.

“Neither of you were in here before were you?” Thomas asked them.

“We were in my room researching,” Logan answered, confused.

“I heard noises coming from the kitchen, so Roman and I went to investigate. No one was down here, so I had to summon you guys to see if it was one of you,” Thomas explained.

“Do you think it could be Patton?” Roman suggested.

“With what we found in our research tonight, it’s possible,” Virgil commented.

“How can we tell if it’s him?” Thomas asked.

“We have to ask,” Virgil replied. “Is there someone here that would like to talk to us?” A cabinet began to open. Thomas, Roman, and Logan exchanged inquisitive looks.

“Is this Patton?” Virgil asked, his voice full of hope. The cabinet flew open, and a plate slid out. Logan caught it and turned to Virgil, his eyes wide. The air in front of the cabinet was colder than in the rest of the kitchen, causing goosebumps to form on his arms.

“Patton, could you do something else? I give you permission to touch my arm,” He told the spirit. The air in the room became colder. The sleeve of his jacket began to crease and puff out. A chill shot down his spine. He turned to the group and said:

“It’s him.”

[coffeecatsdragons]

The longest overdue update.

I have literally no excuse for not posting over the entire summer. I mainly want to make this post about interviews and job applications (remember I was trying to be a helpful blog?), but a few quick updates first.

I did the needed corrections to my 1C essay, and passed. We never get anything above a pass/fail, so I have no idea how well.

Over the end of my course and summer, I sent in around five job applications. One rejected me outright, three interviewed me, and the final one decided they didn’t actually need anyone.

I definitely want to do an MeD in Children’s Literature next year, job dependent.

On to jobs and applications.

My secondary school was an independent. Aside from some friendship issues I had in my last couple of years there, I loved it, and thrived there. I started my PGCE thinking I would be perfectly happy to work in a state comprehensive. While my first placement was a nice school, I really disliked my second placement - in terms of behaviour, resources, and how the kids were treated - as an exam factory. I understand not all comprehensives are like this, but I started this course wanting to teach. In my final placement, I was starting to feel like I was just a glorified babysitter.

I started applying for jobs around Christmas - mainly because jobs I wanted came up. One was at my old secondary school (which, to be honest, I’m grateful I didn’t get, due to the school’s location), and one was at a local private school. My tutor was very upset when I told her I was applying to these schools. I think on almost all PGCE courses, your academic tutor will be one of your references, while your mentor at your current placement will be your second. Our tutors and mentors wanted to be notified with each application we made, presumably so they knew they might be contacted.

My tutor outright told me that the course was not geared towards teaching at an independent school, and that I wouldn’t have got a place on the course if they knew that was what I intended to do. This did make me rather uncomfortable, and I felt very awkward about asking her to check my application.

The first three schools I applied to rejected me without interview, after my tutor said my application was “Fine”.

When she heard I was applying to a local state school (I had done some work experience there and knew I liked it), there were suddenly lots of problems with my application that needed to be fixed - it needed a complete re-write. I don’t know if that was a coincidence or not.

Anyway, school applications are tiring; eventually they become cut and paste jobs, but they are still tedious, as every job wants the same information, but in their own particular order, on their own particular form. Some schools will tell you if you haven’t made it to interview - some schools won’t even tell you if they received your application.

My first interview was at a local private school. I was, unfortunately, up against two teachers with vastly more experience than me - one of the teachers was a teacher at another local private school which closed that year. I got brilliant feedback from that interview, but did not get the position.

My second interview was actually after term ended, at an independent school around an hour way. It was absolutely lovely, and the interview went well. However, they again picked someone with more experience. Until, a week after the interview, I got a phone call saying that person had dropped out, and they wanted me. Apparently I had been by far the best-prepared candidate, and they thought my values fitted really well with the school. However, the issue was that they needed someone who could do an 100% timetable, and NQTs at independent schools only do 80%. They kept me hanging on for two weeks while they tried to re-shuffle the timetable and shift classes, but, in the end, they couldn’t make it work. I found this very frustrating; they knew I was an NQT, so why interview me if they wouldn’t be able to employ me?

My final interview was with a grammar school. As the summer went on, and less jobs were up for grabs, I started applying for grammar schools as well as independent schools - they key thing for me was that I’d be teaching, rather than doing crowd control.

This interview was done over the phone, as I was in Menorca on the date of the interviews. Obviously this was a disadvantage, and I wasn’t surprised when they rejected me.

As September the first rolled around, I applied to both a supply agency and a local tutoring agency. Interviews for both were set up on the first day of the new term. I woke up that morning and saw a missed call on my phone (I woke up around ten, the call was at eight) from the area the most recent school was in. I called back, and after going through multiple layers of phone systems, found out that school did want me after all. Their first choice had dropped out. Once they met met, I was reassured that I would have been their first choice if not for the interview being over the phone. Additionally, they wanted me so badly that they took me on for a 100% timetable when they only wanted 90% - the extra 10 percent is the NQT allowance. And they took me on for a year when they only wanted two terms. However, this did involve both buying a car and finding somewhere to live in one weekend!

Funnily enough, the area I’ve moved into is actually the place where I was born, but only lived in for two years.

The school is a girls’ only grammar school and, for the most part, I love it. The kids are lovely, bright and interested. Today I had three lessons; after one, girls stayed back to talk more about World War Two (we’re studying Boy In The Striped Pyjamas), a girl from another class thanked me for my concern about her when there seemed to be some issues with who she was sitting with, and a third girl dabbed at the idea of learning new vocabulary.

I have one tricky class, but I am working on behaviour with them, and that is obviously a helpful experience for me to have.

The department and all the staff are lovely and welcoming - funnily enough, they have a new Latin teacher who did his PGCE at the same university as me, so we vaguely know each other.

This area is about an hour and a half away from Cambridge, so I am driving home very weekend. As a member of my college, I can still go to college events, and I made such good friends that I regularly do. Although I am living in a house share, I don’t overlap with my neighbours that much, and I honestly am not sure how to go about making friends when you’re not forced together by school or university - please, if you have any tips, drop me a line!

I apologise for this being so long, but I wanted to give an honest account. If you have any questions about applications, teaching, PGCEs, or really anything else, please send me a message - I’d be happy to help.

[barbecuedphoenix]

For all/any of your ladies (they are all good girls, and I'm bad at choices xD): ♣, ♫ (or you! I'm curious what you like~), ✖

How about all of my ladies? ;) They’re a riot when they get together. 

♣ - What is one thing thatthey find embarrassing? (About them, others, things in general)

Zee: Over the past few years, Zee has learnt to poke ample fun at herself, and to see the humor in thestrange or awkward events that happen around her. Still, there are a few thingsthat continue to acutely embarrass her. Such as watching a ‘pity party’, or agroup of people who coddle a victim, invalid, or dependent to the point ofpatronizing them. Or when her lungs act up in public (and people around herflail in panic). Or when she has to walk away—scuffed up and reeling—from aconfrontation that she jumped into willingly… only to discover two seconds laterthat she’s well out of her depth. It’s even worse if the person she’strying to help ends up saving herinstead. So much for heroism.  

Najat: Nearly nothingembarrasses this woman. She was exposed to awkward situations every other dayin the neighborhood she grew up in, and that doesn’t even include the thingsthat her bluntly-honest family would say to her (on principle). So what would make Najat blush is professionalembarrassment: if she makes a basic mistake in approaching an antsy animal, andloses a patch of skin in the process. Or if she accidentally-insults someone shejust met, either by cracking the wrong joke, botching their name, or justoffering the wrong gesture at the wrong time in the name of friendliness. Ykharwould know…

Anna: Despite her toughfront, not much is needed to embarrass Anna. What routinely mortifies her is watchinga bad performance, from an artist, writer, speaker, or athlete who is either completelyoblivious to how bad they are, or choking up in front of the audience. Or ifsomeone whistles at her when she isn’t wearing her signature black armor. (Theyalmost try never again after she glares at them.) Or if someone triescourting her, with textbook romance and bald declarations of love. That lastone never fails to turn her beet-red, as her ex-fiance could testify.  

♫ - What kind of music do they enjoy?

Zee: She isn’t much of a musicaficionado. So what music she does like is an eclectic collection ofsongs that burrowed their way into her head from sheer familiarity, and arerelived with nostalgia. They are usually what her parents like to listen to,or what plays in their restaurants: piano acoustic, Latin guitar andflamenco, smooth jazz, and 80’s rock. Basically… Zee listens to elevatormusic. 

Najat: She loves her musicals. Itdoesn’t quite matter what genre they are, or if they’re from a theater show, amovie, or a Disney feature: if the song has catchy lyrics and an ongoing storybehind it, Najat is sure to remember it, if not the whole musical itself. Shealmost never turns on the radio for road trips. 

Anna: She is the biggest musicophileof the lot, with an encyclopedic knowledge of rock and its subgenres, and nopassing familiarity with classical music and folk songs. But what really earnsher love are experimental blends of styles: the stranger and the more exotic,the better. At the time she entered Eldarya, she was in the midst of a loveaffair with symphonic heavy metal: mixinga classical string ensemble (like her double bass) with machine-gun drums and screamingelectric guitars.  

(As for me… my musical tastes are prettyevenly-split between these three ladies. ^_^ I like anything that soundsinteresting and involves more than just four notes per chorus. And they’reusually found in either my parents’ records collection, musicals, or nichebands. Genre is barely a concern for me.) 

✖ - Whois someone they just cannot stand?

In El? 

Zee: She gets along with most charactersin the Guard… with the exception of Miiko. Sure, the woman loves her employees,but Zee is less than impressed with the way her quasi-pyromaniac boss likes to reactto crises, or outside input. If she can’t respect a stupid bulldozer of a manin power, she’s not about to respect a stupid bulldozer of a woman in power. Forsimilar reasons, Zee is known to butt heads with Karuto (i.e. the satyr likes to shoot down the tips she offers within five seconds of her opening hermouth). The nerd rage builds up.    

Najat: She’s the forgiving sort, andtries to give others the benefit of the doubt whenever she can… But that snakeNevra really makes her skin crawl. Evenwhen ignoring the fact that he’s perpetually horny. And his loose cannon of a littlesister is hardly better in reassuring her. So if there’s a vampire-protectionkit for sale in El, Najat would make the first bid.   

Anna: Ezarel. Ezarel is always at thetop of her hit-list. Anna tries to stay one floor apart from the wiseass elf atall times, if only to minimize her chances of clobbering him (and depriving theAbsynthe Guard of their leader). Miiko comes to a close second. Nevra too getson her nerves whenever he tries to make small talk with her (never without ahealthy dose of sly compliments and mental jujitsu). And Alajea, Chrome, andMery each make her reach for a strong drink if they try talking to her for morethan fifteen minutes. Yes, there are actually a lot of characters Anna is notfond of.

…And that’s a wrap forthis round of OC questions. Thanks to everybody who sent questions to my inbox. :) Because of your curiosity, Zee, Najat, and Anna are becoming less like storyandroids and more like imaginary friends viable additions to a fantasygame.      

Now it’s time to returnto the usual program of delayed requests. *slinks off*