#i usually finish my tests before the minimum time so i just draw until i can leave lmao

[logan-the-artist]

my boy.,., 🧡💙

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Your quiet days in castle Dimitrescu met their end the moment Cassandra took an interest in you.

You should have known. Perhaps you did know and just didn’t want to admit it.

The woman –vampire, mutant, what even are they— is a bipolar sadist.

One night she may be walking down the halls sending you a sexy wink under her hood as she passes you by, the next she could show up out of nowhere and cut you ‘hello’ with her sickle, scoop up the blood with her thumb to taste, then disappear again. The evening after that, she may not even give a damn about you, may not spare you a single fleeting glance, like even the notion you could be worth her time is laughable.

And it is, isn’t it.

Humans are nothing to them. Your significance is below that of a pet. You may as well be livestock. It doesn’t matter, though, so long as you continue to breathe and remain intact. They’re the two essential factors to escaping. All else is secondary.

It doesn’t matter how Cassandra views you.

You don’t even like her.

What is there to even be drawn to? She’s covered in blood more often than not. The scent of iron usually drowns out her perfume. She’s capricious and cruel and the living personification of an unsheathed knife. You prefer your routes safer. Playful, creative pretty girls that are good for you and most importantly, sane.

Whatever weird tricks your brain and hormones are playing where she stars –you hate it, what is wrong with you— they’re just delusions, you reason, born from her questionable flirting and your time in captivity. It’s just a really bothersome case of Stockholm Syndrome you’re developing. And it has to stop.

Another week passes. You don’t see her.

You are on another night shift when you hear the telltale buzzing of insects down the corridor. Hervoice reaches your ear afterwards;

“Ugh, Bela, you never complain about anything. It’s so annoying.” Two pairs of heels steadily tap towards you.

“I leave it to you and Dani to cover for me, since you complain about everything.” The quieter sister drawls. You can easily picture her roll her eyes as she says it.

“You know, you really should sound more thankful I came with you in this unearthly cold.”

“I gave you the option not to—”

“Just to have you rummage through that bookshop for what was definitely the most boring twenty minutes of my life.” Cassandra continues.

From the fleeting glance you steal at them, the entirety of her attention is on Bela. You don’t think she’ll notice you as you continue polishing the corridor’s decorations. It’s just another one of these nights where you don’t exist and you’re deeply glad for it. Not just for yourself, but also the other maids.

“I thought I was going to die of frostbite.” she growls, shaking the elder sister’s arm.

“Technically, you can’t.” Bela shakes hers back.

It would be… cute, if they were any normal family. But you are quick to remind yourself of what they really are. Devils in human form. Monsters that took you from your home and trapped you here, to clean after their mess, with the threat of death looming over your head every second.

Their steps pass you by. You can almost breathe normally again, when—

Cassandra stops.

“Not even going to tell me hello?” The hurt in her voice can’t be genuine, you tell yourself as you turn around to face her. She’s closer than you thought, enough for you to be able to make out the tiny melting snowflakes caught in her long lashes.

“Um—hello.” you say, awkwardly.

“Cassandra.” Bela lets out a soft sigh.

“Bye, Bela.” The brunette pointedly speaks over her shoulder.

And to your horror… “Just keep in mind what mother said about the maids.” the eldest sister leaves you alone with her.

Each further step until the blonde disappears from view fills you with dread. Cassandra has that spark in her eye that you’ve learned to not associate with anything good. She’s completely still until she’s sure the two of you won’t be overheard or interrupted.

Then, she moves.

Her hands all too easily shove you against the wall. It’s more startling than painful, you realize, when your back doesn’t protest much at the collision.

Cassandra maintains eye contact with you as she tugs at the fingers of her gloves. You cannot fathom why it looks that sexy, the way she pulls them off, whether it is intentional or not.

“Plaything.” she says. Another new nickname for you. Not that you ever expected her to care to know your name. “I’m terribly cold.” she doesn’t seem to be lying, though the soft pout that curves her mouth is surely for effect.

It’s a test and your wellbeing depends on it.

Only, you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. Ruling your nerves under control, you decide to start slow. “Shall I light the fireplace in your room, my lady?”

“Maybe I want something more… immediate.” she replies, raising her hand to your neck.

The second her freezing skin touches your flesh, you cannot help but flinch. It feels like a slightly softer block of ice. Cassandra’s eyes creak at the corners. Of course, the sadist is enjoying your torment. Slowly, her fingers move under the collar of your black button-up shirt, which only makes it worse. The cold spreads, a peculiar tingle at your stomach with it.

“Well?” she asks. You get the memo that just sitting back and letting her have her way isn’t going to work, this time. You call upon all the willpower you possess and act.

Carefully, your hands rise to meet her own. You aren’t looking at her in the eyes –you don’t think you could— as your fingers wrap around hers and bring them in front of you, close to your body, warmed from hours of work. Instead, your gaze locks on the golden jewel decorating the chocker at her throat, before falling down, to your point of contact.

It is not the first time you see her hands without gloves on, but it only now hits you just how dainty they look. Her nails, filed round, are dyed a darker shade of crimson, stark against the white of her skin. There isn’t a single blemish or uneven spot you can feel on her palm. It is a princess’ hand you seem to be holding, not a killer’s.

But appearances can be deceiving.

The very corner of Cassandra’s lip curls up, amused or pleased or both. She then reaches forward, at the lowest clasped button of your shirt… and frees it open. You’re sure you aren’t breathing. Two more buttons are released. Her fingers, at least now considerably warmer, splay against your stomach. Something inside you quivers like a flickering candlefire.

You don’t want her touch.

But a traitorous, weak part of you has already decided that it does.

“You work out?” it is merely a whisper between you. She presses a little closer, entirely unashamed to be feeling the contours of your middle up while you’re burning with embarrassment.

“…probably the days of working in the fields.” you say, voice low because it cannot be trusted any higher. She’s doing a little thing with her thumb over your skin that you desperately want to deny turns you on.

Thanks to her you’re now freezing and burning at the same time.

Cassandra just stays like that for a few more seconds.

“Draw me a hot bath.” she eventually orders and extracts herself from you as if she’s not remotely happy with her own decision.

-

-

You don’t really know how she likes her bath and she doesn’t tell you.

All you can do as you test the water on your hand is pray. Your mind isn’t really working right after the touching at the hallway, but your survival instincts are strong still. Strong enough to remind you that Cassandra likes to be treated like royalty above all, so bubbles are your best friend in this. The more, the merrier.

The Dimitrescu daughter does not ask if the bath is ready when she comes in. You aren’t used to her being so silent, so you turn to see if something is wrong –but immediately regret it when the heavy robe clinging to her body drops down. The only glimpse you catch is of the fabric pooling at her feet like a shadow.

Your eyes stay glued on the queen-sized bathtub, even when she approaches. They turn to the side as she enters it.

You want to ask if the water is fine, but you can’t find your voice. You lose even your train of thought when she lets out a small hiss as she sinks in, replaced by a moan once she’s completely settled back, neck tilted and eyes closed in bliss. The polite thing is to let her bathe in peace, so you move to do just that.

Cassandra has other plans.

Her hand shoots out of the tub to wrap around your wrist, inescapable as an iron shackle. Those intense yellowish eyes are on you again and they seem to be glowing under the dim lights.

“No.” she says. “Massage. Now.”

Ah, great. You think. You’ve spoiled her. But if giving Cassandra massages is what is going to keep your hands attached to your body, you won’t complain. It’s just that… you can’t really focus right now. None of your thoughts are right or remotely what they should be. You need time off from her, rather than touching her.

Thankfully, the moans are kept to a minimum and there is no teasing. She is utterly relaxed, only giving the occasional command for higher or lower. It does kind of kill you when at one point she whispers “Right there.” but you are able to move past it.

You leave fresh towels beside her when you’re finally allowed to leave. Back in her bedroom, you light the fireplace in a way that you make sure will last through the day, while she’ll be asleep. The plan is to leave before she returns, but she’s already there by the time you’re finished with the preparations.

And –you’re trapped.

Because, again, she’s changing and you have to look away to preserve your sanity and probably your eyes. “No peeping, now.” she calls over her shoulder. You know better than to dare.

You keep your hands busy arranging bottles and boxes at her vanity until she’s done. Cassandra does that ‘flashing’ thing where she’s on one side of the room one moment and right behind you the next. You only then notice a little insect flying back into her form. It was spying on you.

“You didn’t even look near me, huh.” she says it like ‘congratulations, you passed’, but there’s a bitter undertone of disappointment in her voice.

She’s only feeling down that you didn’t give her an excuse to slice at your face, you think. Then again, does she really need one?

“I wouldn’t, my lady.” you assure. “If I may be excused—”

“Did I say you can go?” she turns you around, none-too-gently, her hands on your biceps tight. You’re effectively pinned against her and the vanity, but you have much bigger problems to worry about, when you take in what she’s wearing.

Cassandra is clad in a flimsy nightrobe that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric nearly see-through. You can see the edges of her lacy underwear underneath it, how nicely it sits against her perfect curves. To make matters even worse, the robe ends at about mid-thigh and your eye catches the expanse of creamy skin on display.

Your brain nearly melts.

“I don’t know what it is about you, plaything, but you’re working up my appetite.” she confesses, pressing into you, pressing you harder into the furniture. You try to think of literally anything else than how well her thigh is slotted between your legs.

If you’re supposed to look away from her lidded eyes, however, you can’t. And if you’re not supposed to feel the echo of her nails on your arm all the way down to your center, you can’t. You are definitely not supposed to be so achingly curious about her bow-shaped lips. But you just can’t.

“You’re working me up.” she breathes, so close you can feel the ghost of her lower lip on yours.

And then –her mouth is on you and you forget how to breathe. Your eyes close and just feel, instead. If this is how you die, maybe it isn’t such a bad way to go. It’s been too long since you kissed anyone, seems like ages ago now, but you gradually remember how to move once you allow your muscles to unlock.

Not looking at her makes it easier. Her lips are balmy and smooth and slide so good on your own you can’t think at all, much less of what she’s capable of. You would have guessed her to be aggressive, but Cassandra is oddly hesitant, the only thing hard about her being her grip.

You’re not sure what you’re doing or how you get so bold, but your hands trail up to her waist and pull her in. The little hitch in her breath threatens to break you. It provides the perfect opening to part her lips with your tongue. As soon as it touches hers, she moans low in her throat and slowly drags her hips against your thigh.

Oh. God.

There’s a hollow ache in your stomach. You’re shamefully wet for her. The voice of reason is mute in your head, until you’re forced to break your liplock to breathe and it only then hits you what you’ve just done.

Cassandra’s lips are insistent on your jawline, on the vulnerable spot under your ear. Her open-mouthed kisses are just hard enough, at first, but then start to border on painful. Your heart skips a beat when you feel the press of teeth, yet she rips herself off of you before she bites down.

“Ugh. I’m… so thirsty.” she says it lightly, but her voice is hoarse and something about her body language gives you the impression she’s hurting. “You should leave. Fast.”

You almost make the mistake of reaching for her. Almost.

Cassandra turns away from the temptation of your veins.

For both your sakes –mostly for yours— you hurry out of her room and never stop to look back.

[onf-headcanons]

ONF and their high maintenance S/O (mostly about makeups and manicures)

dislcaimer : I dont support the mentality of aegyoing/manipulating/sabotaging your partner to buy you stuffs. Gifts are gifts but its not their are not full responsibility. It is also not a duty/obligation for your partner to recognize delicate makeup product when they can't and buy you your makeup product as well.

What i am saying even though here is that bf gifting lipsticks it does not mean guys should do it and also does not mean that if your own bf could not do it then they dont love you. ok let go to hcs.

Hyojin

I think he will ask you to drop the heavy makeup after you two are comfortable with each other. To him it was not your makeup that impressed him to date you.

He is the type that "I don't get make up but ok you look good" type of person, I mean have you watched how he get ready to go out in the Berlin trip? He just do basic stuffs not even a delicate touch XD

I think because he has a sister back at home? But if you think he will at least know a bit of stuffs because he has a sister then you are wrong lol

But he does understand if you wanna doll up a bit. I think he personally appreciates those times when he caught himself felt that you are dazzling.

I think its cute that maybe you only do basic light make up when going out with him but then when you join him with his friends, you wanna look good so you will put on proper make up (not over heavy ones). But Hyojin be like , " oh, come on... Its just my friends XD"

He is the type that waits for you, unless you have really bad time management, he will come over to rush you. "Hey hey hey, we are gonna be late"

Does not interested at make up or beauty stuffs so he would always questions with curiosity when he saw stuffs like.. " Glue? for what? Eyelashes? Won't it be dangerous?" (Especially you are the type that watches make up vids)

Bonus, you are in charge of his skin care, most of the time.

another bonus, the type that laughs at you if you are the type that opens your mouth when you are drawing eyeline

Changyoon

Very similar to Hyojin so I will skip make up and focus on the nail polish

(Also expanding the Changyoon who loves your hand hcs)

He knows of nail polish and the basic stuffs like base, polish and top, but did not pay full attention on manicure and pedicure stuffs

So when the first time you brought out mini UV light to cure your nails, he goes " Woah they got stuffs like that? why no one told me? I spend minutes blowing at my nails to dry during BB era"

Bonus if you work in nail salon or pick up manicure as hobby, i think you might share a bit of design you found online and ask him his opinions. His will comment a bit.

Also you might grasp his hands and try out newly thought designs on his hands

Bonus if he blushes and burst into laughter until you jokingly snap at him, "Ya, its not the first time I do design test out using your hands? Why are you beet red?"

To go deep into his mentality, he does not hate make up, he gets it. But for manicure he acknowledges it as art expression of oneself as well.

I think he prefer short nail manicure, once you get a longer sharper designs and you cant do your task like how you did normally, Changyoon nags you.

Also Changyoon thoughts on fake nail stickers, "Super convenient!"

He would love to try do your manicures if he got the chance. Not just painting plain color, he might also try following designs that your show him.

Seungjun

He is a delicate boy hahahah (watch leaders Berlin trip then you will get it)

Not the type that can recognize different shades of lipstick or foundation, but he still have basic knowledge. I do see is the type that will keep in mind what color you uses and will present you your favorite lipstick color. Or even randomly choose 1 color that he thinks it might look good on you.

I think you two will stand side by side in front of mirror and do make up and help each other check a bit. Especially eye shadow color, and hairstyles (if it is outdoor date day)

The type that notices changes on you but will tease you by keep saying the wrong answers. "Hey you look different? Is it the eyeshadow? Or was it a new earring? eh I was wrong?*devilsh smile"

He has two sisters so he is used and knows that girls and high maintenance people wears makeup. BB cream at least.

Fascinated when he first time sees you do your own manicure, he saw Changyoon paint nails during BB era, but if it is his first time seeing you painting quite complicated nail design from scratch, he goes "OOOOOOH so thats is how it done? 0A0"

I think he might introduce his sisters to you if you are a makeup artist or if you work at nail salon

Bonus if you are the type that do really minimum skin care, because of his (idk if i am using the right word) eagerness of doing facial mask, you might pick that up too lol

Both of you having facial mask on and chilling on the couch watching TV

another bonus, you two bickering because either one of you made the other one laugh too much making the mask cracked if it is dried up cream type.

Jaeyoung

He is like a combination of Hyojin and Seungjun?

Not sure on his skin care stuff but he will do basic stuff and I think he focus on stylizing his hair more? (but unlike Seungjun, Jaeyoung is more on styling using wax and hairspray)

the type who cant tell difference in lipstick shade lol

He thinks light makeup with less procedure/product look good on you. Especially if you are the one who is super insecure and wakes up super early to do heavy but natural looking makeup before work

Owh special mention, natural shade/nude shade themed makeup is his favourite

He has high respect on people who are high maintenance, but if you are too over enthusiastic he will tell you to slow down and go light heart on it, "Its to boost confidence/feel good about yourself right? Its not to impress others by overdoing it right?"

If you are a tiktok-er. I think you might ask Jaeyoung to do the my boyfriend did my make up challenge (To add, you cant trust Hyojin and Seungjun on this cos high chance if their prank mode kick in, rip. Changyoon will do it tho but you need to persuade him. Jaeyoung and Minkyun are the easiest to ask)

If sometimes Jaeyoung caught seeing you watching manicure design vids or you happened to try out a new manicure design from tutorial you saw online, he will sit beside, try hard to not disturb you. But while watching he will goes "Uwa, Shingi hada/ this is intriguing/amazing." (Try watch Mini game heaven season 2 0316, when he is the one holding the word board, the face he make as he is watching the leaders appeared in my head when writing this lol)

bonus, if you are doing really intricate work like placing a small sticker or draw a small design or sticking a small trinket? on your nails, Jaeyoung will also focus with you by holding his breath as he watches you doing your tasks

Minkyun

You trusted this boy to do BF do my makeup challenge and you regret it soon after, but the view results are amazing lol

but i think their S/O might lowkey get trauma lol and always decline Minkyun offer to help do makeup hahah

But again, when he do try to do it properly, he is ok

bonus, you two had to get another mirror because Minkyun is standing in front yours to check himself out every time he styles his hair a single bit, and it delays your pace of doing your make up.

Appreciate effort of you wanna look good, also he is the type who sits behind S/O while waiting them to finish up makeup (others will wait outside, But Minkyun is the type I want see whole process of how their S/O "transform")

Also the one who will sit beside you as you do your own manicure, or, the bf who will sit beside their S/O at nail salon watching the whole process.

But his hands are busy as he is also curious, so he will reach out to check the nail polish bottle or even the UV cure machine

So, he is also the type that will follow you into Sephora or makeup selling shops (is not that the others wont follow, but I want to highlight specifically for Minkyun). Hands busy, checking out stuffs.

Unlike Seungjun, the type that really cant tell if you change new lipstick or switched new eyeshadow.

BUT I THINK THIS PERSON, HE WILL SUDDENLY DROP A NEON EYESHAOW OUT OF BLUE IN FRONT OF YOU WHEN YOU ARE PAYING. You are gonna fluster if you are not the type who do daring colors. Minkyun only giggles and say " You wont know if you don't like it if you try?"

the funny bit, its not even him paying when he wants you to try lol

He is more of skincare type person. Similar to Seungjun, both of you cuddling with sheet masks on.

Yuto

The one who sticks to basic stuffs, skincare mostly

Also the type who will try to do makeup challenge diligently, asking you how should he do it rather than making a mess on your face.

The type that gives you thumbs up and affirming nods when you ask him how do you look.

He won't comment too much or nags/persuade you to stop doing heavy makeup eventually because he respects effort and confidence boost behind your makeup/high maintenance mentality

But he is flustered when you suddenly did a "I did a instagram summer gal makeup and show my bf" (for example) as it was way different and you look different. The moment you suggest to make this makeup theme as your usual, YUTO PANICKED, "Stop, stop, Mon sori yo? / What did you just say?"

IF you are office worker, he will nag at you if you are thinking straight to wear that makeup to office lol

The type that just quietly follows behind you when you are doing your shopping tour at Sephora or makeup shop.

But he will stop you if he sees your eyes gleaming as you stand at lipsticks corner lol (If you are the type who loves to collect and have too much lipsticks)

Occasionally surprise you with your fave lipstick color as well. Especially on early days of the relationship, you think he is the type that does not care. But turns out he is observant (because it is you so he is observant at your favorite stuffs)

Owh... i think he will be the perfume sensitive type person? He will mention what type of fragrance that he think you will go along well with.

Also I think the type who will recognizes if you changed perfume. Also the type who recognizes if you used his.

He might ask you to try on a sample and then you two might get a couple lover perfume/fragrance.

A/n : finally T^T this draft is in draft for like what... 6 months??? T^T

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

So like, maybe a Yan!Yoshikage Kira who somehow can't bring himself to kill his s/o, so he just keeps them for himself insted?

I’m so sorry for the radio silence, I haven’t really been in the groove to write as of late. I went for the angle of an attempted look of self discovery of his twisted obsession. Uh besides the hand fetish! Anyway I hope I wasn’t rusty with writing this...

Yandere! Yoshikage Kira unable to bring himself to kill his s/o

     It should’ve been a simple task to throw another person’s life away for the possession of their hands. Not once before had he had a single ounce of remorse as his victims mouths opened agape in terror of disintegrating into thin air. Destroying everything except a single piece, akin to cutting an object out of a picture and burning the rest.

 Ending everything was all too easy with Killer Queen, yet he couldn’t will himself to detonate the bomb. Such an ironic thing for a man who wanted to keep his normal life in tact, to lose himself in a person who should’ve been another casualty. Hesitation wasn’t something Kira Yoshikage was very familiar with, if something kept him from sleeping at night he would dispose of that obstacle.

 The blond bit down on his lower lip impulsively, quickly drawing blood from his current state of mind. Your unconscious form lying on his bed, mocking him for his failure into committing another murder. He strode over, after distancing himself temporarily to regain some semblance of composure. The man’s blue eyes immediately fell onto your gorgeous hands. Your fingernails perfectly cut and polished with a clear coat, and skin smoother than velveteen.

  The male recalled seeing these pair of hands of yours stirring a cup of coffee, in one of the cafe’s closer to the heart of Morioh. He had just glanced your way with a small smile on your lips, your eyes firmly concentrated on the hot concoction within your grasp. At the time his immediate interest in your hands was like any other. He just had to get you alone, and promptly finish you off and take what he desired most of your body.

   He had hid himself beyond your peripheral vision, making sure to keep eye contact at a minimum while amongst the crowd. Waiting for an opportunity to pounce and snatch his reward unsuspected. However there was an unexpected bump when one of your high heels snapped, he was unable to approach as a worker rushed to assist you immediately.

  The way you had gasped in that moment had caught him off guard, even distracting him enough from the drivel that spewed out of the employee’s lips. His eyes adverted quickly to your hands, seeing just a few scrapes on your otherwise perfect hands. A flaw on otherwise lavish flesh, but it wasn’t that unsightly.

  You hailed a cab shortly after these events arose, leaving a bitter taste in the serial killer’s mouth. He had no opening to get close to you, it bothered him considerably as he would normally corner a person easily. But it’s not like he could anticipate such an event happening unfortunately.

   There was discomfort swelling beneath his cool demeanor, surely you’d come back around. He was certain of that even with a small hiccup like this one.

 The following few days hit the man hard, as he aimlessly tried to keep his schedule organized as usual. The hands of women around him began picking at the dark desires in his head. Yet he found no motivation to go after any of them, even if they were conveniently by their lonesome. It was strange and frustrating, he couldn’t seem to settle for some reason. He felt as if he was seeking something more luxurious to his tastes. Yet no one he spotted could fit that criteria.

He started comparing their hands to yours he just happened to get a glimpse of. Sure some were moisturized like yours, but their technique wasn’t comparable to yours. Your hands looked different to touch than of those around him. The thoughts of you were becoming invasive to the serial killer. He had to find you and do something about this disturbance that was flowing through his mind. You had thrown out his sense of normalcy even for his darker thoughts.

   The thirty three year old tracked down the cafe you had visited that fateful day for his lunch the following day. However he saw no sign of you within the vicinity. He also did this after work if he could help it, with the additional distance thrown in his search area it practically became a new routine.

  You were the only one that had changed his way of life drastically like this.

The day he did spot you however was a welcome one, he found himself quickly tailing you. Seeking to finally end this tedious game that had tested his own patience.

 On the other side of things, you were content while walking home. After several days of letting your ankle heal after that incident you were happy to return home once again from a long day of work. Your eyes decided to wander, longingly gazing at your surroundings, apartment complexes, and homes alike.

“I’m so happy to be out again, it’s nice to be outside of four walls of my bedroom...” You sighed to yourself wistfully

 A cool breeze hits your face refreshingly, and just for a moment you decide to shut your eyes in bliss.

Only to open them in a panic upon a grip on your shoulder, but the familiar voice of a coworker quickly puts you at ease.

 As if a bitter twist of fate had occurred, there was evident frustration written on Yoshikage Kira’s face. He had thought it would’ve been a good time to strike, but then a woman unfamiliar to himself just happened to step out from another street. He could care less about her in this instance, so he should be able to simply eliminate her quickly before getting to you.

 Yet he found it difficult to approach, he had confidence in Killer Queen but something underlying in his mind was telling him to wait. Conversation, between you and them he would usually not care about. But he was listening more to your end of the conversation. A bag was exchanged from their hands to yours.

 Once separating the blond went on the move, not before doing away with the obstacle that had been your coworker first. As they practically vanish into dust, there’s not a single thought about taking her hands for himself. Something he could easily do and return to a normal life as soon as possible. He didn’t settle for hers however, he refused to for some reason. His issue would only be resolved when he could approach you.

     The sooner he got rid of you, the sooner he wouldn’t have to worry about the image of you, surely. The odd sensations arising in his chest surely would fizzle on their own. It seemed almost too easy to approach you from behind, just one touch and you’d be done for.

   At least that’s how it would typically turn out in theory. 

His stand Killer Queen poises itself to take another life, however not without slight hesitance. As Kira himself thinks of the waste it would be if you were to rot away. There were little options of replacements comparable to you that Kira could easily get away with. This wasn’t quite right to him, it was utter nonsense to his murderous capabilities.     ‘Tch how inconvenient’ He thinks to himself

Killer Queen no longer reaches out to make you into a living bomb, it’s cat like eyes presenting the same expression as its master. 

 A quick witted decision later he decides to interfere with the bag you were currently handling. A small explosion you were unable to hear, incinerated the handles, the bag quickly fell to the ground spilling its contents. You moved quickly to try and keep everything from dispersing until abruptly noticing a man who was fairly close to your proximity.    Your eyes had a little fright in them as the blond leisurely picked up what appeared to be a bottle of hand soap before looking down at your crouched form. 

“Pardon, me I couldn’t help but notice your bag’s handles broke...may I help you?”

  The sheer hesitance written all over your face was to be expected especially with how quickly he had approached you after being so close.    “uhm...sure” You nod ““it would be very kind of you sir”

 His pace is once again composed unlike seconds ago with his hesitance. It was such a strange feeling just being relaxed around you. Still there was an unrelenting fervor to do something, anything really to go back to normalcy.

At least somewhat anyway...

  That was what had lead him to knock you out behind your back. Keeping you against your will right in his own home. 

  All to sort out his turmoil with you as of right now.

 Letting go of your hand, Kira simply stares at you while watching over your body.  “Why do you fascinate me so much....to keep you alive?” He mumbles to himself

  “But I suppose we can both learn why as you start your permanent stay...”

 He taps his fingers softly on the nearby nightstand, looking at the clock.

“For now I best prepare dinner, before I can ponder anything more with you y/n”

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Eight - Aftermath

Author’s note: This chapter has graphic descriptions of violence, as Andrea remembers a very specific episode of her abuse. If you sensitive to this kind of things, avoid the third part in italic.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes were hers. They were red and puffy, almost unable to stay open. It was obvious that she had been crying for days. I tried to call for her, but only a raspy sound came out.

“Don’t try to talk just yet.” I heard her instruct. “Your vocal cords must be sore from the tube.”

“She woke up?” I heard my father ask. “Andy, can you hear us?” He bolted to my mother’s side, allowing me to see his face.

“Andy, do you remember what happened to you?” My mother’s eyes shone again with tears.

I lied, shaking my head. I knew exactly what had happened. I wished that I didn’t.

“Do you need a blanket?” I felt Victor’s hand touching my shoulder. I turned my gaze from the jet window to face him, seeing concern in his eyes.

“I’m ok.” I quipped, turning to the window again. I could feel Victor watching me, but he didn’t speak another word.

“The pilot wants to let you know that we will be arriving in Loveland at 3 pm, local time.” We were informed by the flight attendant. “The duration of flight is estimated to be 11 hours. Should I prepare the bed?”

“Maybe for later.” Victor answered. “Put on some extra pillows for my wife as well.”

We sat in silence for a moment, as the flight attendant walked back to the booth.

“You have been very quiet since we left the clinic.” He held my hand. “Are you in pain? I’ll ask for a bottle of water so you can take an analgesic.” Victor motioned to press the CALL button.

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” I rubbed my forehead. Victor lovingly took my hand, lowering it to my lap.

“That doesn’t mean tired.” He quipped softly. “But maybe you should take a nap. You’ll be more comfortable in bed.”

I laid down beside my husband, letting him wrap a protective arm around me. His hand took mine, drawing soft lines on my skin.

“Are you comfortable?” I heard him whisper.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, trying to end the conversation.

“Do you need another pillow?”

“I’m sleepy.”

I felt his lips touch my hair.

“Good night.”

I got the pen and paper from my mother’s hand and placed it on my lap, writing furiously on it.

“The baby?” I wrote.

My mother sighed heavily, and took my hand.

“Andy…” She trailed off. I slapped the paper hard with my hand. Why couldn’t she tell me already? I knew he was dead, no embryo would survive that beating. But I needed to hear it.

“It’s incredibly rare, but it can happen to a woman to have a false positive pregnancy test.” My mother explained. “There was no baby. You weren’t pregnant.”

That was simply ridiculous. There was a baby, I was sure there was a baby. I had symptoms, my breasts were swollen, I was late, there was a positive test…

“I have something to tell you, Andrea.” My mother warned me, with tears in her eyes. “But you have to promise me you’ll be strong.”

I nodded, without knowing exactly what I was agreeing to, or what kind of strength would I need.

“You had severe uterine bleeding.”  She held my hand tightly. “They had to perform a hysterectomy.”

I woke up, enjoying the soft sun and the earthy colors of our bedroom for the first time in a week. We were back in Loveland. I had left in Switzerland the dream of giving Victor a biological child.

What exactly does one do when one’s dream is gone? Until our trip to Switzerland, my infertility was a reality, but with the help of science, it could still be overcome. The dream was dormant, but still alive. Now, not even all the fighting in the world could make me have a child of my own. The dream was dead. The only thing left to do was to bury it, and move on.

Without much thought, I got up from bed and did what I did every morning, on a normal day: I went to the kitchen. And predictably enough, Victor was finishing cooking, the scrambled eggs and toast already on the table, a mug with coffee placed by my usual seat.

“Good morning.” He announced, as he added to the table some sliced fruit. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“The cramps seem to be gone.” I declared, making an effort to look perky. “ Will you give me a ride today? I need to go to LCG today, see how the remodeling is going. Any interesting news?”

My husband didn’t seem interested in the news, though.

“You’re going to work?” He frowned at me. “You had a procedure two days ago.”

I gently placed my forkful of eggs on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. I didn’t want to think about Switzerland or my procedure. I just wanted to move on.

“Three days ago.” I corrected. “There’s a time difference. Besides, I’m fine, I’m just going to see the remodel, I’m not going to break any walls myself.”

I needed to sound as normal and healthy as possible if I was going to convince my husband.  But the truth was, I was not only trying to convince Victor, I was also trying to convince myself. Except my body wasn’t in on my lie. I felt a painful cramp in my lower abdomen that almost made me double over, suppressing a whimper.

“I have to find my phone.” I got up from my seat carefully, before Victor could be any wiser. “I must have a hundred emails to return.”

Victor and I didn’t reveal what we were doing in Switzerland, just stating we had meetings with new clients there and would be extremely busy, so we kept communications to a bare minimum. When I went to the clinic for the procedure I turned off my phone, and because of all that happened after, I never remembered to turn it on again. The moment my device came to life, it started beeping non-stop.

I started skimming through the messages, already categorizing the most urgent ones to reply as soon as I got to my computer. My eyes lingered on one sent by Diane.

Aunty Andrea, I have arrived! I was born on August 19th, at 7 pm, weighing 6 pounds. I am a healthy and happy baby and I can’t wait to meet you. Mommy and Daddy say hi! Lots of love, Penny.

Below there was a picture of a sweet baby wrapped in a pink soft blanket, sleeping peacefully. I heard Victor speaking from behind me, leaning against the door frame.

“I was going to tell you after breakfast.”

I took a deep breath, afraid I might start to cry. Clearing my throat, I turned to him, trying to act as perky as possible.

“It’s ok, now I know.” I moved past him to the walking closet. “Penny looks absolutely precious.” I picked a shirt to wear. “I need to call Diane to know when it’s the most convenient to visit. They’re probably too tired to see people right now.”

“Just stop it already.” Victor scolded, making me start to get jittery. “I know you are unwell, you shouldn’t be going to work. You need time to recover.”

“No, what I need is a shower and to get back to my life. I can’t do that staying at home and moping.” I was desperate to get steaming water on my abdomen to ease the pain I was feeling. “Give me 20 minutes and we can leave.”

My wish to pretend everything was ok soon fell apart, as the dull pain I was feeling sharpened and made my knees buckle. The only reason I didn’t fall was Victor’s watchful stance, as he promptly gathered me in his arms.

“You’re not going to work today. Neither am I.” He sat me on the bed. “I’ll help you shower and change into more comfortable clothes, but no one is leaving the house today. You just had surgery, and you are still in pain.”

Despite my protests, Victor undressed me and took me to the bathroom, allowing me to shower by myself under the condition that he would sit outside the stall, waiting for me. I let the hot water dissolve the knots in my body, my mind reeling with thoughts of the recent events.

For the past two years, I had worked hard to get rid of all the marks Daniel left in me. I got my self-esteem back, fell in love, made a career for myself. But I couldn’t erase the mark that hurt me the most, my infertility. I had told everyone that I couldn’t remember what had happened, convincing them that my head injury or maybe shock had erased it from my mind. However, I was trying to spare their feelings. The truth was too cruel, I needed to keep it to myself, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. That day at the hospital, I swore to myself that what happened that night would die with me.

First, the memory came in flashes. I did my best to keep it hidden in the dark corner of my mind, but to no avail. It was overpowering me, to the point that I forgot where I was, and simply closed my eyes, finding myself on the cold floor of my old kitchen again.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Daniel circled me as I sat on the floor, wiping the blood from my nose. “Did you really think I would just let you walk away?”

He removed the belt from his pants and wrapped it around my neck, tightening it as he kneeled behind me.

“Listen carefully, my love. You don’t get a say about your life. You don’t get a say about that baby’s life. You don’t even get to decide where you go.” I fumbled uselessly to get the belt off my neck, almost passing out with the lack of oxygen. I was startled with his mouth whispering in my ear. “I’m the one who decides who stays and who goes, and I decide who gets to live. Let me tell you what I have decided.”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and suddenly smashed my head against the tile. After that, I couldn’t get up. The pain was so unbearable I was paralyzed and temporarily blind, my ears ringing loudly. The only thing I could feel was the blood pouring from my forehead and pooling on my hair and ears, and his voice, far away, like I was under water.

“I will let you live your pathetic miserable life.” He spoke with disdain. “But you will not have that child, or any other child.”

The first kick made the air suddenly leave my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe in anymore, before another kick followed. And another. And another. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t cry, I was helpless. The only thing I could do was hope he was wrong, and death would take me anyway.

The sound of the shower door opening startled me, my mind still somewhat fuzzy, stuck between memory and reality. The water stopped, I felt a towel wrapping around me, arms lifting me from the wet floor.

When I fully came to my senses, I was in Victor’s arms, his face close to mine, whispering. It was then that I realized I was gasping for air.

“Deep breaths.” I heard his voice in my ear, while he rocked me back and forth. “Take deep breaths, Andy.”

I couldn’t stop the sobs that followed, making me shake violently. Victor held on tight to me, and I grabbed the fabric of his shirt like my life depended on it, wanting to escape the memory.

After seeing I was more relaxed, he helped me dress and laid me in bed.

“Talk to me.” He urged, as he pulled the comforter over me. “Tell me how I can help.”

“I just want to sleep.” My voice was weak as raspy, barely audible.

His hand rested on my back and lingered, as he seemed to ponder on what to do. After a moment, I felt the mattress rise as his weight left it, and I heard the sound of the door closing softly behind him. He came to the room numerous times, checking up on me. I pretended to be asleep in every single one of them, until he eventually grew tired of it and woke me up, stroking my curls.

“Your mother is on the phone, she wants to talk to you.” I opened my eyes, and his phone came into my line of sight.

“Tell her I’m sleeping.” I covered my head with the comforter.

“You need to talk to someone.” Victor’s voice had lost all his softness. “If not me, your mother. Take the phone.” He almost ordered.

“I said I don’t want to talk to her.” I turned my back. “Stop pressuring me.”

Victor unmuted his phone, bringing it to his ear.

“I’m sorry, Mariana, she’s asleep. I’ll tell her to call you later.”

I closed my eyes again, waiting for him to leave.

“You’re avoiding your mother now?” He scolded me.

“I’m not avoiding anyone, I just want to be left alone. Is that so difficult to understand?” I buried myself under the comforter.

“Yes, you are. You are avoiding your mother and you are avoiding me. Don’t think I don’t know you were pretending to be asleep every time I came to the room. You can’t deal with this all by yourself Andy, you need to speak up.”

I got up from the bed, running to the door, trying to avoid a discussion. I didn’t have it in me to fight. I was too weak. But before I could reach it, Victor pushed my back against the wall, resting his hands on it, blocking any exit for me. I was trapped.

“Victor, please, just let me go!” I begged, tears already forming in my eyes.

“I will not.” He spoke assertively. “Not until you talk to me.”

I looked down, avoiding his gaze. His forehead pressed on mine.

“Don’t hide from me, Andrea. Please.”

I felt the bad blood rising fast, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. All the frustration and the anguish of the past days came full force in one single wave, and before I could help it, it was spilling all over.

“What do you want me to tell you, Victor?” I felt so enraged I just wanted to scream at his face. “That I’m a horrible person that can’t even be happy for her friend? That I’m consumed by bitterness and jealousy? Or that I feel guilty for having let that piece of shit into my life, and take everything I held dear? Can you possibly understand what that’s like? He won, Victor. You are already paying the price for my bad decisions, I can’t let you pick up the pieces too.”

Victor grabbed my face with his hands, looking at me with piercing eyes.

“You are not a terrible person and you are not responsible for what happened to you. I understand this can be hard for you, but don’t avoid the people that love you. Talk to me.”

“I don’t need to talk!” I yelled, frustrated. “I need normalcy, I need to feel like I’m not about to break, and I need space! I’ll figure it out by myself. Just let me figure it out by myself.”

Victor looked down, seemingly trying to hold himself back. After a moment, he let me go, walking away in frustration.

“What am I supposed to do then, sit idly as I watch you crumble to pieces? Pretend I don’t hear you cry? I will not see you like this and do nothing!“ He lifted his left hand, showing me his wedding ring. “I made a vow I have every intention to keep. In the good times and the bad, remember? It’s my duty as a husband to be at your side at all times, why won’t you let me?” He paused, looking down again. “Am I not good enough?”

His question felt like a bucket of ice dropping on me, freezing me to the core. In my mind’s eye, I could remember all the times I urged him to open up to me, worried about him. I could remember how I felt unwanted every time he pushed me back. Now, I was doing the same. I broke down sobbing, and immediately I felt my husband's arms around me, steadying me. Like they always did.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” I pulled him tightly to me, taking the strength he was offering me. “You are more than enough, please don’t think otherwise. You are the man that I love, I need you.” I nudged his chest, letting all my anguish finally out, unrestrained. “I’m so sorry, Victor, please forgive me.”

“I’m here, my light, don’t cry.” He whispered softly in my ear, one hand holding the back of my head, the other running soothingly in my back. “All will be well, I promise. You are safe in my arms.”

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch9

This was meant to be just a quick bit of practice at freehand drawing so I could work on doing neat straight lines and circles.  Then I found my old glass paints that have been in a box for...8 years (?) and suddenly I now have a WASP suncatcher.  I’m a bit wobbly with the relief edging, probably not helped in that the tubes had gone a bit firm and funky, but I’m predicting more sun catchers and maybe a few candle holders will appear soon.

Many thanks are due to @willow-salix​ who has provided much hand holding and head pats.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Nine

Gordon fell into line amongst the other hopefuls.  For the next few days he wasn’t Gordon Tracy, Olympian and heir to one of the largest fortunes in America, he was Number 14 and the anonymity suited him just fine.  The elastic armband around his bicep was the sole identifier to distinguish him from the other candidates as the assessors marked down their observations.  Only the course leader had the information that linked names to numbers; each stage of selection was kept separate to avoid bias.  

“Atten...shun!”

The command was barked out by the officer placed in charge of his group and Gordon found himself jumping to the alert and snapping his feet together automatically.  Evidently something had remained buried deep in his memory from all the times watching Scott being taught drill by their father or practicing out in the yard in Kansas all those years ago.  The rest of the group also snapped to attention with varying degrees of success.

“Group C, your first test is pool fitness.  You have two minutes to fetch your swimming kit and fall back into line.  Go!”

There was a mad scramble towards the door of their temporary accommodation as Gordon and the other potential recruits allocated to group C raced to retrieve their kit from their bunks.  They had barely been on base for an hour but had already learnt that failure to meet a time limit or just being last to complete a task would result in being given punishment press ups.  By the time they had reassembled groups A and B were nowhere to be seen, evidently separated off to undertake one of the other selection tests.

As they marched across the base to the pool Gordon couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased that his group was getting to swim first.  This was his natural environment and he justifiably had every confidence in his own abilities.  It would also give him a good chance to stretch out his muscles after sitting around in the airport and then being cramped in an airline seat; domestic flights were always taken in coach class for a Tracy son travelling solo.

Once within the pool building more orders were barked giving a time limit to get changed.  Gordon quickly found a space on the bench and started stripping.  Some of the other recruits seemed a little uncomfortable about changing in the communal space but Gordon figured that privacy would often be hard to come by within the submarine service and now was not the time to be worried about modesty.  After years of completing the action several times a week he could be in his kit almost as quickly as he could swim 200m and he was one of the first ready.  

He snapped on his sunshine yellow swimming cap drawing a few strange looks but Gordon shrugged them off; so what if only a couple of candidates in his group were wearing them?  To Gordon the cap was just a standard part of his kit, however he was glad he had decided to leave his Team USA branded items at home and opt for his plain training set; there was no need to draw more attention to himself than was strictly necessary.

Out on the poolside the elastic armbands were replaced by numbered stickers slapped on shoulder and thigh.  From the way the sticker pulled tightly at the skin Gordon just knew that ripping it off later would be a painful experience.  Once numbers had been applied everyone lined up expectantly, awaiting further orders.

“Right, I want two circuits of the pool as warm up.  No cutting the corners.  No touching the wall.  Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir!”  the chorus of voices responded in unison.  

“Into the water, in number order.  Go!”

One by one the men allocated to group C were counted into the water to complete their circuits around the perimeter of the pool.  The pace was frustratingly slow for the Olympian whose number placed him towards the rear of the pack and it took a lot of self control not to stretch out and overtake those ahead of him.  

The slow pace allowed Gordon plenty of opportunity to look around the facility.  WASP evidently invested in its sporting areas for the pool itself was up to Olympic standards even if the viewing and changing areas were a little more basic than Gordon had encountered at some of his competitions.  If he was given the opportunity to continue his swimming training, and it wasn’t unheard of to encounter military participants released for competitions, he would have no complaints about the standard of the Marineville pool.  Unfortunately his appraisal of the facilities nearly earned him a kick in the face, he hadn’t realised how close he had got to the swimmer in front and had to drop his pace yet again to maintain some distance.  For him the actual tests and the chance to stretch out his limbs couldn’t come soon enough.  

With warm-up over the first eight swimmers were allocated their lanes.  Gordon watched the action even more closely than the assessors, critiquing the style of others was all part of his ingrained training and he winced at some of the sloppy dives and mangled turns.  Still, the tests were about meeting a minimum standard rather than being competition ready.

Soon enough it was time for swimmers 9 through to 16 to claim a lane.  It didn’t escape Gordon’s notice that his number placed him in lane six and the coincidence struck him as lucky.  If you had asked him just a few months ago what his favourite lane was he would have promptly answered four but after his Olympic success he has developed a soft spot for his current position, after all it had been good enough to earn him gold and a world record.  He adjusted his goggles and wiggled his toes on the edge of the pool, he would have preferred to use a starting block but he could adapt.

The sound of the whistle had him launching into the water in a clean dive.  There had been no stipulations on the stroke to be used and Gordon automatically found himself using his preferred butterfly, unaware of the raised eyebrows this was causing among the onlookers; his rejection of freestyle making him stick out almost as much as the yellow hat.  That and the fact that he left the other candidates in his wake.  He shot through the water, powerful muscles propelling him towards the finish at a rate that far exceeded expectations.

Less than 2 minutes later and Gordon had completed his fourth lap and finished the test.  He had taken it easy, or at least he thought he had until he turned and realised the next nearest swimmer was almost a full lap behind him.  He returned bemused stares with a shrug and a smile before placing his hands on the poolside and launching himself out to sit on the edge and wait for the others to finish.

The remainder of the pool tests passed in much the same fashion with Gordon easily outstripping his cohort.  He could swim faster, dive further and hold his breath for longer than any of the others.  His techniques were sharp and in the water he moved with a strength and grace that were enviable.  Even skills like casualty towing, which wasn’t part of his usual repertoire, came naturally to him and he aced the tests with ease.  The assessors scribbled some hurried notes on their pads; when it came to the water based activities at least candidate 14 was marking himself out as someone to watch.

xoxoxox

The first day drew to a close and Gordon was thankful when his group were released to the freedom of their dormitory.  The pool session had been swiftly followed by a run then a drill lesson in one of the large parade squares dotted around the base.  His muscles were weary and clearly grumbling at the lack of deep stretching after his swim but he was in a better shape than many in the room.  WASP only accepted the very best to join its ranks and the selection tests were designed to weed out those not up to standard.  Already three beds in his room were empty after their allocated occupants had withdrawn, either having had a change of heart or to avoid the shame of being rejected at the end of the course having already failed too many of the test elements. 

Tempting as it was to just flop down onto his bunk Gordon knew from painful experience that he would regret it the following day.  He settled himself on an empty patch of floor and started running through some yoga poses to try and work out the tension in his back and legs.  Just because the instructors hadn’t given them much opportunity to stretch didn’t give him the excuse to neglect his body.  It also gave him something productive to do while waiting for his turn in the showers.

His activities drew some curious looks and half-sniggered comments from the others in the room but he zoned out and ignored them, instead focussing on his form until the showers came free.  He didn’t have long to wait, two showers came free at the same time and both he and Number 13 grabbed their towels and headed through to the wash rooms.

He stripped down to his shorts and picked experimentally at the stickers left in place after the pool session, the glue was strong and part of him was tempted to leave them except the edges were just beginning to lift and annoy him.  He gritted his teeth, pinched the loosest corner and ripped back sharply.  He swiftly repeated the action on the second sticker then rubbed briskly at the angry red patches left on his skin.

“That looked painful.  Not too sure I want to do that to myself”

He looked up, met the eyes of Number 13 and grinned.

“It’s just like pulling off a band-aid.  Nothing to it.” 

“Rather you than me.  I think I'll try and get mine in the shower.”

They went their separate ways into the empty cubicles and Gordon turned the shower up high.  The accommodation might be spartan but he was glad the water was hot and plentiful.  The powerful drops blasted away the sweat and chlorine that had built up on his skin and he turned his face into the stinging stream.  Much as he would have liked to stand there for longer he knew others were waiting their turn and it wouldn't be fair to hang around.  The temptation was strong but he hadn’t been impressed by the amount of time some candidates had taken and it wasn’t fair to keep the last few waiting longer than they had to.  

All too soon he was back in the chilly dorm room, hauling himself onto the bunk that had been marked out as his.  Eight sets of bunk beds lined the room, with thirteen of the individual beds now filled.  He wondered how many more gaps would appear as the selection course progressed.  Murmurs of conversation broke out around the room as the participants made use of the first real chance they had to get to know each other since arriving.  The instructors had kept them busy all afternoon and unnecessary chatter during the tasks had been swiftly quelled by punishment press ups,  but now, with no instructors around, the candidates could speak more freely.

Gordon lay back and listened.  It was the usual first-night whispers he remembered from some of his swim camps; name, city but unsurprisingly not their favourite distance and stroke.  The introductions travelled around the room; it seemed Marineville saw applicants from the west coast right through to the central states.  Gordon knew it would soon be his turn and he resolved to say as little as possible, he was enjoying being just another person in the crowd.

“So what about you 14?”

“Gordon, I'm from LA.” 

If he thought he was going to be able to get away with the bare minimum he was sorely mistaken.

“So what were you doing before you decided to try out for WASP?  You're built like a tank and you swim like a fish.  You some personal trainer or something?”

“Me? Uh, I've just high finished school.  I do swim competitively though.”

Thankfully the candidate doing the questioning latched on more to the school part than the swimming.

“Only just left school?  You don't act like some kid, I thought you were at least 20, maybe 22.”

“Nope, only 17.”

“Jeez, that makes you the baby of the group.  So what do your family think of you heading off to sea first chance you get?”

Thankfully Gordon was spared answering by a bellow from the doorway.

“This is a military base, not a holiday camp.  If you lot have enough energy to gossip you obviously aren't working hard enough.  Now if I hear another sound from this room I will have you outside running laps until you drop.  Do you understand me?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” rang out before the room descended into total silence.

Gordon rolled over, wondering what challenges tomorrow would bring.

xoxoxox

The second day of selection started with the sound of drums at daybreak.  Sleepy heads were raised in confusion.  Others who were quicker on the uptake, Gordon included, leapt from their beds and started throwing on clothes.  He was glad he hadn’t skimped on the stretches the night before, some of his contemporaries were looking decidedly stiff after the exertions of the previous day.

The now familiar sound of shouting filled the room.

“Up!  Up!  Sports kit on and outside for PT before breakfast.  Move!”

Gordon was no stranger to early morning training.  As the first beats had sounded from the speakers in the corners of the room he had been on his feet, all shreds of sleep disappearing in an instant.  It was an enviable skill and obviously not one possessed by all in the room.  To the observing instructor in the doorway  Number 14 shone through yet again as one of the stronger candidates.

   There was no denying that WASP selection was a taxing experience. The group was whisked from one set of tests to another.  If it wasn’t their bodies being tested it was their minds as they sat exam papers or explored leadership scenarios.  By lunch time another member of his group had dropped out, and judging by the numbers sitting down to eat groups A and B were now similarly depleted.  Even those that lasted the distance had no guarantee they would be accepted to wear the prestigious grey uniform; the standards might have an absolute minimum but it had been made clear that if more met the standard than was needed then only the very best would be made an offer.

While many were struggling Gordon was relishing the challenge.  It was as though he had found his niche.  Even the written tests, which he had approached with some trepidation, had been well within his comfort zone which helped his confidence soar.  Theories and concepts which had seemed so abstract at school seemed to make more sense when applied to a real life scenario and for once in his life Gordon walked away from a classroom without feeling a failure.

After lunch group C were to take their turn on the obstacle course, a gruelling array of beams, walls and aerial wires that would require both strength and agility to navigate.  To Gordon the course looked like a massive playground and he couldn’t help but grin at the prospect.

The instructors divided the group into smaller teams of four and Gordon’s team set off onto the course first at the sound of the whistle.  

The group raced along, leaping over pits using rope swings and stepping along narrow beams as quickly as their balance allowed, each candidate aiming to be the first to reach and therefore clear each piece of equipment.  It was every man for himself.  That was until they were brought up short by a 10 foot wall.  Number 6, who was keen to keep his early lead, took a running jump at the obstacle.  His fingers caught the top edge but he was unable to keep a good enough grip to climb over and he soon fell back down again.

To Gordon the solution was obvious; it was quickly becoming apparent to him that this test was different to those that had gone before and if they were to have any hope of making it through successfully then teamwork would have to be the order of the day.  

“Look, if any of us are to stand a chance of getting through this course we are going to have to work together.”

Number 6, after a second failed leap, was quick to agree.  Numbers 3 and 10, arriving a moment later, could also see sense in the plan.  

“Sure.  So how are we going to tackle this one.”

Three sets of eyes turned to Gordon expectantly.  Having been the one to voice the idea the others were evidently expecting him to come up with the solution.  He thought for a moment then turned and planted his back against the wall, bending his knees to make a step.

“6, you’re tallest, you go first.  Use me as a ladder to get up but stay on top of the wall, don’t drop down the other side.  You can then help up 3 and 10.  Once you’re all on top you can reach back down and haul me over.  Got it?”

There were three nods of agreement. 

Gordon braced himself as first his legs then his shoulders were used as steps.  Once.  Twice.  A third time.  His clothes became marked with muddy footprints but he didn’t care, the plan was working and he was soon being bodily lifted up and over the obstacle by the team he had helped up first.

Having made the decision to work together the group soon found themselves speeding through the course.  Many obstacles, while able to be attempted solo, could be cleared much quicker with careful cooperation and support; Gordon had evidently read the situation correctly.  

Despite being the youngest the others seemed happy to defer to him as their leader and Gordon found himself naturally assuming command of the team.  He directed the group to make the best use of their combined talents.  Before long the band of four found themselves at the far end of the course, just one final obstacle to navigate their way over then the run for home.

Using their now tried and tested method the team were soon atop the final wall despite it being the biggest yet.  From here they could look back over the whole course, the other candidates and their assessors were indistinct figures in the distance.

“Wonder who that is come to visit?  Probably from the World Navy.  Best make sure we put on a good show, they might be important.”

From his lofty vantage point Gordon looked back towards the start point.  Number 6 was right, someone new had joined the cluster of watching assessors, the dark blue of their uniform a stark contrast to WASP grey.

“No idea.  Come on, let's finish this as a team.”

The group jumped down from the final obstacle and began the mad sprint back to the beginning of the course and their waiting assessors.  As they closed the gap between themselves and the waiting officers, making sure no one was left behind, the mystery figure resolved itself into a familiar form for Gordon 

Recognition led first to confusion and then to anger.

Scott.

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Petals.

Hi! Here is another chapter! I hope you all enjoy it 😊 please let me know what you think! There’s also a link in my tumblr to read it in Ao3. As always I apologize for any grammar or vocabulary errors I may have.

Chapter 4: Tickles.

Draco spent an entirely week feeling sorry for himself before he decided that he had enough. The fact that Mr. Potter reminded him that the school year was about to come to an end (which meant that Potter would be moving in) was just a happy coincidence.

Apparently they were facing some problems with the guardianship. Some days ago, Moody had told Sirius that things didn’t just go away, that at the least they had to do an incredibly large amount of paperwork to declare Mr. Potter as a living person and only then they could arrange a trial to clear Sirius’s name once and for all.

Everything was more complicated than it was supposed to be because Fudge didn’t believe their story about what happened at the ministry, not that he would bother them much though. The minister had already fucked up by denying the Dark Lord return for an entire year, and since the events of the department of mysteries, the attacks had become more and more severe until they were impossible to ignore. Since ‘War Hero James Fleamont Potter comes back’ was good publicity for Fudge, Draco wasn’t really worried about it as his cousin was. It was rather annoying, really. When Mr. Potter would get out of Grimmauld Place to attend to a hearing at the ministry or go to St. Mungos for his check ups, Sirius would spend the entire bloody day nervous and looking all pained around the house. It drove Draco insane.

“Would you just calm down? I can’t even read like this. Your magic is all over the place.” Sirius frowned and opened his mouth to respond but he beat him to it. “ I’m just worried! What if they don’t let him come back or a test just goes wrong?? Who would laugh at my awful jokes then??” He said with a high pitch voice that didn’t sound like his cousin at all but it was funnier that way. He would know, he had an immaculate sense of humor.

“You are an awful cousin. I’m starting to understand Harry.”

Draco gasped as dramatically as he could then. He put a hand on his heart and made an exaggerated disbelief gesture. “You take that back.” He hissed. Draco loved this, loved living with the two of them, he was never bored with them and they never took anything he said personally because they understood him, there was this unspoken agreement that jokes and banter were the answer to every situation. Draco just loved that.

“Never.” Sirius said while laughing. He reminded him of mother sometimes, his gestures, the way his smiled would reach his eyes only when he thought something was really funny.

They heard the fireplace come to life. Green flames appeared and then Potter and his father were coming through. Sirius didn’t look surprised at all about the fact that Potter had arrived a day before the end of term. Great, it was just him then.

Mr. Potter greeted them and and asked his son to help with Draco’s luggage. Saint Potter on the other hand was too busy frowning, looking between Sirius and him, to actually respond to his father or to have basic human decency and say hello. Draco passed next to him as he went to where the man was.

“Don’t bother, Mr. Potter, I’ll just take them.”

Draco casted a levitation charm on the luggage and went upstairs. He was almost at his door when he heard Sirius’s voice.

“That was rather rude.”

Draco could almost see scarhead roll his eyes at that. They still didn’t understand that they should just let Potter and him treat each other as it pleased them.

“I just can’t understand why the Order can’t find another place for him.”

“They can, of course.” He wondered if Mr. Potter was always this calm while arguing, it was the same composed tone that he used when Severus had told Draco off because of the blood ritual.

“Then what is he doing here?” Potter sounded exasperated, but apparently they chose to ignore the boy’s question because Draco heard no response at all.

He spent the rest of the day going over his stuff to check if everything was in order. At least he didn’t have to study anymore. Given that his life would ceased to exist, he could spend the summer (for the first time in forever) not going over his school textbooks to ensure beating Granger at school next year. Don’t get him wrong, he loved knowledge, he just didn’t have the urge to be top of year anymore. The fact that his father used to punish him for coming second to a mudblood witch was totally an unrelated thing; his goals in life changed because he now had a terminal desease, not because his living situation changed, of course.

Kreacher came to announce that dinner was served as usual, he did noticed him more pissed off. He couldn’t blame him, really. Aunt Walburga’s portait hadn’t stopped screaming since she realized that Potter arrived. They could normally shut the curtains when she yelled ‘Blood traitors scum’ at them if she heard them around the house, but she had thrown an absolutely fit when she noticed the dark haired boy was around too. ‘Disgusting Half-blood! In my home already infested with shameful blood traitors, such a disgrace’ , he heard as Kreacher and him were passing near the portait, the poor elf ran to it in such hurry he nearly tripped. Draco continued his way to the kitchen as he kept hearing the old elf trying to calm her down. It would seem that Kreacher was the only living creature that had loved Walburga Black when she was alive.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the table when he arrived. Potter still had an annoyed expression on his face. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and pulled a chair to sit down and eat. There was an uncharacteristically silence, the blond boy hoped for someone to crack a joke but it never came. He was dying to ask why Potter couldn’t wait one more day to come back but they had clearly hide that information from Draco on purpose so he wasn’t going to ask. He supposed it could be to avoid Mr. Potter going to King Cross to get his son... Whatever, it wasn’t any of his business.

“So... what do you two plan to do with your summer?” Mr. Potter asked. Sirius and Draco stared at him before looking at each other and bursted laughing. They tried to controlled themselves but it was useless so he opened his mouth.

“My plan was to spend the rest of the bloody summer trapped here, Mr Potter, thanks for asking.” He smiled, relieved that they could still actually talk even if Potter was here.

“Hey, I was planning to do the same thing! What a coincidence!” Said Sirius with a mocking tone in his voice.

“Ha ha, you are hilarious. At least I’m trying to make conversation. What about you, Harry?”

The dark haired boy, who was observing the exchange between them with a curious look in his face, turned his attention to his father then.

Potter shrugged and took another bite of his food, he responded while his mouth was still full.

“I don’t know, fly maybe? I never got to do that on summers unless I was at The Burrow. Or maybe I’ll just try not to get weird visions from Voldemort, who knows.”

Mr. Potter and Sirius froze at that and Draco fought to hide a smile. That was one of the things that he liked the most about the prat who lived, he always responded with sass. The first time he heard it was directed to him in fact, ‘I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks’, it always amused him how cheeky Potter was with everyone, with his Gryffindors or even with the professors. Because Draco saw that the other two men didn’t know how to respond to that he intervened.

“Maybe you could spend your summer learning how to actually do an occlumency shield, instead of cracking jokes about how the Dark Lord can get into your mind with such ease, Potty.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Witty comeback right there, Potter. I’ll take that as win for me.” He said as he was pointing his finger at the boy with the best arrogant smirk he had. This was probably the only way that Draco could flirt with Potter, even if he was so utterly oblivious to his intentions. The blond boy supposed it was because Gryffindors didn’t tend to be mean flirts in general, so if a Slytherin approached them they would always feel as they were making fun of them in a bad way. There even was this ridiculous legend going around down in the dungeons which said there was a curse, that started around the founders era, that caused the Slytherins to have (at least) one crush on a Gryffindor while they were at school and said crush would never get that they were flirting, ever. Draco always thought it was rubbish until he witness it himself.

He heard Mr. Potter chuckle and when he turns to see him and his cousin, he found them looking at Draco with an amused face. He looked down, luckily for him he had a lot of practice in hiding the blush that started to invade his face. He drank a little water and kept on eating. This was exactly why he didn’t want to live in the same place as Potter, Draco was too used to try to get the boy’s attention by any means necessary. To think that now he was supposed to try to ignore him a little for it not to be so bloody obvious...Maybe the best course of action was to go back to his room and only get out to get food, that way his encounters with Potter would be minimum. At least his comment seemed lighten the mood because then Sirius was talking about how he could work with his godson, to perfect his shield and Mr. Potter also said that it was a great idea. Once Draco finished eating he excused himself and went to his room.

He was drawing in his sketch book when Potter opened the door and entered the room closing the door behind him. Draco quickly closed the book in his hands.

“One would think that in fifteen years you should have already learn how to knock.”

Potter rolled his eyes and gave him an exasperated look. The ‘shut up, Malfoy’ was implied. Draco looked at him, waiting for whatever nonsense he would say to him.

“First of all: apparently, I’ve been rude to you. Which I think it’s rubbish, but I came here to-“

“Don’t.” Draco interrupted him. Not in a million years he would let this happen. “Don’t bloody apologize, Potter. You are giving me the creeps.”

He could see how grateful Potter was to hear that.

“Brilliant. That’s settled then. Second of all: I don’t fully trust you.” What else was new? As if he cared, stupid git. “But I’ve still haven’t thanked you for what you did at the ministry...”

Draco widened his eyes. What the fuck was happening?

“Don’t put that face, Malfoy. I don’t know why you did what you did, if it was a ploy to get into the headquarters or whatever. And maybe it’s really selfish to say this but I don’t care. You gave me something that I thought it was forever lost and you saved Sirius right in front of me.”

The blond boy muttered something, trying to dismissed Potter. This was getting to personal and he didn’t like it. Potter walked to where he was and sat on the end of the bed, looking at him. His piercing green eyes were absolutely focused on Draco, trying to show how serious he was about what he said, then he spoke again.

“What I mean is that I don’t know what that means for a Slytherin, but for us Gryffindors is a proof of kindness, so thank you.”

And Potter did the one thing that he dreamed of since forever: he offered his hand to Draco. It wasn’t an offer of friendship, he knew that Potter and him could never be friends... but it was thoughtful gesture. It meant that ,this beautiful boy who Draco absolutely did not deserve, remembered that day on the train, how their rivalry started. It was also something like a peace offer. The blond boy raised his eyes to look at Potter’s, he nodded and grabbed the boy’s hand.

Draco thought that the day could not get any weirder but then while he was shaking Potter’s hand, the boy smiled at him. A wide, very sincere smile that made his heart stop for several seconds. That smile was never for him, he had spend five years of his life looking at the Gryffindor table just to see this boy smile at his friends and now this one big gorgeous smile was exclusively for him.

He felt something weird then, like tickles inside of him, never felt that one before... Draco didn’t want to let go of Potter’s hand before necessary, but he was feeling really strange, so he let go of him to see if the feeling would go away. It didn’t.

“Well, that was all, Malfoy... Good night I guess?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, good night, Potter.”

When the door closed behind him, Draco touched his ribs. The tickles were still there, but smaller. He spent enough years reacting to Potter and feeling stuff to know that this wasn’t normal.

[morannegg]

93 - I’m telling you, I’m haunted. (Logan and Virgil)

@mystic-voyager

“I’m haunted.”

The words were spoken with a… Surprisingly subtle lack of care, floating through the air for a few precious seconds as Logan processed the statement Virgil had just made. Perhaps the hesitation in forming a reply came from how sudden the words had been- Or at least unexpected, considering it was only early in the morning and Logic had not even moved past the task of finishing his coffee yet. 

More likely, however, was that its origin lied in the scientifically improbability of the truth in said words.

As soon as the man managed to gather his thoughts and adjust his tie, Logan straightened up- Refraining from even letting out a sigh at the amount of conspiracy theories Virgil must have been watching last night to conclude he was haunted- and pushed his glasses further up his nose, rubbing the morning sleep out of them. “I must consider such things impossible, Virgil. I am presuming you intended to inform me that ghosts- which aren’t real- have been pestering you an unhealthy amount, and as much as I enjoy conspiracy videos myself…”

He let the silence linger for a moment, watching as the purple side neatly tucked his pale hands into the pockets of his pyjama’s before continuing. “... There is no such thing as true ‘haunting’. Be it the haunting of a location, item, or person.”

Something flickered across Virgils eyes for a moment, before the embodiment of Thomas’ anxiety let out a flat huff and moved to brush past Logan. Unsurprisingly, he reached for the pot of coffee, fiddling with the cabinet to procure a cup. 

Logan was grateful for the fact that Virgil appreciated the beverage as much as he did, truly. Before he joined the light sides, the minimum amount of cups to be made with the coffee machine always required Logan to down an unhealthy amount of the stuff, or- Somehow worse- waste perfectly fine coffee altogether, with Roman being such a tea-heretic and Patton usually starting his day with hot chocolate of all things. He’d tried lecturing him on the amount of sugar he’d consume with such a schedule, but well.. He did have to hand it to the Moral side- Surely the amount of caffeine Virgil and Logan pumped into their systems wasn’t healthy for Thomas either.

Of course, Deceit occasionally fancied a cup of coffee- But he had joined after Virgil had, and the days where he did drink the coffee were few and far between, so he usually made his own.

As for Remus, no one really knew for certain what he drank. Logan did not wish to speculate.

So as he eyed Virgil pouring the last of the coffee into his own cup- A mug gifted by Patton with a Humpback painted onto the side alongside some positive message regarding whalesome love- he relaxed slightly, opening himself up to further comment. Still, it took a few seconds before Virgil continued, clearly aggitated by.. Something. Perhaps Logan’s attempt to debunk his conclusion in the most Logan-way possible- Or perhaps whatever had kept him up all night, if not conspiracy theories. Certainly it must’ve been something, judging by the bags underneath his eyes. 

“Look, Lo. You know that, and I know that, but if telling that to the ghost in my room would have worked, I doubt I’d have to come downstairs and inform you that I’m haunted.” His voice was a low, tired grumble- Much akin to a college student being informed that they have yet another series of tests in two days time after already being pushed to the mental edge. 

Logan shook his head in a calm manner, stepping forward. As one hand reached out to push the sugar and milk set a little closer to Virgil, the other aimed to draw soothing circles upon the thin back of his friend. He pursed his lips slightly, frown burrowing in concentration. “Very well, then. Why don’t you tell me in detail what happened?”

-----

And so he did. 

Virgil had explained the issue as well as he could- Of how something had been sneaking in and out of his room at night, repeatedly, and how items had gone missing- hoodies, scarves, even socks. 

And a left slipper, apparently.

He told him how everytime he tried to investigate, the supposed ghost just… Was nowhere to be found, as if there truly was something incorporeal floating around. Logan, at this point, had already summoned his Sherlock hat, having sent John Patson to question Roman if he had seen anything odd. After all, his room was closest to Virgil’s. 

Not that that had helped them in anyway. Roman was- apparently- in one of his moods, and far too busy focusing on his next grand idea to spare Patton more than a few words. Which, even more so, were spoken quite hastily and overflowing with excitement, to allow the creative side to get back to work as soon as possible.

Dee wasn’t of much help, either. The colder temperatures truly weren’t suiting the side in any shape or form, causing him to drowsily nap in his room whenever Patton was too occupied to warm him up. Remus they couldn’t even find- Likely busy in the imagination, according to Roman.

Which brought them to their current situation.

Hiding in Virgil’s closet with the anxious side certainly hadn’t been something Logan had been expecting to do ever again- truly, all of them were fairly done with being in any kind of closet ever since Thomas finally came out of it- but luckily, this one was far more literal. And spacious. Through the gap, Logan held a good view on the glow-in-the-dark stars he had helped Virgil put up on the ceiling- all with proper constellations, naturally. 

As far as stakeouts went, this one was fairly pleasant all-together, really. Whilst they had initially decided against bringing snacks, apparently Patton was quite against the idea, having hidden a small batch of cookies in the closet for the duo. They were gone before they’d even started discussing the third constellation they could spy from here- In hushed voices, naturally.

In fact, it was so pleasant that they nearly missed that all-defining moment.

“No, see, the Greek were quite biased- The names of the constellations usually came from their myths and heroes, and a whole fourth of them starts with a C. It’s truly a bit- if I may- overkill, to-” And just like that, he was cut off- Virgils hand suddenly shooting up to cover his mouth, holding up a barely-visible finger in the dark. At first, Logans eyes widened at the gesture- But then he too caught on to what the other side had picked up on. 

The door!

The creaking sound rung through the air like nails on a chalkboard. Whilst the atmosphere had quickly eased between Virgil and Logan earlier in the evening, just like that it tensed up again. In spite of his earlier claim regarding the existence of ghosts, the teacher felt a cold shiver snake its way up his back. That must be the doing of being in Anxiety’s room- Although Logan did notice that Virgil was doing his best to keep it from affecting him too much.

He felt the cold air as he sucked in a sharp, quiet breath- Felt the hairs on his forearms prickle as they stood up, felt his muscles tense. Somewhere beside him, he vaguely registered Virgil reacting in a similar way- If not through visual means, then through the simple spike in pure thrill radiating from him. Of course, it made sense to Logan.

Virgil was anxiety. He was fight or flight. He was Thomas’ natural ability to react to what’s unknown and potentially dangerous. It made all the sense in the world that he’d tense up. If Logan already had this strong a reaction due to simply being in Virgil’s room, then he barely even wanted to know what the other side himself was going through.

Instinctively, he reached up to draw circles onto Virgil’s back again, attempting to calm him, whilst his eyes flickered over to the crevice in the door again. They waited. Silence lingered. And then, soft footsteps pressed against the wooden floorboards, as the chills got colder.

The duo in the closet held their breaths as the footsteps drew nearer. Logan could almost taste the tension in the air as his heart pounded against his chest, drumming in his ears. Or maybe that tension was just the dryness of his mouth. It didn’t matter much anyway, as the footsteps suddenly halted- Followed by a soft sound of rustling paper, and then silence.

Until Virgil tore away, at least.

Logan tried to reach for him, grab his wrist and drag him back as a warning cry fought to be let out- But it was already far too late as Virgil burst out of the closet, Logan stumbling after him as the door suddenly gave way. Yelping, Logic tumbled down- Bumping against Virgil and taking him down with him. The Anxious side cried out in a string of words that likely would not be Patton-approved if he had heard them, hurriedly trying to gaze around as Logan pushed himself back up with a startled gasp. 

There was nothing.

“That’s impossible!” Logan exclaimed, rushing to the still-open door. Virgil scrambled after him, hurling around the corner after the logical side. “I’m telling you, I’m haunted!” He called out after him, turning his head to find a trace of the ghost.

“There is no such thing as ghosts!” Logan yelled as they ran, gazing at the different hallways as they reached a split. In spite of himself, he suddenly wasn’t as certain anymore. “Yes there is, it was just there!” Virgil inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath as the friends halted. 

Logans eye twitched. There was no such thing as ghosts. There was no such thing as ghosts! Despair laced his features, however, as he saw no sign of anyone either hallway- Turning around to try the other side with a defiant cry.

“Falsehood!”

-----

Remus held his breath from atop the closet as the duo rushed out the door, Virgil’s Tim Burton poster clenched between his teeth as his limbs were busy keeping his body up and out of sight- Plastered between the wall and the ceiling in a way not-too-different from Virgil whenever he got truly startled.

Was it really worth it?

Remus’ ear twitched as the cry came from the hallway. “Falsehood!” And he just barely spied the two rushing by again, poster still in his mouth.

Definitely.

[mistraliprincess]

A New Chapter, A New Blade

“G-Gotin...?” A surprised and slightly confused tone taken by the Qilin seeing her friend rush into the living room of her home with a rather large object wrapped in cloth. Watching as he, without a single word, walks over between the television and the table in front of the couch she sat on. Carefully lowering the large object which he was carrying to set it across the table between the few other objects present. From the size of it alone, it looked just a little shorter than she would be given she either laid beside it, or stood it up beside her. Looking up to the Man with a raised, curious brow wordlessly asking for explanation.

“I came up with something shortly after you woke up in the hospital after your mission. Took the month after to make it, and I just made the finishing touches earlier. It both won’t and will replace the Katana you had that got cut loose on your extraction, but if you ever recover that Katana, I can modify it just a little bit and it’ll still work perfectly with this instead to replace the temporary one provided.” The Smithy with a wide and excited smile across his face as he sort of bounces on his toes for a moment in wait for his friend to unwrap the new weapon.

Shuffling forward in her seat, the Qilin’s tail swings about behind her as excitement begins to rise a little, though more out of curiosity for just what it was he had made this time. Looking up at him as she reached to grab the cloth, she could swear she saw his hair shift with how his ears beneath twitch up with excitement himself. That, and his Aura radiating like she’d only seen a few times prior. He really seemed happy with his work this time around, and she would be sure to see it for herself.

Looking down to his gift for her, Kemuri pulls the cloth back finding a long, pure white sheath with black markings to mimic vines of a Wisteria running from top to bottom. The end capped with gold, and a brace of gold by the weapon itself. A rounded hand-guard which, instead of closing in the back, has an open space. It’s ends curling outward again in a shape akin to the stems of Wisteria flowers, where as small openings along the black guard itself with golden linings were shaped like the petals themselves. The grip beyond at a slight curve to keep with that of the rest of the sheathed weapon, wrapped with black fabric around the white of the grip itself. It’s pommel a golden cap to match that of the guard’s linings.

“A-An Odachi?” She questions for clarity as she stands, picking the blade from the table to stand it in front of herself. Turning it about a little before her as she looks over the wonderful work of her friend. Though she spots a few subtle oddities along the back of the grip, lines that don’t seem entirely right, a bit of the wrapping that looks a tad disconnected from the rest. Plus a... latch, possibly? Maybe a button? It was small, hard to tell, but it sat between some of the grip’s wrapping closer to the hilt.

Grabbing onto the weapon, she pulls the blade out just a few small inches to get a look at the blade. Brilliant silver coloration, as was expected. Though still with the back to her, she can see similar subtle lines along the flat back. Curiosity raising a brow once again as her tail flicks behind her. Though the curiosity at the little odd details is easily outdone by that of what comes upon seeing some parts of the grip light up with her Aura as she holds it. Looking a little more closely to find a few small pieces of crystal embedded within the grip itself, all along the front, and lining from the pommel to the guard.

“Yeah, you always did want something more ranged, and I was always trying to think of something, and this is what I came up with. The grip’s two feet long, two inches wide and one-point-two inches thick. The blade’s a little over four feet long, fifty-seven inches to be exact, with two inches from the cutting edge to the flat, and a one and a half inch thick blade. Not only that, but the little button I’m sure you noticed, if you press that it releases a Katana, roughly half the size of the Odachi itself, for you to use either alongside the Odachi or separately. And I can do some slight modifications to your old Katana if you get it back at any point to be able to fit right in where the current one does. Which I’d suggest you eventually try to do, because that Katana and this Odachi, I think they’re my best work yet.”

Drawing the blade completely, Kemuri eases the sheathe to rest back against the couch behind her while holding the large blade steady in front of her. Setting a hand under one flat of the long, shinning blade to ease it’s edge down to keep from damaging the floor, so that she may turn the weapon and find the button again. Pressing at it, the portion of the grip she had noticed the discrepancy between the wrappings on shifts a little wider, and the spot where the wrappings didn’t match pushes out towards her. 

A handle, smaller than the rest she was holding, with a rather small, subtle guard at it’s end before it’s blade, which stuck just slightly out from that of the Odachi’s with it. Gripping the smaller weapon with her left hand, she pulls it free without issue, quite smoothly too, and brings it out to the side to inspect. Finding it to practically be a miniature of the Odachi itself, the design and coloration of the weapon matching the larger exactly. Bringing it back, she slots the Katana, blade first, back into the opening where it once sat. Easing it into the Odachi again and, with just the slightest click as she presses it home, she can see it practically blend right back into the larger weapon.

“That is... a little much but extremely impressive, actually.” A smile forming across the Huntress’ lips for a moment before it lessened as she remembered the crystal pieces along the Odachi’s handle. “Though I need to know, what did you do to the Crystal...?” Her eyes rising to focus to Gotin as she lifts the blade from the ground. Turning it and lifting the large weapon to rest it’s flat against her shoulder so she could carry it with her weakened right arm while her left took hold of the sheathe. Nodding to gesture the Smithy out the door with her as she begins to walk out of the room to head down the foyer to the training room. The Marten following as he clears his throat to begin explaining himself.

“I figured you’d maybe be a little upset with me about the Crystal once you noticed, but I can assure you I took the bare minimum from the Crystal as I could. While you were recovering, I did a little bit of testing with it, and you had mentioned something about Aura with it a while ago, so I tried using my Aura readers on it while holding it, and they registered a reading that matched my own. It appears to allow it’s wielder to extend their Aura’s reach without expending any of it, almost like it reads your Aura and then multiplies it within itself to provide an extra, albeit smaller, source. 

Out of curiosity, I very carefully cut the tip off one end of the Crystal, tested the readers on it to find it still registered Aura in the small piece, affixed it into a knife handle, and started to experiment. I tried just using the knife normally, tried touching the fragment while doing normal stuff. Nothing was happening no matter what I tried. But then I had the idea to think about what I wanted to happen, as I did things. The first thing I tried, extend, plain and simple. I swung the knife, and as I begun the swing, the edge of the knife suddenly lit up with my Aura and, like I thought about, it extended beyond the reach of the knife on it’s own. It only went double the original blade’s length, but I was able to cut with the Aura-based extension alone without having the metal of the knife touch the objects I tried it with at all.” 

The two entered into the wide training room, Gotin stopping just inside the door while he watched Kemuri continue on toward the center of the room while listening to him explain his tests. Laying the scabbard of the Odachi along the ground before easing the Odachi off her shoulder and taking hold of it with both hands again to start taking a few testing swings with the large blade.

“Not only that, but I started trying other ideas. I thought of blocking, changing shape, multiplying, but nothing else I came up with worked at all. At least not until I thought about whether or not it could possibly release that Aura along the blade, fire it off like a projectile to give you a ranged option in combat beyond your Semblance. Thought of shooting, firing, releasing, launching, nothing worked for a while. 

But I eventually thought to try and see if I could maybe just have the Aura apply to the blade without extending or anything. After a while, I thought ‘prime’, like if someone was to prime an energy based weapon to fire it off. The blade’s edge became coated with my Aura after that, subtle orange glow over the metal, and then I tried thinking of different terms for launching it from the blade. Eventually, ‘release’ let me launch the Aura along the blade forward like a small, but fast, projectile made of energy. Like a hard-light bullet almost. 

I was also able to direct the projectile in a couple different ways, and even extend it to be a line instead of what I could best explain as a dart. If I pointed the knife at something, thought ‘prime’ then ‘release’,  it would shoot at what the blade’s tip was directed to. The knife I was testing with was a straight blade, so the shots were straight on wherever I was pointing it at, but when I tested it with the Odachi later on I did have to angle the Odachi itself just right for the projectile to go to what I was aiming for, but the projectiles did fly straight from the tip of the blade, just like the knife. It’s just a matter of the blade’s curve itself.

But when I swung the knife and thought the two commands, it usually released the energy as a line instead of a focused thing. It still had the same speed, power, everything, but it just was able to hit more, though it was in a curve. If I swung down from eye-level to my waist in front of me, it was an arc of Aura energy that flew forward at my target. Swung diagonally from left shoulder to right hip, did the same. The thing that I quickly came to understand, but found odd, was that the lines only ever extended as much distance as it could while still having my body behind it entirely.

Say you went to swing the Odachi left to right and thought the commands, it would only start the arc of Aura from the moment your blade’s tip passes in front of your left shoulder, and end when it passes your right shoulder. Meanwhile, if you were to extend the blade out to your side, and try a similar thing swinging sideways, it’ll be thinner because it’ll only start from the farthest point of your chest, and end at the farthest point on your back. I did a lot of testing with how odd it was, but I couldn’t really figure out why it does such a thing. My best guess is that it uses your body as it’s point of reference for where the projectile is to start from, and then move out and away.

After I finished my testing, I cut a few more small fragments from the Crystal, from the same end as my first cut mind you, and started affixing them, with the first, to the Odachi’s grip. I tried three at first, and it would work, but the Aura seemed extremely faint in comparison to the one on the knife. I added fragment by fragment until finally, with twelve of them spaced out by an inch along the grip, the Aura extensions were not only matching, but a little stronger than what I had with the knife. 

The Crystal itself still works like it used to before with the testing I did, so there’s no damage to it other than one side being a little shorter now, but I’ve applied it’s properties to the Odachi for you to utilize in fights in the future. It’s nothing like that Tanto that used to be locked away in the shrine outside, but I have a good feeling it’ll serve you equally as well. Especially since I took two days and put almost all my Aura into enchanting the Odachi to be ten times as durable as usual, which compensates for the hollow portion left whenever the Katana is removed, and makes it at least five times stronger than a normal Odachi would be. I was apparently asleep for two days straight after that according to my sister.”

Looking back to her friend, her brows furrowed with some worry, but her eyes are filled with appreciation for the Marten, as he can quickly tell from her gaze. Seeing him return the appreciative look with a smile of his own, wide and welcoming as he nods for her to try out her new weapon as much as she wants. A gesture she accepts as she sees him step aside of the door to lean against the wall before she looks forward to the blade again.

Pale eye scans up the metal of the Odachi’s blade, eyeing the faint signs of the Katana hidden within before running toward the tip far before her and up a little with how she held the weapon in the moment. Taking a breath, she thinks ‘Prime!’, the blade’s edge almost instantly lighting with the near white Aura that matched that of the fragments along the grip, and what she saw in her own form through her false eye. The energy taking to the curve of the metal and radiating from it in a gentle, focused flow as she let it sit and inspected it. 

It felt good, felt right, almost an exact of the sensation she had felt when wielding Wisteria’s Sting a few times in the past. Yet she could tell it wasn’t for the same reasons, not at all, and in fact she liked this a little better. Though she knew immediately it would take time for her to grow accustomed to the much, much longer weapon and the extra weight that came with it. Especially trying to use it and the Katana that was a part of it, whether that would be at the same time or back-and-forth between the two, she’d need to adjust, train, and adapt to it.

Not just one, but three new fighting styles would be available to her with this. Mind already wandering all the possibilities as she starts swinging the blade about in familiar, practiced motions to test the feel of it while the edge glows with her Aura. At a few points thinking ‘extend!’, and watching the swing of her weapon pass the four-foot blade and reach beyond each time she did before shrinking back to it’s normal primed state. The visual reminding her of the extended blade in the projected past back in the chamber which the one man wielded.

Eventually bringing the blade to an angle to aim it across the room toward some targets, she commands ‘release!’ and watches the white energy along the blade condense at the tip and fire from it within a second. A white bolt shooting across the room and impacting a target dummy, knocking it into the wall behind before it topples to the floor and rolls. The point of impact left a crater in the dummy, splinters and cracks reaching beyond it and the top portion just a little loose from the rest of it.

Rearing the blade back, close to her side, she primes it again before thrusting the blade toward another target and commanding it’s release. This time without aiming the tip at the dummy, but instead just thrusting the blade it’s direction. Yet, it fires straight, a line of white as if an arrow of Aura make being loosed from a bow, impacting and piercing through the second dummy and embedding into the wall before it flakes away.

“One more thing!” Gotin speaks up again, earning her focus with a turn to look to him. “If you prime the blade, but don’t release the energy with a projectile, think ‘null’, and it’ll cancel the primed Aura.”

Nodding, she brings the Odachi before herself, priming it once more to look briefly over the radiant edge of the blade before she tests his advice. ‘Null!”, the light fading away in an instant down from the blade’s tip to the hilt as if returning to the Crystal fragments. As if returning to her body itself. Easing the blade down to rest on the floor, she reaches to a pocket to retrieve her Scroll, checking her Aura pool to find it untouched. Untouched, and not alone, as a second is present on the display, with a default anonymous icon beside it with the lack of knowledge as to it’s owner.

It still felt weird, even after the few times she checked to confirm what the doctor told her was true. Yet there it was, the Shade’s Aura, listed right alongside her own, and similarly unchanged by the Aura-enhanced blade. She would need to get used to seeing it though, as she was sure it’d be with her for a long while more. 

Though for the moment, she puts her Scroll away and moves the blade to rest it across it’s sheathe on the floor. Turning once it was settled to run to Gotin and embrace him with a tight hug, which he reciprocates immediately. “Thank you, Gotin, thank you so much for this.”

“You’re welcome, ‘Filly’.” He responds with a chuckle from both of them at the nickname. “Though I gotta bring up one more thing... what’ll you name it?”

The question got Kemuri leaning back and stepping to turn out of the embrace, though with an arm still around her friend’s back, as she looks across the room to the Odachi again. Humming briefly as she thinks, before her eyes turn back to the Marten himself. “Part of me is thinking something to do with Kaigan, or maybe the Crystal? I’ve never named my Weapons before cause I’ve always been bad at naming stuff. Pretty sure you remember the one stuffy I had as a kid, right?”

“Hoofy the Horse?” Gotin snickers his reply with a nod. “Hm... Kaigan... nothing comes to mind to do with Kaigan. But Crystal... Crystal Edge is the first thing that comes to mind, though that’s a little basic and straight forward. Maybe Crystal Crescent, or Crescent Crystal?”

“Crescent Crystal sounds the best so far... Maybe Fractured Crystal?”

“Crystal spelt normally or with an H?”

“An H, Fractured Chrystal.” 

“Sounds a great name for this weapon given how it works. And what about your lost Katana?”

“Qilin’s Bolt is what I was originally thinking, but maybe Fractured Bolt instead if I’m going to eventually replace the Katana portion of that Odachi with it.”

“Fractured Chrystal and Fractured Bolt, sounds like a good pair to me, Kem’.”

“I’ll treasure them both once I have Bolt back from that Chamber, Gotin, I promise.”

[ddaenqu]

Slow Motion

pairings: yandere monster!hoseok x scientist!reader

themes: Angst, Mature, Mythical monsters AU, Fantasy AU

tags: possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, toxic behavior/relationships, unhealthy behavior/relationships, manipulation, threatening, cussing, dom/sub undertones, graphic depictions of violence, implied sexual content

based on the prompt: “I need you more than I need to breathe.”

a/n: hobi can take my girl n i would be honored and i gotta just say monster!bts is the hottest thing ever. am i right or am i right? obviously, i had too much fun with this au and as you can tell, a lot of this science stuff is based off of my own imagination. i tried to do some research but idk, i kinda like it when i just go off on my own

You’re frantically pulling the sterilized, white lab coat on with shaky fingers. The narrow room is flashing, with a blinding white. The sudden change of light making you disoriented, it was uncomfortable compared to the hallway: a vintage white, a gentle dim that wasn’t too dark nor too light, and pleasant to the eyes.

The keypad near the door with a small scanner resting above it waited for the form of accession. You quickly pulled the ID card with your name and a picture of you plastered on the front of it, you turned it around where the barcode sat and almost placed it on top of the scanner. Your hand hovering over the device.

What were you getting in to?

You knew now better than anyone, that beyond this door was a line—the unknown behind it.

I can leave, you think, I can leave and go home and go back in my warm bed. This wasn’t working hours for you. Why were you even here? You had every right to be at home resting and not scrambling into your car at four in the morning, pulling yourself away from your one comfort and safety. This wasn’t your problem.

You pressed the plastic card down, the weight in your arm was heavy and unbalanced, as if it hadn’t planned to move at all.

You heard two consecutive beeps shortly after placing the lithesome-like plastic onto the scanner, a high-pitched yet small beep, indicating that security had granted access and the door was unlocked.

Not your problem, you remind yourself as your hands reach for the silver, pristine door handle, it’s cool surface pressed against your feverish palm.

The idea of leaving was tempting, tempting to the point that your own hands loosened on the handle multiple times, but only returning a stronger grip from the one thought that had picked your mind apart by the time you parked in the parking lot of this nightmare.

Was it selfish? Was it selfish to want to go home and call it a day officially and to not set foot in this godforsaken lab? Was it selfish to leave millions of undocumented work, untitled organisms laying around in glass tubes and boxes?

Was it selfish to leave them—in there—with it?

Yes, you concluded solemnly, it was

Swiftly, you pulled the handle and the door opened revealing the inside of a madhouse; the wide hallway had employees of all running back and forth between crossing rooms, some stood in one place talking with urgent hand motions to others, and there your supervisor stood.

His face was nothing short of tired, almost exhausted to the point of death.

Bags under his eyes, his skin a sickly pale, although his skin has always been paler than average, the deep, blackened circles hanging around his raging orbs really defined how pallid he was. If anything, the white lab coat pulled onto him matched his complexion more than anything at the moment. The frown on his face only seeped more into his face upon seeing you, giving him more prominent lines.

“Sorry for calling so late,” he said with a genuine tone, you could tell he was disturbed and more disoriented with the predicament.

He motioned you to follow him, walking beside him wasn’t a likely option. His stance and expressions already were a warning sign to any passing employee, even you. You followed after him blindly, staying close to him in order to hear his words—he often talked in jargon with a small voice—talking to him was more than awful. It was stressful.

“What the actual fuck happened?” you said to him, making sure to keep your voice at minimum.

The whole hallway was tense, palpable that you could almost taste it, it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He let out a sigh, his whole body vibrating to that one guttural huff. “Don’t know. One moment it was fine, BPM and all,” he began and weaved himself through and around people as he passed doors. “Sent one of the crew to do a test, like usual—then—”

He had trouble finishing the sentence as if he hadn’t got his head around it either.

“It attacked him.”

The world stops.

No—it doesn’t stop, it slows down in accordance. Minutes ticked like hours, and seconds blinking away like minutes.

The people around you moved like giants. Slow and messy moves, blurs instead of outlines.

The hair on your body raised, goosebumps appearing like magic all over your body, and your eyes widening to the statement. Your breath hitched in your throat, and momentarily, you thought you were going to choke, nearly forgetting how to breathe.

While the world slowed, your brain formed jumbled words and sentences, words that weren’t words.

It attacked?

It couldn’t be possible, you denied.

You spluttered grossly, “HBi? That one—attacked? Are you sure?”

You continued to follow the man until you entered a room with people all around, looking at screens and papers, and the most surprising scene yet—a man’s whole shoulder being bandaged up as blood seeps through the fabric. His mouth agape as hoarse screams come out, his body flinching every time someone touched near his shoulder.

“I’m sure,” he replied curtly as he passed the doctors and nurses crowding around the injured young man.

He looked about in his 20s, still fresh. You won’t see him again, you knew that anyone new around here who gets too easily swayed loses it before they can understand everything. The deep wound on his shoulder, too deep for saving.

A mark that’s going to be ingrained in his skin and memories forever.

“It’s always been good, I don’t understand—a docile creature, that’s what it was,” he rambled on, and you’re sure by this point, you have had lost your focus on his words.

Anything he says fly pasts you, you don’t acknowledge a word, and you know you should be listening, but you can’t bring yourself to listen about it anymore. Your body feels numb yet sore, your stomach stirs uncomfortably, your own body begging for you to find a pillar to lean on.

To anyone, you looked impassive to the situation at hand, while everyone is running and yelling amidst the chaos, you’re standing there with an apathetic expression, body lax—almost sagging.

But inside, you’re terrified. Terrified.

Leave, your body tells you and it even goes as far to making your pace slow down, creating distance between your superior. You bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stop yourself from crying.

You can’t help thinking this was all your fault.

God, you need to leave.

“Yoongi—I think—” You stop yourself once you see the room you’re in.

All too familiar. The sets of computers, screens, TV. Most were only security footage, real-time, of hallways and rooms, while the other few screens displayed the insides of white, enclosed cubicles. Immaculate rooms, with glossy tables and chairs, sinks and more. The beds were different, depending on who or what was accustomed to.

“What is it?” he says with an acrid tone, he was busy talking to one of the security guards working the screens, only then did you notice how irritable he really was.

You knew not to take it personally. He was always a harsh person, even after becoming buddy-buddy with someone such as him. But you can’t stop yourself from stiffening to his tone, your hand bunched into a fist and your nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, blinking them away only worsened it.

You gulp, “I just—why—did you call me?”

He met your eyes, his eyebrow raised, expecting you to answer your own question. Then, after a few deprecating moments of silence, he clicks his tongue and decides something with a tilt of his head.

“I know it’s wrong for me to say this—It wasn’t my idea, please don’t—you know I would never put you in danger.”

Your heart squeezes, you think your palm is bleeding by now by how hard your nails are digging crescents into them.

“It’s just that, Namjoon was thinking that—after the incident—we needed to administer the test,” he lets out a deep sigh, one that seemed to be with forced calmness, “and it never reacted this way, not until we changed who was giving the test to it—to that thing.”

He refers to the subject with evident hatred, spitting it out as if it was a curse.

Horror is what courses through you, pure unadulterated horror. He can’t possibly be implying what you think he is.

No, no, no, your head screams, and suddenly the world comes to a slow again as the words from his mouth come out emphasized. Your hands shake and your mouth dries, a sore bump appearing whenever you swallow air.

“We need you to administer the test.”

He seems to notice your reaction, taking the gray and small briefcase from one of the passing employees with a hesitant grip. He holds it by his side, for now, knowing fully well that it had the items inside of it are the ones you have to use.

“Please, you have to,” he begs whilst keeping his tone at minimum, “otherwise it could die from the temperature change. It’s too weak, still not adapting to our—”

“I got it,” you interrupt timidly and unclench your hand, raising it outward and waiting for that god forbidden suitcase to come into view.

You’re terrified, close to throwing up, your heart hurts and your breathing feels labored, but you know you won’t get out of this.

It wasn’t his choice, you remind yourself—it was Namjoon’s and his words were never up to suggesting, it was a command. Defying him was the equivalent to getting fired—you and Yoongi.

Yoongi watches you on the monitor with a steady gaze as your body trudges towards a certain hallway, and stopping at a steel door.

You can read the glass plaque next to the door frame. You’ve read it every day for the past month. “HBi-1” it read, horrible memories come flooding in, and the possible scenario appearing in your head, one he has depicted so grotesquely that it doesn’t feel like reality. None of this feels real, it all feels like a dream.

Your body moves mechanically like a stressed wind-up toy, the gears in your body are slow and unresponsive for seconds as you’re still thinking about what you were about to do. Your hand is clammy against the silver-like handle, the door is already unlocked manually from security, no keypad or ID card needed.

In other words: you can’t leave when you want to.

You let out a shuddering breath, pushing the door open, a small click, and snapping shut with a screech that made your ear strain to hear anything after.

It was a dark room, it was uncomfortable in light and didn’t cooperate for the first few practices with it. The temperature was a significant drop from the outside, although, it felt quite dry. It was as simple as all the other inhabitant's rooms; white beds, white floors, white bathrooms—the basics of what you can make out from the silhouettes right now, your eyes trying to adjust in the darkness.

Your heart is beating to no avail, you can hear it vibrating off the walls like waves—you’re almost sure that it can hear it too. Shaky hands wrapping itself around the handles of the case with a vice-like grip.

Sounds of fabric shuffling and harsh feet hitting the marble floor tease your ears, and your breathing quickens within moments. You can hear it, but you can’t see it. And maybe on the monitor it shows, maybe it shows the monster right behind you waiting for you to turn around. Maybe.

Then, you feel it, a sensation so normal and familiar from all your previous visits. Like a greeting to him, torture for you. Sharp claws running across your skin through layers of fabric, gingerly, you note. Goosebumps rising on your skin.

It’s behind you.

Too afraid to look, your body eminently frozen, you stare at the camera in the corner of the wall, flashing a red color to signal its recording. That people were watching behind those tiny glass lens. The only thing giving you any sense of relief or protection.

Soft breaths hit your neck. “You’re back.”

The sharp nails dig scantly through the fabric of your clothes, you can feel the sharp edge pinching the soft flesh almost. You try to ignore it and watch the camera as it is watching you, counting the number of times it flashes red.

A silence overcomes the room once again. The soft breathing ceases, and a more sinister growl rapes at your ear causing your heart to drop.

It digs its nail further into your skin, prompting a reaction from you.

“Speak,” it demands. Your back is scorching, something hot pressed up against it with violent breaths hitting the nape of your neck.

“Test,” you manage to whimper out, “I’m only here to do the test.” Squeezing your eyes shut.

It goes quiet. The silence feels suffocating, the first time you’d ever think of quiet as too much.

You’ll be fine, though, right? If anything goes wrong, they will come, right?

You look towards the camera once more, waiting for it to flash red.

It doesn’t flash red.

Panic instills in your body, ready to turn around and bolt at the door. The original task for being here was long gone by now, it was now you almost near to crying as you wondered where Yoongi was, and why they weren’t here, why wasn’t anyone coming for you.

Did something happen? Did it do something to them?

Powerful hands clamp down on your wrist, cutting your circulation and pulling you back with immense force. The room grows with light, still murky in a sense, but enough for you to see everything if you focus hard enough.

“Did you like my present?” it asks. “My surprise, in better terms.”

You can feel it’s erratic heartbeat against your own, it’s chest pushing against yours as it keeps your hands bound with his own. You force yourself to not look at the monstrosity, which only angers the monster more.

“Look at me,” it emphasizes each word with a hushed voice, “when I speak.” its claws are digging into the skin of your hand.

You wince, instinctively pulling away, only to be pulled back into the uncomfortable position. Your head moves up, following its order, afraid of what he would do if you didn’t listen again.

The first thing you notice is dark brown eyes and the artificial skin that looks too real. Prominent cheekbones that were high and prominent, sculpting his face in a long oval-like shape. It’s pixie nose and Its lips, thin from the corners, leading into a defined cupid’s bow with a strong jawline, as well as a tiny mole on its upper lip.

The creatures beauty was astounding as much as it was tempting. It made you wonder if it had stolen the skin of another or if it was completely original, stemmed from its own imagination.

It looked human, but the two sleek black horns attached to the sides of his head told otherwise.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen your face, darling,” it mumbles with adoration present in those eyes, a content sigh that hit your face, that awful smile placed upon its lips. “Much better than that awful boy who came in here.”

It, again, smiles, but it didn’t quite reach its eyes, not folding into small crescent moons as it should be.

Minutes past and you’re wondering why nothing has happened, why the camera isn’t recording anymore. Why aren’t they unlocking that door? Why?

“The test,” you whimper, not knowing how to respond, and your eyes wander to the case fallen on the floor. You hadn’t even noticed you dropped it.

Its eyes darken into a void of black, a frown appearing as the eyebrows scrunch. “I know about the fucking test, love,” it scowls, for a split second, you can see the pointed canines, it’s skinny and long tongue gliding across them in a tantalizing manner.

You cower in his hold, however, you keep the gaze. A pathetic attempt to stay rooted, to have some power—defiance.

“You’re lucky I didn’t rip off his fucking arms,” It spits, “or maybe I should? Should I? Angel?”

You shake your head. “Please—don’t.”

It chuckles.

“And why shouldn’t I? It seems as though whatever I say you never listen,” it seethes, the amount of heat it is emitting is abnormal. “Tell me, angel, what should I do?”

Its head tilts from side to side with a delusional look in its eyes, his eyes brows still furrowing, but its lips hanged into a lopsided smirk.

What were you supposed to say? Opening your mouth and closing it multiple times. Any word you say could be taken literally, could be altered, could be used against you.

It clicks its tongue when you don’t reply immediately, getting impatient with the lack of answers.

“Should I rip them all apart? Everyone here?” it speaks up. “Make it so every breath they take will feel like all their limbs snapping in half? Breaking each of their fingers by pulling them back? Or peeling their skin off as they’re still alive? Is that it?”

It requests, lifting every scenario after another with almost too much excitement in its eyes, glittering as though its already made up its mind. It’s a matter of seconds before you’re begging for it to stop and holding onto your stomach for dear life, the sickening thoughts making you gag.

“I’ll make you watch as I do so, all pretty and obedient for me when I’m done. How beautiful it would be to have you wrapped around my arms begging.”

“No, no, no, please—” you cry helplessly, unrestrained tears are pouring down your cheeks. You can feel its claws coming away from your hands and up to your neck, drawing a line up to your chin. “Why are you doing this?”

It grins, it’s orbs flick into slits, much like cat eyes, a dark green surrounding them before it blinks, and the normal brown returns.

“Simple, I need you,” he whispers so softly, that it has your body responding with warmth and comfort, “I need you more than anything, more than I need to breathe. Do you understand, angel?”

No, you don’t understand. You only feel its nails digging into your skin and forcing you to look up at it, and it’s enough pain for you to understand it. You can feel his gaze burning into your head.

You nod numbly.

“Good,” he smiles, his pointed teeth appearing and his grip on your chin retracts, his hands falling to his sides.

From the corner of your eye, you see something flashing red in the corner of the room.

“Let’s start the test now, shall we, love?”

(feedback is greatly appreciated! 🧸❤️)

[haxballfan-blog]

When You're Sad, Your Skin Is Sad

Correlation doesn't prove causation, but I can't help but notice that both times I’ve lived in my teenage bedroom I’ve felt especially sad. In high school, it was an angry sadness that sought attention. But when I came back to my parents house in March to ride out COVID, the sadness became deep and dull—about everything and nothing. I go to bed dreading the next day like it holds a big test I haven’t studied for. In the morning, I alternately jolt awake while it’s still dark, or tether myself to my comforter well into the workday. I’ve been very privileged in the ways I’ve experienced the past few months, but also very anxious. And actually, the CDC estimates that 40-percent of adults exhibit symptoms of anxiety or depressive disorders as of this past July. (In 2019, that number was 11-percent.) So, yes, I’m crying a lot more than usual; maybe you are too. I’m also breaking out more than usual—and you?

“Yes, stress causes you to break out,” says Dr. Amy Wechsler, who, as one of only a handful of doctors in the US board-certified in both dermatology and psychiatry, is uniquely qualified to answer questions about this kind of stuff—she even wrote the book on it. Dr. Wechsler cites a well-known study done on a college campus during exam week, where researchers found a strong correlation between stress and the severity of acne. “But exam period is like two weeks long, and when the exams go away the breakouts go away. Imagine if you had exam period for five months, you know? That’s like what we’re going through right now.”

According to Dr. Wechsler, the root of stress acne lies in a molecule called cortisol. Cortisol is a hormone that’s pumped out by the body to fight illness, control blood sugar levels, regulate metabolism, and influence memory formation. In general it’s anti-inflammatory, but when you’re stressed, your body responds by producing more cortisol than it would normally as part of the fight-or-flight response meant to keep you alert when you need to be. If that stress is prolonged, and you don’t have the proper coping mechanisms to deal with it, cortisol starts to act very inflammatory.

“Inflammation is the root cause of acne, and eczema, and psoriasis,” says Dr. Wechsler, who also adds that high levels of cortisol over a long period of time will break down collagen, the molecule in your skin that keeps it looking plump. “That’s why when people are really stressed out for a while, they look like they aged overnight.” For a good, obvious example of this phenomenon, take a look at a photo of President Obama in his first year as president compared to his last. Cortisol also weakens your skin’s natural barrier, so you’ll start to experience more transepidermal water loss. Several months of anxiety may leave you with a totally different skin type: even if your skin is normally oily, it will start to dry out and get more sensitive. Dr. Wechsler notes that when your barrier is compromised, your skin is more likely to react to something that normally wouldn’t cause a problem. “That’s when people say things like, ‘I’ve been using the same product forever, they haven’t changed their ingredients, but now I can’t tolerate it.’”

The tricky part about cortisol is that once levels are high, it can be difficult to bring them down on your own. At minimum, you need to make sure you’re getting an adequate amount of sleep each night, which can be difficult when you’re feeling anxious. “Cortisol is at its lowest for everybody during sleep, and healing molecules like beta-endorphins, growth hormones, and oxytocin,” a mood enhancer, “are always at their highest,” says Dr. Wechsler, who compares the molecules’ relationship to a see-saw. If you’re not getting much sleep, you’re not giving the anti-inflammatories a chance to catch up to the cortisol.

During the daytime, you can sort of hack your body chemicals by engaging in activities that directly trigger a release of those happy molecules. Completing your skincare routine floods your brain with dopamine, otherwise known as the “feel-good neurotransmitter.” So would cooking a complicated dinner, or organizing your bedroom, or finishing a book. A workout can help balance too-low endorphins, a fact I always felt was fallacy until I experienced my first runner’s high a few months ago. Not into exercise? Pop on a John Mulaney stand up special—any will do!—for a rush of endorphins you don’t have to sweat for. And to raise your oxytocin levels, turn down the lights and grab your vibrator. Sex drive can lower when you’re depressed, but each time you orgasm your body releases cortisol-lowering, calm-inducing oxytocin.

Of course, these things won’t stop you from feeling anxious, but they might help you feel a little bit better on the day-to-day, and you also may see a difference in your skin. “When people are very anxious, they feel this loss of control over what’s going on in their lives, and normal routines fall by the wayside because they feel unimportant,” Dr. Wechsler explains. “A skincare routine gives you back a little control,” she adds, conceding that, at the very least, 10 minutes of caring for yourself will feel better than reading the news, or scrolling through Instagram.

The absolute easiest, low-effort way to help balance cortisol? For a sad person at least, it’s crying. Scientists aren’t quite sure how or why, but studies show that a good crying session decreases cortisol levels. It was once widely believed that tears were a way to expel excess stress hormones, but now, most researchers think that the benefits of crying have to do with social signaling: just getting out the message that you’re in distress seems to help alleviate some of that distress. And, if you’re crying to somebody, they’re likely to give you a hug, rub your back, or stroke your hair—all triggers for oxytocin.

But while crying is good for the skin internally, it can leave your face feeling… not so great. Which is the reason I called Dr. Wechsler in the first place—I wear my recent crying obviously, and am left frantically icing my face before morning meetings and check-ins with family. Beyond how I look, my post-crying face hurts. My eyes get incredibly puffy, and I often find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place when I cry at night. It happens, without fail, after I do my skincare routine, and I wasn’t sure whether the salty tears left on my skin were further contributing to breakouts. To make my outsides match my insides after a solid catharsis, I wanted to figure out a post-crying best practice—a sad girl beauty routine, if you will.

What I’d learn is that your eyes work overtime to produce tears, which draws an abundance of blood to the surface of your eyelids. If you cry at night, that blood doesn’t have anywhere to go—it pools in your face when you’re lying flat. “If you’re crying during the day and you’re standing up and walking around, gravity will take the swelling from your eyelids, bring it down your face, and flush it out,” adds Dr. Wechsler. For those particularly concerned about morning puffiness, you can stay upright until the swelling subsides, or try Dr. Weschler’s favorite method. “Put a teaspoon in a glass of ice water, let it get really cold, and then take the back of the teaspoon and put it on your eyelid with a little bit of pressure. Both the cold and the pressure really help those blood vessels calm back down,” says Dr. Wechsler, who learned the tip from one of her model patients. Doing that right away will probably help prevent morning puffiness, but if you aren’t feeling up to it, just go to sleep and try to keep your head elevated with an extra pillow. You can always try the spoon trick (and some vertical action) in the morning.

As for the tears themselves, Dr. Wechsler recommends rinsing them off to abate dryness. If you’ve cried within a half hour of doing your skincare routine, you can rinse with a gentle cleanser (or water, if you think another wash will be too drying) and re-apply your skincare products. Otherwise, just rinse and moisturize again.

Remember how I mentioned cortisol is difficult to lower on your own? If you’re experiencing symptoms of anxiety and depression, you might also consider seeking out the help of a trained therapist. While it’s easy to ruminate on how we look on the outside, it’s important to emphasize that this skin issue is indicative of a larger, internal problem. Aside from the auxiliary benefit of helping balance your skin, talking to someone can help alleviate the feelings of loneliness, grief, and uncertainty you might be feeling right now. Therapy for Black Girls, the National Queer & Trans Therapists of Color Network, and Open Path Collective all offer remote therapy options at accessible price points. You might also check out Psychology Today’s list of therapists, which is quite comprehensive—you can filter results by things like specialty, sexuality, and race. If you’re a Black woman, you can also apply for a grant from The Loveland Foundation to subsidize your sessions.

Knowing that my skin is feeling as vulnerable as I am right now, I’ve been taking it easy with my skincare. And the benefit is twofold: nixing breakout treatments lets my skin actually heal, and using fewer products means I’m more likely to actually do my routine (even when I don’t feel like it). I’ve noticed new pimples subsiding after fortifying my compromised skin barrier with products rich in ceramides, natural moisturizing factors, and lipids. I’ve also been chasing opportunities to feel good as often as I can, masked and tiptoeing around the border of my own shrunken comfort zone. Still the breakouts, and the tears, come in waves. But then again, they always have.

[boymeetsweevil]

Another draft because FS is taking too long

Title: two wrongs don’t make a right (so what do two douchebags and a dweeb make?)

Douche/fuck boy Jimin and Jin, weirdo!OC

Jimin waits until the girl’s tiny frame disappears down the hallway in a blur of overly familiar stained sweats before turning to stare down a very sheepish looking Jin.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, got it?” He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it and making him resemble a cockatoo.

“Dude, relax. I get it, you have a rep to maintain. Everyone ventures outside their type for a first time.”

Jin winces. He knows he’s known for being incredibly picky—only ever sleeping with 4.0 girls (the number referring to their maximum dress size and minimum GPA). Someone even did a story on it in the Hot Takes section of the school magazine. He’s still not sure if it’s a moment he should proud of.

“About that…” he trails off and tugs nervously at the throw blanket he hastily clothed himself with when Jimin burst into their shared living room only to catch him in a rather compromising position. With that girl of all people.

“What?”

“Itsnotthefirsttimeanditwontbethelast”

Jimin blinks slowly, trying to process the flurry of words and Jin’s ashamed tone. When what Jin said finally hits him, he grins darkly.

“Man, c’mon. Don’t joke like that about her, its not nice.”

“Jimin, I’m—,” Jin looks around the hallway suspiciously before dragging Jimin into the dorm and slamming the door shut. “I’m being serious, okay?” Jimin’s jaw drops and he begins to sputter.

“But…why her?”

The first time Jimin encountered you was during a particularly late night in the stacks of the library last semester. The year was starting off hard and he was getting his ass kicked in one particular introductory psych class.

At around 1 in the morning, he had one more problem to finish on his take-home exam but was desperately stuck. He remembered seeing someone who he recognized from class sitting in the economics section. He thought it was odd initially. Usually no one sat there because the smell from the librarians’ bathroom often carried over. And no one wanted to study to the smell of coffee shits.

Taking a break, he grabbed his laptop and wandered around the stacks to find the classmate. When he found you, you were in the process of packing up, struggling to get your earphones into the headphone jack of your phone while also carrying a stack of periodicals and a burger from the campus grill, which happened to be leaking ketchup onto your already dingy tracksuit. He approached you carefully.

“Hey, you’re in Professor Kang’s class, right?”

“Huh?”

His voice startled you and you lost your precarious grip on your stuff. The poorly wrapped burger fell to the floor and bled a little onto your white converse. The periodicals fluttered down around your feet.

“Shit, sorry. Lemme help you,” he offered as he put his laptop down. You gasped from your spot already crouched on the ground.

“No, please, it’s really okay. Please, I’m fine, I don’t need—“

But he already had one printout from the stack in his hand and automatically turned it over. When Jimin looks back on the memory, he thinks that this may have been the biggest mistake he’s ever made in his life.

He would later find out after a nervous google search that the paper in his hand, and probably 80 percent of the papers on the ground, were called fursonas. While a handful might have been somewhat decent, most of them were of overly buff rabbits with bubble butts raised for the viewer or tigers fisting weeping, veiny dicks over pastel backgrounds. The one he held was of a duck, or something, with a weight lifter’s body with an obscene expression on its face while tentacles swarmed it from all angles. The implications of what might be happening in the picture made Jimin’s head hurt.

“Oh my god, what the fuck. What the fuck,” he whispered. He was so stunned that he let you rip the page from his hand.

“It’s called fur-centric hentai and its art,” you hissed. The line sounded mechanical and well-practiced if you asked Jimin. He watched you gather the rest of your belongings quickly, burger included, before leaving him crouched in the economics stacks.

Jin snaps his fingers in front of Jimin’s zoned out face only to have him be brought back to reality with a look of slight disgust.

“What’s your problem, fix your face,” Jin snapped.

“I’m just trying to figure out why you chose her, of all people. You remember that story I told you about the Econ stacks. I was so scarred, I got a C on that test.”

“Pretty sure you got a C because you didn’t realize there was a second page of the homework.”

“Well, if she hadn’t thrown her weird animal dicks all over the place, I would have realized there was a back and finished the assignment”

Jin sniffs and drops the blanket he was wearing, before walking over to the kitchen to get a drink, naked as the day he was born. Jimin follows on autopilot.

“Maybe you should stop trying to yuck my yum,”Jin says over his shoulder.

“Oh my god, don’t say it like that. I’m just saying, man. She’s weird. And gross. And more importantly not.Your. Type.” He enunciates each word with a poke to Jin’s bare back while he gets them some beers.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? That’s why I keep it discrete. Why do you think I told you not to come home every Tuesday and Thursday at until after 8:30?”

“You said you had lab.”

“How the hell could I do a lab in our apartment?”

“It…It could happen.”

“I’m a poetry major,” Jin pinches the bridge of his nose at his roommate’s stupidity, “Damnit Jimin.”

Jimin purses his lips when he realizes he might be even dumber than he thought.

“Wait a second, you’ve had lab,” he makes giant air quote gestures, “for, what, 2 months now? You’ve just been fucking her this whole time?”

There’s a beat of silence as Jin takes another swig from his beer. “Yeah,” he finally says. The matter of fact air of his response makes something glitch in Jimin’s brain.

“What the hell, dude? That’s a lot of repeat service. Does she have something on you? Is that why you’re doing this? Did you break an expensive-ass vase or something?” Jimin stops to think, his mind running wild with possibilities. “Holy shit, are you being pimped out?”

“No. God, would you just shut up?” Jin sighs quietly. “I’m sleeping with her so much because she’s the best I’ve ever had.”

Jimin takes a step back at the defeated sincerity in Jin’s tone.

“How? What about that time with that other girl--what was her name?” Jimin runs a hand through his hair trying to remember any name of one of many the girls Jin has had a fling with. “Oh! Irene or something? What about her?”

“I mean, Irene was fine. She gave pretty good head. But last Thursday I thought I came harder than I’ve ever come in my entire life.”

“You ‘thought’?”

Jin looks up wistfully somewhere behind Jimin’s head at the memory. “Well then she came over the following Tuesday and rocked my shit,” he smirks. “And then that was the hardest I’ve ever come in my life.”

“So she gives good head. Who cares? There’s plenty of girls on campus who give good head and also don’t draw furry porn for a living and wash their damn sweatpants.”

“You don’t understand, dude. It’s not just the head. It’s the head, and the handjobs, and the pussy. It’s everything.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows incredulously. “The pussy is better than the handjobs?” He has to try hard not to look impressed. Meanwhile Jin is smilng, almost relieved now that the secret is out and he can talk openly about the mindblowing sex he’d been having.

“The first time she jerked me off, I passed out immediately after I came and woke up late to the class the next afternoon.”

Jimin narrows his eyes but motions with a hand for Jin to continue.

“The first time she blew me I couldn’t even walk afterward.”

“Wait...was that the day you told me you thought you had a sprained ankle? The one that healed after 24 hours?”

“Yep.”

The smug tone and the second stupid lie make Jimin want to rip his hair out. “Why do you lie so much,” he whispered, pain in his voice.

“I wasn’t lying, I really thought I had a sprained ankle.”

“From a blowjob?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What about the, uh, the pussy,” Jimin asks after realizing the FBI probably won’t come through the doors and snipe him for talking about vagina.

“The one time she let me hit it raw, I cried.,” Jin says, absolutely beaming.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“I am, though. I think she was gonna let me do it again today.” Jin closes his eyes and smiles softly while Jimin looks on, unamused.

“So? What happened today? She underperform or something?” There’s a hint of jealousy and a lot of curiosity in his tone, but Jimin would deny it if anyone asked him.

“No, asswipe. She got spooked because you showed up when you weren’t supposed to.”

“Well, sorry for ruining your lies,” Jimin snaps, cracking open his own beer.

“You think this is a joke?” Jin shoves Jimin in the chest roughly. “We didn’t get to finish because of you. Now I have to jerk off with my own hand. That’s pathetic”

“And what were you doing before you met her? Listen to yourself, she’s making you crazy. No one is that good in bed.”

Jin stomps over to the couch and settles down before turning and looking at Jimin over the backboard.

“You know what? You go and sleep with her 3--no--4 times. And if she doesn’t completely fry your brain, I’ll pay for any and all of your takeout for the next month. But If she does, you gotta switch mattresses with me and not come by the dorm until after 10 on Tuesdays and Thursdays from then on.”

“Dude, gross I don’t want your sex soaked mattress. It’s the same as yours anyway. Minus the ten gallons of old jizz on it.”

“No, it’s not. You have that, like, Tempurpedic thing.”

“True,” Jimin nods thoughtfully, “But don’t you think it would be weird if the roommate of the guy she was fucking started trying to get in her pants? Also, I could just lie and say she didn’t do it for me. Then you’d be forced to pay for my food and—Hold on. If she’s so good, why are you so willing to pawn her off to me?”

“Why do you ask so many stupid questions? First of all, she’s not mine just because I’m sleeping with her. I’m just telling you to go see if she’ll let you. I mean, there’s no guarantee. She barely even gave me a shot.”

“She barely gave you a shot? But you’re, like, the campus prince”, more air quotes, “How did this even happen?”

“Well, to make a long story short, we were both high at her sorority and I’d heard rumors about her from Wonho, so I went to…talk to her in her room.”

“Wonho is Wonho, though. He’d fuck anyone if the weed was good.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken, my friend. He has a diverse and sophisticated palate. He knows what he’s talking about when it comes to weed and sex. Once I took him up on his suggestion and she said yes, I never looked back,” Jin says with a dreamy voice.

Jimin watches the back of Jin’s head loll on the sofa. When a soft sigh emerges from where the older man is sitting, Jimin recoils and runs out of the kitchen, away from the couch.

“Are you jerking off right now? Dude. Not cool.”

“Get the fuck out, then. It’s Thursday, which means I’m getting off by 7:30pm and I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s here when it happens.”

“Fine,” Jimin huffs and reluctantly stuffs his feet back into his sneakers where they lie by the door. “I hope your dick chafes.”

Jin purposefully releases another, louder moan and Jimin runs out of the apartment.

“I’ll have an order of the half crispy, half spicy and a large coke. Thanks,” Jimin says to the clerk at the grill before checking his phone for the 8th time in the hour.

8:01 Jimin - Are you done yet?

             (8:10 read by Jin)

8:11 Jin - yeah but round two starts soon so

8:11 Jin - *middle finger emoji*

Jimin quickly shuts down his messenger app and opens up Flappy Bird while he sits at a table and waits for his order number to be called.

“Stupid asshole and his stupid dick, kicking me out of the stupid apartment. Fuck you, dickhead,” Jimin mutters to himself.

“What did you just say?” 

Jimin’s head whips up at the infantile voice coming from the seat across from him. Jeon Jungkook is sitting at his table, eating a veggie burger. Who the hell orders a veggie burger from a chicken place?

“Were you talking to me,” Jungkook asks again, pushing his bulky glasses up with a finger.

“Jeon, why would I be talking to you? A better question is why the hell are you talking to me?

[drarrymylove]

"I'll have you know, I know karate"

additional prompt used: anonymous asked: I heard you’re taking requests, maybe Draco and harry sparring (physical fighting for learning purposes) idk maybe for auror trainingRead on AO3

Harry strapped on his gloves and waited for the instructor to pair them off.  Sparring was a relatively new addition to the Auror Training Program.  However, with the rise of non-magical individuals running into magical law enforcement, it quickly became a necessity.  Even the older Aurors were going through the classes to become re-certified.

“I’ll have you know, I know karate,” a voice from the other end of the room said.  

Harry looked up in time to see one of the Aurors rush at his opponent.  The older Auror, Smith if he remembered correctly, was not keeping his body weight centered.  When he threw a punch at his opponent, his balance was off just enough for the smaller man to avoid his fist and drive his shoulder into his gut.  With a single fluid motion, Smith was thrown over his opponent and landed on his back.  

“Dammit, Malfoy!  What did I tell you about throwing my people on the ground?” Richards, the instructor, shouted.

“Nothing, sir.  Unless it was after you told us not to get ourselves a broken nose.”

Harry hid a smile.

“You have a smart mouth on you today.  How about we get Alvarez over there to level you out?” he shouted, sending a dark haired woman over in Draco’s direction.  “Potter, Calhoun.  You two take the third mat.”

Harry watched Alvarez and Draco step toward each other. Without warning, Alvarez took a swing on Draco.  He pulled out of her reach just as she grabbed the front of his shirt and drove her fingernails toward his eyes.  Before Harry could react, Draco dodged again and punched her near her left shoulder.  A sick crunch filled the room followed by her scream.  He had broken her clavicle.

“MALFOY, MY OFFICE.  NOW,” Richards bellowed.

“That’s bullshit,” Ron shouted. 

“Do you want to join him?”  

“She was fighting dirty.  You know you saw it.” 

Richards was red-faced and seething, “I don’t appreciate your implications, but I will see both of you in my office when I see fit to leave this room.  Now if any other trainees would like to step out of line and attack my Aurors, this would be the time.”  When no one moved, he helped the mediwitch pull Alvarez off to the side to fix her broken bone.  

Harry knew he would be hearing about this later.

The next day, a different instructor took over the class.  She reminded Harry of Luna, if Luna were to pack on about ten kilos of muscle.

“I’m Vanessa Portland.  I’m in charge now.  It has come to our attention that there is an unforgivable amount of, for lack of a better word, bullying going on in this class.  I will not have it.  If you’re here, it is because you have earned a place in the Auror Training Program.”

Smith scoffed.  “Some of us aren’t trainees.  I’ve been doing this job for—”

“Shut your mouth or get out,” Auror Portland said. Even with the calm delivery of the words, no one argued.

“We’re going to run through a warm-up before I pair everyone off.  Remember, no gear today.  Gloves only.  You can use grappling or light sparring gloves.  Your charmwork will be evaluated as well as overall performance.  At minimum, shield charms need to be, head, torso, forearms, shins.  Questions?” 

Harry wasn’t sure why, but he was absolutely humming with anticipation.  Portland could tell him to punch through a stone wall right now and he would try without question.  Her energy and focus was palpable.  By the time everyone was ready to pair off, Harry was near shaking.  His charms were passable, but not as good as he would like them to be.  Harry knew his shield charms could withstand a punch to the face or two, but he didn’t want to risk a third.

As if on cue, a voice across the room grabbed Harry’s attention.

“I’m not fucking partnering up with him.  He broke my damned collarbone yesterday,” Alvarez snapped.

Auror Portland shot Draco a questioning look.  He shrugged at her as though that was enough.  

“You fight dirty?” she asked.

“No worse than she did,” he answered.

Taking that at face value, she asked for a volunteer from the aurors to step in for Alvarez.  When no one spoke up, Harry failed to hide a laugh.  Auror Portland immediately called him over.

“Guess it’s you then, Potter.”  

Harry glanced over at Draco.  The look on Draco’s face already had Harry’s heart racing.  

“Scared, Potter?” Draco whispered.

“You wish.”

Draco winked at him before Harry handed his glasses off to Portland.  She told them to ready their shields and wait for her signal.  Harry thought he was ready, but when Draco closed on him, he knew he was wrong.  Draco knew him.  Draco knew how he moved, knew his strengths, and worse, his weaknesses.  Heat bloomed against his right cheek the first time Draco was able to land a punch.  The charm held, but it was still disorienting.  

Harry stepped out of Draco’s reach trying to catch his breath for a second.  His first instinct was go go back in with a jab, but Draco was expecting it.  If he was going to get any points against Draco, he was going to have to surprise him.  Without thinking, Harry caught Draco in the chest with a roundhouse kick, knocking them both off balance.

“There we go,” Draco ground out.

Harry huffed a laugh and went back in for the jab he’d decided against earlier. Draco blocked him, though he could see the strain on the other man. Draco’s shield charms were impeccable, but Harry was strong. He was physically stronger than Draco, but Draco was fast. Blocking most of what Harry sent his way, his charms held but it was taking a toll on his offense. 

Realizing Harry was taking advantage of this, Draco dropped as Harry charged him, lifting Harry’s weight off the mat. Draco was on him before he could catch his breath. Harry raised his arms to protect his face. 

“Get your shield up,” Draco shouted, swinging his fist toward Harry’s jaw. The charms on his forearms were solid, but he knew his focus was lacking on the charm protecting his face and head. 

Harry bucked, trying to throw Draco off him, but Draco’s thighs held him tightly in place. 

“Get. Your. Shield. UP.” Draco shouted, coming in this time with a left hook. Pain blossomed across Harry’s face. 

“Shield! NOW!” Draco screamed. 

Harry stared up at Draco, despite the slightly fuzzy vision without his glasses. He took the split second he had before Draco hit him again, this time on his right. He pulled his entire focus to the shield charm Draco was about to test. He kept his eyes on Draco’s, not on the fist coming for him. 

He still felt Draco’s gloved knuckles against his head, but the buffer of the shield coupled with the recoil of the magic crackled against Draco’s fist. 

“Nice shield recovery, Potter,” Portland said from the edge of their mat.

He didn’t look in her direction. He was too distracted by the ghost of a smile on the blond man’s lips. Harry bucked again, this time able to shift his weight from under Draco. 

Scrambling to their feet, Draco held his stance, waiting on Harry. He wanted to lunge for Draco, but he knew it would only land him on the mat again. Instead, he winked at Draco and took a step back, daring the man to come at him.

Draco shook his head, but stepped forward anyway. He was going for Harry’s head again. Harry knew it before he realized it. When Draco’s left fist started it’s arc toward him, Harry jabbed for Draco’s ribs. 

“You’re done.” Portland clapped her hands, trying to draw their attention.

The air rushed from Draco as Harry’s jab connected. He knew he was losing, that is, if they had been keeping track of points instead of evaluating the shields. He refused to quit. By the defiant look on Draco’s face, it was evident that Draco wasn’t finished either.

Harry stepped forward, feigned a hook with his left hand, and went in again with his right. It was one of his few advantages against Draco. Defensive stances were difficult against left-handed opponents like Draco. Regardless of his focus, he always felt like he was wide open. 

“Malfoy. Potter. Done.” Auror Portland repeated.

They froze. 

Draco whispered, “Give up?”

Harry was determined to knock Draco on his arse. He was quickly getting frustrated. He was stronger than Draco, why was it so bloody hard to beat him? He rushed him, landing a couple more punches before Draco got past his guard and bloodied his lip. 

Harry hissed in pain and narrowly guarded against the uppercut Draco aimed at his torso. Knowing Draco’s stamina was going to start becoming more of an advantage, Harry threw himself into a combination of punches with his right hand. With Draco’s dominant hand busy blocking, Harry was less worried about catching another punch to the mouth.

Draco was circling, avoiding Harry’s right fist, not realizing until it was too late that Harry was setting him up.  Draco didn’t see the high kick coming until it was too late. Harry’s leg crushed into Draco’s side, and two things became obvious at once. First, Draco had let his shield weaken. Second, Harry was sure that if he hadn’t broken Draco’s rib, he certainly bruised the hell out if it.

A sudden burning pain washed over his entire body with an intensity that left him immobile. It faded as quickly as it had come.

Auror Portland approached them with no worry of being hurt by a stray attack.

“When I say you’re done, you are done.” She spoke slowly but her anger was obvious. “Your injuries serve you right.”

Harry looked over to Draco. His hand was pressed to his side and face paler than usual. Draco would have returned the look, but his eyes never made it past Harry’s chest. Looking down, Harry realized he had blood on his shirt. The dark red trail stood out on the grey fabric, and seemed to remind Harry of the pain in his mouth. 

“Potter, go clean up. Malfoy, get that rib checked. I don’t want to see either of you until tomorrow. Any more blatant dismissals of instructions, and you will both fail the class and will be re-enrolled in the next course.” 

“Yes, Auror Portland.”

“Yes, Auror.”

“The next course begins in six weeks. You will be suspended from all related training during that time. It may result in a delayed graduation from the Auror Training Program. This does not hurt my feelings. I will not hesitate. Do not test me.” She held them at attention despite not having once raised her voice. 

Harry nodded.

“Understood,” Draco said.

“You are dismissed,” she said.

Harry made his way into the locker room. Peeling his bloody shirt over his head was less taxing than he expected it to be. Maybe his shield charms were, in fact, getting better. He rinsed his shirt in cold water under the tap to keep the bloodstain from setting. He would floo-call Hermione or Ginny later. They would likely know how to clean a bloodstain more effectively than he would.

He tucked the shirt into a bag and headed for the shower. Stepping into the hot spray, he watched the pink-tinged water run down his body. Once it cleared, he gingerly touched his lip. It was swollen, but the bleeding had stopped. 

“Poor baby,” Draco said. 

Harry turned quickly, facing the open stall door. Draco stood wrapped in a towel and completely dry.

“Come here. Let me fix that for you.” Draco stepped forward, dropping the towel. He pulled Harry into his arms. Draco pressed a gentle kiss against Harry’s bruised mouth. Instantly, Harry felt a wave of magic roll over him. The pain lessened and Draco smiled against his lips. 

The arrogant display of a wandless, wordless healing charm had Harry’s cock hardening against Draco. He whimpered and wrapped himself around Draco.

“You’re doing better with your charms.”

“Not well enough, it seems,” Harry argued. “You and that damned ‘southpaw advantage’ bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit if I keep beating you. You caught me pretty good at the end, though.” 

Harry pulled back and looked at Draco’s side. “How bad was it?”

“Just a bruise. I had a potion in my bag. I think I took it before the worst could set in.” 

Harry leaned in and kissed the faint purple mark. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. You did good. You caught me off guard. Maybe one day, you’ll actually beat me…come out on top for once?” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Harry asked, pulling Draco into the spray of the shower. 

Draco hummed his agreement. He kissed a trail down the side of Harry’s neck.

“I think I should probably stop by your place tonight to check on you. Make sure your potion worked. I mean, it was me who kicked you in the first place. I should be the one to take care of you.” Harry said.

“There’s really no need. You can just admit you liked the way I had you pinned to the floor and avoid the pretense.”

“I liked the way you pinned me to the floor, Draco.” 

“Fuck,” Draco groaned. He pulled out of Harry’s embrace. “I need to hurry up get out of here before we’re caught. We’ve only got another four hours of training before I get you all to myself.” 

“I’ll be rock hard the whole bloody time.” 

“You really are the worst.” Draco smiled and left Harry alone, moving over to the next stall. 

Once the water started, it was mere seconds before the first of their fellow trainees’ voices could be heard from the main locker room. Harry knew they’d been cutting it close lately, but if anyone noticed the trail of water from Harry’s shower to Draco’s, no one said a thing.

As Harry had watched him go, he realized he might not quite like the new training. He certainly didn’t like losing to Draco as often as he did, but seeing Draco take control was worth it—they were worth it.

((all the love in the world to @hazyxthoughts and the anon who prompted this over a literal year ago. a million thank you’s to @xx-thedarklord-xx for being an amazing beta and giving me the best line this ending could have.))

[notasliceoflife]

        He was young when it had started. So young at the time he couldn't even remember when it had even started. As the familiar sting of his mothers hand striking his face pulsed through the left side of his face he cast his emerald green eyes toward the floor briefly before smiling gently at her " It's okay, Mama. I won't do it again. It was only an accident." The child had told her, only for the woman to start yelling about the broken vase not being something he could fix, no matter how 'sorry' he was.

        The boy nodded, the smile falling from his face then before being order to clean his mess up. The woman then turns away and walks out of the room, warning him to remain quiet and in the back rooms, as she always had done. Kneeling down he reached out toward the shards of glass, gripping carelessly at them as he picked them up in his right hand and cupped his left hand out in front of him. Placing several shards into his palm. For the next few minutes he cleaned up the mess and set the shards aside in a storage room.

        Years later the boy had sat in a classroom, the sun outside beaming in through the window to his side. Tapping the eraser of a pencil to his desk he had stared at the sheet laid out in front of him, thinking of the proper answers. But he had no will to write them down. He did not see the point in such a thing. For a long time now he had felt ...empty. Like nothing in life had mattered. Not like it did when he was a kid. Or at least, how he thought it had mattered when he was a kid. He had grown up since then, realizing just how useless all his efforts were.

        However, he eventually started to scribble something down. The least he could do was just get by, the bare minimum. The teenager soon finished with the sheet and stood up, moving to turn it in. A few kids looking up from their own half finished sheets to look at him, someone pelting a piece of paper at the back of his head. Ignoring it he lazily sat the paper on the teachers desk and moved back to his own desk. Staring out of the window beside him for the rest of the period.

        It was August, 1945, The Boy gulped as he walked out of a room into the hallway spotting a few girls his own age. One in particular he had known from school. They hadn't seen him as he neared them. Not until one of the girls had made some joke and turned her head, spotting him as he approached and giving a small 'Oh ?aA?A!?, you are here today.' ...She didn't seem enthused about it. Pausing he blinks and looks over toward them, nodding a little bit at the girls words before telling them he had to drop off some stuff for his mother.

        Then asked if they were having a good day, trying to make idle chit chat. He tried to work up the courage to say something to the girl he had be interest in for some time. But missed his chance as the girls started departing, telling him to enjoy the rest of the peaceful day. The boy watched them leave for a moment before deciding to say something to the girl. Walking after them toward the stairwell they had walked down. He paused however when he heard them whispering about him being a freak. Looking down and seeing all the girls giggling as they went on talking about him being creepy.

        Letting out a hollowed laugh the boy pulled away from the stairs leading down to the bottom floor of the building. Deciding he needed some fresh air elsewhere he walked up the stairs toward the roof instead. Maybe if he stared long enough into the void, he wouldn't feel so terrible all the time.  The boy stepped out into the windy fresh air, enjoying the fact that the air had always seemed better the higher up he got. Walking toward the edge of the building he leaned onto it, looking over the edge and down toward the people. He watched as they walked away, going on about their meaningless lives.

        Soon he would be graduating and continuing life with his own boring life. Just thinking about it had caused him some sort of existential dread. Looking up into the sky he grinned, even if the world around him had sucked, the sky had always seemed perfect over Nagasaki, even if it was raining, even in the night. Even if the war, and all that came with it. A mother that beat him, classmates who mistreated him and an absent father, he knew...one day it would end. All the suffering he was going through, and maybe in another life, he wouldn't be alone. Or maybe he would be happy even if he was.

----

        He was alone, but at least he had been content where he was. Not happy. But what was happiness, anyway. Ulquiorra stared up toward the sky over Hueco Mundo, through the white branches of the tree/bush he had been laying in for...he didn't know how long now. Someone was talking to him though. He didn't bother looking over, figuring if he just ignored them long enough they would eventually go away. But they did not, they insisted he had 'helped them. Slowly, green cat like eyes shift to the side, a strange curiosity coming to him " Why do you need my help? What about me makes you think I am of any use to you?" Ulquiorra had asked the man then.

        They had been their so long, the loneliness he had been feeling had started to leave. He didn't know what to think of that. He couldn't close his eyes or block his ears from seeing or hearing the other. So when their face appeared over his face he was forced to look at them. They did not look like the creatures who ate from before. This one had seemed very different from them. Though their was something in their eyes that had made them seem even worse than those creatures.

        His name was Aizen. Ulquiorra had learned when the other told him as he moved to pull himself out of the piles of white branches that had grown into and over him. Blood dripping onto the ground he stood, hollowfied, staring Aizen down with a predatory gaze. The other had given a smug smile toward him however before turning and commanding that he followed. Ulquiorra had obeyed. Even through the pain that would soon follow his decision to help this strange man. Breaking the shell and reforming into the Arrancar he was to become. Not long after he was given his orders to go to a town, there he had seen the orange haired woman for the first time. She didn't seem interesting to him at first.

        But not long after Aizen had ordered him to take her. So he did. Because his Lord had wished it, and he was loyal. While holding her captive however he became intrigued by her 'heart'. She spoke of her friends and of things in such a way that Ulquiorra wanted to know more about it. The heart she displayed reminding him of something he had long forgotten about, that felt like it was just there right on the surface, only..it was behind a padlocked metal door. Unreachable by him

      Ulquirra fought with the one called Ichigo not long after this, eventually coming to a draw, with the other. His body disintegrating to ash, just as he was getting closer to unlocking that door inside of him. His eyes meeting with the woman’s as he asked if she were afraid of him. Then reached out toward her only for his hand to crumble into dust as she reached out for him. It was a familiar feel, his entire body evaporating into nothing. It was probably for the best, that he was nothing. It had felt natural to him. His mind flashing back to August of 1945 as the boy on the roof watched something fall from an airplane that was flying over Nagasaki, followed by a bright light, and then an empty dark nothingness.

----

      Scribbling something on the sheet of paper in front of him, Shou grinned a little bit before a paper ball hit him in the head. Looking over the nine year old frowned slightly as another boy made a face at him before saying he always looked sad all the time. Shou gave a small frown at that, the boy laughing and pointing at him before the teacher shouted for them to be quiet and get back to their test. After school Shou was packing up some stuff when a girl came up to his desk and said she didn't think he looked sad, but cute.

      Shou prickled up a bit before stuffing the rest of his school stuff into his backpack and nodding before nervously giving a thanks, hearing a girl laughing and telling the other that she had some guts talking to a 'bird boy'. Shou ignored the rest of what was being said as he rushed out of the class room and into the hall. Rushing out of the building. Before hearing his name getting shouted from the left of him and then something hard hitting his face.

      Falling to the ground he winced. Pushing himself up from the ground a bit he sat on the ground and lift a hand up to his cheek as the boy who had just punched him knelt down and got into his face, poking a finger into his nose and making fun of it for looking funny " Mm. Not as funny as your nose looks..." Shou had muttered, rubbing his hand against the swelling on his face. The kid laughing at his remark before standing and telling him that he would let him get away with it that time but only because he had found Shou to be amusing.

      Shou stood then and rolled his eyes a little bit " Of course. I live to amuse you." He says as he brushes the dirt off of himself and shifts, walking out of the school yard and down the street. Once home he kicked off his shoes at the entry way and stepped inside, seeing his great grandmother smoking in the kitchen " Hello." He says, getting a dirty look from her before his mother popped out from the smiling at him. He gave a smile back toward her " Hello, Mama." Shou greeted and walked toward the kitchen.

      His great grandmother put out her smoke then before commenting that he was too old to continuing to call his mother by 'mama' that he had sounded like a baby. Then brought up her dead son, as she usually did when criticizing him. Shou narrowed his eyes " Great Uncle probably doesn't like that you talk about him so disgustingly. He probably doesn't know what kind of ugly mother he had." Shou commented before being told he should speak more respectfully to his elders. Then calling him ugly looking, just like his great uncle had looked. With the face only a mother could love.

      Shou's mother stepping in then to tell her not to talk to her son like that and that Shou looked perfectly fine the way he was and so did her uncle. Shou didn't stick around for any more of the bickering before walking into the back rooms and sitting down near a storage closet. Pulling out some old shattered pieces of glass that had been stuffed into it, half the pieces mostly put back together. He had been practicing repairing such seemingly repairable things in his spare time, when not having much else to do. The vase he was working on had been forgotten about in the closet that when he had asked his great grandmother about it she told him to toss it in the trash, as she had told her son many years before.

[doodledialogue]

Interview series - What after B.Arch? #16

Interviewee: Ar. Valentin Gheorghian Post-graduation: Masters in Architecture | Gheorghe Asachi Technical University of Iași, Romania

What prompted you to take up Architecture?  I wanted to become an Architect ever since we had a school assignment in 4th grade at a subject called “technology” when we had to draw our “ideal house” for us and our family. I loved that assignment so much, took a long time to do it properly, and with excellent results – that then and there I decided this is what I would like to do for a living and started to buy architecture magazines/ magazines with houses.

Tell us about studying Master of Architecture at TUIASI. In Romania architecture studies comprise of 6 years and result in gaining both degrees: Bachelor’s and Master’s. One cannot do just the first one – the first one is meaningless. You are not considered a graduate before you finish year 6, pass all your exams and pass the Graduation/ Degree project (final project, 6 month long).

After graduating Year 4, you continue with Year 5 – which is – in theory – already “Master” level – but nothing changes – it’s a continuous 6 year study cycle, no interruptions, same school, same teachers, same colleagues – only different subjects (more advanced), more projects and more complex projects.

Tell us about the application process. There is no “application process” in the way it’s understood in the UK – one has to pass a gruelling admission exam at one of only 6 universities in the country that have Architecture departments. For that 5-6 hour exam, students train – via private tutoring – for at least a year – because the examination requires excellent hand drafting skills, technical drafting skills and advance descriptive geometry – none of which is being taught in high-schools; in that lies the need to take on private tutoring. 

One should start with the application process for 2 years in advance.

What preparation did you do before starting the program? There were 10 days of intensive drawing courses – both technical and hand drafting – organised by the university just before the admission’s exam. These were good and useful for someone who already knew what they were doing – but pointless for someone who didn’t have a clue. Students take a minimum of 1 year of difficult private tutoring (with a lot of homework) to get to the drawing (both technical and freehand) skill level required to pass the admission examination.

In terms of pre-reading for the program– I’ve always enjoyed reading about architecture and buildings – but especially about historical buildings/ cities and the history of architecture.

Did you speak to any alumni/professors of the program? I hadn’t met any architecture students or young architects before joining the program – and it would have been extremely useful to gain some insights and tips & tricks and the subtleties of the university. Had only met old architects/ teachers – the ones with whom I did private tutoring to prepare for my admission exam.

Did you have to give any entrance tests? How did you plan for them? The 6 years integrated study program has a 5/6h entry examination testing freehand drawing, technical drawing and mathematical/ geometry skills. One trains in private for at least 1 year for these.

How long was your program? 6 years – October 1st 2007 – October 2013. There is no flexibility regarding fall/spring semesters.

Did you have post-study plans in mind when you took it up?  Just went with the flow. Now, however, I am planning to do a PhD in a related field and go into teaching at an Architecture University - because I am astonished about the low wages in the Architecture field - as opposed to other skilled careers - and I would do this as a way to supplement my income. I love teaching as well and I think it would be an excellent for for me - but the main reason is the financial one.

Did you have to apply for a visa? Non-applicable – neither in my home country of Romania (where the bulk of the program took place) – nor during the time spent abroad – which was all spent inside the EU – thus not requiring visa.

How was the experience at the school? Very difficult yet very rewarding at the same time. Longer hours, more courses, more seminars, more projects and more time spent on projects – than any other university that I know of. Less time for socializing and leisure activities than any other students. Longer academic year: from the 1st of October – start of the academic year – until mid-July (end of “practical training” week/ weeks)

How was the teaching and learning environment at your school? Every class (year of study) had their own classroom - 6 years of study – 6 classrooms. There were roughly 50 people per year of study/ class – but never would everyone show up (except perhaps some exams) – so everyone could fit in. Apart from these 6 classrooms – there were 2 multi-function rooms/ projection rooms, amphitheatre type (although not sloped) for projections and special presentations, and an IT lab with computers. That’s it – those were all the available spaces (small school, intimate, student-oriented). 

Classical style of teaching – you go in class – just like during high-school – and the teacher teaches for 2h their subject – with either a 10min break between classes, or a small 5min cigarette break mid-way. Most difficult or practical subjects also had “seminars” same duration, same location – during which we would do exercises and problem solving

The frequency of the classes depended on the year of study. The busiest teaching schedule was in year 1 – and decreased progressively towards year 6 – when there are no taught classes at all (only non-supervised individual work on the final project, “degree project” and on the Dissertation – at the same time). Year 1: 6-8hours of classes per day, every day. Year 5: about 3-4hours per day. Year 6: 0. The decrease in number of taught hours was compensated by an increase in number of projects (like “homework”): in year 1 students only had to work on projects in the main school subject, “architectural design” (counting for half of all study credits). This grew up to year 5 – when there were projects to be worked on at home for at least 10 school subjects, such as: urban planning, interior design, special structures, construction materials, and so on.

There was no time for other things – not even a shade of social life. Architecture life occupies ALL your time, at least during uni.

Tell us more about the mentors. One would meet mentors/ teachers/ assistants whenever one could find them around the school or in their office – in years 1-5. There was no formality in the method used to meet with them, no “appointments”, nothing like that. In year 6 – final year – it would be even easier – one would have personal contacts for one’s degree/ final project mentor, as well as a few others with whom one would have a close collaboration for their final project – such as a structural engineer/ structures professor. These meetings would either take place somewhere in the university – or at that teacher’s private practice – most if not all of them also had their private practices and would be project architects on their own. Despite this ease in meeting and approaching – there was and is a much higher degree of formality in addressing/ interacting with teachers – as compared to the

UK or the west. One would NEVER address a teacher/ tutor/ assistant by their first name, for example; that would be a sign of huge disrespect. 

Did your institute have any support system for international students? Any incoming international students would come through the Erasmus program, and would stay for half a year, usually in years 3 or 4. There were very few of these – maybe 2-3 per academic year – due to the fact that Romanian architecture and architecture education is completely unknown internationally.

As a general rule – these internationals would live like princes – would enjoy a much easier life than locals/ regulars. The teachers were way more lenient towards them – on one hand – so they would get high marks regardless of their academic performance, and on the other hand – they always had money. Erasmus scholarships barely cover half of one’s living costs in a country such as France (where I had studied as an Erasmus student) – but are way more than needed in a cheap country such as Romania – so sweet life!

Were you involved in research projects while studying? I was involved in all research projects, volunteering activities, publications, work camps and anything related to the subject, both internally and abroad – as visible from my CV. Those abroad were taking place in either English or French. I’ve never seen/met any students from the UK taking part in any of these – thus gaining the impression that UK students are very inward-looking – as opposed to EU students who are very open-minded and open and international and love foreign exchange programs and so on. 

Tell us about your time abroad? My 6 month Erasmus program was spent in ENSAP [École Nationale Supérieure d'Architecture et de Paysage] Lille, France - and I lived on campus through the duration of the exchange.

It was a brutally difficult program - not because of the academic level, which wasn’t any higher than back in Romania - but because of the density of classes, amount of project work outside of hours spent in uni, and the (lack of) dedication of my teammates (all projects were done in teams). I regret not having more fun and a social life during my Eramsus - such as most of my friends had - those who went to different countries and destinations - but there was nothing I could do about it.

Could you tell us in brief what your thesis/dissertation/final project was about? My thesis/ dissertation was about gentrification and urban regeneration – with case studies of several post-industrial global cities: Paris, Brussels, Sao Paulo, Shanghai and Detroit; contemporary urban challenges – in very different political/ social/ economical contexts. Differences, similarities, solutions. My final project was an Immigrants Integration Centre in central Paris – combining urban regeneration of a brownfield (urban planning part) with architectural design of 9 individual buildings – a small “city within a city” 

The dialogue with my supervisor went smooth and on friendly terms – one chooses their supervisor based on one’s previous grades – and as I finished years 1-5 3rd in my generation (3rd highest score) I could obviously choose whichever tutor I wanted – and chose the one that I had the best relationship with.

What were the frequency, duration and structure of the meetings with supervisor? 

All of this was flexible and down to our own (me and the tutor’s) preferences, schedules and available times. Usually we would meet either in my tutor’s practice or at university, for a couple of hours, every 2 weeks or so, and go through the work. Sometimes I would send the latest over email the day before – just to give them the chance to take a look and make some notes – but this wasn’t always possible.

What challenges did you encounter?

The scale of my project and complexity and limited time. I practically managed to finish a volume of work 5 times greater than most of my peers. Practically in 6 months’ time, I did my urban planning dissertation project (a 65-page theoretical analysis, on the subject mentioned above), the urban design of my site, and the full architectural design of 9 large buildings, plus the presentations and graphics of all the aforementioned.

How did you manage the finances? There is NO tuition fee – Education is completely free in Romania – for all levels all the way up to PhD. One only needs to cover for living expenses. My parents covered my living expenses – which – in Iasi, Romania – amounted to less than 200GBP/ month. For example: monthly rent in student dorm: about 50 GBP- all expenses included (heating, electricity, broadband, and so on); local transport card – unlimited travel – 1 month – about 5GBP (yes, five, I am not missing a zero or two J). Some people worked part time/ full time to cover for some/ all of their living expenses. Given the fact that school work required at least 70 hours per week (total - both “home” and “in class”) meant that those who worked were not very good students, and usually missed/ skipped class.

Did you volunteer/work part-time job/intern while studying?

I did only a short stint just before year 6 in a small architectural practice in a small city. It is compulsory to work for 3 months in a supervised way in a practice – and submit reports of what exactly you have been doing there – to be accepted to begin your final/ graduation project and dissertation. I got the job through an older friend’s recommendation – she had already been working there.

How did you choose your accommodation? 

I chose a student residence on the university campus. In year 1 nobody is allowed to choose – one is simply allocated a place in a student residence in the campus – if one doesn’t wish to live elsewhere (rent out) – but after graduating year 1 – places are given based on the student’s past performance and grades – and one is allowed to choose. Based on my marks – I always finished among the top 5 people from my class – I always chose what I wanted….though there wasn’t much difference between residences. The ”commute” was a 20min walk – from campus to the Architecture School (all classes and exams took place in the same building – the architecture school building – up to year 5; in years 5 and 6 one might have to do some assignments in a few other buildings – all actually closer than the architecture building)

I considered several factors such as campus student life, proximity and contact with colleagues, proximity to the university, proximity to the shopping mall (there was 1 shopping mall in the city – right there next to campus), social contacts, costs – much lower than renting out while choosing my accommodation. 

Did you travel while studying? I had never visited another country before university. By the end of university, I had travelled to over 20 European countries, mostly for studying their culture, architecture and history. Did a 6 month long Erasmus exchange program in France (at ENSAP Lille), an international volunteer restoration work camp in St. Tropez (France) as well as summer universities and specialization courses every summer during my studies – such as at the Bauhaus Architecture school in Dessau, Germany.

How do you think the Master’s degree helped you? By allowing me to be a registered Architect in the UK, EU and RO. Without it I could have only worked as a “draftsperson”

Did the city you studied in play a major role during your study? Yes it did – Iași is a great city to study in – perfect size for a university city (a third of the city is student-population), cheap, interesting, cultural, laid-back: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ia%C8%99i

Could you tell us about your current work and future plans? I’m working as an Architect and BIM specialist in central London. Depending on the economic prospects in Britain after Brexit – I might move back to France. It was a gamble moving here – having to choose between Paris and London – between the Euro and the Pound Stirling – and the balance tipped in favour of the UK because the GBP was a more valuable currency at the time. Right after the Brexit vote, the Pound dropped by 20% in value – on international markets. What can I say? Very bad timing…my reasons for being here (and not elsewhere) keep disappearing.

Looking back was there anything you would have done differently? I really wish I had worked less and had more fun. I could have had a similar result by working smarter but less – and having more fun. I’d always been afraid to not be a workaholic and go above and beyond. Too bad.

What message would you like to give those planning their post-graduate studies? Think about actual job prospects and the career you want to pursue – and study the market; plan accordingly. Work smart, don’t work more! Have fun – in a smart way – these years are never coming back! Social interaction will never be as easy and with so many opportunities ever again – take full advantage of this! It’s all downhill after graduation – in terms of social life ☺ Seriously, no kidding…

Presenting our team's project at EBEC [European Best Engineering Competition] Romania & Republic of Moldova - National Stage

Presenting our team's project - and winning first place - at SUC 12 [Summer University Carinthia] - Villach, Austria

Architect's chat at Bauhaus Summer University, Dessau, Germany

Presenting a school project in front of the Dean of Harvard Universty - Graduate School of Architecture and Design

Specialization course in Kosice, Slovakia - international team

Year 1 - working in the studio - hand drafting

Year 1 or 2: working in the university student dorm

With colleagues from uni

Exploring Luxembourg's contemporary architecture - European Quarter

Study trip in Venice for the Architecture Biennale

[rolypolywl]

Hello, and welcome to Roly-Poly weight loss. I’m your host, Roly-Poly.

Welcome to day 22!

And today is a weigh in day, so let’s see how that is going…. 270.

Not bad!

So today we’re going back to our routine, so let me start the timer.

Okay, so today I want to talk about step tracking. Now, if you’re like me, I’m sure you’ve heard that you’re supposed to walk 10,000 steps a day. Many fitness trackers, including my fitbit, have that as the default setting, so it seems pretty important.

Now, if you’re coming from a sedentary place, like many roly poly people, 10k steps just seems like a huge number! I was certainly not hitting that number when I first started walking.

In fact, I set my first fitbit at 5k steps, and worked up to getting that number. Then 6,000, then 5,000. There are still plenty of days when I don’t hit that number.

Now, when I was working at a more active job, and climbing all those stairs I’ve mentioned, I was usually hitting 6,000 consistently, and with a little effort I could hit 7,000 in a day.

I also, as I’ve mentioned, walked 5ks, which are 3.1 miles. If you have a particularly sedentary day, only hitting 1,000 or 2,000 steps, that hour of walking will bump you up to 7,000. At least it did for me.

I could only hit 10,000 if I was up on my feet all day, or walking in a 10k or something like that.

Roly Mama, in fact, has 5,000 as her goal, because she isn’t doing those long walks, and that’s a reasonable goal for her to hit in a day, provided she does a half hour walk.

Well, according to the Mayo Clinic, our numbers are pretty typical.

“The average American walks 3,000 to 4,000 steps a day, or roughly 1.5 to 2 miles. It's a good idea to find out how many steps a day you walk now, as your own baseline. Then you can work up toward the goal of 10,000 steps by aiming to add 1,000 extra steps a day every two weeks.  If you're already walking more than 10,000 steps a day, or if you're fairly active and trying to lose weight, you'll probably want to set your daily step goal higher.”

But the’re still encouraging us to get to that 10,000. And Self pushes it even further.

“Fitness pros have been citing 12,000 steps as a new target, which begs the question: Is 10,000 steps just not good enough anymore? ” They interviewed two trainers who encouraged people to aim for 12,000 instead of 10,000.

MyFitnessPal sums up the issue pretty well.

“When you’re just starting an exercise program, you may not have the confidence or ability to get anywhere near 10,000 steps (even if you go for daily walks). This lofty goal might backfire as consistently falling short of your goals may discourage you from exercising. If you swim or cycle, those activities don’t register as steps, so your count for the day won’t accurately reflect in your activity level. Plus, if you get 10,000 steps just from walking to and from work, you may feel best when you get 15,000 or 20,000 steps per day, instead of stopping at 10,000. Ultimately, “tracking step count is highly individual and there’s no perfect number,””

Now, we’ve looked at research in the past that says that that half hour a day walk is what we need to become more healthy. If that only equals about 3,500-4,000, do we really need to hit 10,000 a day? That’s three half-hour walks a day! Or 12,000?

When you’re coming from a sedentary place, that seems insane. And just waiting for us to fail. Even the idea from the Mayo Clinic of adding 1,000 steps a day seems like a pretty steep incline. Do we really need to hit that target? And that quickly?

Well, it seems like the answer is no. And kind of yes.

Let’s start with “no.”

First, let’s look at where that 10,000 number comes from. Some scientific study, right? Yeah-no.

This article from The Atlantic actually gets to the origin of this number.

““In 1965, a Japanese company was selling pedometers, and they gave it a name that, in Japanese, means ‘the 10,000-step meter.’”  Based on conversations she’s had with Japanese researchers, Lee believes that name was chosen for the product because the character for “10,000” looks sort of like a man walking. As far as she knows, the actual health merits of that number have never been validated by research.”

Yeah, that’s it. That’s where the 10,000 number comes from.

So now let’s look at the “yes”.

Now, since then, people have actually initiated studies that seem to validate this number, but Self points out a problem with that.

“It's important to note that while research in this area can provide interesting insight, there are some limitations.  For example, if a study only looks at the benefits of 10,000 steps and doesn't compare it to other step counts, the research can't conclude how much better 10,000 steps is for a specific health outcome. (Or if there's even a difference at all.)”

For example, in one study, “overweight participants were asked to walk 10,000 steps daily for 12 weeks. The 30 participants who consistently reached that goal lost weight and had a decrease in anxiety, depression, anger, and fatigue.”

But, aside from the fact that a pool of 30 people is insanely tiny to draw data from, the study doesn’t seem to have tested other areas. Maybe people who hit 7,000 consistently also had less weight, anxiety, and fatigue, just not as much.

Similarly, “A study where 355 participants were asked to take more than 10,000 steps a day found that there was a decrease in blood pressure among participants after six months.” Which is great news, but again there doesn’t seem to be any control group at a lower step count.

And that’s important for a number of reasons, as the Atlantic points out.

“That nuance can mean a lot to people who want to be less sedentary but aren’t sure how to start or whether they can do enough to make a difference, says Lindsay Wilson, a clinical professor of geriatric medicine at the University of North Carolina School of Medicine. “I don’t think setting the bar at 10,000 steps is a very successful way to approach exercise,” she says. “Some people are not walkers. They don’t have safe neighborhoods, or they feel unsteady on sidewalks. You need to be more creative. Is this a person who needs to go to a gym class or the pool, or sit on a stationary bike?””

And Self adds, “It also depends on what other activities you're doing in a day. If you take an indoor cycling class or do a strength training workout, you may not rack up as many steps as you would if you went for a run or walked a lot one day. That doesn’t mean you’re being unhealthy or that the other activities you’re doing don’t "count"—especially if you're hitting those 75 minutes of vigorous activity per week.”

So are there any studies that look at lower step counts? Or just being more active in general? And, it turns out, the answer is yes!

For example, Self notes “One study showed that participants who reached 7,500 steps or more were less likely to report poor sleep, while those who reached 5,000 steps or fewer were more likely to report poor sleep.”

That shows a benefit at just 7,500 steps, up from 5,000. So that’s promising to those of us who are looking to incrementally increase our activity!

Harvard Professor I-Min Lee performed a study “observing the step totals and mortality rates of more than 16,000 elderly American women.”

As she explained to The Atlantic, ““The basic finding was that at 4,400 steps per day, these women had significantly lower mortality rates compared to the least active women,” Lee explains. If they did more, their mortality rates continued to drop, until they reached about 7,500 steps, at which point the rates leveled out. Ultimately, increasing daily physical activity by as little as 2,000 steps—less than a mile of walking—was associated with positive health outcomes for the elderly women.”

So there you have it, in this study, an increase as little as 2,000 steps showed improvement. If you’re the kind of person who struggles to get to 5,000 steps, don’t feel like you’re a failure for not getting to 10,000.

““I’m not saying don’t get 10,000 steps. If you can get 10,000 steps, more power to you,” says Lee. “But if you’re someone who’s sedentary, even a very modest increase brings you significant health benefits.””

Now, all that said, what can you do if you do want to increase your daily step count? Tracking your steps on a pedometer or fitness tracker can help, and adding a half hour daily walk - like we did for No Zero Day May - can certainly boost your numbers.

If you’re in the moderate area - 6,000-8,000, you should consider the app, StepBet.

It looks at your past activity and calculates an “active” and a “stretch” goal for you. Actives at minimum are 7,000 and Stretches are 9,000.

Then, you join a bet! Usually costing about $30-40 to enter, the standard format is 6 weeks, needing to hit your stretch goal twice, your active goal 4 times, and with one “free” day. If you can make those numbers for the whole time, you win a chunk of the pot!

There are also variations, such as shorter, 4 week bets, no stretch days, no free days, and similar. I loved doing these, because it was great motivation to get that last thousand steps in before bed if I was a little low.

And the extra money at the end was nice! Sometimes I only made $2 back over my bet, sometimes $10! The great thing was the guarantee. If you won you bet, you would always get your money back. They’ll forgo their own cut to make sure that all winners at least make their money back.

So if you complete the steps, you can’t lose!

And, as you finish stepbets, you become more active, and your active and stretch goals inch higher. It’s a great way to slowly (over a month, not a day), increase your step goals.

Again, however, the minimums are 7,000 and 9,000, so if you’re just hitting 5,000 a day comfortably, and stretching to 6,000, this might push you too far.

If you still want a little extra stepping motivation, but StepBet isn’t right for you, check out Charity Miles.

Regardless of your step count level, it will work for you. You pick the charity you want to support from your list, start up the tracker, and get walking! Or running, or biking, or whatever! They track all kinds of activities. And when you finish, their corporate sponsors will donate money to the charity of your choice!

You can even join teams and help support or compete against each other.

It is a great way to add an extra motivation to getting your daily exercise or steps!

And that’s it for today!

This has been Roly Poly Weight loss. As always, I am your host, Roly Poly. Please share your experiences with the hashtag #StepCount. You can even share your step goals or achievements. I’d love to see them!

And please join me next time!