#i have yet to test them when my housemates are being loud but i know the quiet setting is going to change my life

[immortalsins]

loop earplugs just arrived in the post and not to sound dramatic or sponsored or anything but its as if a cloud has been lifted and i can feel the sun for the first time

[whumpzone]

(continued from here)

(masterpost)

Linden’s tall guest was doing well with walking on two legs, and he was proud of him. He was still nervous about it, that was clear: he looked as if he were walking on a tightrope sometimes, and Linden would see him holding onto doors or countertops, when he thought Linden wasn't looking. He probably thought he'd get in trouble for not being perfect at it yet.

He still had to come up with a name for him, and do it fast; he’d caught himself thinking of the scarred, lanky, willowy new housemate as Tol, Tall, sometimes Beanpole. It was silly, none of them were names, and if he ever said it out loud he doubted his charge would ever stand up straight again.

He sat, pretending to read, glancing over at the man who was knelt on the soft carpet of the living room, hands twitching, staring off into space. Thinking of things that would sometimes make his lips part, or his pupils dilate, or his breath hitch. Linden wanted to get him back, and the current blaring chore on his to-do list couldn’t wait any longer. He took a breath, thinking he’d try out the name he’d been turning over in his head. Rolling around his tongue, marrying it with the man, seeing how it fitted.

Tol, Col, Colton. Col. He cleared his throat.

. . .

“Col?” Master said, a thousand miles away, and Pet came back to the present to turn to him. He didn’t know what the word meant, but Master had said it in that articulated, sure way of his, when he wanted Pet’s attention. Even though Pet should always be paying attention to his Master.

“I was thinking that could be your name. Colton. Since I understand you don’t… have one.”

Pet slowly shook his head, no I do not, Master. But Master wanted to give him one? Maybe this meant Master wanted to keep him. Even though he was terrified of his strange Master, his heart still leapt. The soft carpet beneath him was the closest he had had to a gentle touch in months. He didn’t deserve it, he knew, but it was still a dear blessing.

But then- Pet’s old Master had called him a number of things. Bitch. Dog. Animal. Mutt. Perhaps Colton was another word like that.

“Do you like it?”

Pet hesitated. Was it a test? If he responded, would Master punish him for having an opinion? But he couldn’t speak, he wasn’t allowed that privilege, and he couldn’t let Master know in simple gestures that he would accept anything if it made his Master happy. So he nodded.

Master smiled ever so slightly, and Pet released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Great. It’s good to name you. You deserve a name, you know?”

Before Pet could puzzle out whether this was the test, Master continued on. Pet tried to focus on listening. With Master so close to him, Pet always felt two seconds away from going back into his mind, back into those memories that shouldn’t scare him but did anyway, even though they were just perfectly normal things that happened to animals like him.

“So, Colton, I do have something I need you to do today, okay? As usual, this isn’t a punishment, I promise. We can take it slowly.”

Master looked at him, and as the silence grew heavy Pet nodded, just once, a quick twitch. To prove he was listening. Master had to keep stopping just to check. Pet was bad, bad, bad.

“You do need a wash. It will be nice, you’ll be clean, you’ll feel better after it.”

A wash. Of course. Pet’s fingers curled into the carpet, trying to imprint the feeling of softness and warmth to mind, knowing what was to come.

Master rose, waiting for Pet to do the same, and so he quickly picked himself up, trying to be obedient. Oh please, Master, please don’t make it too bad. I’ll be so good, I’ll walk a thousand miles on my two legs, I’ll be Colton. Just please have mercy.

He was led to the bathroom, and he felt a twinge of gratitude that at least it wasn’t the hose. The bath could, of course, still be just as bad. But it wasn’t the hose.

The bath wasn’t filled with ice, and so Pet tried to prepare himself for the burns. Tried to practice feeling thankful for the wash, and grateful for the attention, while his skin was peeling off and he was crying fat, ugly tears.

Master had noticed the way his useless animal had frozen in the doorway, and Pet quickly walked towards the bath, where the water was steaming innocently. Would he be leashed now? Or when he was kneeling in the water? Looking around, he couldn’t see the hook where the chain went.

“I’ll turn around, and you can get yourself undressed. Please try not to feel embarrassed. It’s really okay.”

True to his word, Master turned, and Pet shed his clothes in a matter of seconds. Embarrassment was not something he felt, surely Master knew? Embarrassment was for creatures with dignity. Humans, that owned their body. Every inch of Pet, from his hair to his skin to his bones, belonged to Master. He knew. Master knew. Master was reminding him. He must be.

“Oh, that was fast. Well done,” he cracked a small smile and Pet felt the knot in his stomach loosening ever so slightly. “Into the bath you go. Easy does it.”

This was the hardest part, Pet reminded himself. Once he was in he was allowed to cry. Grinding his teeth, he pushed in his first foot.

And stopped.

It felt… fine?

He whined, then caught himself. Master didn’t slap him though, not yet. He just smiled again.

“Yeah. It’s okay. It’s warm. It’ll feel nice, it will.”

Pet sank his first leg in, then the second, until the water was up to his chest, and still just as warm. He thought something might be wrong with his body. Maybe all his nerve endings had died. But Master was swishing a cloth through the water, calm and collected, so it really was harmless.

He whined again, a pathetic breathy thing, almost a laugh, and definitely close to happiness. He was so, so grateful. What was this leading to?

Master quietly ran the cloth along Pet’s shoulders, and he stayed still, extra still, as he worked. He hadn’t been leashed. Master was trusting him to behave and Pet wanted to show him that he could. Master kept the cloth always between his fingers and Pet’s skin, never actually touching him. When it came to washing his hair, Master ordered Pet to do it himself. It was hard, using his hands in such a human way, but he did his best. Master seemed satisfied in the end.

Eventually, the water had turned a translucent brown, and Pet hadn’t been drowned, or burnt, or hurt. He must have been really, really good. Master still hadn’t told him quite what he wanted of him- he still didn’t know what he had been starved for, earlier in the week.

Perhaps this was a reward, for walking? He hoped he could figure it out. But right now, Master had been right- Pet did feel better.

(tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @temporary-whump-sideblog @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow  @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump)

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Play Dumb

Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw Female Reader

W.C. 3500

A/N: Hello! So this is my first time posting something I wrote. I’m a little nervous but also very proud of this. I apologize in advance if there is any mistake, English is not my first language.  

I would love to know what you think! Thank you and happy reading.

Summary: One day visiting your friend Myrtle, you found that she already had company. Learning some things you shouldn’t about Draco Malfoy you become really nervous around him and see yourself in the need to face him.

*Not my GIF. Credits to the creator*

 You knew you shouldn’t be out so late, the corridors were completely empty and the echo of your hurried footsteps were so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if some prefect caught you just because of the sound. 

But you weren’t the only one out past curfew. The sound of laughter and chase reached your ears from the end of the hallway and there was only one escape. You waited until whoever was having worse luck than you ran past so you could turn and head to your destination. Just as your back rested flat against the stone wall a group of Gryffindors ran the opposite direction from where you were followed close by Mr. Filch who limped as fast as he could after them.

You counted to ten on your head, letting out a breath and resuming your way. The second floor girl’s bathroom was rarely visited by anyone, but you found comfort in the friendly chat you could have with the fellow Ravenclaw, even is she was dead. Not many took the time to get to know Myrtle and she didn’t give chances easily after being called names and thrown things her way, you on the other hand, gathered the patience and tried your best to be an enjoyable company to the girl. You argued, many times ending in an exchange of shouts and petty insults but you always came back and Myrtle always welcomed you with open arms. 

So to say that you were shocked to hear a different voice from Myrtle’s as you walked through the door was an understatement. You tiptoed your way in, curious as to who would be there that late at night, you never encountered anyone else there on your visits. 

“Myrtle?” you called, taking the last steps to where Myrtle usually. There on the floor sat a boy, he rested his body against the wall, hugging his knees and looking up to nowhere in particular. He didn’t seemed to have heard you until his head snapped at you, your shoe stepping in a puddle of water.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, clearly annoyed as his wide eyes changed into a glare. It was Draco Malfoy. You could see him now more clearly, his hair was little wild and his eyes looked tormented, but otherwise it was just the Slytherin Prince in the flesh.

“I came here to see Myrtle.” you answered him, opting to not say a thing about his puffy eyes of the fact that his hands shaked at his sides “I can go,” you offered pointing at the door “She’s not here anyway” and with that you turned on your heel, leaving without another word.

********************************************************************

Your days at Hogwarts were peaceful and full of joy. You adored each and every single one of your classes even if you weren't the best at them, the fact that you tried was enough for you, spending time at the library to research the subjects you didn’t fully understand and just for the sake of being there. If someone was looking for you that would be the first place to look. 

You were rarely alone. You were always by your housemate and best friend side, Luna Lovegood, and so it wasn’t a surprise to find her alongside her friends from Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Ginny was the only Weasley you ever considered talking to, the others were too involved in the drama of  Harry Potter’s life, and even if you caught on the looks Ginny would give the boy who lived, she didn’t drag the problems with her. 

You were happy.

The biggest problem you’ve had in all your years at Hogwarts involved failing a test. That was it. You weren’t a brilliant witch like Granger but you weren’t stupid either. You learned even if that didn’t reflect on your grades all the time. 

And yet, lately you found yourself nervous all the time. You felt watched, every place you turned a certain Slytherin was looking your way. Sometimes his eyes would drift away from you and pretend he wasn’t staring but in more than one occasion you’ve locked eyes with him and he shamelessly would keep on looking at you. 

Did you do something to anger him? No, you would remember something like that. You’ve barely crossed paths with him, much less talked to him. Then why the sudden interest in you? 

“Y/N?” you turned your eyes to Luna next to you, giving her a shy smile “Are you alright?” she asked you with a little smile of her own.

You nodded your head, and took a sip of your juice in front of you “Sorry Luna,” you said “I’m just distracted, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she sighed happily “I can see that. I’ve also noticed how Draco has been staring at you the entire week” she said, you choked a little on your juice at the casual tone with which she spoke.  She handed you a napkin, muttering a Thank you you took it from her hand. Luna tilted her head in your direction “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Actually, yes.” you answered nervously “I don’t why, though.”

Luna hummed softly under her breath, turning gracefully to the table and getting a piece of fruit “Maybe it has to do with your encounter with him” she said.

“Why is that? We barely spoke” you frowned at her, the idea never crossing your mind

“Well, if I was Draco and someone had seen me potentially crying I would be scared of that someone gossiping” Luna smiled, grabbing her bag and holding her hand out for you to take “You coming?” she asked.

You mirrored her actions, taking her hand and walking to your first class of the day. You found it difficult to concentrate the entire day, Luna’s words ringing inside your head at all times. You couldn’t grasp your head around the idea of Draco Malfoy being scared of you telling everyone that you saw him crying. Why would anyone do that? Everybody cries, it’s human. 

You pushed the thoughts aside, or as much as you could, and carried on with your day as normally as you could. The back of your head burning at all times with glares and stares from the blonde boy.

********************************************************************

“What’s gotten into you?” Blaise Zabini took his usual spot next to Draco on the common room, the fire burning as he started intently into the flames.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked back, never lifting his eyes to look at him.

Blaise laughed softly, pointing his hands at him “That’s what I mean.” he exclaimed “You’ve been inside your head the past week, barely putting any attention to any of us or the classes. How many times have you asked for my notes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow “Pansy’s? Theo’s? Merlin! Next thing we know we’ll have to give the class ourselves” 

Draco’s glare made Blaise slump a little in his seat, but he didn’t walk away or apologized like many did. Years of practice being around Draco did that to you.

“It’s called thinking, Zabini” he growled standing from his seat “You should try it some time”

“Where are you going?” he asked Draco who stopped at door of the common room. Draco only flashed his prefect badge at him, turning and leaving without uttering a word.

No one had said anything to him, not a comment making fun of him nor a funny look, nothing. He was on edge every time he stepped on his common room and heard his friends laughing. The first thought coming to his head being They're laughing at me. But it was never the case. Why was he so scared of you saying something? Did you even notice he was crying? He didn’t even knew your name until two days back when Longbottom shouted for you on the middle of the courtyard, you ran towards him and didn't even spare a glance his way. 

Y/N Y/L/N. A Half-blood Ravenclaw. 

He would have never acknowledged your existence if it wasn’t for those miserable ten seconds he talked to you, and know you were his every waking thought. Why did he had to breakdown that night? Why did you have to go there at the same time as him?

Why was he walking to the exact same place where yet another problem was thrown over his shoulders?

He opened the door, finding it empty. Maybe it was just a coincidence you were there that night. He made his way to one of the windows, sitting down so the moonlight would shine over his face. He closed his eyes, shaky breaths leaving his lips as he tried to even his breathing. Then the door burst open.

“Myrtle!” It was you again, he rolled his eyes standing and crossing his arms over his chest, you halted and squinting your eyes at him “Hello” you said, recuperating quickly from the shock and walking past him “Have you seen Myrtle?” you asked him so casually his entire unbothered look faltered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in annoyance, his face hardened as you pulled several things from your bag without a care in the world.

“I could ask you the same thing?” you said back, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m a prefect” he said matter of factly and your entire body stiffened, standing up straight with your eyes scrunched closed.   

You cursed under your breath, but then you came to the realization that you were in the girl’s bathroom, your body relaxing as you asked him “Are you patrolling the bathroom?”

He was about to answer but no words left his mouth, he stared at you in anger and pointed to the door “I have to report you” 

You turned your entire body to him, he had to admit you were intimidating with the look of determination in your eyes, your straight posture that make you look taller than you were but still, you had to tilt your head upwards to stare into his eyes “Right, let’s go to professor Flitwick. I bet he’ll love to hear how you find me in your patrol through the girl's bathroom.” the words left your mouth so fast you didn't even had control over your voice, sounding like a complete bitch.

“Sorry,” you sighed, still accommodating your place “But I’m not going with you” you shrugged, giving him a side glance to see his reaction.

He scoffed loudly, the bitterness in his face almost making you uncomfortable but you were more taken aback at his reaction, turning completely to him with a frown. “You’re trying to blackmail me, aren’t you?” he laughed humorlessly missing your face contort in one of utter confusion.

“Excuse me?” you said, letting your body fall to the ground sitting there as you looked at him pace.

“You are going to tell the entire school that you saw me crying the other night unless I let you get away with this.” he said, his pacing increasing as he started to rant “I knew there was a reason you didn’t tell anyone…”

“Malfoy”

“...I knew Ravenclaw’s were clever…”

“Malfoy!” 

“...this is infuriating!”

“DRACO!” you finally shouted, grabbing his shoulders to hold him in place “Who was crying?” you asked and watched his face fell.

“What?” he whispered, you gave him a concerned look and he shook himself from your grasp “You mean you didn’t  see me?” he asked relieved, a relief that quickly was replaced with anger. How could he had been so stupid?

“Draco” you called softly, keeping your distance as you noticed how he had tensed at your touch “Are you alright?”

He shoot you a glare, practically fuming “Stay away from me” he growled and stormed away, leaving a very bad energy in the air.

You sighed, picking up your bag and getting all your supplies inside. Your painting session would have to wait. You stayed a few more minutes chatting with Myrtle, the only thing she could talk about being Draco and how he visited her too from time to time. 

 That night you stay up until late, wandering what other things did Draco do that you didn’t know of. You wondered why was he so scared of you and the information you learned of him.

********************************************************************

Weeks passed by and you had managed to avoid Draco at all costs, dominating the art of ignoring stares you tried to never be alone, you also cut short your visits to Myrtle, her telling you specifically which day to go. You didn't question her, you even managed to convince Luna to tag along a few times. 

Everything was going great. You changed spots and instead of visiting Myrtle you found a windowsill covered by a thick curtain where you could sit and read, sometimes even paint.

So when someone cleared his throat from beside you, you jumped in your place, heart beating hard as you turned to face whoever interrupted your reading. Coming face to face with stern grey eyes.

“Merlin,” you breathed out, catching your breath as you picked your book from the floor “Next time announce yourself or something.” you said. 

“Go to your common room” he said, walking past you. You stayed frozen in place and he seemed to notice, his head turning to look at you in disbelief “Now!” he hissed but you still couldn’t take a step.

“Aren’t you going to report me?” you asked him.

He began to lose his patience, marching towards you and you stumbled back as you caught sight of his sleeves rolled up his arms, bracing yourself against the wall “Do you,” he said eyeing your entire body “want me to report you?”

Saying your heart rate was normal would be a lie, that your arms were not shaking would also be a lie. You swallowed the gulp in your throat, shaking your head fast you avoided to look at him and what you just saw, ducking your head down “Goodnight Draco” you said making a beeline to your dorm. Who knew Draco had a tattoo?

********************************************************************

   You were officially paranoid. Everywhere you go your eyes scanned the room at least three times for the Slytherin Prefect, and if you even saw a glimpse of him you would run the opposite direction like your life depended on it. You would collapse on other people walking, drop their books or leave your friends abandoned in the middle of a hallway with confused looks, by now they didn’t question you, they just sighed and waited for you to return on your own or for them to find you again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them that Draco Malfoy had you walking on eggshells, that you couldn’t be in the same room as him out of fear of him snapping at you. 

You were terrified. 

And Draco had caught up in your odd behaviour, he never paid attention to you but now it was hard not to.  As soon as your professors said the class was over you jumped to your feet and ran; he went several times to the second floor bathroom in the hopes that he would found you there, he even tried the same windowsill where scared you so bad you dropped your book. He thought of going to your friends but not one time did he gathered the courage to do so. He was lost. 

“Draco?” he lifted his head from the book spread over the library table, his eyes falling back to the pages as he met Pansy Parkinson’s eyes “We looked all over the castle for you” she said, a little upset but said nothing more as she took the chair next to him. She frowned at the papers he worked on, not recognizing the subject “What is that?” 

He was quick to cover the pages with his arms, gathering all of it so he could put it away in his bag. He muttered a Nothing, getting to his feet, Pansy following close “We’re going to the three Broomsticks“ she said “You want to come with us?” 

“I have homework to do” he answered coldly, and she sighed knowing it was lie. They all had finished their homework the day before so they could go out without any worry. 

Pansy glanced at him, a smirk tugging to her lips as she leaned into his ear “I heard certain Ravenclaw girl would be there” she whispered, making him stop leaving him a few steps behind her.

“What?” he asked, glaring at his friend when her smirk widened “You’re  mental.” he established resuming his walk. She catched up with him, holding his wrist so he would turn and face her.

“I didn’t say who,” she said triumphantly “and you didn’t deny it.” he scoffed moving his eyes away from her, crossing his arms over his chest “Oh, c’mon Draco. We all saw it, you’re not as discrete as you think”

If only you knew, he thought. With a shake of his head he turned to their common room muttering the password and stepping inside. “Leave it, Pansy.” he asked in defeat “This has nothing to do with her, she’s just a problem I’ll have to deal with”

Pansy Parkinson made her fame around being a gossiper, annoying, nosey and manipulative. But she treasure her friends . She knew they all had their boundaries and problems of their own. She knew when to step back.

One of her hands came to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze “We’ll be at the three broomsticks for a while.” she said as an invitation, her hand fell and she left him be. 

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair he looked at his reflection in one vase over the table, he was thinner and looked untidy. He hated looking as he felt. But right now wasn’t time for looks, he had a job to do. 

He changed into a more comfortable choice of clothes, making his way to the Room of Requirement. He paced outside the wall a few times before the door appeared before him. 

“In the name of Rowena Ravenclaw!” he heard you yell as soon as he crossed the door, closing it slowly behind him “Are you following me?” you asked shutting your book with such a force a thin coat of dust flew from it. 

He stood there in shock, that wasn’t the room of requirement. It was a library, but a more comfortable one. Soft couches were lined alongside the bookshelves full of every book you would want to read, the floor was scattered with rugs and cushions, many of them accomodated in a makeshift bed where you had been reading previous his arrival.

“What?” he whispered, looking at you for answers. But you were having no more of it.  You jumped to your feet and stormed to his side “Y/N…”

“No” you said pointing a finger at him “Don’t Y/N me” you shut him, and he stood there listening to your every word “You know how much I have suffered because you told me to stay away from you? I don’t even know why I listened to you, but I was terrified. You are intimidating, did you you knew that?”

“Terrified?” he gasped. Never would he have thought that you would use that word to describe him but here you were, ranting on and on about how scared you were, tripping over your own feet as you unconsciously took a few steps back.

 You stopped all the gibberish pouring out of your mouth at his question, your eyes were wide but something told you that he was hurt by your words. Your eyes stole glance at his left forearm, quickly realizing your mistake as his own eyes followed your movement.

“You saw it?” he asked, moving a hand to his forearm, running his thumb softly over his sleeve.

You nodded, still shaky that after all your attempts at hiding from him he managed to find you. “I haven’t told anyone” you practically yelled and he now understood your fear towards him. 

You knew he was a Death Eater.

“It’s alright” he whispered “I know you haven’t”

You let a breath out, fidgeting with your hands “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m worried about you.” you admitted, a blush creeping over your face “No one deserves to be alone” you muttered, not daring to look up in fear you just made a fool out of yourself in front of the person you were scared of not  more than an hour ago. 

But when he did not answer the curiosity killed you and you rose your head. His eyes glistened and he had a soft smile on his lips, he looked sad and vulnerable. You couldn’t resist and took the short steps separating the two of you. You engulfed him in a tight embrace, resting your head in his chest as you waited for his body to relax. Just when you thought about letting go of him, he let out a shaky laugh and wrapped his arms around you with the same intensity you did.

 You stayed like that for a short while, him pulling you away and looking down at you “Does that mean you didn’t see me cry?” he asked.

You laughed loudly, a look of adoration in his face as your laugh died down “Oh, I did” you said with a chuckle “I just played dumb”

[shashawip]

Mia Asking Jason About His Feelings For Roy While Cooking

Summary:

Mia asking Jason about his feelings for Roy while cooking, and Jason didn’t deny it.

Notes:

English isn’t my native spoken language so there can be grammatical errors.

This snippet is from an originally planned fiction revolving around Roy, Jason and Mia with Mia being the witness of Royjay’s developing relationship. I may never find a chance to finish their story so I will just post moments that I enjoyed writing while picturing their world. Hope you enjoy.

Published on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33110860

——

It wasn’t Mia's turn to cook today, but not like she minded it and all. She’s in a good mood lately given how well the day job has turned out, and the camaraderie she’s developed with the colleagues at work.

To be frank, the two other housemates’ cooking skills just weren’t satisfying. Jason was alright, if he really paid attention and invested his time to cook. Same cannot be said for Roy, however, who was an entirely different story. The only edibles on his menu might just be that ham and cheese sandwich he seemed to be barely able to assemble.

Mia hummed in joy while she poured her lasagna sauce into a rectangular Le Creuset, which had already been layered with some pre-made lasagna sheets. She raised her eyes to look at Roy who’s sitting across the kitchen island, while still preserving her attention down at the stoneware.

“I never knew you’d be so interested in a wooden door before.” Mia chuckled.

Roy seemed to be dragged out of his lost thoughts and back to the world by her voice, quickly moving away his glaze, looking a little embarrassed. He’d been fixed to the stool he’s sitting on and stared at Jason’s bedroom door with his head rested in his elbow in the same position for quite a while, even the oven had been pre-heated.

Mia continued to work on layering sheets and pouring the mixture from the saucepan, the warm steam spreading the fresh smell of tomato, garlic, slightly caramelized pork and veal bolognese along with other goodness that’s been well combined into the open air kitchen. She kept her head down while going on, “Figured what’s getting into your head. Now that James and I are dating, Jason seems like about to start one himself, you’d be thinking of finding someone to hang out with too?”

Roy admitted almost immediately, let go of an unnoticeable sigh for Mia seemed to not be aware what’s really going on in his mind. “Didn’t you always mention that girl… the one on that team you and Dick were on back then, was it Danielle?” “Donna.” “Donna. Anyway. I don’t know, maybe you can try contacting her again?” Roy looked a little confused by her suggestion. “Donna… she’s a partner and a good friend that’s all. Also I haven’t caught up with the Titans for quite some time.” “But there is always a chance out there somewhere, right?”

By now Roy seemed to have lost interest in this topic, and just shook his head towards the room that Jason was in, and steered the conversation back to what’s happening in there. “You can’t know… that girl, she came here and was after Jason…” Mia knew what he’s going on and about, “If you ask me, well, from a female perspective, what she’s after from Jason could not have been any more obvious.”

Just a little less than half an hour ago, a silver white long haired girl walked in from the front door of their apartment without giving any heads up, she promptly glanced over the room, including Roy who was laying on his back in the couch at the time, and Mia who’s busy preparing their dinner behind the counter. She briefly studied the situation, confirmed with the cook which bedroom was Jason’s, then dashed and disappeared into that room with a not-so-gentle bang as she closed the door, leaving Roy and Mia completely dazzled and curious.

Roy exchanged looks with Mia as he got up. He thought that girl looked familiar before he remembered that he, or rather, him and Jason had met her on the plane from Gotham back to Star City. She was sitting across the aisle, had started to strike a conversation with Jason around halfway of the flight. Roy hadn’t paid them too much attention as he curled up comfortably in his window seat and napped almost the entire time. When their plane had arrived and the seatbelt signs turned green, and Jason stood up to reach their backpack from the overhead bin, Roy saw the girl had slipped a thin piece of paper into the back-pocket of his jeans.

Roy had never seen her again after they got back home, until just now. He bet that Jason had contacted her without him and Mia knowing, and for Christ’s sake, he’d exposed their secret headquarters - an apartment on Winnick St that the three of them would scramble each month to come up with the rent for - to a stranger that hadn’t gone through their little gang’s trust test.

Mia saw him shuffled around yet eyes glued to that door, so she ordered him to buy some more basil leaves from the store that apparently her topping sauce is now short of. Roy groaned before leaving the apartment, still managed to strike a last look at that door that the girl has vanished into.

Some time later, the girl has finally decided to stomp out of that room again, she glimpsed over Mia, without saying a word then bounced across the communal space before walking right out, seemingly assuming oneself to be one of, otherwise, the owner of the house.

When Jason emerged just a little later too, Mia then stared at the ceiling and started talking at loud to herself, “Gotta be impressed with all the soundproof works of these walls, you can’t even hear a thing that you’d expected from the other side.”

Jason said that he and Roslyn merely spoke while in there and nothing more had happened. He looked around and asked where Roy is. Mia told him that she requested him to go to the shop and get her some more basils. Jason pondered on that. Mia figured out he’s gauging whether he should go out too, “I thought he might want some air for himself seeing that both his housemates are romantically involved in a relationship.” Jason started to look confused.

Mia thought to herself, Mia Deardon, don’t you screw this one up. She made an effort to calm her tone of voice before speaking up again. “That girl and you, aren’t you a thing or about to be?” She probed in a slightly joking way.

“A thing?” Jason now looked even more puzzled, as if this image of presumed future has never come across his mind before, “I don’t recall anything remotely like that ever discussed in our conversation.”

Mia stopped what she’s doing and pointed a silicon spatula at him, which was still covered with warm tomato chunks, “Jason, when you let a girl walk into your room, you should be prepared to provide her the chance of a mutually respectful association that is what we called a relationship, instead of just fooling around and walk away like a jerk.” Though in this particular scenario, the female individual seemed to matched that perona more, Mia had no intention of pointing that out.

“I’ve not even had a clue how she found this place, I thought she’s just some upper manager of a business, not some sort of a detective.”

Mia squinted her eyes, clearly not buying, “You know, usually a girl found out a guy’s address through a text message or a phone call.”

“Trust me, Mia, I’ve never even asked for her number.” Jason wiped his forehead and started to feel the angst up his gut, but he tried hard to not let it unleash upon Mia. “Do we have enough ingredients for tonight?” He indicated the kitchen bench filled with mixing bowls and food scraps with a nod. Mia gave it a thought, then answered, “We might have just run out of paprika, can you give Roy a ring and ask him to get a jar from the shop?”

“I’ll head down myself, don’t think he can hear the call right now.” Jason turned around to leave. Just when the door’s about to be opened, Mia called his name.

“Jason, do you love Roy?”

His hand on the doorknob came to a sudden halt. He paused for a second, “Why’d you say that?”

Mia took a deep breath, giving her best to not give away the fact that she’s rehearsed over and over what’s coming next. Instead of answering the question, she continued, “I’m not saying the kind of brotherhood you’d shared with Dick or your other partners from the cop shop, what I meant was something like Ollie and Dinah, like between me and James.”

Jason looked to be caught off guard with what she’s just said, and Mia for one was happy with how this whole situation had been going, as he at least didn’t just abruptly deny the question nor went on interrogating why the hell she’d stir up some shit like that. She heaved a sigh of relief, carefully thanking herself for the sharp observation and analysis she’d secretly inducted on themselves.

Jason looked at her, without saying a word, seemed to be still waiting for her to go on. So she did. “Roy is the kind of person that, how should I put this, would rather let his feelings sink than swim if you don’t show anything to him first. Probably why he and Ollie never saw each other eye to eye when they came across.” Jason nodded in agreement. “If he thinks that the other person doesn’t share a mutual feeling, I bet you he’d take it to his grave than ever speaking up about it.” This actually has contradicted to Roy’s impression on him, as he always saw the guy as carefree and weren’t shy about showing his affections towards the others, but Jason wasn’t going to oppose otherwise and just let Mia kept on.

“He had a crush on a girl in that crime fighting group he was in before, always claimed that he wasn’t good enough for her, so the girl never found out his feeling for her in the end.” Mia fixed her eyes on him, her spatula had now dropped to the bench surface as she leaned against the edge with both of her arms, looking at him demurely, “He’s recently acting more and more like that again. I don’t know about you, but here’s what I thought, if that other person this time at least showed him some sort of hints, maybe he wouldn’t have too many regretful undone deeds to carry with him to his tomb after all.”

Jason lowered his head and thought on that for a moment, his hand already loosen from the doorknob and he just noticed how his palm had been sweating all this long. He turned around to face Mia behind the island, who’d clearly done speaking and was waiting patiently for a response. Jason found her gaze again as he meticulously raised his eyes, “And you think this person… is… me?”

Mia grinned, “We both know that his current social life, or rather, his only life is devoted on bringing down that Merlin’s evil little scheme, which the whole operation comprises only two people, and he’s surprisingly one of them.” She could not have been clearer than that who the other person she’s referring to.

Jason couldn’t bring himself to let out of a word. There was too much to be said, too many questions bursting in his chest. When did Mia start to notice Roy’s altered behaviours as she described? How did she work out the confidence to ask him about it and not even worry that she might’ve been wrong? Did Roy ask her to feel him out, or was her perception of Roy’s feeling for him even legit?

“Jason, hello, someone in there?” His thought had been interrupted with her teases as he drown, “So let me ask again, Jason, do you love Roy? The kind of love like between Ollie and Dinah?”

The former Robin had let out a deep breath before cracking her a smile, “I’m gonna go get us some more paprika from the shop.” Then he opened the door and left the apartment.

None of the three housemates had ever demanded paprika when they had lasagna night, Jason knew better than that, and he secretly thanked Mia a thousand times as he sprinted downstairs.

——

End of snippet

End notes:

I draw Royjay fan arts from time to time, if you liked this story you’re welcome to also check them out on my Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shashawip

[wreckofawriter]

Stupid Dance, Stupid Teenagers

Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

Word Count: 3,135

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of weed? Swearing?

Request: @twilightlover2007: Could I request an imagine with Remus? Bookworm/avid photographer Remus watches from afar until his mates push him to talk to her/ask her to the upcoming ball? :)

A/n: Okay, I am quarantined for a month so I should be writing more but who knows, I am a dumbass. Okay, umm not exscatly in love with this one but I've already re-written it twice so I'm done. So sorry it took so long

Remus felt himself get lost again, before about a month ago he never tended to wander from his classes, they were relatively easy to stick to as most of them were quite interesting, but recently something far more entertaining had caught his attention. 

He watched as your fingers fiddled with the device under your desk two seats to his left and one down. He knew if McGonagall caught you she would give you hell, her patience probably ran out simply because of the sheer number of times she had caught you with the camera during class. 

You weren't doing anything in particular, simply spinning the lense in your hand and clicking on and off the flash. Yet Remus was completely memorised as your fingers moved so gracefully with the object. He had completely forgotten his notes, only a few sentences scribbled down before his eyes found your form. 

He began to wonder how your hands would feel in his hair, fingers ghosting through his curled locks. From there his mind began to wander to your own hair, his eyes following. It looked so soft and smooth, spilling like a waterfall from your head, its y/h/c hue shining in the dusty sunlight which filtered through the classrooms windows. 

A jab in his side forced his gaze from you to his dark haired friend. 

"Uh Moony if you don't take notes then none of us are going to have any and we are definitely going to fail Minnie's test on Friday." Sirius whispered to him.

"Since when do you care if you fail?" Remus muttered.

Sirius flashed a smile, and shrugged, "Since never but you do." 

Remus couldn't exactly argue with that so he simply rolled his eyes and dipped his quill into the ink. But one desk down and two desks over you had taken to messing with your hair and that was far more intriguing so he let his eyes stay there instead. 

Sirius took note of his friend's immediate departure from reality and let out an annoyed huff. 

"Moony seriously," he began knowing just how disappointed in himself the werewolf would be if he didn't score his unusually high performance on the upcoming exam. 

"I'll just ask Lily for notes." He responded, eyes never leaving the girl who sat a few meters away. 

"She never gives anyone notes." Sirius shot back attempting to gain Remus' attention.

"Correction, she never gives you or James notes because you are idiots." Remus commented, still not tearing himself from you.

Sirius was fed up with the lack of attention he was accustomed to receiving and pouted, it only took seconds for that pit to turn to smirk though. 

"Oh well I'm sure that y/l/n would like to hear you've been stalking her for the past month." Sirius' smile grew as his friend's head whipped towards him, eyes just a bit too wide, cheeks tainted a light pink. 

"I have not been stalking her." Remus hissed.

"Sure you haven't, and I'm in love with Malfoy." Sirius grinned, pure ecstasy filling him as Remus turned a deeper red. 

Remus turned away from the Gryffindor attempting to ignore him. In response Sirius plucked the maroon beanie from his head placing it on his own. 

"I don't see why you don't just ask her out." Sirius shrugged leaning back as Remus made a grab for his hat. 

"Give my hat back Sirius." He growled already fed up with his nonsense. 

Sirius pursued his lips pretending to contemplate his answer before breaking out in a smile, "Nah, I think it looks better on me." 

Remus once again rolled his eyes, "I don't want your grease on my hat Pads, now give it back." 

"I don't think I will after that comment." Sirius mused.

Hazel eyes rolled in their sockets once again and he lurched forward in attempts to take the hat from a bed of shimmering black. 

While his efforts did gain him back his beanie, in the process his elbow had found his open bottle of ink and successfully drenched everything on his desk. 

"Shit!" The boy cursed pushing himself backwards to avoid the liquid before it dripped onto his robes. 

"Mr. Lupin!" McGonagall snapped from the front of the class. 

"Sorry Professor!" Remus called back glaring at Sirius who bit back a laugh. 

"Black stop bothering your desk mate." The teacher added in with a glare. 

"Why am I being yelled at?" Sirius questioned.

"Because you are almost always the cause of these issues." 

At this point Remus' mind left the ink now dripping to the floor as his eyes connected to yours. You had a small smile on your face, clearly amused by the situation, your camera was now disregarded on your bag as a quill danced in your hand. The boy told himself to stop staring but it made that nearly impossible. 

You only shook your head slightly and smiled widening before you turned back to your work.

Remus was sure he was still burning red even after his teacher's had vanished the ink from his desk and continued the lesson.  

    The Gryffindor avoided looking at you for the remainder of class. By the time they were dismissed his embarrassment had dulled but not disappeared. Sirius refused to apologise claiming it was not his fault and James thought the whole thing was simply hilarious. So when you appeared in front of the three boys as they exited the classroom different emotions were evoked. 

    “Hey Lupin.” You greeted ignoring the other two boys who stood at his side with wide eyes. 

"Uh h-hey." Remus spoke cursing himself for stumbling over his words. 

You coughed nervously attempting to ignore the fact that three extremely popular boys were now staring you down. Maybe you didn't think this through properly. "Um well I just noticed that your notes were ruined and I am pretty good at this unit so you can use mine if you want." You said shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you spoke. 

The three boys all looked startled, James and Sirius turning to look at Remus who was a bit pale.

You raised your hand to the back of your neck your other holding the notes you had offered up, "It's cool if you don't need them, I'm sure you can get some from Lily or something-"

"No!" Remus said a bit too loudly, cringing at his own actions, "No, Lily would probably be pissed at me anyway." 

Your face visibly brightened, you opened your mouth to speak but was cut off. 

"Y/n come on! We are gonna be late." A girl down the hall huffed. 

"Don't yell at her, she's finally talking to Remus." Another hissed quietly, but not quietly enough. 

Your face erupted into color, "Well I've got to go." You spoke so quickly it was almost inaudible as you shoved the notes at the stunned boy before turning and running towards the group of housemates. 

When you reached them you slapped the two who had spoken with your books you were holding and buried your head in your hands as you walked away. 

Remus stared after you, his cheeks dusted pink as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 

When you disappeared around the corner James let out a laugh, "That was one of the most awkward things I have ever seen." 

"I think you mean hilarious." Siriua corrected. 

"Shut up." Remus groaned.

"Look on the bright side Moony, now you know she totally has a thing for you so you can ask her out already." James smirked.

"How do we know that exactly?'' the werewolf asked. 

"Are you blind, deaf or just plain stupid?" Sirius mused.

"Yeah Moony come on. She gave you notes, blushed way too much and did you not hear the 'she's finally talking to Remus' conversation?" James giggled. 

"Whatever." Remus scoffed despite the smile twitching on his lips. 

"I can't believe you did that to me." Your groaned face is still hot from the conversation you had a few minutes ago. 

"I'm so sorry y/n/n. I didn't mean to be so loud." The short blonde next to you apologized for the thousandth time. 

"Well thank Godric you were Elle, that was the funniest thing I've seen in awhile." The brunette who sat on your other side laughed, the memory still pleasant in her head.

"Fuck off Nat." Elle glared, "at least she has the guts to talk to the person she likes, you cant even get within five yards of Alice without turning into a mess." 

"That's not fair! It's different." She argued her cheeks tinting red. "Remus obviously likes her." She grumbled, "Everyone knows Alice has a thing for Frank." 

Elle rolled her eyes, "I wish you would just get over her already." 

"Don't we all." You agreed, happy that the conversation isn't centered around your awkward interaction with the Gryffindor boy. 

Class took years but when it finally ended you and your two companions, who were still bickering, walked out to the quidditch pitch. Your camera felt nice in your hands again as you strolled across the bright grass. 

As Natasha walked into the locker rooms Elle joined your side, looking a bit upset. 

You looked through your device pointing it at the girl who looked on the verge of tears. You dropped the camera so it slung around your neck, pulling her into a hug. 

"She'll get over her eventually." You sighed, "I swear she will." 

"I just feel stupid." She whimpered, whipping her tears fiercely. 

"Dont feel stupid, feel artsy." You giggled, "I wanna go a photoshoot with you." 

Her mood changed drastically, "Really!" 

"Yeah come on let's head back to the lake." You grabbed her hand walking her back to the lake and away from the pitch.

Remus watched as you left the pitch from his place on the stands, Sirius was beside him following his gaze to you.

"Her friend is pretty cute, I think I might ask her out." Sirius sighed picking at his nails. 

"I'm sure she has taste." Remus spoke, rolling his eyes. 

Sirius opened his mouth to state his offence but was cut off, "We should go down to the lake." 

"I wonder why you would want to go to the lake?" Sirius hummed faking contemplation

Remus sighed again, "I'll just go without you." 

"Okay, okay, we'll go, but only because watching James practice is super boring." Sirius agreed standing from his seat. 

As the two made their way towards the lake the two could hear loud laughter.

    Remus stopped glancing cautiously around the tree to see you knee-deep in water holding your skirt up with one hand and holding your camera with the other. Your friend was standing on the dock giggling. 

    Despite the fact that she was the one posing you managed to look like an angel. The sun was low in the sky giving you a golden glow as you photographed your friend. Your upper thigh was exposed, your smooth skin visible. Your hair was loose, a strand falling into your face. 

“Tilt your head back.” You instructed, “Take a step towards me and pop your hip.” 

“God y/n/n I feel ridiculous.” Elle spoke but she did as she was told. 

“You’re not the one waist-deep in water.” You shot back closing your mouth and clicking the shutter. 

“I’m also not the one who insisted on getting into the water to get a good angle.” She shot back.

“Shut up and let me take your picture.”

“Are we gonna just stare at them or..?” Sirius asked, causing Remus to jump from his daze. 

“Shut up.” 

“I didn't know you were such a perv Moony.” Sirius giggled. 

“I am not a perv!” He whisper-shouted. 

“You're kinda acting like one.” Siriys shrugged, smirking. 

“Fuck off I cant just let her know I followed her.”

“Why not?” 

“Okay, we're leaving.” Remus sighed beginning to walk back towards the quidditch pitch. 

“I don't understand why you don't just ask her out.” 

“You say that like it's an easy thing.” Remus sighed. 

“Just ask her to the spring dance.” Sirius shrugged, “It's not that hard.” 

“It’s not that hard for you.” Remus corrected him. 

Sirius just rolled his eyes a small smirk finding the way onto his lips. 

Remus narrowed his eyes, suspicion suddenly filling him, “Don’t give me that look.” 

“What look?” Sirius inquired, face still holding the same expression. 

“That look,” Remus spoke emphasizing the first word.

“There is no look.” Sirius insisted. 

“You’re still doing it.” Remus scowled, “Its that look you always get before you do something idiotic.”

“I don’t have a look.” Sirius maintained. 

“You have a look, James has the same one.” The boy said his look turned from annoyed to scary. “I swear Pads, if you and James plan to meddle in my business I will gut you.” 

“I swear I’m not gonna do anything.” Sirius lied through his teeth. 

The pestering did not stop. James and Sirius were relentless. They refused to let Remus rest in peace. He was completely fine with watching you from afar but his two best friends seemed to have other ideas. 

“What about fireworks Moony?” Sirius asked. 

“That's a brilliant idea Pads!” James gasped excitedly. 

“If you set off fireworks around her I will kill you.” Remus hissed. 

“Fine, but if you don’t do something soon, I am going to tell her.” James shrugged.

“You do and I will-”

“Kill us yeah we know.”

“This is a stupid idea.” You groaned ruffling with your neatly pinned hair. 

“Don’t mess with that y/n, it took me years.” Natasha glared at you, her hands were currently buried in Elle's hair. 

“But it's so uncomfortable.” You groaned. “Why are we even going to this stupid thing anyway?” 

“Because you have done nothing but read and edit holed up in your dorm for the past week and we want to get drunk.” Elle replied leaning back into Nats touch. 

“So now I'm gonna have to look after drunk babies too? You're right that is the perfect evening.” You spoke rolling your eyes. 

“Whatever you’ll probably end up boning Remus anyway.” Natasha smirked.

“I will not!” You huffed picking up the closest thing to you which happened to be a hair brush and chucking it at the girl with red cheeks. 

“Will too.” She mumbled, dodging the object with ease. 

You slowly began to remove a few of the pins from your hair as your two best friends began an argument behind you. This was a bad idea. Remus was probably going to think you looked like you tried too hard or that you looked sluty or stupid. This was a really bad idea. But before you could bail the two behind you were standing. 

“Ready to go y/n/n?” Elle asked. 

“I guess.” You mumbled grabbing a book from your bed and following your friends down the stairs. 

Remus could not belive he had been stupid enough to go to this dumb party. He figured it's what he got for being friends with the two most obnoxious party animals in the entire school. Sirius was already hammered and it was not even eight yet. Remus considered making a break for the dorms but before he could he heard a loud shout. 

“Y/N!” Sirius cheered as you and your friends entered the room. 

You jumped a bit flushing as Sirius threw his arm around you offering you a drink which you declined and the blonde next to you took. 

You sighed shrugging off the shoulder as Sirius continued to slur nonsense into your ear. 

Just as Remus had built up the courage to go talk to you James appeared out of nowhere dragging him off to help with his harassment of Lily. When he returned a bit less than an hour later you had disappeared. 

He caught a glimpse of your friend Elle but to his surprise she was drunk making out with an equally drunk Natasha. He blinked a few times and sighed. You had probably ditched, he didn't blame you, he was going to do the same. 

Checking over his shoulder he then quickly he bagan up the stairs unbuttoning the far too tight shirt he had decided to wear. 

He bust open the door to the dorms closing it behind him before turning and freezing. 

You lay on his bed, hairpins strewn around you, a large book in front of you as you sat in an oversized hoodie he recognized as his own. Remus suddenly had the urge to pinch himself, was this some amazing day dream?

You had a light tinge to your cheeks as you spoke, “Hey.” 

Remus swallowed his mouth feeling very dry, “Hey.” 

“I'm really sorry im up here, I went up to the girls room and they were smoking weed and I just can't stand the smell so I thought I would just come up here instead.” You squeaked out, your eyes suddenly lingered downward. 

Remus glanced down at his shirt realizing he had unbuttoned it and blushed widely, quickly fumbling with the buttons. You refused to meet his gaze as he looked back at you. 

“I’m actually kind of glad you're here, I thought you ditched.” He said walking over to you and sitting on the bed opposite. 

“I would but my friends are drunk idiots.” You smiled softly. 

“Yeah they were making out downstairs.”

“WHAT?!” You yelled causing Remus to jump, “Are you serious!?” 

“Umm yeah.”

“Oh my god, finally, Elle has been in love with her since like forever, it was getting very painful.” You sighed.

“I can imagine.” Remus grinned. 

The room fell into silence, neither of you quite sure what to say. You flipped a page despite not having read it. 

“Hey y/n, I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something.” Remus mumbled picking at the end of his dress shirt. 

“Shoot.” You respond, eyes leaving the book in front of you. 

“Would you like to go to that stupid spring fling with me?” He blurted out face washing crimson as your mouth dropped slightly. 

“Of course.” You respond, your heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it. 

“Really?” Remus asked. 

“Yeah dummy, but only if we get to act like stupid teenagers.” You giggled and the boy felt his heart soar. 

“Of course.” He answered feeling a heavy weight lift from his chest. “By the way you look really cute in my hoodie.” 

You blushed eyes growing a bit wide. “I’m so sorry I had no idea it was yours, I was just really cold because of this stupid dress and it was just sitting there and-” 

“It’s fine.” Remus laughed, “It looks better on you anyway.” 

Taglist:

@evyiione

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Five

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5: This Is My Now

Summary: Sorting Ceremony

THE ride to the castle is not as eventful as Draco predicted, despite the slight delay caused when Ron Weasley loudly complains that Draco took his spot and Hagrid, realizing that all other boats already have four students, redirects him to be the fifth in the next boat over. Harry is too busy admiring the sight of the giant castle before them, with what looks like every visible window lit up against the night sky, to pay Weasley much mind. He understands now what someone means when they say something is breathtaking, because he’s sure he stopped breathing for a moment when he first saw it, and isn’t sure he’s quite managed to catch his breath as the boats take off across the lake.  

   He’s not the only one fascinated. There is silence except for the sound of water lapping against the magically propelled boats as their journey starts, with whispers only starting up when they’re about halfway across. Their boat is in the lead, but the fleet of boats--which Hagrid informs them is nineteen out of the school’s total of thirty-six--are close enough that the voices of one carry over to the occupants of those closest. Granted, Harry thinks, it’s possible that it only seems that way because Ron Weasley, in the boat just behind theirs on the left, is loudly complaining about Draco Malfoy having shoved him out of the way when he was going to sit with Harry Potter. A blatant lie that Draco scoffs at, but doesn’t deem to try to refute from this distance.

    When they disembark on the other side of the lake, they are on a landing stage slightly sheltered by rock formations. Hagrid looks them over, making Draco smile at Harry knowingly when he picks Neville’s frog up from their boat and hands the animal back to him, reminding him to hold onto it this time. Then, when he’s sure that no student has been lost, he leads them up some stone steps. Harry thinks this must have been a cave at some point, rocky walls closing in slightly on either side with lanterns alternating from one side to the other to light their way, and he thinks it’s a good thing he’s not claustrophobic as the shadows they cast on the ceiling make it almost look like it’s moving down closer to them.

    At the top of the stairs is a stone landing, similar to the one below they’d stood on after getting out of the boats, but the bright lanterns on either side of the door make the design on it clearly visible. The stones are gray, with a darker one used to create a capital letter H. The door before them, a large, sturdy-looking wooden door with metal bands across it and a small little hatch in the door. When Hagrid pounds his fist heavily against the wood, Harry expects it to open and a face to peer out, but instead the door opens completely, light flooding out from inside, and standing there is none other than the dark-haired witch, Professor McGonagall, in emerald green robes.

    “Evenin’, Professor,” Hagrid greets. “Got yer first years here, all seventy-seven of ‘em.”

    “Thank you, Hagrid. Come along then.”

    They shuffle in after her and find themselves now in a brightly lit room. There’s a large rug covering most of the stone floor, and directly across the door they come in through is a large fireplace, with an equally large fire lit and blazing within. It makes the room pleasantly warm after the cool air they were just in. There are two long tapestries on either side of the fireplace, totaling four, each of them in different colors and with an animal displayed prominently in its center around a letter. To the left are some benches along the way, and some portraits of landscapes above them. To the right is a door, which is where McGonagall walks to as she waits for them to all come into the room.

    Harry goes over in her direction after a brief glance around the room. “Hello, Professor,” he greets, a little shy. He’s never really been close to a teacher before, but while he doesn’t want his new classmates to think he’s a teacher’s pet, he rather likes the woman who helped ensure he could attend school.

    “Mr. Potter.” She addresses him formally, but she gives him a small smile, which negates her stern tone and her previously stern demeanor. “I see you made it onto the train all right.”

    Harry nods, and almost goes on to tell her about being moved into the smallest bedroom upstairs, but Hagrid closes the door then, signaling that all the students are inside. The big man makes his way around the students and out of the room through the door they are near, and Harry realizes this conversation will have to wait as the older witch clears her throat to draw the attention of all the students. Once all eyes are on her, she speaks.

    “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she begins. “The term officially begins with a start-of-term banquet attended by the entire school, which you will be joining shortly over in the Great Hall. Before you can take your seats, however, you will be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts houses.” She gestures over towards the tapestries hanging on the wall by the fireplace.

    The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are students here, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will sleep in your house dormitory, study and spend free time in your house common room, and most, if not all, of your classes will be with the rest of your housemates. You will also work together with your house to earn points for your house. Your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to your house, whichever it may be.

    “Now, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the whole school, so I suggest you all smarten yourselves up while you wait.” She runs a critical eye over them, pausing here and there on specific students. “Now wait quietly while I check to see if they are ready yet.”

    Without another word, she leaves through the same door Hagrid left, and voices erupt in her wake. Students asking each other what house they think they’ll join, and what the Sorting might entail.

    “Harry.” He turns to see Draco just off to the side with a group that seems to already know each other, waving him over. Harry goes over to the group, which consists of two girls and three boys besides Draco, assuming that these are the friends he previously mentioned. Sure enough, once he’s reached them, Draco says, “These are the friends I mentioned earlier. Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabb, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode. Guys, this is Harry Potter.”

    Others nearby hear the name and there’s a ripple effect through the room as it’s whispered back and forth. Harry tries to ignore it as he greets Draco’s friends. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

    Theodore Nott replies in kind, but he’s the only one. Pansy Parkinson leans into Millicent, saying in a loud whisper, “ The Harry Potter, huh? Somehow not as impressive as the stories would have us believe.”

    Harry feels his face grow warm while Draco scowls at her, but before either can respond, there’s a collection of gasps and a few screams. Looking around, they see what has startled some of the others, as a group of almost two dozen ghosts have come streaming through one wall. They’re just far enough that Harry can’t make out any conversations until a ghost in tights and ruff notices the students below them and asks what they’re all doing.

    “New students!” The answer comes from the ghost the first had been speaking with, a pleasant looking, chubby man dressed in a long corded tunic robe of some sort. Harry isn’t sure what it’s called, but he’s certain the man is a friar of some sort. “I believe they’re waiting to be Sorted, yes?”

    Various students nod. Harry looks over at Draco, and he hopes this isn’t a stupid question because it didn’t occur to him until now, but he wants to ask before McGonagall comes back. “How are they going to sort us?”

    “Honestly? Don’t know,” Draco admits with a shrug. “Mother and Father wouldn’t say. It’s tradition to go in not knowing.”

    “My brother Fred said it hurts.” They turn to see Ron Weasley, who’s clearly been eavesdropping.

    “H-Hurts?” Neville Longbottom, using one hand to try to fix his robe which is fastened under one ear, stares at Ron wide-eyed. His grip on his toad goes slack and he almost loses it before Hermione Granger nudges him.

    “I doubt it,” she responds once Nevile has regained hold on the toad. “It is a school, after all. They aren’t going to let us get hurt .”

    “Okay, Miss Know-It-All, what do you think it is?” Ron grumbles at her, glaring. “Since you know more than me.”

    She frowns at him. “I am just saying, it is highly unlikely that a school is going to purposely allow students to get hurt for, what, dorm assignments?” Neville next to her visibly relaxes, and there are a few murmurs of agreement. Ron’s face goes a little pink. “Now it doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History what the Sorting entails, but I imagine it’s more likely a test of some sort.”

    “Oh, ‘it doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History ’,” he mocks, pitching his voice higher and causing a few kids to snicker. “That’s not even one of our textbooks. What kind of nerd does extra reading before school?”

    Her darker skin doesn’t visibly change colors, but the way Hermione presses her lips together and crosses her arms reads to Harry clear as day as if she’s embarrassed. She doesn’t respond though, and Harry is annoyed with Ron Weasley all over again. He thinks of all the times he was bullied by Dudley in front of other students just before teachers came back, or in front of his aunt and uncle, leaving Harry unable to defend himself or talk back, and he decides he’s not putting up with it here. Even if the bullying isn’t directed at himself.

    “Just because you can’t read doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy it.” Both Hermione and Ron look over at him in surprise, though Ron’s face turns a shade of red that almost matches his hair.

    Then, to avoid getting caught in a confrontation on the first day by Professor McGonagall and because Neville was struggling one handed to fix his robe before he froze to watch the back and forth between Hermione and Ron, he goes over to him. “Want me to hold Trevor while you fix your robe?”

    “Oh, yes, please. Thank you.”

    Neville hands the toad over and adjusts his robes, just in time for McGonagall to return. She calls for them to get in a line and follow her, turning to lead them out. Hermione hurries to do as she’s told, very clearly trying to put distance between herself and Ron Weasley. Neville takes his toad back with another muttered thank you, hurrying to get in line as well. Harry follows suit so that Neville is in front of him, with Draco at his rear. They’re led across the large Entrance Hall, so big that he’s certain the entirety of the Dursleys’ house could fit in there, and the ceiling so far above that he can’t make it out despite the many flaming torches lighting up the room. They pass massive double doors to their right and a grand marble staircase to the left, towards another set of double doors.

    There’s the dull roar of hundreds of voices on the other side of those doors, which grows steadily louder as they approach, and Harry swallows nervously as his mouth suddenly goes dry. What if it is a test? He read through the books, but it’s not as if he could practice any of the spells, and he’s never been good at instantly memorizing stuff. He’s always been a hand on learner, needing to put whatever was being taught to him into practice to really grasp it. How embarrassing if he fails out of the school before he’s even started?

    The doors are thrown open and the voices die down to a silence as all eyes turn to look at the line of students being led inside. They walk between the center two out of four long tables, that start a few feet from the entrance and down across the large room almost towards the other end, from what Harry can see. He tries to not make eye contact with the students on either side of him, so instead he draws his attention up to the floating candles and the night sky above, half listening as Hermione explains to Neville that she’d read it’s enchanted to look like the sky outside. He thinks maybe he read that, but isn’t sure, and is tempted to ask how many times she’d read her books or if, unlike him, she has the kind of memory that allows her to read something once and just remember it.

    “What is that ?”

    Draco’s question makes Harry look down, and he sees that they’re approaching a platform that is shaped in a half circle. There’s a single step to get up onto the platform, and then there’s a stool set in the center, with a battered looking witches’ hat. Behind that is another two steps leading up onto a slightly higher platform where a table runs from Harry’s left to his right. There, a long line of adults are seated, and he realizes these must be the school’s teachers and staff. Before he can find Professor Snape to wave, he finds a pair of twinkling blue eyes staring at him, and he recognizes the face from his Chocolate Frog Cards. The headmaster is literally watching him.

    Unintendedly, he stops in the spot as he’s overwhelmed with the most powerful feeling of mistrust he’s ever felt, and a voice seems to scream in his mind, Do not trust Albus Dumbledore!

    Then Draco walks into him, not having noticed what he’d stopped, and they almost fall over. Harry quickly apologizes, face red, and hurries forward as McGonagall directs them all to line up between the professors’ table and the stool so they’re facing the rest of the school. Once they’re all lined up, they stand there for a moment, nothing happening until the hat suddenly begins to sing.

    Harry’s eyes go wide and he is able to momentarily forget the headmaster behind him, astonished at this turn of events. Getting Sorted by a magic hat is better than anything else he’d imagined, and he’s immensely relieved. He claps along with everyone else when it finishes, and then listens as the first couple of names are called and students begin being sorted into the different houses. It isn’t until after each house has received one student that Harry remembers that he and Draco might not be in the same houses.

    “Draco,” he whispers, turning to the other boy. Draco looks over at where McGonagall is standing, holding a long roll of parchment from which she is reading students’ names, and then back at Harry, a single eyebrow raised in question. “Remember, if we’re in different houses, we’ll still be friends, right?”

    Draco blinks at him surprised. Hadn’t Harry asked him that right after they met, when they were first discussing the houses? Draco still isn’t convinced that it’s possible for them to stay friends, but he figures it won’t hurt for them to try at least. So he nods. “Sure, but don’t be mad when my house gets more points than yours.”

    Harry just grins in response, looking back at the students being sorted in time to see Hermione Granger is still sitting on the stool. He wonders if it’s normal for it to take this longer before she finally gets sorted into Gryffindor. His parents’ house. It would be nice, he thinks for what must be the hundredth time, to be in the house they were in, and get to see some of the places they once spent time in. There probably weren’t any traces of them or anything, but it’d be one more thing he would have in common with them. Plus, he would already know his Head of House with Professor McGonagall, whom he already knew he could trust. The only other professor he felt that way about right now was Professor Snape. Granted, if he ended up in Snape’s house, Slytherin, that might not be so bad either. Draco was sure he’d be in that house, so at least he’d have a friend there.

    Neville Longbottom also ends up in Gryffindor house after slightly longer with the hat than most other students, and he grins happily as he goes to join them. When it is Draco’s turn, the hat is set on his head and there is a few seconds of silence before he is, as he’d predicted, announced as the next Slytherin. Harry is happy for him, knowing that is the house Draco wanted, though it’s tinged with a bit of disappointment that he wasn’t last minute put in Gryffindor, like he himself hopes to be. Then he waits for his own turn to come. He tries to ignore the irrational fear that he won’t be Sorted at all, thinking it is just his nerves, but it isn’t easy. He still thinks it’s been too many good things after another, so surely the other shoe will drop soon.

    When Professor McGonagall finally calls, “Harry Potter,” the room is overtaken by a deafening silence. He’s actually tempted to stick a finger in his ear to see if something is suddenly blocking all sound, because it’s such a drastic change. Instead, he takes a few slow steps forward, hoping he doesn’t do something embarrassing like fall flat on his face as he’s acutely aware of every eye in the room being directed in his direction.

    He’s actually a little relieved to finally reach the stool and have the hat placed on his head, as it falls down and covers his eyes so he can no longer see all those faces staring at him.

    Well, well, what do we have here? Harry startles, although after the singing, he’s not sure why the hat speaking comes as a surprise. Strange…

    Suddenly, Harry’s certain the hat is going to tell him he doesn’t belong, and he feels his heart drop. Great , he thinks. I really don’t belong here.

    Oh, but you do , the hat contradicts, surprising Harry again because of course it can read his mind. Plenty of talent here, good head on your shoulders, and quite a bit of courage, with such a thirst to prove yourself. Yes, no question, you belong here.

    Then what is strange? Harry asks, curious now that the hat has assuaged his fears.

    The hat is quiet for a moment, as if it’s searching or perhaps deciding how to explain. Then, it says, There is magic here unlike any I have seen in all my time, and I’m quite old. Yes, strange, varying magics are at work in you. How very intriguing you are, Mr. Potter. Harry wants to ask more, try to understand what the hat is telling him, but the hat moves on, asking, So where shall I put you?

    Harry frowns in response, wondering that question himself. He has no real feelings towards being put in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Based on the hat’s song, he thinks he’s loyal enough for the former and maybe not smart enough for the latter, but he’s indifferent to either. He hasn’t met anyone interested in either, or made friends among those already sorted into it yet, so it’s hard to muster any enthusiasm besides it meaning he will remain at Hogwarts so long as he’s sorted somewhere . Gryffindor, though, has most of the few people he’s met and liked thus far, besides his emotional connection to it. But Draco is now in Slytherin.

    So Gryffindor or Slytherin, eh? Any of the Hogwarts houses could help you on your way to greatness, I’m sure, but these two especially.

    Then where are you putting me?

    I’m rather partial to Slytherin for you, but where would you like to be ? The hat counters.

    If those watching could see his face, they’d see Harry blinking in confusion and surprise. Instead, he blinks at the inside of the hat, not having expected the question. I’m not sure. I mean, Gryffindor, I think? It’s just, I’ve a friend in Slytherin. He said those houses are rivals.

    Hm . The hat is quiet for only a moment, before it says, Their founders Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were rivals and friends, you know. For a very long time.

    Oh . If the founders themselves could be both rivals and friends, surely Harry and Draco could manage that too, right? Gryffindor then .

    You’re certain? Won’t have any regrets? Then off you go, to “GRYFFINDOR!”

    Professor McGonagall removes the hat, and Harry blinks at the brightness of the room as he stands. The table on the far left has erupted into cheers, with many of them standing and clapping, and the Weasley twins chanting, “We got Potter!” repeatedly.

    Harry makes his way over, noticing as he does that the rest of the hall is staring at him still as the next student is called to be Sorted. His face warms, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to the attention as a boy with a badge comes over to shake his hand. His red hair is such a distinctive, familiar shade that he’s not at all surprised to learn this is another Weasley, and in fact the one he’d heard speaking with the woman at the station.

    “Harry Potter! Welcome to Gryffindor. I’m Percy Weasley, one of the Gryffindor prefects. Such a pleasure to have you join our house!”

    “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

    Percy lets out a long suffering sigh before he turns and hisses at the twins, “Stop it! Do you want us to be the first to lose house points?” He shakes his head, then motions for Harry to follow him back to where he’d been sitting.

    Harry sits to Percy’s right, returning Neville’s shy smile and wave with a nod. Hermione is sitting on Percy’s other side, shaking her head at the twins who were still chanting a few seats further down, although they’d brought their volume down. Presumably to avoid notice from the teachers.

    “I wish people would stop staring,” Harry mutters, noting as he takes a seat that people are still looking over in his direction.

    Neville, sitting across from him, replies, “Well, y-you’re Harry Potter . You’re famous, you know.”

    “Well, that, and you’re the first hatstall in years,” Percy adds, taking a seat to Harry’s left.

    “A what?”

    “Hatstall. It’s what it’s called when the hat takes a while to place you.” Percy motions towards the hat where someone is almost instantly sorted into Ravenclaw. “Most people only take a minute or two. You three,” he motions to Harry, Neville, and Hermione, “took longer than most, but it’s only a hatstall if it’s more than five minutes.”

    “Was it really that long?” Harry asks, surprised.

    “It doesn’t feel that long in the moment,” Hermione muses. Neville nods his head in agreement.

    They watch the rest of the students get sorted, cheering whenever another Gryffindor is added to their ranks. If Harry’s cheering is a little less enthusiastic when the youngest Weasley also becomes a Gryffindor, he doubts anyone notices over the brothers’ loud cheers. Percy gets up again specifically to congratulate him and then comes back, his brother in tow. Harry, seeing that the free seats are on either side of where he currently is, moves to his left to take the one Percy had previously been occupying. Hopefully, the older boy won’t think anything of it except that Harry is trying to be considerate, and not hoping to avoid sitting next to his younger brother.

    Luck is with him in that although he doesn’t know what Percy thinks about the switch, not only does he not bring it up, but he takes Harry’s previous seat, leaving Ron to take the second one on his other side, so at least they’re separated. It has the added bonus, Harry thinks, to put him farther away from Hermione, who Harry thinks likely doesn’t want to risk another confrontation over dinner.

    The room quieted as the old headmaster stood up to welcome them all, saying a few gibberish words and sitting back down to applause and cheers. Harry doesn’t pretend to join in this time, frowning at the old headmaster. He doesn’t see Draco across the hall giving him the same raised eyebrow he had on the train, curiosity piqued.

    In any case, soon his and all the other students’ attention is drawn down to the tables as the golden place settings magically fill with food. He’s astonished, having never seen so much food in one place in all his life. Best of all, for only the second time in his life, he could eat to his heart’s content and no one would stop him or take the best for themselves, as his cousin often had. He filled his food with some of nearly everything on offer, and Harry is sure after a few bites that he has never had anything so good before.

    While they eat, talk revolves around questions from younger students to the older regarding classes or when the first Quidditch match will take place. Some discuss how happy or surprised their parents will be about their Sorting, which draws attention to the three seated near each out who had taken the longest to be Sorted.

    “What took the Sorting Hat so long to place you?” Ron asked, leaning around Percy to address Harry.

    He shrugs but Neville responds with another question himself. “Was the hat trying to convince you too? Thought I’d end up in Hufflepuff, but it insisted. Gran will be really happy about it.”

    “It was between here and Ravenclaw for me,” Hermione informs them, though she doesn’t look over in Ron’s direction as she answers.

    “What about you, Harry?” Neville asks.

    “Slytherin.”

    Percy looks at him in surprise. “ Slytherin ? That, uh, well a bit of a surprise, really.”

    “How come?” Harry asks.

    “ You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, s’why,” Ron offers, mouth full of food. “So were a bunch of his followers.” Ron looks directly at Harry. “Including Malfoy’s dad.”

    “He was found to be innocent and under the Imperius Curse,” Percy reminds his brother.

    Ron gives him an incredulous look. “ Dad thinks that’s a lie.”

    “Yes, well, the Ministry doesn’t,” Percy rebutts, mouth a thin line of disapproval. “So you would do well not to spread rumors about the Malfoys."

    Harry puts away this bit of information, but refuses to give Ron the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he pointedly ignores him, turning back to his food. He’ll think about what he’s just learned and decide what, if any of it, to bring up with Draco later.

    Talk then turns to their families. Neville tells them all to laughter about his uncle trying to get him to do magic, although Hermione gasps when he tells them he was dropped out of a window. Seamus Finnegan takes over then, causing more laughter when he explains the shock his father received the first time his son performed accidental magic, as it led to finding out his wife had secretly been a witch the whole time. Many others have parents who are both witches and wizards, so they’d expected coming to Hogwarts, while others had been caught completely off-guard like Hermione, whose parents were both Muggle. Harry admits he was raised with Muggles himself, and therefore hadn’t a clue about being a wizard, much less famous, prior to receiving his Hogwarts letters.

    Many are surprised by this new and Harry, realizing he doesn’t want to answer any additional questions about his Muggle relatives or the parents he doesn’t remember, turns to Percy and asks about what they might expect from their first day. Percy is more than happy to tell them all about the things they’ll learn first year, his enthusiasm matched only by Hermione, so that Harry is drawn into talk of classes and schoolwork. It effectively makes everyone else lose interest in being a part of Harry’s conversation for the moment, and although he’s not nearly as keen on what Percy is telling them as Hermione clearly is, he nevertheless finds himself looking forward to getting to learn real magic for himself.

    It is while Percy is telling them about starting off small in Transfiguration with their Head of House, Professor McGonagall, that Harry happens to glance over towards the High Table. At some point, the stool and the Sorting Hat were removed. On the closest end is Hagrid, drinking from a goblet, with Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore speaking to each other somewhere around the middle. Further down he sees Professor Snape, speaking with a man wearing a purple turban, whose back is currently to Harry. He wonders if it might be the same turbaned gentleman from Diagon Alley he’d seen Snape speaking to, but he isn’t sure just how common turbans are in the wizarding world to say how likely that might be.

    Just then, Snape looks over and catches his eye. He nods his head towards Harry, who lifts a hand to wave when there’s a sudden pain in his forehead.

    “Ouch!” He presses his hand against his forehead, surprised.

    “Are you all right?” Percy asks while Hermione tilts her head to peer at Harry’s face.

    “Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Harry assures them, the pain in his scar already fading.

    “Is it your scar? Does it often hurt?” Hermione’s gaze is curious as it runs over his forehead.

    “No, actually. Never,” Harry admits. Which is true. It’s never once, in all his life, bothered him. “Say Percy, who is that speaking with Professor Snape?”

    “You know Snape, do you? Let’s see.” Percy runs his gaze along the High Table until he spots the purple turban, just as the man turns allowing them to better see his face. “Ah, that man would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell.”

    The desserts disappear from the table then, and the room quiets as Professor Dumbledore stands up. He addresses the room to inform them of a few start-of-term notices, of which were included the information that the forests on the ground as well as the right side of the third floor corridor were forbidden to students, the latter coming with the warning of a gruesome death for any who did not heed the warning. Percy mutters about this being news to him, noting that the prefects should have been informed, just as the headmaster has them all sing the school song to whatever tune pleases them.

    At no point does the man ever directly look at him, as far as Harry can tell, but somehow, he’s sure that the man is still watching him. It’s an unnerving feeling, and he’s glad when the Weasley twins finally finish their funeral dirge version of the school song and they’re dismissed to go to their houses.

    Already, Harry has so much to think about, and classes haven’t even started yet. He thinks he’ll definitely need to get some sleep if he’s to be prepared for what tomorrow will bring.

Story Notes:

Chapter title is a Jordan Sparks song.

[bookandcover]

[Note: This post was primarily written in August/September 2020.]

This book was recently recommended to me by friends, and I read it in three days. I was immediately drawn into the energy and structure of the book, with its genre-defying blend of personal memoir and academic research, and I found it difficult to put down. I also appreciate seeing Iowa City through Machado’s eyes (her appearing housemates like familiar characters), as the events of the book occur during Machado’s years in the MFA program. There’s a thrill to this novel (echoing the horror genre Machado loves), but also a deep introspection—each short section of the book reads more like a prose poem than any other genre (packed with imagery, carefully craft syntax, and moments of parallelism and thematic resonance through repetition and reference). Many of the short sections made me pause, stopping to re-read and to process, but they also catapulted me into the next section, pulling me forward less through a drive to follow plot than through a need to trace themes and draw connections.

The concept of this book is inherently both clever and necessary. Machado uses tropes (literary, artistic, historical) to reframe and re-examine her experiences in the Dream House (a physical symbol she uses to encapsulate her time/identity while in an abusive relationship). The different tropes Machado draws on range in type from highly intellectual to brimming with pop culture relevance. As a young(?), literary reader, I enjoyed this a lot. It felt like I was repeatedly contextualizing Machado’s experiences within frameworks I relate to. Although, admittedly, I didn’t relate to each and every one, there were still so many frameworks that “rang true” to me. Machado’s work comes out of a highly-researched, academic space as well (blending this with the deeply felt, personal and passionate aspects of her experience), and I found myself Googling more words and concepts than I normally do when I’m reading. The framework/project of this memoir did, for me, one the things I attribute to the strongest writing: using intellectual framing not as an exercise in intellectualism, but as a necessary tool, a stopgap measure at the place where language fails. I generally recoil from books that I see as using cleverness (tools, structures) that exist because they are clever, because they show off and flex the writer’s intellect and craft skills. If these tools are not justified—by the content, by the real emotional space they create—I’m inclined to dismiss them as posturing. You can be the cleverest person in the world, but if you’re being clever for the sake of being clever, that is a thin, temporary success—glittery, eye-catching, and, ultimately, vapid.

Machado’s framework/project, on the other hand, is born of necessity—of the real, emotional need to try to understand and express the impossible to understand or express. By approaching her topic again and again through these different academic and popular lenses, she recreates the experience of furious problem-solving and unrest, repeated attempts to solve a problem with every tool able to her, and repeated failures. She, herself, explicitly addresses this within the book, characterizing the experience of abuse as something the exists beyond language, beyond attempts to communicate it. I was particularly moved by her description of Dream House as Half Credit, in which she explained the technique she’d learned as a young student of writing down everything she knew that was relevant to a problem on a test when she did not know the correct, exact answer. This book is that kind of attempt, an attempt to catalogue and to circle around, to get repeatedly close to capturing the truth, while acknowledging that this kind of truth must escape her. “Let it never be said that I didn’t try,” Machado writes.

In addition to this book’s framework/project being a genuine attempt to capture the impossible-to-capture, it also feels like the real instinct of someone who is trying to understand themselves in the face of something that they could never imagine would happen to them. When faced with the fact that she endured and accepted her abuse over a significant period of time, Machado is baffled. So many of us must think to ourselves, when reading or hearing about abuse, “I would have walked away if this were my relationship” and Machado, too, had thought this. And yet, in the real situation, she didn’t. And how can she understand this? How can she show us, her readers, that we do not fully understand abuse if we do not acknowledge that we’re changed utterly while within it and that all our promises to and assumptions about ourselves become void? By going through the frameworks and tropes that Machado knows and loves—from literature, to philosophy, to film, to popular culture—that have shaped her and her thinking, she is trying to understand “the dream house” within other frameworks that she can hold onto, frameworks that make sense and that do not sink like quick sand.

Another dimension in which the experience of Machado’s abuse resists her attempts at comprehension and explanation is the absence of other writing on the subject. This is one of the central projects of the book: to collect the existing literature on domestic abuse within female-female partnerships and organize that information into one volume. Machado is repeatedly baffled by how limited this information is, and by the stereotyping and assumptions that override important accounts of abuse. She addresses the rampant idealization of female-female relationships, often prevalent within the queer community, that uphold female-centric spaces as safe ones, that categorize abuse as a male-on-female issue. Our stereotype of abuse is male-on-female for many reasons tied to a long history of systematic sexism and the very real dangers of domestic abuse perpetuated by men and targeting their wives and girlfriends. This stereotype is far from the full picture, but it’s somehow a stereotype so loud that it drowns out other types of abuse. Our image of the abuser and our image of the abused—both are firm and clear in our minds. And, so, when the people involved do not fit these pre-made images, abuse is harder to spot and harder to understand. This stereotype overlooks the overwhelming aspects of abuse that are psychological and focuses on the physical: surely a larger/stronger man is abusing a smaller/weaker woman. Surely two women, both loving/delicate/gentle (and all the strange, sexist things we (through deeply-ingrained systemic sexism) assume women to be), cannot be experiencing domestic abuse within their relationship.

There are many positive and loving female-female relationships. There are probably some (true and valid) reasons these utopian stereotypes around female-female relationships exist. There are reasons why idealization of these relationships would continue within the queer community, uplifting relationships that have not been given sufficient representation and that have been judged and condemned historically and still are by many today. But the silence around this topic, like so many silences, is harmful, as Machado experiences. Without resources, without references, with her own assumptions about female-female relationships as a bisexual woman, Machado struggles to understand and later to explain the abuse she experiences. This book also holds onto the project of raising awareness, of revealing both the personal experiences of one woman and the larger social context of female-on-female abuse, and hopefully this is a book that could help other women facing similar situations. The happy ending of Machado’s story is certainly alive with hope, although of a crazy, boundless kind—in a “truth is stranger than fiction” plot twist that had me gasping aloud in disbelief, Machado winds up very happily married to Val, the woman who her abusive ex also dated (the two met through the abusive “woman in the dream house”). While Machado never strays into moralizing or advising, her book is a powerful act of self-catharsis...and in vulnerability offers comfort to others. 

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 14/14 (Multi) - Juno

Chapter Summary: Jaida, Brita and Jackie try to plan for the three of them to go bowling. Of course, that might not work out quite as planned!

(A/N: So ….. this is the end of TGC! It’s the epilogue, and I wanted to give them all an ending, so here it is. I’ve been so blown away by the support I’ve received for this fic, even though it’s completely insane and no one asked for it! Thank you to everyone who has left me a like, kudos, comment, or just read it and enjoyed it. It really does mean the world! xo Juno)

Tuesday 14thNovember

7.09PM

Brita:Do u want to go bowling this Friday? Xx

Jackie:The three of us??

Jaida:I don’t think three is quite enough sis. Not for a good game. We’ll be done in half an hour!

Brita:LOL if that’s a hint then yes u can ask Jan xx

Jaida smiled to herself. If she hadn’t been thinking it before, she definitely was now. She was having a great time getting to know who Jan was, and what made her tick, these past ten days or so. Hearing Jan’s unbelievable singing voice at full pelt in Jan’s little Fiat 500. Playing around doing lay-ups at the basketball court and normally losing to Jan, even thought she was the shorter of the two. Getting their legs tangled in the sheets at the end of the day …

Oh yes. Jaida had enjoyed every minute.

Jackie:Ok, I don’t need to read minds to see how this will go……..

Jaida: lmao really? X

Brita:Enlighten us Jacqueline xx

Jackie:Obvs we three want to go

Jackie:Jai invites Jan

Jackie:Brita wants to invite a gf if Jai is inviting one

Jackie:So now Aiden is coming

Jackie:Aiden always brings Crystal

Jackie:Crystal always brings Gigi

Brita:Aiden isn’t my gf

Jaida:and Im Oprah

Jackie:LOL!

Brita:shush Jai xx

Brita:we just had a couple dates so far thats all xx

Jackie:Ok so I actually laughed

Jackie:Heidi & Nicky heard me

Jackie:So they invited themselves

Jaida:oh that’s cool no problem x

Jackie seemed to see more of Heidi than Jaida did right now. Jaida might have felt strange before, the thought of her friend and her colleague mingling, no careful divide in her mind; but that was fading fast. Nicky had started teaching Heidi some useful French, rather than just more swearing, and now they were organising for Nicky to come into Heidi’s kindergarten class with some basic French for the kids.

As for Brita … well, if there was one thing Jaida had learned about her through the Goode case, it was that she often had a slightly devious ulterior motive in these innocent suggestions. And although Jaida still didn’t feel as if she knew Aiden very well yet, she’d noticed that Brita had never spent more time daydreaming in the office; prompting a few pens being thrown at her by Jackie all last week.

Brita:How many is that? I suck at math lmao

Jackie:is that nine?

Jackie:one more to make it even??

Jaida: Dahlia, I said I would organise something with her

Brita: sis u cant invite Dahl without Rock xx

Jackie:Ok look

Jackie:We can’t have eleven

Jackie:That’s an even weirder number than 3!!

Jackie:Maybe we should stick to us 3

Jackie:No friends

Jackie:no gfs

Jackie:No psychics

Brita:no psychics? So we not going either?? LOL

“Hey, Jaida.” Widow came out of her room, waving to Jaida on the couch, as she walked past to the kitchen. Jaida gave her a smile and a wave back.

Widow was still walking a little slower than usual, but finally getting back into a routine. She’d flown back from KC on Sunday night, but even the week before that, she’d seemingly made some progress. She had even started coming to talk to Jaida, feeling a bit more comfortable sharing things with her.

Jaida was struck with inspiration.

Brita:also Jackie why cant u just type a message in one line Xx

Jaida:I got it, my housemate Widow to make it 12 x

Jackie: Who?

Brita:yeah u may not have met her yet

Brita:Jai I thought u said she doesn’t like big crowds xx

Jaida: something tells me things may change x

Friday 17thNovember

7.25PM

“Child, I still don’t get why it’s called football.” Jaida teased Jan, as they sat waiting for their turns to come back round. Heidi was lining up her shot in the distance, but neither Jaida nor Jan knew the scores at this moment. “They don’t even use their feet! They use their hands! And it’s not a ball! It’s an egg! Hand-egg!”

“Jai, if you insult my precious Patriots one more time, I’ll –“

“Jan! Focus!” Heidi was calling her. “Your shot, boo!”

“Be right back after I hit a strike!” Jan reached over to kiss Jaida gently on the lips.

“Oh, so you’re not coming back?” Jaida tutted, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face. Jan playfully slapped her arm and grinned back at her.

The aisles were only good for six people each, so they’d booked two beside each other, and it looked like couples’ night in the opposite lane. Brita’s impressive round of strikes and spares was almost matched by a few strikes from Crystal, all of which she claimed were flukes. She hadn’t stopped laughing all evening, clinging to Gigi, who smiled coolly and pushed her hair out of her eyes whenever Crystal did so. Gigi herself was making a respectable score behind the two of them, claiming to just have a magic touch.

Dahlia, however, kept sinking almost every ball into the drain and sulking as she did so, going into the sixth round with only seven points on the board. Aiden, whose twelve points were almost as bad, ended up insisting on the fences being raised after her third straight round of hitting nothing, prompting Rock to hit trick shots for the rest of the evening, bouncing her bowling balls between the fences and making her turns take twice as long.

It was Widow who came to sit in Jan’s empty seat, the mischievous glint in her eyes slowly returning as the days went on. Jaida returned her smile, and Widow reached and rubbed Jaida’s forearm.

“Thanks for inviting me, sis,” she muttered. “It’s – it’s a good night.”

When Jaida had asked, Widow had hesitated in coming out as part of a large group. Following Tori’s funeral the previous weekend, Widow had insisted on a quiet time all week. But the crowd brought her straight in, particularly Heidi and Brita, who she had already met. She even seemed to click with Jackie almost immediately, both of them shrieking with glee at discovering a mutual love of Overwatch and swapping Xbox names to link up later.

But Jackie and Widow were already competing. On the scoreboard in their lane, Widow was leading the team, but only by two points, with Jackie right behind her, almost matching every single strike. Jaida was enjoying seeing them show competitive sides that they rarely did, both of them playing up the competition by pointing menacingly at each other after each turn. Jaida, Jan, Heidi and Nicky were all lagging behind them, all in a cluster, but none of them minded; they were far too amused by Jackie and Widow to care.

Jaida looked at all their names altogether on the scoreboard, and the other names on the other lane. It still felt a little weird, but Jaida was actively trying to focus on it, and tell herself that it was all good. The separation she’d held onto for so long had crumbled, and here they all were – friends, colleagues, housemates, girlfriends – all in the same space.

And bringing her friends together, into one space in her life, made Jaida feel a lot more complete.

She grinned at Widow and turned to watch Jan, who was picking up every spare bowling ball and testing their weights, before commenting on the balls all being too big and settling on the lowest weight. Jackie, next to her, was giggling at her comment.

“You like them, now that you met them?”

“I hate to admit it, but yeah,” Widow chuckled. “They’re all really, uhm –“

“Exuberant? Energetic?”

“Loud,” Widow chuckled again. “I’m getting a headache. But – they’re all so nice as well.”

They were interrupted by a whoop of joy and a leap in the air; Jan had somehow managed a strike with her tiny ball and was twirling on the spot, her blonde hair spinning a whirlwind round her face and shoulders.

“Your girlfriend – Jan – is she your colleague as well?” Widow motioned to Jan.

“No, I met her through Brita.”

“And the three students? Sorry, I can’t remember their names.”

“I can’t discuss the case, but I met them through work.”

“And the girl with blue hair?”

“That’s Dahlia’s girlfriend, Rock.”

“Rock?” Widow repeated. “As in, rock solid? Rock ‘n’ roll?”

“Yeah,”

Widow’s eyes moved between them all on the opposite lane. Gigi was lazily twirling a finger through one of Crystal’s curls, while Crystal gazed enraptured at the scoreboard, for once still and silent; Gigi seeming to be the only person able to quieten her. Aiden, whose turn it was, held a bowling ball to her torso and was trying to keep a straight face as Brita, stood next to her, held another ball and was somewhat innocently demonstrating which fingers were best to use for the holes.

In their own lane, Jan and Jackie were calling to Nicky, whose turn it was; but Nicky was curled under Heidi’s arm in the booth next to them, her long legs swung over Heidi’s lap, holding her phone and scrolling down while they both stopped for a few seconds, chuckling at whatever was on the webpage they were going through.

Jaida smiled at Widow’s bemused expression. “You’ll get used to them.”

——

THE END

[fallinnflower]

fresh start

young k x reader (non-idol!au, college!au, fuckboi!brian, request)

a/n: i got an anon request for a flirty fuckboi brian, and the request got a little out of hand. i’m not very good at writing our resident fox boy as a bad guy...

By all accounts, you and Brian Kang should be good friends. You literally share a best friend and are in the same degree program — so anyone would come to the logical conclusion that you and Brian get along. You might even be pretty similar. 

If anyone were to say this to you, you’d probably vomit on their shoes. Because Brian Kang is kind of an asshole to you, and you don’t even know why. 

See, the first time you had a class with him you were so excited! Jae had told you all about his best friend Brian, and that you were both getting a business degree, but when you walked in the room Brian glared right at you. 

You sat as far away as possible. It didn’t stop him from glaring at you literally all the time. You wondered if he hated you for being Jae’s friend or something. Were you stealing Jae away? 

The two of them were in a band together, and whenever you went to their shows you would congratulate Brian without being able to look him in the eyes. Not that it mattered, or that he noticed, because he was always swarmed by girls (and some guys) after the shows. He always looked a lot happier surrounded by his adoring fans, and you deduced his ego must be fucking huge. 

So you decided to hate Brian Kang! Simple as that. If the guy wanted to glare at you and openly play with people’s hearts in front of you, he was just asking for it, right? 

You never told Jae why you hated Brian. You never brought up all the glaring after the first day, when you were dejected and confused, and you certainly never told him about the times Brian would be staring/glaring at you in class and suddenly bite or lick his lips like you were some meal. 

It was gross. You thought he was such a tool. But Jae didn’t need to think that about his best friend; so you never said anything, and he never asked. 

At least, not for over a year, anyways. 

At least once during this year, Jae tells Brian to try being nice to you because he’s sick of having to divide his time. And Brian tries — he really does, but you… don’t seem to notice.

He takes a seat beside you in one of your many shared courses, and you immediately give him a look he can only describe as disdain. However, Brian doesn’t see your facial expressions up close much; or maybe you’re just joking around because you’re friends with Jae. To avoid sounding too loud in the lecture hall, he scoots his seat closer to yours, offering up a winning smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” he starts, and you don’t even look in his direction. He leans forward on the desk, trying to catch your eye. “Nice shirt. That’s a good color on you.”

“Thanks. Stole it from Jae.” The flatness of your tone makes it almost impossible for Brian to know what to do, but he laughs anyways. You give him the deadliest look he’s even seen when he does this. 

“Yeah,” he replies, running a hand nervously through his hair. He thinks he sees you wrinkle your nose at him. Is his cologne too strong or something? He suddenly worries that you’re allergic and leans back a little. “You and Jae are pretty close.”

“Mhmm.” You turn your attention to the front of the lecture hall as the professor walks in, but Brian’s eyes linger on you. He wonders if today is a bad day. The two of you do have a pretty important quiz in this class today, so maybe you’re just stressed. Either way, he feels bad for imposing on you.

He scoots his chair back out a little, and sniffs self-consciously at his shirt.

“Hey, we’re having a party Friday night. You in?” Jae asks, snagging another fry off your plate. You swat at his hand. 

“Yeah, sure.” You pause for a second, then look up at Jae. “Is… is Brian gonna be there?” Jae looks up at you like you’re a dumbass. Maybe you are. 

“Well, he lives there, so.” At his response, you pick up a fry and dunk it in ketchup, hurriedly shoving it into your mouth. The whole time you feel Jae’s questioning gaze on you. He doesn’t really know what beef you have with Brian — not that you really know, either, except that he seems to hate you and has a pretty bad reputation with girls in general — but the fact that you avoid his housemate like the plague is starting to get too obvious to ignore.

“What’s your problem with him, anyways?” Jae asks. You shrug and shove another fry into your mouth, stalling. As you go to reach for yet another, Jae slides the plate to his side of the table, watching you expectantly. With a sigh, you beckon him closer, both of you leaning across the table conspiratorially.

“Isn’t he, like, a total fuckboi?” You ask. Jae immediately freezes, his eyes going wide,

“A what?!” He asks, and when you repeat yourself he bursts into raucous laughter, totally undoing any inconspicuousness you two had going for you. You sink into your chair, embarrassed, but still manage to glare at him.

“What! Everyone says he just uses your band’s fans. Leads them on and shit.” You think about how he always seems to be glaring at you in class, and the one time you caught him licking his lips while doing so; or the one time he sat by you on a quiz day just to compliment you and probably cheat off your test or something. Classic dick move. However, while you’re mulling this over, Jae is taking off his glasses to wipe the tears away.

“Ah, man, oh my god. Y/N, I think that’s the funniest shit you’ve ever said to me.” After composing himself with another one of your french fries, he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Brian is way too soft to be a fuckboi. Trust me.” 

You want to argue, but you realize how absolutely pointless it is. Jae lives with Brian, so obviously he would know if Brian had girls around all the time or was going to theirs — if there’s anyone in your life who would know what Brian’s deal is, it’s him.

“But, then… why?” You ask meekly, miserably reaching for another fry. Jae shrugs.

“The rumors? Some girl asked him out freshman year and he rejected her,” he says. “Brian’s too nice to do anything about it.” As you avert your gaze in shame, you happen to catch a glimpse of a clock on the wall. Realizing your next class is coming up soon, you stand up and grab your bag.

“Alright,” you say, looking down at Jae. “I’ll be there Friday.” He breaks into a smile.

“Sick.” 

You almost walk away without your fries, but you don’t think Jae deserves them after laughing at you like that. So you go back for them.

Making up with Brian Kang was going to be way harder than you thought. 

First off, now that you knew what you knew, you felt so awful you couldn’t even look at him! Second, he was pretty scarce at the party, seemingly just moving around the room checking on people constantly. By the time you managed to catch up to him (or him to you, really), you were wasted and had almost fallen into a wall. Brian managed to snag your elbow and pull you towards him, so you fell into his chest rather than their drywall. 

Upon seeing it’s him you let out a little gasp and grab his bicep excitedly. 

“Brian!” He laughs at that,

“Hey, Y/N. You okay?” You pout, probably way more exaggeratedly than you should. 

“No,” you start, and as he begins to look nervous you grasp his arm tighter and continue. “I wanted to say sorry.” He blinks at you. 

“What for?”

“For think you were a fuckboi!” You wail, swaying slightly. If not for your grip on his arm you probably would’ve crashed to the ground. Brian’s brow furrows. 

“A... a what?”

“A fuckboi!” You repeat loudly, leaning in close to his ear, and as you do you miss the way his whole face seems to turn red. 

“How drunk are you, Y/N?” He asks, gently steadying you with his hands on your shoulders now, and you beam proudly. 

“I outdrank Jae!”

Brian blinks at you again, his mind going to where Jae is passed out in the bathtub already, and wonders how you’re still standing. 

“Come on, we should get you home,” he says. “Did you come with someone?” 

“My roommate left me,” you respond, and as Brian tries to walk you towards the door you take hold of his bicep again, more tightly now. 

“No~,” you wail. “I don’t wanna go outside. It’s cold.”

If you weren’t so trashed, you’d be able to see how conflicted Brian looks before he decides to bring you upstairs. He unlocks his bedroom (the master, because he’s the one who put the deposit down on this place), and gently leads you in. 

It takes at least twenty minutes to convince you to change your clothes, and Brian has to squeeze his eyes shut and cover them with one hand so you’ll actually do it — but you need his other arm for support the whole time. Then, for some reason, you decide you want to brush your teeth instead of staying in bed where he put you while he went to get water, and he comes back just in time to see you fall on your ass in the bathroom. You don’t seem fazed at all. 

And then, you finally fall asleep. 

You wake up in the morning in a room you don’t recognize, in clothes that aren’t yours, and with a terrible headache. As you’re trying to get back to sleep, the door creaks open and your eyes meet Brian’s. 

You sit up immediately. 

“Morning,” he greets. He sets some painkillers and a mug of coffee down on the bedside table for you. You’re still staring wide-eyed at him. “How’re you feeling? Are you sore at all?”

You want to die. 

“Am I what?” You squeak out, dragging his sheets up to your chest. Brian stares at your for a moment, then suddenly his face turns red and he shakes his head. 

“No— no I mean, you fell in the bathroom last night and I... I thought you might have a bruise or something.” 

You take a little solace in the fact that you both feel awkward about your current predicament, but that only helps marginally. You swallow hard, both of you just staring at the other, unsure of what to do. 

“So uh, are these your clothes?” 

“Yeah,” he says, awkwardly. You shift awkwardly in his bed, biting your lip and averting your eyes. 

“Did we… did we sleep together?” Brian furrows his brows. 

“No. I slept on the floor.” It’s at that that you can finally look at him again, this time pinning him with a sharp gaze. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

He turns red again. 

“O-oh. No. You were drunk, I wouldn’t do that.” After a pause, he speaks up again, “Is that what a fuckboi would do?”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god.”

“It’s okay!” He says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t realize you felt that way.” With your face still half-buried in his sheets, you look up at him and break into a little smile. He looks so concerned, you wonder how you ever thought he was a bad person when he cares so much about something like this. 

From this close you can see how pretty he is, even without his concert makeup — and honestly you’re realizing his glaring is just how his sleep-puffy eyes look. You feel pretty dumb. 

“We’re kinda stupid, aren’t we?” You ask. Brian laughs a little and runs his hand through his hair, letting his bangs fall into his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Wanna start over?” He nods,

“I’d like that.” The two of you shake hands, both giggling, and then Brian stands up. 

“So, Y/N,” he says, with a blindingly brilliant smile. “Are you a pancake or waffle person? I made both, don’t worry.” 

And suddenly, you think you and Brian are gonna get along just fine as you follow him downstairs for breakfast.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Also on AO3

[Prologue][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5]

[Chapter 6]

Lio’s new roommates are pretty normal upon a first impression.

Gueira and Meis are assigned to different rooms as well; perhaps it is done on purpose to encourage them to mingle around with others. At any rate, Lio’s not too bothered. As long as he’s staying with people who know how to respect boundaries and keep their mess to themselves, he’s got no complaints.

The enrollment day of fire training isn’t too eventful. They're made to sit through hours of briefings once they report in and leave their belongings in their rooms, they’re given tours across the facility. It doesn’t take long for the excited faces around Lio to slowly dim as boredom and exhaustion set in. Lio finds himself stifling some yawns of his own and suppressing a growing tinge of annoyance. The main instructor in charge of their orientation is trying too hard, speaking too loud, and being too obnoxious. There really isn’t a need to project such a forced image of toughness just to convince them that their regimen would be grueling; Lio’s sure everyone who’s signed up and passed the physical screenings are fully aware of what they’re getting themselves into.

He diligently sits through the entire program nonetheless, even making sure to take notes when necessary. Their daily schedule begins at six in the morning and ends at five in the evening. Classes are interspersed between physical training, lessons consisting of the basics and the theoretical sides of firefighting and rescue work. Trainees are allowed to eventually choose from a handful of electives as well, mainly on mission strategy, Gear piloting, and equipment maintenance. Their eligibility to choose between streams are dependent on their scores for each screening test segment.

Lio didn’t struggle too much on the written exams—those lessons during his detention did end up helping him—but he must admit to have ran into some troubles during the physical ones. He’s a bit stiffer compared to a few years back, his reaction time seems to be slightly slower than he remembers. His muscle strength and endurance seem to have improved from all the time spent doing community service, though, but Lio personally isn’t happy with how he can’t seem to pull off more explosive movements like he used to easily.  

It frustrates him, not being able to move the way he did when he’s just a little younger. It makes him wonder just how much had he depended on the Promare, and how much of his abilities then had been his own prowess.

He forces himself not to think too much about it. All he has to do is train harder if he’s that unsatisfied with his physical capabilities. He no longer has the luxury of moping around.

Lio’s enrolled into the FDPP’s academy under special circumstances, with the help of Galo and his team captain vouching for him. His expenses are covered through a grant—a scholarship of sorts. Everything he needs while training is supplied to him free of charge as long as he meets the performance standards expected of him. He's to take up extra lessons to earn his driver’s license on Sundays, the only full free day given to trainees. Lio knows he wouldn’t have the time and energy to think of unnecessary matters.

His day ends with a simple meal with his brothers at the dorm cafeteria. Gueira and Meis offer to keep him company for just a while longer, but Lio’s had enough social interaction for the day. He itches for a shower, eager to finally catch his breath and settle down to the music of a rhythm game.

Until he remembers he’s not with his usual source of music. And he still doesn’t own a phone yet.

Lio spends his entire time in the shower stall wondering how he should pass the night.

When he returns to his room later, the atmosphere there is...odd, to say the least. All three of his roommates are there, seemingly have been talking fervently among themselves when Lio enters. They stare at him intently, and he stares back, raising an eyebrow in question.

Two of them then turn away to exchange gazes among themselves, and they leave the room without another word. Lio doesn’t pay mind to any of it, stepping aside to make way. They're not the first ones who gradually recognized who he is and stared. Lio’s already ignored a dozen frowns directed at him from the older trainees and even some of the instructors. People are going to judge his decision based on his past as a Burnish, it can’t be helped. What's important that he himself maintains a clear grasp of his own goals and motivations.

“You’re the Burnish leader, Lio Fotia.”

Lio regards his remaining roommate, a boy several years younger than himself. What he senses from him isn’t the animosity he’s used to dealing with whenever someone remembers who he used to be, but rather a buzz of...excitement? Lio can no longer see where this conversation would go.

“I was,” he answers evenly, confusion growing when the boy looks at him even more starry-eyed.

“I knew it!! I thought you looked familiar when I saw you this morning!” his roommate hypes, and at this point Lio’s thought process has completely crashed. The boy then extends his hand towards him, face red. “I really!! Admire you!!”

Now this is really not within expectations.

“I’m?? Honored??” Lio hesitantly shakes, half wondering if this kid has somehow jumbled up his figures of admiration. “But can I ask, whatever for?”

His roommate retracts his hand and cradles it close, looking like he’s decided he’s never going to wash it ever again. “Um?? I just think you’re really cool!!! Fighting for your people like that!!” He then seems to abruptly notice his own intensity and grows embarrassed, averting his gaze and rubbing his nose with the joint of his finger.

“Sorry, I was still kinda young when I read about you on the news so maybe I’m still influenced by my past naivety,” he says, sullen before he perks up again. “But I still think you’re amazing, though!! Especially when you turned yourself in, my respect for you really skyrocketed when that happened!”

“It’s honestly nothing to be admired for,” Lio protests weakly, also getting sheepish as the conversation progresses. He's truly not used to receiving such genuine sentiments from strangers, much less from someone who wasn’t once Burnish themselves. “It was just something I thought I had to do.”

“It’s because you were willing to take responsibility that I’m so impressed!” His roommate insists. “You owned up even though the things you’ve done have been largely circumstantial. And that’s right after you saved the world! That must’ve taken a lot of pride and courage.”

“It really wasn’t—” Lio begins but is immediately cut off with a louder “It is!!! Incredible in my eyes!! Please at the very least accept my appreciation!!”

And what else can he do other than try not to get even more flustered and mutter a thank you? He really is too helpless in the face of people who aggressively throw praises at him like this.

“And another thing!!” The boy continues, and holy heck this kid is even more of a hurricane than Galo, Lio couldn’t help but think as he only blinks and lets himself be swept away by the flow. “How close are you to Galo Thymos??”

This, though, Lio’s expected to hear at least once while he’s here. Galo’s the super rookie of his team when he first started, the hero of Promepolis within a mere few years of being in service. With the sheer amount of merchandise Lio has stumbled upon while he wandered the streets and peeked into shops, he doesn’t doubt there’s at least one person in fire training who looks up to him. He's basically the local celebrity!

“We’re friends,” Lio answers, not one to reveal more unnecessary information that may cause troublesome misunderstandings. He figures if he mentions about being housemates with Galo for a bit the poor guy would lose his mind.

Sure enough, just knowing that they’re still in contact with each other almost sends his roommate into a fit. He makes an odd noise at the back of his throat, face growing redder with excitement.

“What kind!! Of a person is he???”

And for a moment, Lio’s stumped. It’s not a question he can answer as offhandedly as before. Galo...isn’t someone who could be summarized within a handful of words. Lio is certain that he’s yet to see many more sides of him; parts of him he may like, parts of him he may not. There’s still so much more to know, so much more to learn about.

“He’s as you see him on TV.” Lio makes his way to the bottom bunk he’d called dips on, taking a seat at the edge of his mattress. “Loud, obnoxious. Confident.”

He doesn’t notice how his tone softens as he goes on.

“He’s dumb, but not stupid. He's got an annoying habit of butting into people’s business, always trying to help even when it’s got nothing to do with him.”

He’s selfless, ambitious. He’s a nerd for his interests. He cooks well and keeps his home surprisingly tidy. He eats too much pizza for his own good. He’s too reckless for his own good.

“You seem really fond of him,” Lio’s told in the end. His roommate seems bemused, like he realized he’s accidentally stumbled upon something a bit too private. Lio ponders over his words for a moment. Well, yeah. He is fond of him. Otherwise he wouldn’t spend quite so much time with him, now would he?

“He’s been really good to me,” Lio says, hugging his elbows. “I hope to make it all up to him one day.”

“I’m sure you will!” His roommate assures, and he only smiles slightly in response.

“I’ll do my best.”

They engage in a little more small talk before Lio excuses himself, climbing on fully onto his bed and pulling the curtains shut. He lies on his side, pillow in his arms. Breathe in deeply, then out. Over and over.

He didn’t think he still remembers how to feel homesick.

xXx

The hardest part about fire training is arguably having to wake up at five in the morning to compete for the washrooms and shove breakfast down his throat within an hour.

Apart from that, though? Lio would say he’s doing pretty good. Physical training is tough, but he doesn’t think it’d kill him. He's used to physically demanding construction work, being almost constantly at it for five years. His current regimen might make use of completely different sets of muscles, but Lio’s long learnt to pace himself well and to avoid thinking of doing things like it’s a competition.

Most trainees seem to have been athletes as far as he can tell, all having the physiques one would expect to need for fire training. This also means that the younger ones in particular, are keen on showing off to one another throughout the first few days. Rivalries are declared and coarse encouragements are exchanged, and Lio can’t help marveling at how carefree youths could be, to treat job training like it’s some sort of social activity. They'll be stuck together for the next three months or so; he supposes it probably is worth building rapport among each other for the long term.

Speaking of rapport, Lio discovers the reason why his two other roommates left the room after a single look at him the night before. It turns out that they were trying to decide if Lio really is the Mad Burnish Lio, and upon finding out that he is and that the remaining guy is a huge fan, they just didn’t bother staying behind to watch him fanboy. It’s truly something Lio could never have imagined, but it’s nice to know that not every non-Burnish who recognizes him hates his guts. As insignificant as it is, it makes his chest feel just a little lighter.

Lio’s first week passes in a flurry of activities, each so new and energy-consuming that he could hardly stay upright at the end of each day. It’s almost impossible to muster enough focus to go over the textbook materials they’ll be quizzed on when he is uncomfortably aware of every muscle on his body and they are all aching. Lio has to admit that he does grow a little discouraged especially when the nightly headaches begin—until he remembers that even Galo has managed to pass the same program.

Now he definitely can’t lose. Even if it means developing a coffee addiction along with Meis and Gueira.

Sunday eventually rolls around, and Lio finishes his first driving lesson without a hitch. It’s just an online course about road rules and other such theoretical information regarding driving, held within the training facility’s computer lab over three hours. Lio’s supposed to revise the course contents over the week and pass the exam next Sunday if he wants to progress to the hands-on part of the lessons. He's not too worried about either; traffic rules seem straightforward enough to remember and he’s familiar with riding a motorcycle. He might be a little rusty after having not used his beloved Detroit for so long, but he’s confident he won’t fail. Mostly.

At any rate, that’s for future him to worry about. Present him exits the room with a slight, subconscious bounce in his steps, glad that his week is finally over. His heartbeat quickens just a little from anticipation as he heads toward the gates.

He hears the ruckus before he sees it. Galo’s standing to one side of the facility entrance, and he’s currently surrounded by a small group of excited firefighter trainees asking for autographs and training tips. He glances up just as Lio approaches, and his grin widens the moment he spots him.

“Sorry, you guys—I'll have to be going now!” he announces with an apologetic laugh. The trainees around him are fortunately understanding enough to instantly give him space, though they do give Lio strange looks when they realize he’s the one Galo’s been waiting for. The only one who speaks up is Lio’s roommate who also happens to be there, cheerfully telling him to have a great time and to be safe while he’s outside.

“Lio, you’ve made a friend!” Galo observes excitedly once they walk a bit further off to look for a place to eat. Lio wonders if it really is something that warrants that much disbelief in his voice.

“He’s my roommate,” he says, the corners of his lips curling upwards, nonetheless. “Kid’s pretty nice.”

“Look at you already going around getting along with people!!” Galo swings an arm across Lio’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. “You need to tell me everything that’s been going on while you were gone!!”

Lio’s now used to this sort of contact with him, their close proximity a comfort he realizes he misses just lately. He lets himself indulge in the moment for bit before protesting halfheartedly. “Galo, it’s hard to walk like this.”

“Right, right.” Galo withdraws his arm, and Lio bites back a wince when cold air immediately fills his absence. “Sorry, it just feels like I haven’t seen you in a while?”

“It’s only been a week,” Lio reminds him, though he can’t say he doesn’t understand. It’s only been a week, yet the sleepy mornings and quiet nights and soft “welcome home”s and “I’m home”s already feel so far gone. It feels like Lio hasn’t heard the jingle of Galo’s mobile game in forever, hasn’t humored Galo’s unpredictable energy spikes in a long while. His days have never felt quite complete ever since he left the apartment.

His days have never felt quite complete without Galo in them.

They keep up their idle chatter all the way until they find an eatery they both fancy. Lio waits until they’re seated and have made their orders before he continues sharing about the shenanigans he’s witnessed during fire training, the friendly rivalries going all around, the one time Gueira ingested so much coffee to study for a surprise quiz that he was out of it for the next day and a half. Galo’s a great listener as always, knowing well where and how to react, never shy about sharing his own anecdotes of mischief he’s seen and participated in back when he was training himself. It’s been quite a number of years since Galo attended the academy, yet so many things seem to remain unchanged. The system, the course contents, the facilities—and the trainee behaviors most of all.

Lio finds it all strangely fascinating.

“But all that aside,” Galo takes a sip of his melon soda, “I think you really are amazing, Lio.”

Lio doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to this compliment coming from Galo in particular. “What’s with that again, all of the sudden?”

“No, it’s just that it’s been on my mind for a while and—” Galo fiddles with his fingers, pausing a split second to gather his thoughts— “You’re already doing so well even though you looked so lost just a little more than a month ago! I’m just really glad that you seem to have found a goal again.”

“And who do you think helped me the most to get where I am now?” Lio places his elbow on the table and rests his chin against his palm, a lopsided smile across his lips as he gazes at Galo. “You’ll always be the most amazing one in my eyes, Galo. People look up to you, people strive to be like you. You stay true to yourself no matter what you face.”

And I’ve always thought that someone like me will never be worthy of staying by your side.

Galo frowns the moment he catches the words Lio muttered last, ready to argue when Lio speaks first.

“But I don’t want to give up,” he declares, adjusting his posture to sit a little straighter, a little prouder. “I’ll catch up to you soon enough.”

And at that, Galo grins, eyes bright. “I’ll be looking forward to that, then!”

Then as his elation fades, he seems to suddenly recall something. There’s a sly lilt to his voice when he speaks again. “Though, aren’t you being the romantic one this time, Lio?”

Lio gets the reference soon enough, and tilts his head in feigned innocence. “Why? Did it sound like a romantic confession?”

“Well, yeaaah.” Galo crosses his arms and squints, familiar enough with Lio by now to recognize certain signs indicating his verbal traps. “Kinda.”

Lio, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as bothered. “Good. I suppose it is one.”

...

“Huh?”

Lio remains calm, mostly because his brain hasn’t exactly caught up to his mouth just yet in the heat of the moment. He watches Galo’s reaction in fond amusement, heart beating just a tad faster as the words tumble out on their own, unrestrained as though freed by the realization that has finally dawned him.

“I’m in love with you, Galo.”

[milomeepit]

An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

[inuyashasnook]

Feral - Chapter Two

I’m pretty sure that I’ll try to upload this series every Sunday. However, I can’t make the promise it’ll always be released on time due to the fact that I’m pretty much always on call for work. I absolutely need this summer job even if the schedule is pretty crappy since I’m applying to vet school in September and need a secondary vet on my application. Oh well. My s/o is also on weird night-shift schedules 7 on/ 7 off, possibly changing to 10 on/4 off out of town, and since I haven’t seen him for the last 4 months really, I want to spend some time with him. Plus, I’m the process of adopting an adorable kitten, in two Saturdays from now, so I’ll be missing in action that entire weekend since she’s 10 hours away from where I currently live.

So, I’ll try my best to stick to this schedule, but it might not always be feasible.  

I also want to thank everyone for the kind words and all the positive feedback on this story so far! It really warms my heart! I originally had no idea how this story idea would turn-out, but I’m glad people enjoy it!

I’ve been editing this for over 8 hours and I’m certain it’s still covered in grammatical errors. I apologize! 

»»———————————————- ♡ —————————————««
 Feral: Chapter 2 // FF.net Rating: M (nothing graphic, a bit more suggestive than the last chapter)

<< Previous Chapter // Next Chapter >>

After the tub had finished filling with warm water at a level she deemed acceptable, the professor figured it was time to invite over her new housemate. She’d have to think of a clever way of luring him out because he had taken off the second he had realised what was about to happen.

He was just like a puppy - curious at first, but gone in a flash at the sudden sight of danger.

Kagome scanned the bathroom for the nearly naked figure. Nowhere in sight. 

The woman grunted in displeasure at his sudden decision to finally not be in her way. That annoying dog hadn’t left her line of sight all day and he was finally choosing now for his great escape when she needed him. 

She peeked around the corner of the doorframe. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the dimly light corridor. 

Her next stop- the living room. She scanned every nook and cranny of the area, turning over her fuzzy blankets, checking behind the chic cream-colored leather couch. He was not here either. 

The same could be said of the kitchen. The white-haired man had not chosen to hide in her barren fridge or one of her cluttered cupboards. There was still no sight of the half-demon anywhere.

How could someone that had pestered her all day disappear just as suddenly?

The last place she determined was an acceptable hiding place for a full-grown man was her bedroom, which she had purposely locked earlier that morning to prevent him from going inside. This time, she was certain she had double-checked the door on her way to fill the tub and she couldn’t blame it on her sleep-laden brain like she had done the previous night.

When she turned the knob to test the door and make sure she truly wasn’t losing her marbles, it was unlocked.  

Kagome carefully opened her creaking bedroom door, examining the room under a very inquisitive eye. Her bedcovers were still in order, tucked in from when she had made her bed. None of her furniture was displaced, moved or their contents jumbled. 

Where o’ where could he have run off to?

A sudden movement under the bed caught her attention. She quickly dropped on all fours and brought her face close to the ground to get to the eye-level of the man that was now hiding under her bed.

He hastily turned his head to face hers, ears pressed towards his forehead to prevent them from scraping against the bottom of the furniture piece. He had his arms tucked neatly under his chest, resembling a cat loaf. He didn’t growl at her, but his scrunched facial features and curled lips radiated displeasure. 

“C’ mon! Come out from out of there and take a bath. You stink,” Kagome pleaded as she lightly tapped the floor in front of her to get him to come forward as if he was a pet dog.

The white-haired man wouldn’t budge. His golden orbs exuded determination. There was no way this human would get him to move a centimeter from where he was situated. What surprised him is when she temporarily left her crouched position and the room entirely. Kagome didn’t strike him as a woman who gave up so easily when she wanted something.

Tracking her movements around the house proved difficult because of his compromised position. He couldn’t quite tell where the padding of her footsteps was coming from.  

She returned a minute or two later with something that smelled delectable. 

Meat.

And she waved it right in front of his nose. 

His nose twitched a few times while his eyes fixated on the source of the scent. This allowed her to know that he had realised she had a treat for him. 

Kagome mentally and physically prepared herself to pull the piece of bacon away from him when she felt the need to. She had seen how fast her test subject could be. 

The professor slowly backed it away at first, wiggling the piece of meat further and further away from him, making the man inch forward. The half-demon couldn’t extend a clawed hand out due to his compromised position, and this was frustrating him. A low rumbling noise resembling that of a cat growling was slowly being emitted by the tucked-in figure trapped under the bed.

Her plan was working marvelously. 

As the white-haired man was nearing the edge of the bed, she bounced up from being crouched on her knees and took off running towards the bathroom as she figured she wouldn’t have long until he caught up with her. 

With the bathtub in sight and her socks sliding on the varnished bathroom tiles offering her little traction, this made it difficult for her to reach her goal. It was near, but it might not be near enough.  

The creature was only a few centimeters behind her. She could feel his presence behind her, causing the strands of hair at the nape of her neck to rise suddenly. The coiling of her stomach leading her to believe his aura was almost��inhuman.

It wasn’t right. It was different.  

Not wasting another second, she threw the few pieces of bacon she had clutched within her hand, praying that the man would not beat her in grabbing them before they fell in the tub. Kagome exhaled at once, releasing the breath she had been holding when she heard the distinct sound of a small object hitting the water. 

Success!

A heartbeat later, she noticed a flash of white lunge for the pieces of bacon she had thrown in the bathtub. As his body hit the bottom of the porcelain structure ungracefully, the water splashed accordingly. Kagome’s bathroom walls were completely soaked, but hey—at least she had gotten him where she had wanted him. 

He had snatched the pieces of meat floating lazily in the tub and was ravenously wolfing it down, leaving him distracted while Kagome approached him. It was too late to back away from her when he noticed she was only a few centimeters away from him, holding a piece of cloth within her hand and a strange plastic bottle in the other. He sniffed in the bottle's direction a few times when she squeezed a decent-sized drop of the bottle’s content onto the surface of the cloth. A floral scent hit his nostrils at full force. It smelled just like her. 

She had never hurt him yet. Actually, it was quite the opposite so far. She had fed him and offered him a warm place to stay, especially since the air outside had gotten rather crisp as of late. She didn’t seem like the rest of the humans so far, running away at the mere sight of him. 

But, he couldn’t let his guard down. Enemies always struck when their target’s guards were lowered. 

The dog-eared man growled in protest and barred his jagged teeth when the professor first approached him with the piece of cloth. Their pitch slowly receded as the soft material contacted his barren skin, slowly rubbing circles. The water was lukewarm, unlike the frozen water he had been bathing in for his entire life up to this point, enhancing the comforting feeling of the bathing experience. 

It felt so soft. It was almost as if he was being stroked by his mother’s delicate and caring touch. How long had it been since they took away her from him? Plus, it’s not like he’d complain about being smothered in her smell.  

Too proud to admit defeat by such simple actions, the man huffed and looked away from the woman’s deep brown eyes. Kagome. Her voice emitted sounds he couldn’t understand, but she used a very reassuring tone while she continued to wash him from head to toe. He didn’t understand what she was trying to accomplish by running the wet cloth all over him, or what she was saying, but he would not protest or run away. If she would waste her time being in his presence, that would be her problem. 

Kagome blushed furiously as her prediction had come true. The man did not seem to know how to wash himself. It had been surprisingly easier to get him to sit still while she actively scrubbed his back. He didn’t fight her like a cat submerged in water would, which was how she imagined him reacting.

The hardest part of the whole experience, after that of getting him in the tub, had been to add shampoo to his hair. He was very sensitive around the area where his ears protruded, causing her to have to reassure him multiple times before he allowed her to lather up the stands that surrounded that area. 

His white mane was extremely matted and caked in dirt, so Kagome decided she’d have to add conditioner to his silky hair, hoping it would help her remove the knots after it had air-dried. She decided it was a bad idea to introduce a loud hair-blower right away, for fear it would startle him too much. She didn’t want to push her luck since he was already very skittish and on-guard.

The only place she had left to wash was there. There was no way she’d stoop that low and wash another man’s privates. Hell no. 

Sensing the distress in the woman beside him, he detected the changes in her scent having piqued in a way he’d never smelled in a human before, along with the distinct aroma of salty sweat. He turned back to face her, his ears perked and ready, helping him assess the surrounding situation. Eyes glancing around the tile-laden room, he tried to distinguish for any source of movement that wasn’t the woman. Had a danger appeared and escaped his watchful eye?  

What he felt next made the hairs on his arms and legs stand up. The woman had shoved her hand between his legs, at the level where his cloth draped around his hips. He jerked his head to look at her straight in the eyes, his irises enlarging and his face flushing to shades of a deeper and deeper red. The white-haired man’s ears jutted forward, like those of a German Shepherd puppy’s who hadn’t grown into them yet. His breathing hitched and his heartbeat thundered in his chest.

His clawed hand met hers, snatching the cloth from her slender fingers. This caused Kagome to retract her arm as quickly as she had laid it there, turning around and giving her companion the privacy he deserved. The professor also mentally noted that he seemed to be aware of the intimacy and delicacy of that. She fidgeted, her fingers and feet twitching nervously while she turned her back to the man. 

“Are you done?” she asked inquisitively, unsure what kind of answer her feral friend would return, inquiring mostly to calm her own nerves.

The room had grown into an awkward silence. The noise of the water droplets falling off of the man’s figure was the only thing grounding her and preventing her from running out of shame from her own bathroom.

She peeked over her shoulder and her eyes met those of tomato coloured half-demon. He faced her for only a few seconds, returning his gaze at the bottom of the tub while sitting in a strange dog-like position, his knees raised and his hands completely submerged under water. His pair of triangular Akita ears twitched nervously.

“Ok, good. I’ll rinse you now, okay? Don’t freak out,” she continued in the softest voice she could muster, pushing herself off from her knees into a standing position. 

Kagome leaned over the bathtub and turned the silver handle, allowing the water to reach a temperature that wouldn’t freeze the poor man. She proceeded by opening the drain, letting the mud-filled water her companion had been sitting in to seep out and grabbed the adjustable shower head. After testing the temperature once more, she carefully rinsed off the suds covering his body. 

As she went to cover his ears as one would do when bathing a dog to prevent liquid from entering their ears, he helped her by instinctively flattening them. He didn’t pull away immediately at her touch. The professor counted this as major progress. She rinsed the remaining shampoo out of his hair and secured the shower head back to its wall mount. The next step was to add a few globs of conditioner to his animal-like hair. The white tuft adorning his head reminded her so much of her late cat Buyo’s fluffy coat.

After she completed her task at hand and every centimeter of soap was rinsed off, she turned off the shower. Kagome ambled towards the closed toilet lid, where she had deposited a large cream towel and a pile of neatly folded clothes. 

It was then she sensed that she had made a terrible mistake. It was already too late, and she knew what was coming. 

It hadn’t even been a few seconds before she heard and felt the droplets of water scatter.  

Every surface of her bathroom now found itself drenched as the man had attempted to dry himself off of like a freshly bathed dog would. He wasn’t the only wet dog in the room - her sweatpants and sweater were now damp from all the water he had sent hurtling around the bathroom. 

She glared at him, causing his ears to droop significantly. A mirror image of a puppy, uncertain about what he had done wrong. 

“Next time, use this. Towel. Tao-wull,” Kagome repeated a few times as she approached him, holding the drying cloth to ease draping it around his shoulders while presenting it to him. 

She delicately enveloped his body in the absorbent material, and he shuddered at her soft touch. 

She calmly showed him how to dry off, as if he were a child, rubbing his shoulders and back with the towel as a mother would, leaving him to do the rest. He tried to dry the remaining areas that were damp by imitating the back-and-forth movements she had shown him, but he’d successfully dried off most of the water off his body when he shook himself off earlier. 

After inspecting him for missed spots and deciding that he passed the dryness test, Kagome handed him a pair of boxer briefs and large sleeping shorts that her ex-boyfriend Hojo had left at her house. The professor also had a few oversized T-shirt she hoped would do the trick. She wasn’t sure how the overall ensemble would fit since Hojo had been shorter and much scrawnier than the man that stood a couple meters in front of her. She was also not sure how she’d get him to put them on. 

She glanced over at the tall, muscular figure standing in front of her. She exchanged his towel for the briefs, handing him the smaller piece of material. He stood in front of her; the briefs clutched into a clawed fist, giving her a very confused, but curious look. His head was cocked to the side, resembling a dog hearing a noise for the first time.

Figuring it was the best way to teach him, Kagome removed her sweatpants, stepped out of them and held them in front of her in a presenting manner. She slowly grabbed their hem and slid them back on, entering one foot at a time, hoping her new companion would get the message. 

“Go on, put them on instead of that dirty rag,” she pressed on, tilting her chin as if to give him permission to mimic her. 

The white-haired man still stared at her in puzzlement before glancing at the pair of boxers in his hands. Without a second more of hesitation, he wiggled his rear out of the piece of cloth he had been wearing for god knows how long, allowing them to drop on them the floor. He then slid the pair of boxers on, with difficulty, piercing a few holes in them in his attempts to tug them onto his muscular thighs as Kagome had done with her pants. 

Kagome tried not to stare at the spectacle unfolding in front of her. 

The half-demon was now wearing very tight boxer briefs, which she considered an improvement over the loose and torn up rag. It would have to do for now since she didn’t have any pants or shirts that would fit him to perfection. The professor was certain that regardless of the T-shirt she’d try to lend him, it would end up looking like a crop top on her very tall guest. Which they, in fact, did.

“Let’s go to bed,” she muttered to herself, yawning loudly. 

That had been enough excitement for a day she decided. 

»»———————————————- ♡ —————————————««


As Kagome opened the door to her bedroom and her companion tailed behind her, she was still trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements. She wasn’t certain about leaving him on his own in the living room again, or even the guest bedroom, but having a man sleeping in the same room as her gave her a bad feeling. 

Perhaps if she helped socialize him more to teach him right from wrong, he could get “promoted” and get his own bedroom in her guest room. She didn’t have faith in him just yet though, that was for certain. Not after yesterday’s or today’s events, anyway. 

Kagome sauntered towards her closet to pull out an oversized duvet and an extra futon which she dragged towards the opposing corner of her room. Glancing back at the white-haired man, she saw him lazily splayed across her bed.

Kagome wasn’t having any of it. Although his intentions might not have been bad, the psychology professor did not find this acceptable. She’d have to teach him the rules of her household one way or another if he wanted to keep staying with her. Sharing a bed was just a no-no. 

Sighing and ignoring him for now, she set up the guest bed in a manner that would still allow her to keep an eye on him would he be noisy or destructive, but far enough she considered acceptable in her eyes. 

“Look, you have to sleep here okay? My bed is off limits,” she told him while patting the down-filled duvet, emitting a soft thumping noise.

He didn’t look at her directly, but one of his fluffy ears rotated in her direction. She knew he had heard her, but made the conscious decision to ignore her completely. The nerve! 

Kagome crossed her arms, sighed audibly and shifted her weight to one hip to stress her displeasure. The man would have to listen to her whether or not he wanted to. 

Picking up on her annoyance because of her scent spiking and her audible grunts, he gave up looking at the brightly illustrated book he was contemplating. His amber eyes met hers, but he refused to budge, giving her a stern but confused look since he wasn’t understanding what she wanted of him this time. 

He was comfortably laying on a soft surface, relaxing and she wanted him to do something. Again. 

Why couldn’t this human just let him do as he pleased? He could destroy her entire living area in two simple swipes if he wanted to. Why didn’t she realise this?  

Figuring that he wouldn’t come down without her physically dragging him away, she walked towards the bed and remarked that he had one of her bedside books opened up and tucked under his left arm. There was no way he could read, was there? 

She concluded that he was probably just looking at the images. She extended an arm out and snatched the book to see which one he had picked.

Demons of Japan? What an interesting choice.

Her country had such a rich and interesting mythology. There were also so many terms to designate demons, gods and deities. She chuckled to herself while imagining the strange man lying atop her as an Inugami. He reminded her so much of the ones in the stories that her mother used to read her as a child.

Her companion wasn’t exactly a spirit though, reminding her more of a dog demon. A stupid demon dog that tore into her kitchen the previous day. 

Inuyasha. Maybe that’s what she should call him since he didn’t seem to have a name. She decided that he had to have one since she couldn’t keep referring to him as the stranger or the man. Kagome had no idea at what point the white-haired man had been ostracized from the human population and if he had even received a name at birth. 

“Inuyasha, that’s enough. Go to bed,” she commanded, pointing toward the freshly prepared futon that lay a few meters in front of the pair. 

His ears perked up, and he faced her with a surprised expression for a brief second. It didn’t take long before he scowled at her and rose. 

It seemed like the puny human wanted him to move to a location further away in the room. At least she had provided him with a place to stay, so he’d refrain from angering her too much, although seeing her furious entertained him quite a bit. Kagome had fed him and gave him these uncomfortable pieces of fabric to wear which kept him warm, not that half-demons ever got cold though, of course. He figured he’d have to show some sign of respect since this human had treated him better than any of them ever had before.

Plus, she had this stupid smell. She smelled so freaking good and he couldn’t understand why she did either. God damned dog nose. 

He growled and pinned back his ears as he heaved his body and limbs off of her bed, unhurriedly making his way to the futon she had prepared for him. Ungracefully, he dropped onto the pile of blankets and turned to face away from Kagome’s bed. 

Good. Then the professor wouldn’t have to fall asleep with Inuyasha, who was now cohabiting her room, staring at her while she fell asleep. 

Kagome shut off her bedside lamp and crawled under her own down-filled comforter. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt that comforting and pleasant weight of a blanket wrapping around her petite figure. Curling and uncurling her toes a few times while stretching her limbs allowed her to relax and gradually lull her into a deep slumber.  

»»———————————————- ♡ —————————————««


This morning would be a nerve-wracking one.

She’d have to leave Inuyasha unattended while she went shopping for clothes to dress him. There was no way she’d bring him out in public with him dressed in either just a simple cloth or clothes that were several sizes too small. While they nicely accentuated his muscles, she imagined that they mustn’t be too enjoyable to wear all day.

She figured as much as her new roommate had torn off all of his clothes throughout the night. He was sprawled across the blankets snoring softly while in his birthday suit. 

Of course, he wouldn’t make things easy for her. 

He seemed to be aware that she had awoken as his ears jotted in her direction again, twitching slightly as she ruffled her own blanket and slip out of the warmth her bed previously enveloped her with.

Kagome left the room to use the restroom, hearing an extra pair of footsteps behind her. Entering the bathroom, she closed the door on a pair of golden eyes and a perplexed expression. When she finished her business and opened the wooden door once more, they greeted her with the same curious face. He hadn’t budged. 

Figuring this would be as good of a time as ever, she seized his arm and gently tugged him towards the entrance of the bathroom. They both made their way towards the white porcelain toilet. 

“Inuyasha, this is a toilet. Toi-le-tte. This is where you use the restroom,” she explained slowly. 

Teaching him how to knock would come later she figured. For now, the basics.  

Kagome pulled up the toilette seat to demonstrate the first important step.

“Toi,” he decidedly managed to stutter while showing Kagome exactly how it was supposed to be used as he recognized the smell associated with the piece of furniture. 

Catching her completely off guard and rendering her flushed from head to toe, she turned away in a flash, covering her eyes as she spun her heels to face away from him. She didn’t want to get caught peeping at a man. He, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by answering to nature’s call in front of her.

Relax Kagome, he’s more of a child than anything. He’s just completing his body’s natural biological functions. Nothing more.

There was no way Inuyasha was a normal case of a feral child. He was simply too aware of her expectations and sentiments to fit the normal profile of one. The man was making progress too fast, rendering him an incredible test subject. Despite what was unfolding in her bathroom, her discovery thrilled her.

Kagome waited a few more seconds until everything was quiet, when she deemed it safe, turning around to see him flashing her a large toothy grin, proud of himself for catching on so quickly. He was opening up to her much more quickly than she’d ever imagined possible for someone who had been kept distant from society for such a long period of time. She’d definitely have to note all this after she fed him some breakfast. 

“Good job,” she cooed as would a mother to her child when they correctly used their potty chair for the first time. “Now you just have to wash your hands. Like this.”

She twisted the left knob adorning a white countertop sink and rinsed her hands in slow, exaggerated movements. Kagome then pushed some soap into her hands and leisurely rubbed the soap between each of her fingers. Inuyasha’s golden eyes focused on her hands, his attention not peeling away for a second. He tracked every one of her movements rhythmically as would a hawk ready to dig its talons into a mouse. 

The woman finished up by rinsing off the suds that had formed between her digits. She dried all the remaining water off with the help of a baby pink hand towel a few centimeters away from the tap.

“Now you try,” she gestured at the sink.

Unceremoniously, he completed the task at hand with near perfection when it came to washing his hands. He had, however, not accomplished this feat without leaving a lot of water marks on her freshly washed mirror from splashing as the man seemed to enjoy playing in the warm liquid more than anything. 

After cleaning the newly made mess up and finishing the necessary preparations, the pair had an uneventful breakfast. She didn’t manage to make him eat with the help of utensils, but his eating pace had slowed down slightly, not acting as if he was on the verge of starvation anymore. 

Closing up her freshly typed report with the many observations she had mentally noted earlier that morning, she prepared herself to go shopping for some clothes. Not knowing Inuyasha’s size, she determined that she’d most likely have to estimate it, hoping that she’d at least be able to bring home a few items that properly fit him. 

She hoped at the very least as she watched a butt-naked man lay across the carpet of her living room, scratching his back with a clawed hand, once again glued to the moving images of her television. 

[telebeast]

An Unwanted Gift (Mini Portal Fic)

My gift for @fallingthroughaperture for the Portal Secret Santa, organized by @portal-secret-santa! I’m sorry this is sort of late. I hope it’s not too short and it’s fun enough to satisfy! If you don’t mind, I was thinking of posting it to AO3 later.

This thing wasn’t on her Christmas list. In her opinion, the oven was fine, the fridge was alright, the radio was on thin ice, but this? This is too far.

Chell glared across the kitchen at the device. It sat, smugly, upon her countertop, taking up space. Its clean white panelling, glossy window and bright yellow display made her want it gone. The bright red bow stuck on top felt like an insult. It seemed to challenge her. ‘Go ahead,’ it said, ‘toss me out, waste a perfectly good gift, why don’t you? Show the world how ruthless you are. No kitchen appliance will be safe from Chell the destroyer’. It was silly. Really, she knew that. There was no way a simple device would pose a threat, even with an array of over the top modern features, from timers to heat sensors to microphones. Somehow, radio waves were involved somewhere. And yes, all this was supposedly supposed to make it a superior cooking device, but why? What kitchen appliance company nowadays would think that installing random stuff into these things would be an efficient use of money?

“You’ve been glaring at the microwave Joe got us for sixteen minutes now.” Her attention shot to the source of the noise, relaxing when she recognized a friend. He stood in the doorway, sipping at a cup of coffee. She and Doug had been housemates since their escape, and though his company was wanted (needed), she couldn’t help being a bit jumpy sometimes. It was nice, having him around. He was much cleaner and healthier nowadays and looked just as well as someone who hadn't spent ungodly amounts of time hiding in the walls of a laboratory eating god knows what and getting less than the recommended amount of sunlight. He was also wearing a rather tacky holiday sweater. It had the faces of famous artists on it and it looked terrible. He liked it.

So, he joined Chell on the floor, observing the device. The device, one could say, observed them back. Maybe.

“Logically speaking, there’s no reason why She would be connected to this thing,” He continued, “but it’s been giving me the creeps ever since Joe dropped it off. Did we ever make microwaves? I don’t see why we would. I wouldn’t trust Aperture to manufacture anything related to food, not after the accident with the gels and the high power blender... So… Hm. I suppose I can’t rationalize my dislike for the thing.” Chell watched Doug lean back against the wall, tearing his eyes away from the mechanical trespasser. “Our minds tell lies about false threats,” He said.

She pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. It was a silly issue, they both knew that. A microwave can’t control your life, try to kill you, or even bully you about your lack of parents. It’s silly. And yet, Chell had stood up and grabbed a cooking mallet from a nearby cutting board. She stood there, weapon in hand, standing over the thing that had been tormenting her for a full fifteen minutes.

“If you’re going to smash it,” Doug said, curling up around his coffee and screwing his eyes shut, “Do it outside? The glass, I don’t want it to get...”

She was ready. Ready to vanquish Her presence from her house. She raised the mallet and—

Bonk.

It tapped lightly against the clean white metal.

Doug opened an eye, watching her movements. The former test subject was walking away, pouring milk into a mug, adding something from a packet…

The mug was placed in the microwave, which Chell slammed forcefully.

“I’m making peppermint cocoa and you can’t stop me.” The statement was clear, and loud, and directed at the microwave. She set the time and started it. “...Chell?”

“Bet it sucks, not being able to drink cocoa, huh?”

“Uh, Chell?”

“Well too bad. Would you look at that? Poor robot is so powerful but can’t even have herself a tasty winter beverage. If you want some, you gotta come here,” She smiled. This was the most talkative she’d been in days. “Oh wait, you can’t. Maybe I’ll just tell you how good it tastes.”

“Chell, what are you doing?”

The microwave went ding, she removed her drink and turned to Doug.

“Teasing. It’s finally my turn.” “But, she can’t actually, logically be—”

“Close as I’ll get. My turn.” She grinned, taking a big sip.

~~~

Deep underground, someone was very, very unimpressed.

“I don’t even like peppermint.”

[cecke8]

Your Ginger Housemate - Part 11

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So this one took me a while to write just because of its content. I am trying to make more excitement to what happened and give Jerome a bit of a backstory. Hence the length of the story. Yes, it’s huge, but personally, I’m thrilled with this one. Please show me what you think, and requests are open!

Your eyelids were heavy, slowly drooping over your eyes, obscuring your vision and taking you to a dreamless sleep… hopefully. Although not eventful, the stress of having your parents stay inflicted over you was immense. The homicidal maniac you harboured every hour of the day was enough stress for a lifetime. Of course, even something as simple as a good nights sleep must, also, be too good to be true. Why? Well, the rain, on the one hand, had begun to pummel onto the roof - you’d never been able to sleep in the rain, yet you still chose Gotham. On the other hand, a figure at the doorway hindered the light you had come accustomed to sleeping with. 

‘Wait. What?!’

You bolted upright and opened your mouth to shout, but the figure lunged at you, covering your mouth and cutting any sound short. You began to panic, making muffled sounds behind the human muzzle.

“Oh c’mon doll, quit whining. It’s me. Who else, huh?”

You smacked his hand away from your face, humiliated and your heart pounding. Of course, it was him. No one else would come up here, not like they’d be able. You felt ridiculous for overreacting.

“Jerome, why the hell are you up here? And why the hell are you in my room?” You seethed, acutely aware of how casually he had taken refuge upon your bed.

“Y/n, have you ever tried to sleep in that basement? Hmm?” He tilted his head toward you, and although calm in demeanour, his voice was filled with accusation.

“Jerome, if my parents hear anything in here, they’ll come to check on me.”

“Don’t avoid the question.” He sang, bored. He must be really sick of your parental antics. “Wait, what? You are a grown human being whose parents still check on her?” 

You sighed, “It’s just… their parental instincts. But they will. Honest.” Part of you got his point though. Still, he looked at you sceptically. You huffed a sigh once again, “Well, mum anyhow.” 

Jerome paused for a second and seemed to lose focus on you. He sat there for a few seconds before his attention came back to you. But it was different. Calculating.

Then it was gone. Just like that. Jerome smiled, “Well, you have to admit, that would be pretty funny.”

“No Jerome. No, it would not.” You still wondered what happened in his head to lose focus so instantly. Wondering made you remember all your other… wonderings: Tyrone. 

“Hey Jerome, since you’re here -”

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Have you ever slept in the basement?”

“Uh, no, but I was wondering -”

“Right. Then you would not understand how freaking cold it is down there!”

“No, but… wait. Are you whining? About the cold?”

He looked away and eyed you in his peripheral vision.

You began to play with this, finally having the upper hand.

“You mean to say, the great Jerome Valeska is complaining about not being able to sleep… because it’s cold?” You stifled to hold in your giggles after using your voice of “grandeur”.

The ginger folded his arms and scowled.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” You struggled to stay quiet, but fits of laughter were harder to hold than you thought. Especially since you could finally direct it at Jerome!

“Oh, this… is too… good!” You struggled to get even a minimal amount of words out as sniggers and giggles escaped your throat.

Jerome looked at you with a sideways glance, quirking his eyebrow.

- Jerome’s POV - 

“Right, then you would not understand how freaking cold it is down there!”

“No, but… wait. Are you whining? About the cold?”

Maybe she didn’t realise it, but it was freezing down there! I turned away from her, scowling.

“You mean to say, the great Jerome Valeska is complaining about not being able to sleep… because it’s cold?”

God, she just won’t shut up about this, will she? She even put on a, I dunno, ringmaster act? That’s the only thing I can compare it to anyhow. And the giggling! She’s gone into hysterics. Why?

“Wow doll, you feeling alright?” I haven’t seen her like this since… well, ever! I have never seen her laugh like this, even if she is trying to keep it quiet - unsuccessfully by the way. Hey, maybe her mom’ll her and come in to check it out. Oh, that would be funny. It’d sure wipe that stupid grin off her face.

“Y-yeah… I’m fine,” she huffs as she wiped tears - yeah, tears - from her eyes. 

“Oh good. I’m thrilled.” Not really.

“Jerome… Are you still… cold? Hahaha!”

Seriously, how is that even funny? This is ridiculous, and she’s getting louder. I swear I heard stirring from the other room. This is getting tiresome. I may not be the most, uh, regular of people, but I do get cold. Is that so hard to understand?

“Glad you find it funny toots, but I must say, you’re a little loud dontcha’ think?”

Nothing. Y/n didn’t even pause. Okay, now I can hear mumbling. The floorboard on the left side of the parent’s bedroom creaked. 

Yeah... I know which boards creak in this house and which don’t. It’s sorta, not a past time, but something I’ve done since I was around seven. I knew where every little creak and squeak was in the trailer. It helped me sneak out. Move around. Hide things and hide me. The same goes for this place. When y/n wasn’t around, or even at night - I don’t sleep much - I would find where all those loose floorboards were and which ones would creak. Pretty useful really. I mean, I’ve been out a hell of a lot more than y/n thinks. 

Yep, there goes the one down the hall, in front of the bathroom maybe? That means no time at all. I sigh and turn to y/n,

“Now, quick question. What’ll Daddy do when mummy goes and spills the beans?”

Nope, there’s the creak at the bathroom door. Good, because y/n heard it and has time… sorta. Her eyes widen in horror.

“Jerome, please. She can’t!” She whispered.

I sigh, “’Okayyy sweetcheeks, but you owe me. Big time.”

Just before her mom gets to the doorway, I roll over the now blanket covered y/n and drop to the floor. It’s cold here too. Nothing I haven’t experienced before. I rolled under the bed and watch Patricia’s feet. 

Mm, that’s what I thought would happen, overprotective parent checking on the daughter. She’s sitting on the covers now. Probably testing I’m not under the sheets. I hope y/n can pull this off because she’s a pretty shit liar.’

God, the floor is freaking cold. It’s gotten to my face, my hands, my knees, just my whole front now, but as I’ve said, nothing I haven’t experienced before. 

~ Flashback ~

The rain pummeled onto the entourage of trailers, caravans and the large red and white tents. It turned the usual duststorm providing ground into slimey, wet sludge. Thunder rumbled across the sky and lightning revealed the silhouette of the large city. Gotham. 

One trailer in particular, large silver just like the rest, contained too much movement for that time of night. Inside, a young boy with fiery red hair. He was the sort of boy who would have the most contagious grin, cheeky giggle and eyes full of curiosity. But this would rarely appear on his face. What would appear is cuts and bruises, and not just on his face, but on his arms, legs and torso. No one did anything. They didn’t help him, nor did they call anyone. Living in a circus and being one of the stragglers would cause that to happen. Even to the boy only aged nine. 

He couldn’t remember when the rain started that night, but it never seemed to stop. This place liked to rain. The circus had been here twice now, and it always rained. This place, this city, liked clouds too. 

Maybe the sun was nasty to the people here, so the city asked the clouds to protect it. He wished he had clouds to protect him from his mean sun. She was always mad at night. He didn’t know why, he just knew that when the big, smelly glass bottles come out, he needed to get out. But tonight he couldn’t. Tonight, the rain wouldn’t let him. 

If he went outside and got wet, she would be fuming. If he got wet and muddy, she would be furious. It hurt when mummy was mad. She knew he couldn’t go out, but mummy got mad anyway. 

It was worse when people were over. No, not people, men. The boy wasn’t sure why there was never the same guy. Sometimes he would remember them. This man wasn’t nice at night. Just like Mummy. He had used the big smelly bottles too. There were lots of empty one’s tonight. 

“Jerome you little brat. Get out! Now!” Mummy screeched. She didn’t give Jerome enough time to escape. He was stunned instantly. I sharp backhand smacked across his face, causing him to tumble to the ground. Before he got to his feet the man kicked at his legs, causing him to fall. The man had already kicked him in the chest tonight. He wasn’t like some of the other ones that mummy would act sweet for. He was cruel.

The man thought it was funny watching something so small and pathetic tumble to the ground. 

The mother just wanted him out of the way, behind the curtain. She didn’t care where he went, as long as it was away. She watched the little thing scramble away behind the curtain.

Jerome rushed to his little bed on the couch on the other side of the trailer. Usually, he’d take his pillow, blanket and a large bin bag outside under the trailer, so he didn’t have to hear everything so clearly. He was proud of the bag idea, it stopped his blanket from bringing dirt back into the trailer. It stopped mummy from hurting him. Tonight though, he couldn’t. That’s why the ginger boy didn’t like the rain and didn’t like this place. It made hiding hard. Escaping hard. Disappearing hard.

Lucky there was space under the seat. The little, fire headed boy slid his pillow and blanket into the dark area. He wriggled underneath the couch, into the hidey-hole. He pulled another sheet from on top of the hidey-hole to hang over the opening. It made it dark, and more hidden. They wouldn’t see him, they wouldn’t get mad at him, and they wouldn’t hear him cry.

The tears slid down his face, and quiet sobs escaped his throat. His ribs hurt, his face stung, his lip throbbed, and the cold wouldn’t leave him alone. It met his feet, his hands, and his back. Soon, it would meet the rest of him too, and wouldn’t leave him alone for the rest of the night. Nor would the pain. 

~ End of Flashback ~

“Jerome. Jerome, it’s all good. She’s gone.” 

“Yeah. She is.” I whisper, still in a daze. She’s gone, and she’s never coming back. 

Y/n hissed my names a couple more times before I registered what she was saying. That it was now and not then. Y/n and not them. I thought I had forgotten that night. Obviously not. 

I rolled out of the cold, confining place and jumped back onto the bed. Her door was closed now. Good.

“What’d you do, fall asleep?” She asked. I rolled my eyes.

“No dollface, I didn’t. I was thinking.” My mind is still on that night. I never fell asleep I don’t think. I don’t know. I do know that the next morning, just like any other, she coaxed me out of the hiding place, stroked my cheek and bruises and said sorry over and over again before offering some sort of object or activity we could do later to make it better. It would rarely happen, but being young and naive made me believe. Hope does that to ya’. 

“Oh yeah. What about?” Y/n wasn’t gonna let up if I mentioned anything, but I knew what would.

“Sleeping arrangements. Imma’ sleep in here.” I shuffle under the blankets and put my hands behind my head. 

Y/n was still for a moment. Ha, a bombshell dropped!

“But… I… you… they,” She was spluttering. I’m gonna have to fix this.

“Y/n, they’re not gonna see me. I don’t sleep much, I’ll listen out. Stress less.” She didn’t believe me. Time to change the subject.

“Hey, you had a stress attack before. Right?” She looked down.

“Yeah, I think so. Sorry, Jerome. It wasn’t nice of me to do that. You’re only human.”

“Thank you. That’s right. I am. Okay, now you sleep. It’ll all be fine. Trust me.” I smiled.

She smiled too, “You know Jerome, those words are never reassuring coming from you.”

I put my hand on my chest, mocking offence,

“Doll, how could you.” 

She laughed at me. 

“Get some sleep huh.”

“Yeah. M’kay.” She mumbled.

She lay down and drifted into unconsciousness. Finally. I lay there thinking about the memory. It was strange to have it back. It made me feel… helpless. I hated it. Even another memory, a more recent one, made me feel strange. 

‘Well, mum anyhow.” 

Hadn’t I said the exact same thing too… Barbara. The blond, snarky, crazy chick. It was… in Arkham. Hmm, that’s what it was. Dejavu. Wonder where that ill-tempered barbie is now anyway. Is she still kickin’? It’d be interesting to see… 

Y/n moved closer to me, smiling in her sleep. Sleep: something I don’t come by often anymore. Being near her though, it makes me feel like I could. My eyes are heavy. You know what, being near her makes me feel like a can. Makes me feel like I will.

Okay, there you have it. I thought I’d add in the flashback to break the monotony. I’ve had quite a few ideas for Jerome’s past so there might be more where that came from. I hope it’s okay, sorry for the length, but I needed it.

For anyone who would like to know, I will now have a tag list. I will tag those who would want to be on here. Thank you for the idea guys! 

Tag-list: @unicornwitch870 @sp00der-m00n

[haxorus-imp]

Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 10

You slowly ebbed back to consciousness from the comforting void of sleep once again. Groaning as you tried to wake up after being out for so long. You stretched your limbs, stiffly moving them to regain feeling back into your body. You felt a familiar softness around you as your sense of touch began to return to you. At first, you were confused. Then, like a movie, your memories trickled back into your mind. Except this time, the movie felt like it was skipping. Like it wasn't complete. You have to be honest, don't remember much after Black Hat bit into your shoulder. You just remember the pain that he put you through and the anguish you felt during that moment in time. You don't ever remember screaming as loud as you did before that moment. Well. Probably when you got your first game console, sure. But, all you could recall after that attack was a light that filled Black Hats' office and a foggy memory of your legs moving to a certain destination. You could also vaguely remember people talking loudly and frantic movements. But, most of the memories were just a blur or barely memorable. Being drowned out by the pain you felt at the time and the numbness that took over. You shifted and hissed in slight pain when you attempted to move your abdomen. The healing wounds on your back and shoulder were painful to be mobile with, yet you attempted to shift to a more comfortable position in the sea of softness you were laying on. Wait. Where were you currently? Forcing yourself to pry open your non-swollen eye, you squinted, looked around, and caught sight of a familiar room. Your room. The room that Black Hat assigned to you not just 25 hours ago. You cringed at the jolt of pain you felt when you attempted to take a deep breath to sigh. Ugh. Welp. You're gonna be bedridden for a while. You then felt a shift in weight on the bed that was not your own, confused and more aware than a few minutes ago, you looked over and sighed in relief. It was just 5.0.5. The poor mutant bear. He was sleeping next to you on the opposite side of the bed, curled up into a big fluffy blue ball. He must'ave not left your side all night. He's such a good bear. You smiled. You tried to sit up, with some lightheaded vertigo to boot, and held your abdomen. It was gonna be a pain to move to the bathroom with this level of injuries. 'Fucking Dick Hat.' You thought bitterly. 'I would'ave been healthy if he didn't...' You just fumed in silence. Your movement caused the bed to let out a series of squeaks, giving rise to 5.0.5 as he came back from his own sleep. When he realized what was going on, he sat up fast and smiled at you with those big friendly eyes that you've grown to love. You smiled at him and gave him a friendly rub on the head with your hand. "Mo-orning bear d-dude." You scrawled out. . . . Yikes. Was that that you?! Your voice is so hoarse! It was only now that you realized that your mouth was dry like a desert. Your tongue felt like sandpaper and your throat was stinging from the recent use. You coughed and looked over to the worried mutant bear. You motioned something to him as you pointed to the bathroom. He seemed to understand as he hobbled off of the bed and went to the bathroom. For an animal, 5.0.5 was pretty smart. He came back after a few seconds with a little plastic cup full of cold water. You took it from him gratefully and drank the liquid with vigor. The cool water washed the sandpaper texture off of your tongue and quenched your throat from it's dryness. You finished the cup of water in a few gulps and cleared your throat of any remains of dryness. You smiled at the bear. "Thanks 5.0.5." You said, gratuitously. Your voice was still raspy, but not as extreme as before. The bear gave you an adorable look and took the empty glass from you. Setting it aside on the nightstand before making his way to the door of your room. "Where are you going, dude?" You asked, voice still raspy. The bear looked over and made a motion with his paws. Like he was trying to cook--oh! "You're gonna get me something to eat? Aw! Thanks 5.0.5! You're such a good caretaker." You complimented, which made the bear look off to the side in slight bashfulness. He then opened the door, how he did it without thumbs is beyond you, and left the room. Leaving the door open so that you could see out into the hallway. It took a few minutes before you started to get bored. Looking around your room once again, you could see the morning sunlight drifting in through the windows. You sighed as the ticking of the clock was your only company in the room. 'Would it have killed for Dick Hat to at least put a TV in here?' You thought, taking up staying in bed and staring at the paintings of Black Hat on the wall. 'Asshole spends more money on his ego than actual necessities.' You thought hatefully, glaring at the paintings on the wall. Yet, you could'ave sworn that the painting looked right back at you. But, you just brushed it off as delusions. You're still recovering after all. You just rolled over and stared out the closest window. Ignoring the painting that was moving behind your stationary form. -- Flug sighed. It was morning and he was on his way to the kitchen to get some coffee. He was feeling the weight of his choice of staying up and not going to sleep bogging him down. He, on the bright side, had made some interesting progress on the blood sample that was received from you. He exposed a drop from the sample to radiation and instead of mutating into another cellular form, the cells died instead of changing. This was to test to see if you could be adaptive to radiation, like a few villains and heroes from his planet, yet that has not been the case. He then exposed it to certain chemicals. Xepnote made the blood drop turn black and fizzle out of existence. Vitazoti made the blood cells turn into their own white blood cell counterpart, also turning the blood drop from red to white in the process. Teslemium made the blood drop turn into liquid metal. Radioactium made the blood cells die and the structures to fall apart. Et Cetera. The experiments were interesting and fun to accomplish. As he has even made headway into breaking down the make up of the genes and enzymes. Though, he's not quite there yet. He still has some work and experiments to preform on the blood sample. Then, he'll breakdown the compound. He only has one sample after all. And it looks like you can't provide any more for a while. Flug yawned as he approached the kitchen and was slightly confused by the smell of breakfast in the air. Upon entering the room, his questions were answered by the sight of 5.0.5 in an apron and cooking breakfast. "Oh...good morning, 5.0.5. Is (Name) up yet?" He yawned. Assessing the breakfast that was being prepared. It appeared to be some eggs, pancakes, hashbrowns, and some sausage. It smelled delicious. But not as much as the coffee that was currently being brewed in the coffee maker. Just what he needed. Grabbing the necessary ingredients to make his preferred coffee, he got himself a cup and poured some coffee into it. Flug then sat at the kitchen table once more. Fixing his coffee to his preferred taste. 5.0.5 nodded eagerly. Setting aside all of the plates for his housemates, 5.0.5 grabbed a fair portion of food for Flug. The bear then turned over the plate to Flug, setting it down on the table. The bear paused, seemingly to notice Flugs' lethargic behavior and frowned disapprovingly. Flug caught the look and sighed. "I...I know. I just...I couldn't sleep last night. I was up studying the sample to get my mind off of what I just witnessed." Flug took a long swig of his coffee. "I didn't think Black Hat could get so violent with his own followers until what happened yesterday." Flug looked lost in thought as he picked at his eggs. Then, something clicked. "Unless." He paused, placing his finger where his chin would be if it were visible. 'I've known Black Hat for a few years. I never once witnessed him biting someone like that. Not even out of rage.' Flug pondered. The blue bear just turned his head in slight curiosity. 'Could it have been...(Name)'s blood?' Flug thought, internally debating the situation. 'I haven't studied the properties of the blood. But, I do know that it holds blood cells and plasma. Any of those elements could have led to the severity of the attack.' Flug internally plotted. 'I need to get back down to my lab! ' Flug thought, as he suddenly got up and chugged his coffee like no tomorrow. Setting the mug back down onto the table and hurrying from the room. "Sorry! I'll come back later! But, I think I'm on the edge of a grand discovery!" Flug shouted as he left the kitchen. 5.0.5 had to process what just happened. He then looked over toward the untouched plate and huffed. The bear then picked up another plate of food and began to head off to your room to give you your breakfast. At least someone is appreciative of a meal. That person being you and not Flug, for once. -- Flug hurried into his laboratory, rushing over to the chemistry lab he had set up during the night. Presenting beakers, burettes, flasks, funnels, test tubes, droppers, graduated cylinders and watch glasses. All holding various liquids and chemical compounds. In the center was the vial that had the blood in it on a holder rack. It was still safely present and a few drops of blood were on a slide, awaiting another test. Hurrying over, he carefully removed the vial from the rack and picked up a small Florence flask. Dripping some of the vial's contents into the narrow opening on the flask, not pouring it all at once into one experiment. Just in case something happens to go wrong. Without much hassle, he carefully placed the flask onto the Bunsen burner and got to work separating the compounds in the blood. With most fields of sciences under his belt, Flug carefully analyzed each phase the blood went into so that the separation was a guaranteed success. If his theory is correct, it generally means that something in your blood caused Black Hats' unusual behavior. Hours of work putting this set together and with careful gloved hands, it took a lot of time to make sure that he didn't screw up and needed to get another sample from yourself. You need your blood at the moment. Just for the time frame of your recovery. With a puff of smoke and a few dribbles from the glass chemistry set, Flug gave a relieved sigh. The separation was a success. With great care, Flug picked the smaller 5 flasks up and off of their respective holders. Placing them in holder-clamps, he picked them up one-by-one and held them at eye level. Examining the white-yellow liquid within the first flask with sharp consideration. He took a dropper and sucked up some of the white-yellow liquid, placed it on a slider, and walked over to his microscope station. Placing it underneath the lens, he gave it a good look-through. Not much was different within the contents in this flask. He's had plenty of specimens that have the same make up as this bunch. So this batch was a bust. Removing the slide, he placed it within the sink next to the microscope, which was filled with sterile breakdown chemicals. Dissolving the compounds off of the slide and cleaned it at the same time. It was a handy piece of work. Flug sighed in slight disappointment as he got back to testing. Science was trial and error after all. It was a little bit later when he let out a frustrated groan. The other 3 were also bust. Leaving only one left. He grabbed the final one, which was filled with a white and pinkish looking liquid, and placed a drop of it on the slide. Putting the slide underneath the microscope, Flug clenched his unseen teeth in anticipation as he scanned the visible cells. . . . Eureka! He's found the different compounds in your blood! With severe interest, Flug began to take note of the cells he was seeing through the scope. It appears that you have different antibodies and also different enzymes! Ones that were different than he suspected them being. These were apparently hidden deep within your cell structure, to which Flug had managed to find. The liquid he was currently studying apparently was made up of some of your plasma, iron, antibodies, and enzymes. Upon closer look, they had different appearances than the humans that made up his planet. Which was fascinating! Without looking away, Flug reached over to the side of the microscope, the opposite side of the sink, and grabbed some cylinders that had various chemicals in them. He pulled them close to his station and snatched up some nearby droppers as well. Time to test. . . . A while longer than intended to, Flug wasn't having much luck on getting a reaction out of the slides' liquid. He tried Xentonin, Gaphanide, Falitoni, nothing was working! 'Maybe I'm approaching this wrong...' Flug thought. 'I might need a new tactic. What else can I try? Let me think.' Flug placed his finger over the place where his mouth would be. '(Name) had stated that they were from a world where they care more about healing than war and that heroes and villains don't--' A sudden thought came to Flug as the idea presented itself. He then felt like slapping himself. 'Of course! I'll try to use the V and X vitamins! The chemicals that are normally found in mutants and people with superpowers! This is an enzyme batch, so lets' see how the blood reacts to foreign bodies! ' Flug nodded to himself and opened the sinks' cabinets. Searching and grumbling as he shifted various flask underneath the sink. All marked and sorted. After a few seconds, with a shout of triumph, Flug pulled out two different flask. One had a red and black color shifting around in it, labeled 'V ' and the other flask contained a bright blue and a dark purple. Labeled 'X '. Placing the flask onto the desk, Flug took a clean dropper and sucked up a small dose of the vitamin 'V '. Doing the same with vitamin 'X '. With careful accuracy, Flug dropped in both vitamins at the same time and kept his gaze on the microscope to observe the interaction. Flug was suddenly shocked at what he saw. The enzymes started to attack the vitamins proteins! Viciously tearing them apart and absorbing them into their own bodies. Effectively destroying the vitamins he just introduced. It was a steady process, but your enzymes won in the end. Flushing out the intruders and having fought with great resistance. This seemed to open many new doors for Flug. On one hand, Flug grew a deeper understanding of your biology. Your body was similar, but VASTLY different than he could imagine. This could lead off to other experiments, now that he has taken a different tactic route. This shows how deep your Earths' evolution route went. So different from his own. Yet so familiar. With this new knowledge under his belt as well, Flug could only ponder the possibilities. Your kind are resistant  to superpowers and magic alike. You're like a normal human, but on steroids. Your enzymes weaken and shred apart with great ease the, once thought as, indestructible proteins that make up super villains and superheroes. Not only that, but the enzymes that do the deed are hard to detect. Meaning, if he could make a poison out of the blood, Heroes and Villains BOTH would suffer greatly if they got a dose of the concoction. They wouldn't be resistant to their own powers, making them hurt themselves. Like poison, electricity, and radiation. They would lose their super strength, super speed, and flying abilities. Making them weak and normal. They would become weaker, making them easier to hurt. They would not regenerate body parts as fast. They would get sick from their own animal DNA. Et Cetera. With these alien enzymes, Flug could make one of the most potent poisons on this planet. A mortality poison. Flug couldn't believe it. It was the best discovery of the century! He has to explore further! What next?! Saliva? A piece of flesh? Some hair? Bone marrow?! Grey Matter?!! Flug suddenly blanched. Whoa! Whoa! Flug shook his head and placed his forehead into his palm. 'What am I doing? (Name) isn't a test subject! I'm starting to become like one of those cliche government agents...they're not an animal. They're a human. Well, an alien human, but still.' Flug shook his head. 'Yet. Even though I have found more than I intended to, I still don't know what caused Black Hat to attack (Name) so badly.' Flug leaned against the wall. Currently at an impasse in his discovery. 'I have succeeded in finding something that could change our world forever. But...after what Black Hat did...does he deserve to know about it?' Flug thought, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. After a brief mental debate, he made his decision. He personally doesn't think so. Standing up from the wall, he walked over to the enzymes, picked the slate up, and placed it into the fridge that was used to house the blood sample previously. 'Once Black Hat tells me and (Name) why he did what he did, these enzymes can stay off the radar for a while.' Flug mentally vowed. He closed the safe door and locked it tight. Concealing and containing his deadly secret. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Next> <Previous ~First~