#literally saw it on the shelves and had to contain a squeal

[elflikesfrogs]

I found this at my uni bookstore and I'm going to be SO autistic about it

[yandecifi]

What It Means to Be Made of Stardust

☆ chapter seven

⋆ masterlist

⋆ cw: child abuse, sa, mental illness

hawks/reader, psychological, wip longfic

Swaddled in the sheets your mother was in last night, you hide. It’s full in the apartment. The air mattress is too soft, it needs to be pumped with air, but you don’t know how.

When you first woke up, you wandered all throughout the living room, the kitchenette, the bathroom, even your father’s bedroom. You opened closets. The apartment filled up, and up, and up.

There was no breakfast sitting on the table or coffee being made. Your mother’s shoes were gone. That was five hours ago. You stuff the blankets in your mouth, it hurts to breathe.

Hawks giggles like a schoolgirl as he shoves you away from the door of some janitorial closet. To your glee, you manage to squeeze through just as he slams it shut. He screams when he sees you’ve followed him inside, crashes into a shelf full of spray bottles and cardboard boxes.

“Ahah, don’t hurt me!”

The grin on your face burns. You’re supposed to hit him back, tickle him or something, but you can’t bring yourself to touch him. You’ll throw up, start squealing, or piss yourself, maybe. You don’t want to find out.

Hawks peeks out from the arms covering his face, his eyes glimmering. It’s just the two of you surrounded by mops, squeegees, brooms, and dustpans. Shelves line the walls, a mop sink in one corner with a hose. You have the idea to spray him with it but that might be taking it a bit too far.

“You’re not gonna get revenge?” Hawks snickers, pulling your attention back to him and his teasing. “Guess you can’t really do much anyway, you got twig arms—”

You smack him on the shoulder. “Ah, shut—”

“ Ahhh, shut up !” He starts giggling again. He pitches his voice high and squeaky, waves his hands in the air. “ Shut up, stop it, Hawks !”

“Shut—” You groan. Your face is really on fire now. “Whatever!”

“ Ugh, whatever !”

You kick him in the shin. He drops to his knees, clutching his leg, his laughter ceasing.

“Oh, shut up, Hawks. That didn’t hurt.”

“So mean to me! I just had an injury there, y’know.” He rubs his shin. “Owie.”

You chew on your lip. You lean down with an apology on your tongue, but you’re bonked on the head instead.

“Got you.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“How original.”

“Shut up!”

“Telling me that clearly isn’t working.”

Your hands slap against your face, rushing to hide yourself away. He’s such a fucking prick. His laugh is like a melody.

“Sorry, sorry.” Hands wrap around your wrists. His hands. He tugs them away from you and you can do nothing to resist. “I’ll stop.”

You can barely feel your fingers with how much they’re tingling. Your heart literally feels like it’s in your throat. He could kill you right now and you would be too caught up in all this to even care.

His hands remain around your wrists, warm, fantastical. You stare at your feet, somewhere between a poorly contained smile and a bashful frown.

“You’re always so shy with me.” He leans in to try and catch you with his grin. He probably doesn’t know that that just makes it harder for you to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m not shy.”

“Oh, please.”

“Shut up.”

He releases one of your wrists to pinch your side. You yelp, jump away from him, but he just yanks you right back with a laugh. He’s close enough that you could touch his shoulders or chest if you wanted. You could hug him, kiss him.

You want to hug him so badly. You want him to hug you. You want to be hugged.

You can also see that he has a bit of a snaggle tooth, a pointy canine that’s slightly pushed out from the rest. You never saw that in all the official posts or fan accounts you’ve poured over.

He has a little snaggle tooth and you’re the only one that knows.

“I didn’t know you could make noises like that,” Hawks says, grinning, always so happy with himself.

“What the hell does that even mean?” You rub your side with your free hand, trying to look angry. He knows you aren’t. He always knows. “I’m — I need to go finish my offboarding stuff. Okay?”

You pull away from him, free your wrist from his grasp, push down your disappointment. He sighs dramatically.

“Okaaay. Have fun. My manager’s probably looking for me by now, anyway.”

“Like always.”

You turn away and turn the door handle only for it to jam. You try it again. It’s locked from the inside.

The closet is full.

You fumble to unlock the handle and slip out of the closet.

☆

An old man sits at your new desk while you stare at him from beneath your freshly cleaned covers. He has sharp eyes, the kind that make you think he doesn’t like much of anything, but you know him better than that. His chin has that dark stubble he always has, they’re tendrils of an ancient plant poking out of his skin. His hair is black like fat vines dipped in oil, it drapes and drips down his shoulders in the same way. If you cut him open all you’d see is branches, brittle black branches, his skin would have so many rings on the inside there’d be no rings at all. He looks at you and he’s as still as the trees he’s made of. His teeth are made of pale mushrooms, his eyes fuzzy with black mold.

Aizawa stands from the desk chair and goes to turn off the lights.

It’s worse in the dark. He mixes into it. The chair squeaks as he sits back down. When you’re peering into the darkness like this your eyes feel like moons.

Hawks has soft curls in his hair. You brush them back from his forehead as he naps. His breath fans against your neck.

“You’re having trouble sleeping.” The frown on your face deepens. Aizawa has a habit of saying things you don’t want to hear. “Try closing your eyes instead of glaring at me.”

“The staple was an accident.”

It’s too dark to see what he’s doing but he doesn’t respond. It’s a dry sort of silence.

“Can you at least turn the lights back on?”

The chair squeaks again and the bedroom door is opened. The hallway of Aizawa’s home is filled with light, it spills into this guest room and turns the carpet yellow. You sit up. He’s left the room, the door ajar, in silence.

You close your fingers around the covers, rub against the fabric. Spit gathers in your open mouth.

He returns a couple moments later. He lumbers towards you and your blankets, the ceiling brushing the top of his head. Smaller and smaller you become the closer he gets; you keel over. You’re in a box. He plugs a simple, little nightlight with a fabric lampshade into the wall.

It glows by his cradling hands as he fidgets with it and the outlet. All Might is embroidered on the front. He’s smiling and flexing his muscles.

“Is that better?” Aizawa asks, the side of his face lit by the nightlight. His skin writhes and wriggles with something beneath. His eyes narrow. “I thought you were afraid of the dark.”

The two of you end up in his living room, sitting on his couch, both of you with glasses of water. You make a point to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. He takes a sip from his glass, flipping through channels on his TV. A late night talk show, the news, some kind of ad for drain cleaner.

“What do you watch?” He asks, and you curl up a little more.

“Never really watched TV.”

He grunts. You watch his slow blinks at the screen as he considers. He has black cat slippers on with bright yellow eyes, their soles worn.

“Do you like animals?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

His thumb presses the remote again, again, and again. A rather tragic moment in a drama, more news, a documentary on the deep sea. He puts the remote down on the coffee table. The narrator is going over gulper eels.

“Drink.”

Aizawa nods at your untouched glass. It’s crystal clear, the water laps at the lip of the cup like a lake. You tilt the water back and forth, watch it move. Aizawa reaches over and grasps your cup by the top, all the while watching the documentary. You slowly put it down. He lets go. You fidget with your fingers instead.

Aizawa’s living room isn’t what you imagined; he has children’s toys littered on the floor next to a rather tall, beige cat tower for his cat that you haven’t seen yet. His name is Kitty. You get the feeling he doesn’t like you (animals know bad people) but Aizawa said he’s just a bit of a diva.

There’s an open closet that contains a stacked washing machine and dryer with a litter box stuffed in there, somehow, and there are shelves on the walls lined with little trinkets, books, gifts, and pictures. Shoes are left in a cluttered heap by his front door. His boots, sneakers, his second pair of sneakers, your shoes. Little sandals and little crocs and little ballerina flats. His fridge has the ripped out page of a coloring book stuck to the door with magnets, an artsy flamingo all scribbled in with the rainbow.

You stick out in his home in a different way than Hawks’. Hawks’ place is empty of him aside from certain drawers, his fridge, his closet, and the boots he leaves by his front door. Everything is spick and span, every expensive table, counter, and shelf left lonely. He has rooms he never goes in. Your clothes on his designer carpets make everything dreamy. Your school bag on his couch, his soft towels in your hands and wrapped around you. Hawks said you brought life to the place, filled up the spots he couldn’t.

Aizawa’s home is full. There’s no room for you left. His home smells like nothing in particular and he has a TV.

An angler fish stares at you from the screen. It’s ugly, somewhere between violet and shit brown with rows of needle teeth that gnarl in different directions. It looks like it was born with cataracts.

“I’m sorry for frightening you. I should have told you I was getting the nightlight.”

You would turn to look at Aizawa, to speak with him normally and politely, but something tells you to keep staring at the fish.

“You didn’t frighten me.”

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” he corrects. You can almost see his dry expression.

“It’s fine.” You don’t have the energy to argue. “Sorry.”

You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s his own fault, sticking his nose in your business.

The angler fish has found a mate. The mate is smaller, so much smaller. It looks more like a parasite when it latches onto the bigger one. It turns out that not only does it look like a parasite, it acts like one, too.

You finally manage to glance at Aizawa. He’s lounging comfortably on his side of the couch, an arm draped over the back while he holds his half-finished water, eyes squinted at the fish.

“I’ve worked with a lot of students. There have been plenty that caused more trouble. I can think of several in your class.” He sets his glass down on the coffee table. “You’re okay. You’re a good kid.”

A good kid. Hawks says that a lot, how you’re so smart, so kind.

“If I was a good kid I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Aizawa sighs. The narrator is talking about the dumbo octopus. It floats around stupidly on screen. Aizawa doesn’t want to tell you he thinks you’re crazy.

At this moment, sitting on your teacher’s couch late at night because all the adults around you have decided you just can’t be alone anymore, you get deja vu. You’ve been here before, or perhaps you’re here but sitting a little to the left, or to the right. Your hands are heavier or lighter. Maybe you drank the water or you spilled it, or both. You’re on top of your teacher or beneath.

His eyes are seedy, beady, black, moldy. He’s staring at you from the corner of his eye, he’s not focused on the documentary, he never was.

“...Aizawa?”

A little voice calls from the hall. Your head snaps in its direction.

It’s a child. Her long, silver hair is braided back in loose pigtails. She’s wearing matching pajamas, an oversized shirt and shorts with a unicorn pattern. It’s Eri, taller than last you saw her, a little bit older. How old is she now? Nine? Ten? When you were that old, you were cleaning up your dad’s vomit, not trembling in unicorn pajamas. She looks between you and your teacher.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Aizawa asks gruffly, standing from the couch. He walks over and kneels in front of her. “My student was having trouble sleeping, too. Do you want to make bubbles?”

Aizawa fucks her. You shut your eyes, grit your teeth. People call those things handlebars. He probably does, too. You grab your arm and press your nails into your skin.

You open your eyes. The two of them are holding their breath, cheeks puffed out. Aizawa pokes his fat cheek. Eri giggles. He blows out the bubble and so does she. They repeat, and repeat, and repeat, until Eri isn’t shaking anymore.

“Can I get a book?” She whispers, like Aizawa would break if she spoke too loudly. Eri hazards a glance at you and doesn’t like what she sees. You’ve never really spoken to her, but that shouldn’t be what makes her shoulders shrink. Maybe it's the staples.

“Of course.” Aizawa stands back up as she goes to fetch her book. He sits back down on the couch. He’s back to staring at you. “We’ll return to this conversation once I get Eri back to bed.”

You swallow. The narrator drones on and on. You have the urge to grab the TV remote and turn it off, but you don’t. You never do much of anything, do you?

Eri returns and sits next to Aizawa. She sits criss-cross, her knee touching his, reading her little novel and thumbing the pages. You stare at her shorts and then rip your eyes away. You stare at her tiny body next to his, how he’s so much bigger and taller. Aizawa and her are visceral.

He should be beating her. He should be pulling her up by the hair and yelling in her face, asking her why she’s not in bed, telling her to shut the fuck up. He should be bashing her face into the wall while she screams at him to stop. He should be holding her down against the floor and telling her she can’t do anything to stop it. She should be picking glass out of her leg. Your heart races.

But she’s leaning against him and reading and he’s watching TV. You swallow, stare at where they’re touching. Is he hard?

Eri has the smallest nose. She nibbles on her bottom lip, focused on the page, her eyes are still red from what must have been tears. She isn’t reading. She starts rocking back and forth a little.

Unicorn pajamas. Get a fucking grip.

She’s worse at breakfast. Aizawa tells you she has PTSD, go figure, and to just let him deal with her. You woke up on the couch with a blanket over you. Aizawa is making star shaped pancakes with Eri while you sit at the table. A bowl of strawberries, painkillers, and a fork has been set in front of you. You don’t deserve to eat them.

Aizawa touches her. He pets her head, preens her hair, pinches her cheek, pats her back.

Aizawa’s dinner table is small, more of a desk. It has a vase of LEGO flowers in the middle next to a wilting dandelion in a mug. He has placemats, a total of four laid out on the table, most of them fabric with solid color or stripes. There’s one that’s plastic, pastel pink, with cute drawings of fruits.

You finally see Kitty, too. He’s eating from a metal bowl in the kitchen. You watch him munch away. He’s all black and rather thin, his shoulder blades protruding sharply from his back. Aizawa said he’s just an old man.

“Good job. Can you go put that in the sink?”

“Yeah!”

The smell of pancakes is sweet and delicate. You can kind of hear them sizzling. Through the kitchen windows are dark, fleshy gray clouds. Eri looks like she’s having a good time, lost in the joy of pancakes. You sit and watch them.

Aizawa hasn’t sighed.

When they sit down, the star pancakes steaming on your plate, you can’t bear to eat them. Aizawa asks you if you don’t like pancakes. They have maple syrup drizzled on top. There’s a slice of butter melting in the middle. Eri eats them with the biggest smile on her face. She was better last night.

The pancakes are more beautiful than anything you know. Aizawa puts your fork in your hand and, grim as the windows, orders you to eat.

☆

Your head pounds.

Hound Dog licks his lips. A clipboard with a questionnaire is sitting on your lap, a pen in hand, and you can’t read.

The words make sense. They do, truly, you can say each individual word in your head, but when you try to string them together into a sentence everything washes away. You reread the first question. What the hell.

The bell rings and you slap your hands over your ears. Your classmates’ burst into chatter is secondary to the ringing that, now, only you can hear. It bounces around your skull, threatens to burst your eardrums. Denki gives you a weird look as he passes your desk. He hasn’t spoken to you today. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, hunker down, rock slightly in your chair. It’s pulsing. You can feel your head squelch and pulsate and that booming ring pop every staple. Your eyes are going to explode out of their sockets and onto the table.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The meaningless lunch table conversations have less substance than usual today. You smile.

“The rain is nice.”

Everyone looks at you. Mina animatedly nods her head. Sero’s chopsticks poke at his noodles. Kirishima agrees with an odd laugh.

“It’s annoying,” Bakugo grumbles. “My sneakers got soaked this morning.”

“Yeah, saw you with the hair dryer earlier. You looked pretty stupid.”

“Ah, shut up, Dunceface.”

“How’s Hawks?”

“Hawks?” You stutter, face scrunched up at Mina. “He’s fine. Probably, I don’t know, I haven’t really seen him.”

Your hands don’t look like your own. Mina’s face is… well, it’s Mina, but you’re not supposed to be here.

“Oh. Huh. You guys don’t talk as much?”

“No, he—” you smile. “What?”

Aizawa’s car idles outside of Eri’s elementary school. You’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat, legs crossed, nails digging into each other. He went to go get her because of the downpour. There’s so many kids hiding from the rain beneath trees and umbrellas, their parents running up to them. There’s a trash bag stuffed with some of your clothes sitting in the trunk. Aizawa hasn’t told you whether they’ve decided to expel you yet or not, but he did tell you to start bringing your things over. Denki asked you if you were finally cleaning your room and you shoved him to the floor.

Aizawa’s holding Eri’s hand and shielding her from the rain with a black umbrella. He slouches a little so that she can reach his hand. He opens the door for her and she crawls into the backseat wearing frog rain boots.

The drive to Eri’s therapist is long. She babbles about her classes and a friend she made, mentions that the lunch Aizawa made her was really good. He nods along, his expression as plain as always. Hawks has the softest smile whenever you talk.

After he drops her off at what looks to be an office building, he takes the two of you further into the city. She’s only going to be in therapy for a little over an hour, so he wants to get some food with you. It’s then that you realize, to your horror and elation, that you’re in Fukuoka. Aizawa takes you to a KFC.

“Looking for somebody?” He says, as you crane your head up to the sky. The two of you are sitting outside, chicken legs in hand, licking them clean. Your fingers are greasy with oil. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“No.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

You nibble at the bone in your hand. “Maybe I just act that way so that you think I’m a bad liar, but I’m actually not.”

Aizawa sets a clean leg down and picks up a fresh one. “How clever.”

“The rain doesn’t bother you?”

“It’s hardly even sprinkling.”

You shrug. Passersby show little interest in the two of you; you’re wearing your favorite hoodie and refuse to take the hood off. With it on, you’re just a high schooler out with their Dad.

Is that what people see when they look at you? None of them know. To them, none of this has happened and you don’t exist. If you were them, you would be walking your dog in the afternoon with earbuds in instead of whatever this is.

How can they do that? It’s so very hard to own a dog. You have to get a job that pays well enough for an apartment, furniture, food, electricity, water, internet, phone bill, the dog itself, vet appointments, dog food, toys, food and water bowls, and grooming. In order to get that job, you need an education, experience, a resume, references, social skills, presentable clothes, transportation, an email and phone number. On top of that, you need the time to play with the dog, feed it, and walk it. You have to have the energy to do that, the time management skills, the freedom. You have to wake up, make yourself breakfast, eat breakfast, brush your teeth, change into work clothes, feed the dog, go to work, come back home, shower, make dinner, eat dinner, feed the dog, brush your teeth, take the dog for a walk, clean your home, do the laundry, play with the dog. How do people own dogs with responsibility that immense and constant?

“I’m sorry I’ve been put with you guys.”

Aizawa looks up from his food and stops chewing. He looks a little silly with the grease on his chin. He swallows.

“I offered. Don’t worry about it.”

He’s right. He did offer, and this whole thing is kind of his fault anyway.

No, it’s not.

But if he didn’t call, if he just left you alone like everybody else, if he just let you deal with it like you have with every other hurt you’ve been given, would Dad still be here?

Maybe the two of you could have made up. It’s happened before, not perfectly, but you’ve said sorry and he’s sighed and nodded and cracked a beer open. Once, you were sitting at the dinner table and sipping miso soup. It was one in the morning; you had just gotten back from the park because it was too cold to sleep. Your Dad came out of his room, got water, and stood behind you. He sighed. He patted you on the back. His hands were thick and old and you realized his hands were warm.

It was never that serious, anyway. You got hurt and shit sucked but you never ended up in the hospital. You never had your consciousness dripping out your nose. If the police hadn’t come, if Aizawa hadn’t called, then you would’ve just left and walked to a grocery store and looked at the colorful packaging of instant noodles. You would’ve cried a little, hid in a bathroom or two, then made it back to campus, somehow. Dad would call you and you would yell at each other until you couldn’t anymore.

But, no, you’re sitting outside a KFC in the city. Your teacher’s in front of you, a thousand strangers talking, walking, and holding hands, and there’s no good reason as to why.

“Is my Dad’s trial soon?”

“About a month from now, I believe.”

“Fun.”

He has a month. The apartment and all of his stuff won’t be there for much longer. All his things will go to a storage unit and then into auction and somebody, somewhere, will have a bathroom rug with bloodstains. Somebody else will move in and the holes punched into the walls will knock down their rent.

“You seem to be handling that relatively well.”

You wipe your hands on a napkin, crinkle it between your fingers.

“It’s whatever. Was gonna happen eventually.” A fat drop of rain lands on your nose. You lick it when it travels to your lips. Dad never got food you liked but the point is when he ordered takeout, there was a portion for you. “Probably.”

Aizawa’s chest rises and falls with yet another deep sigh. It’s like every word that leaves your mouth exasperates him.

“I’m trying to tell you I’m worried.”

“Well, I’m good — different, with this sort of thing.”

“Is that so?”

Aizawa blinks lazily at you. His lips twitch when you roll your eyes.

“Yeah—” You freeze. A red feather darts between footfall and swinging purses, a little worker drone, listening and watching. “Uuuhhh.”

“What?”

You drag your eyes to the roofs high above you. There are sparkling skyscrapers and balky brick buildings that refuse to be demolished; you’re searching for a silhouette peering over their ledges, or perhaps dangling legs. There are none.

You release a shaky breath.

“Nothing.”

But Aizawa tilts his head up anyway. There’s nothing there, really, there isn’t. Still, you grip the edge of your seat. Your fingers worm around somewhere beneath.

He always knows where you are in the apartment.

You lower your head, tell off the shakes. You yearn. You want people backwards. Aizawa’s staring at you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yep. Sorry. Are you done?”

You blink a lot and stare at the table but not really. The issue with you is that you’re just like Hawks.

Aizawa throws your trash away for you and the two of you pick up Eri. Aizawa spends some time speaking with the therapist. You wonder if, had your parents done all the things he does, would you have turned out differently? Would you be pretty the way Mina is? Would you fall asleep when you’re tired? Would your mom give your classmates fried chicken? But you want to lick blood off of your arm, you want somebody to choke you.

There are cicadas outside.

It’s a constant buzz. Buzz, buzz, buzz. That. They’re somewhere outside in the black.

You’re on Aizawa’s phone. Your eyes hurt. The screen is too bright but you can’t turn it any lower. You’re reading through blogs and forums.

Is this what true love feels like?

Top 10 Ways to Know if a Guy Likes You!

Advice on ten year age gap :/ thanks.

Well, you feel like you're floating around Hawks, too. He winks at you and tries to make you laugh and calls you cute. Yours and his is seven, but a lotta people are saying ten is okay, so seven shouldn’t be a big deal.

He has to like you with the way he looks at you. He looks so happy, his eyes twinkle, his cheeks dimple. It’s hypnotic.

Why someone like you makes somebody like him look anything like that, you haven’t the slightest clue. It’s so bizarre that you dare to think that maybe you’re not someone like you, not you, you’re some other you that he’s hallucinating from every stretch you’ve let him see and cry you’ve let him hear. You’re wonderful in his eyes. You see her in the joy there.

She likes energy drinks and going fast, likes his jokes and every other word that comes out of his mouth. She doesn’t like her Dad, she cries in bathroom stalls because of him, comes into patrol shy and quiet because of him. She doesn’t like other people, she doesn’t seem to get what it is that’s supposed to hold them together, but he’s the same and he can tell she knows that and she knows that he knows because when their tongues touch they feel. She’s something bittersweet, a melancholy candy.

You don’t know what you’re like. You’re proving to yourself you’re better than the rest of the garbage lying in your living room by being better, best, bestest. Other than that, you just got here. That’s all you were meant to do. All you wanted was out and away but now that you got there (here?) you have nowhere else to go. You never thought you’d make it or is it that ten years later, you still can’t imagine life any different? You could wear glossy pumps and eat croissants if you really wanted to. You don’t. You lie with garbage.

You roll out of bed and walk out of Aizawa’s guest room. There’s running water in the hallway bathroom. It’s something like one in the morning. Kitty watches you from the couch as you walk through the front door. You almost stepped on a little rain boot getting your sneakers on. I fucking hate her.

The cicadas are just as loud out here as they were in there. You run down Aizawa’s neighborhood street and just keep running. This is dumb. But he’s looking, watching you from the dark, always rooted in place, leering —

And he talks too much. You never would’ve thought to describe your teacher that way, but it’s true. He looks you in the eye and asks you if you’ve taken your meds, if you slept well on the couch, if you’re hungry and want to get KFC.

There’s a playground surrounded by a chain fence just across the street you’re on. You jog across the asphalt and climb the fence, land on wood chips and rubber. It’s quiet except for the occasional car. You lay down on the slide, eyes heavy, legs burning.

Eri looks happy, not always, but often. She isn’t like you. It’s obvious by the way she babbles to Aizawa. That, and she stays.

There’s something inherently wrong with you. Something from birth, from conception. That or something happened to you along the way, you got ruined by that apartment.

It doesn’t matter. You’ve been over this, had these thoughts, sneered at Midoriya enough. It’s nobody’s fault but yours and had you killed yourself, this wouldn’t be happening. You were just too scared.

You’re always too scared.

A flashlight sears through your eyes. Your hands come rushing up to cover your face and you curl into a ball, cursing.

“Get up.”

You sit up and manage a squint at the light. It’s Aizawa. He’s standing in his pajamas at the foot of the slide.

“What the hell?”

“That’s what I should be saying. Get up.”

“How — I — I’ll just come back in the morning, okay?”

“That’s not the point. It’s late. Get up.”

You don’t budge. Aizawa clicks the flashlight off. You twitch in the slide, fingernails wedging themselves into the cracks of the plastic.

“Okay, so we’re doing this.” He sits down on the mulch at your feet, slowly, like he’s old. It strikes you that he sort of is. “Let's talk about it.”

“Can you not be so dramatic?” You spit, darting your eyes around the playground and to your teacher below you. “I mean, not that I’m trying to talk, but can’t you just sit on, like — the swingset?”

He thinks for a moment. “I’ll go if you sit there with me.”

“Jeez,” you mutter. “Just get up.”

The swing set is old. It creaks a little when Aizawa sits on it. You push around a little on yours, kick your feet at the dirt. You never learned how to swing. Your eyes wander around the playground.

“Can you tell me why you ran out of the house?”

Your attention snaps back to your teacher. He hangs loosely in his swing, legs too long to do much else but let him linger over the soil.

“I didn’t run.”

“Right. So you just walked, then? Or skipped?”

You roll your eyes. “I walked.”

“Okay, then can you tell me why you walked out of the house?”

“Can we just pretend this didn’t happen? I’ve literally only spent like five minutes out here.”

“It’s more like nine minutes and thirty-something seconds. And, answer the question.”

You wrinkle your nose. “You totally made that up.”

“Does it matter?”

Your throat always starts constricting in conversations like these. You keep taking deep breaths but it gives momentary relief. Still, you huff, armpits slick with sweat.

You dig the toe of your shoe into the ground, scrape, doodle.

“It’s nothing important,” you mumble. Aizawa turns his head to you.

“So, something is going on.”

The twisting and turning in your stomach gets worse and worse.

“No.”

“You can be honest with me. Does it have to do with your father or the recent situation?”

You roll the chains of the swing between your fingers. They’re rough, porous, they catch on your calloused palms.

“No. I don’t know why I said that. I’m just tired.”

Irreversible. You’re the food in the fridge you hope to eat, the food that’s somehow rotted in the time you spent away. You cut off the bad parts and eat anyway but that doesn’t change anything, it’s still too late, you still get sick, it’s still rotten. You remember this and your face warms, you grit your teeth, curl into yourself.

“It’s very obvious to me that something is bothering you,” Aizawa says softly. “Concerning me, specifically, and I’d like to know what that is so that I can make you more comfortable.”

“There’s nothing. I just ran out because I was mad. Or, you know what, maybe I had a PTSD attack or something. Maybe I hallucinated you were gonna rape me. You can pick whichever one makes the most sense to you.”

The words punch through the air and hang there in such a way that even you can’t help but grimace. Aizawa, meanwhile, has gone exceptionally quiet. No grumbling, no scoffs, not even the usual sigh he breathes every time you fall into his line of sight.

“Oh my God, it’s a fucking joke.”

The cicadas have long since been drowned out by your heartbeat. You look over at Aizawa and he’s looking right back. Your face twists.

“What?” You scoff, wrenching yourself right back to your shoes and the dirt. “Can you stop making this weird?”

He takes a breath that seems to reanimate him.

“I’ve been sitting with you while you sleep because Hound Dog told me to keep line of sight. It’s just a precaution taken because we’re worried you might hurt yourself again.” Aizawa stands from the swing. It creaks, long, hurt. “Let's head back.”

Aizawa lets you sleep on the couch instead of the guest room. You close your eyes and listen to the sounds he makes crawling about the house.

[thewidowsghost]

A Tour? (Natasha Romanoff x Thor!Sister!Reader)

confusinggemini612 asked:

Hey, I was hoping you could do a Natasha x Reader where the reader is Thor's sister & new to Earth. Maybe Natasha takes it upon her self to show the reader things about Earth. Please & thanks.

So like, I think I’m tripping, because I thought I posted this already. I guess if I have, it’s being posted twice . . . 

(Y/n)'s brother, Thor, had convinced her to come down to Midgard to meet his friends, The Avengers. 

(Y/n) had been reluctant to follow her older brother after what had happened to her adopted brother Loki the last time he was there. 

Now, (Y/n) was more like Loki than Thor - mischievous and more prone to make jokes- but she did have an aura of power around her. 

(Y/n) Odinsdóttir was the goddess of fire, which, paired with Thor's thunder, made the two an unstoppable duo.

Thor and (Y/n) take the Bifrost down to Midgard. (Y/n) looks uncertainly at the large box-like building in front of her. She was used to all the palaces and forestry of Asgard, but this place was new.

She follows Thor into the structure, her sword swinging at her hip. 

(Y/n) immediately stops when she catches sight of a gorgeous figure through a room surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass windows. 

"Thor?" (Y/n) asks, and Thor stops, turning around. 

"Yes, Sister?" he asks. 

"Who is that?" (Y/n) gestures to the woman. 

"That's Lady Romanoff," Thor tells (Y/n), and his sister nods, flushing a little. 

Later, the rest of the Avengers meet in the Common Room of the Compound - Thor had told (Y/n) the name of the box-like building. 

(Y/n)'s (E/c) eyes had been drawn to Lady Romanoff once again when the Avenger had entered the Common Room, and, as if sensing (Y/n)'s eyes on her, she looks up, meeting (Y/n)'s gaze. 

(Y/n) quickly looks away, her cheeks going red. 

While (Y/n) is talking to her brother, she doesn't notice Lady Romanoff walking up to her. The redhead sits down beside (Y/n) on the couch, and when Thor finally leaves, the redhead speaks. 

"Hi, I'm Natasha," the redhead's voice is soft, and (Y/n)'s cheeks go scarlet, and she smiles shyly at the redhead. 

"H-hello," (Y/n) says, her voice equally soft, a shy smile on her face. 

Natasha smiles softly, and (Y/n)'s heart skips a beat. She must be the most beautiful woman in the whole galaxy, (Y/n) thinks. 

(Y/n) glances away and meets the gaze of a young brunette across from her. Wanda shoots (Y/n) a knowing look. 

"Have you had a tour of the Compound yet?" Natasha asks and (Y/n) glances over, meeting the redhead's striking green eyes. 

"N-no," (Y/n) answers, "I've only seen the training room."

"Would you like a tour?" Natasha asks. 

"With you?" (Y/n) asks stupidly. 

Natasha laughs and nods; (Y/n) scratches the back of her neck in embarrassment at her own stupidity. 

You're literally the definition of gay panic, comes a voice in her head, and (Y/n) looks around rather startled and catches Wanda's knowing gaze. 

"I'd love a tour," (Y/n) says, turning to meet Natasha's eyes shyly. 

Natasha stands up and (Y/n) follows Natasha as the redhead around the Compound. 

After a while, Natasha takes (Y/n) up to the (E/c)-eyed woman's room. 

"Tony said you could use this room as long as you need," Natasha tells her. "My room is a door over on your right if you need anything."

"T-thanks, Natasha," (Y/n) says. "I had a lot of fun."

"I'm glad," Natasha says with a smile. "I had quite a bit of fun as well."

"Good night," (Y/n) says, smiling as well. "I suppose I will see you in the morning?" she asks. 

"Yeah, I actually have some things I want to show you around here," Natasha pauses as though considering something. "I mean if you'd like to, at least."

"Yeah, sounds like a lot of fun," (Y/n) answers, and Natasha grins. 

"Cool, I'll see you in the morning," Natasha says. 

(Y/n) opens her door and enters her room. Looking around, she is pleasantly surprised at the number of things in the room. 

The walls are painted a soft sky blue, and the walls are lined with shelves and shelves of books. 

(Y/n) finds a pair of silk pajamas and walks into the bathroom to change into them. She pulls her hair out of its braid and lies down on the bed, instantly relaxing at the comfort of the mattress. 

(Y/n) wakes early the next day and searches the shelves of books before settling with one with cats on the cover. 

"Into the Wild?" (Y/n) reads off the cover. 

The book is still clutched in her hand; (Y/n) moves to sit in one of the chairs and opens the book. 

A few minutes later, there is a knock on the door, and Natasha pokes her head into the room. 

"Hi," she says softly, and (Y/n) looks over. 

"Come on in," (Y/n) says, and Natasha steps into the room. 

Natasha is holding a set of clothes and sets them on the bed.

"Here's a change of clothes," Natasha tells her. 

"Thank you, Natasha," (Y/n) says politely, closing her book. 

Natasha smiles and walks out of the room, "I'll give you a minute to change."

(Y/n) rises from the armchair and walks over, grabbing the clothes. There was a pair of pants that are cut off above the knees and a short-sleeved shirt and some sort of outer layer with a weapon holder - at least, that's what (Y/n) supposed that's what it was. 

When (Y/n) emerges from the room she catches Natasha's eyes which are glittering with amusement. 

"(Y/n)," Natasha laughs. "You put the hoodie on backward. The hood goes in the back."

With help from the redhead, (Y/n) turns the hoodie around and looks over at Natasha, whose face had gone red in containing her laughter. 

"Haha," (Y/n) teases with an eye roll, and Natasha actually finally laughs. "What do you have planned then?" (Y/n) asks once Natasha stops laughing. 

"I figure we got out to eat for breakfast and then I show you around New York," Natasha says and she steps into her room to grab her purse and a jacket. 

Natasha's room - at least what (Y/n) could see of it - was nice. It matched what (Y/n) had seen of the redhead's personality. The walls were painted gray and the black curtains over the windows are open, letting the natural light flow in. 

"Sister!" Thor's voice booms and (Y/n) jumps a little before glaring at her brother. 

Thor wraps his sister in a hug, lifting her off the ground. 

"Thor! Put me down!" (Y/n) says sternly and Thor drops (Y/n) - who falls to the ground before jumping back up.

"Do you and Lady Natasha have plans?" Thor booms. 

"Yes Thor," Natasha answers rather calmly. 

"Good I hope you and Lady Natasha have fun," Thor says. "I think it's nice you're getting along with my friends."

Thor claps (Y/n) on the shoulders before walking away.

Natasha leads (Y/n) out of the Compound and to her Black Corvette Stingray. 

The two don't talk and (Y/n) just listens to the music coming from the car's radio. 

Natasha parks the car outside of what she called a diner and they get out.

The two walk inside and after a few minutes, they sit down at a table. 

"What do you recommend?" (Y/n) asks, looking at the menu uncertainly. 

"I usually get coffee to drink," Natasha suggests, and (Y/n)'s eyes light up. Natasha laughs and shakes her head, her green eyes sparkling. "And pancakes are always great."

(Y/n) and Natasha order coffee and pancakes for breakfast and (Y/n) enjoys the pancakes so much, she orders another stack. 

The two leave the diner and are walking down the street when (Y/n) spots something in the window of one of the stores. 

Natasha sees what catches (Y/n)'s eye and stores the item in her mind.

When the two return to the Compound, the other Avengers crowd around (Y/n), and Natasha sneaks back out and grabs the item that had caught (Y/n)'s eye earlier. 

Later, towards bedtime again, Natasha knocks on (Y/n)'s door, and (Y/n) calls back, telling whoever it was to come in. 

"Hello Natasha," (Y/n) greets and Natasha smiles in return. 

"Hey," Natasha pauses. "I saw what caught your eye earlier," she admits, and shows (Y/n) what it was.

(Y/n)'s eyes soften as she looks at the stuffed black wolf in Natasha's hand. 

"Thank you," (Y/n) says softly, taking the wolf from Natasha. 

Natasha smiles and after a moment, she steps forward and presses her lips to (Y/n). 

(Y/n) is frozen in shock for a moment, before she responds, wrapping her arms around Natasha's waist, pulling the woman closer. 

After a minute or so, Natasha pulls away, taking in (Y/n)'s bright red cheeks. 

"I knew it," comes a squeal and Natasha turns around and both women - (Y/n) and Natasha - look at Wanda, their hands on their hips. 

"Were you spying on us?" Natasha asks Wanda. 

"The door was open," Wanda says simply before walking out of the doorway. 

Natasha turns, looks at (Y/n), and shrugs, a sheepish look on her face. "Oops," she says and (Y/n) chuckles. 

Taglist:

@just-dreaming-marvel

@marsromanoff

@procrastinatingsapphictrash

@theofficialzivadavid

@chickenhavewisdom

@fayharper

@acertainredhead

@capsicle118

@rail-me-romanoff

@ssa-sapphic

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For You

Warnings: vampire, feeding blood, IV, drawing blood, forced drugging, passing out/collapse, blood loss, delirious state of consciousness, hallucination, death thoughts, fever, starvation, pills, forced medication

There was no strength left in their body. No strength to run, no strength to fight, and absolutely no strength to take care of them.

Villain laid on the cool, wooden floor of their bedroom, too weak to do much more than periodically twitch their fingers. Their eyes drifted closed every once in a while, only to open when they remembered that Hero was starving in the bes above them.

Villain rolled over onto their stomach, the motion causing the world to contort and waver into a dizzying pallette of pastel colors. They breathed deeply, gathering their arms underneath them before heaving themself up and into a sitting position.

After about five minutes of sitting there with their eyes squeezed shut, trying not to sway from their taxing position, Villain reached forward and grabbed the IV off the night stand.

"V-villain," Hero murmured. Villain cast them a long glance. Their nemesis was hardly conscious on the bed, starved and heavily drugged. Villain gulped. They didn't want to keep them sedated like this, but they would try to kill Villain otherwise.

"Sorry," Villain slurred, their voice was as fragile as Hero's.

"Mmn," Hero groaned and slightly opened their mouth, awaiting the meal. Villain gave a small nod that nearly caused them to fall back onto the ground. They put a tube into Hero's mouth then inserted the needle into their own wrist.

Within a second, the delirious and greedy vampire started to gulp frantically. Villain's bottom lip trembled as they felt their limited blood supply diminish.

After only thirty seconds, Villain began to feel incredibly light-headed and contemplated whether or not to stop Hero's feeding. But one look at the desperate face made Villain decided on the former- just a minute longer.

"Hmph," Villain gasped as they slumped forward onto the bed, their consciousness wavering. With shaky hands, they clutched the needled and deftly drew it out of their vein before falling completely unconscious.

Villain drifted between sleep and wakefulness for a while, still collapsed on Hero's bed. During their brief stints of consciousness they woule remind themselves of Hero's next dose, but couldn't bring their depleted body to do so.

They feel vaguely feel the awakening Hero stirring under their body. Villain pushed themselves backwards, planning on standing fully up and going about their day, but their body had other plans. They fell back, hitting their back against the ground as the world was submerged in a dark shade of ebony.

"Villain! Open up!"

Villain moaned and tried to peel their eyes open, but they were too heavy.

The voice- it was a voice, they were sure- came again, "Villain. You need help, open the door!"

Villain didn't need help, they were sure of it. Hero did- Hero needed to eat and Villain was able to take care of them. For them.

"For you," Villain whispered, almost like the faintest breeze.

Their fingers curled into the hard ground. They were aware of the floor's cool features, but oddly it felt warm. Too warm.

Villain forced their eyes open and saw a trickle of blood coming out of their veins from where the IV was still attached. They were so certaib that they removed it and seeing it felt like a rock was dropped into their stomach.

Villain tried to reach over and pull it out, but failed, letting out a strangled sob as they tried to call upon their healing powers. Using them made them completely exhausted, but it kept them and Hero alive.

Villain, after a few agonizing seconds of calling their power, finally felt a comforting tingling through their fingers as their body created some blood. It was low in oxygen and lacked all the necessary and vital functions that blood cells carried out, but it did a decent job at feeding Hero.

Villain sighed in relief as the new warmth spread throughout their body, drawing them back into sleep...

Villain woke rather unpleasantly. They were only aware of the heat gathering in their head and the fact that they were cold- oh so cold. They moved their hands about, testing their environment, but was quite confused at the outcome. Wet. They were wet and cold.

Villain cracked open an eye and looked around. White walls with small shelves that held various bottles. Looking down, they saw tiny glaciers floating around a small expanse of artic water.

Suddenly, they tensed, scared and completely convinced that they were indeed trapped in a frigid ocean.

"Shh," came a voice, foggy and distant as if Villain's ears were underwater. Maybe they were, Villain couldn't tell for panic consumed them.

So Villain continued their struggles even as ropes wrapped around their head pulling them against hard surface. A boat. They were going to be crushed by a boat. They kicked and resisted the ropes that tied them so tightly against the imminet danger.

"Let me go!" Villain yelled, pushing away. The ropes let go, cut away by the knives that threatened to slit Villain's throat.

The term "knives" was literal. There wasn't just one silver dagger, but five, all working to free Villain before they decided to end the suffering person themself.

Those knives grabbed Villain's bare chest, right above their heart as they were pulled right back against the boat.

"Villain. You need to calm down. You have a fever, you are safe, okay? So is Hero. Do you hear me? Hero is being taken care of."

Hero... taken care up... Villain allowed their tired body to slump deep into the cold waves as they waited for one to take them to their grave.

But the merciless ropes and knives held them up, keeping them from drowning. Soft tendrils drifted through their hair and for a moment fear enveloped Villain at the thought of a mysterious plant suffocating them.

But, once they decided that the tendrils were kind, they leaned into the gesture, closing their bloodshot eyes as darkness closed around them...

Villain woke up, dazed and confused. They struggled under the thin sheet that covered their pale body, but was too weak to push it off.

Looking around, they noticed that they were in a foreign- possibly dangerous environment. The memories of the night before were foggy like they were swallowed, threwn up, then swallowed again.

But they did remember Hero, sick and starved on Villain's bed.

"Ah your awake," came a tired voice. Villain's gaze shot to the person sitting next to them. It took a moment but...

Supervillain.

Villain flinched and tried to run away, only to get tangled and stuck on the floor. Carpet, not wood.

They weren't in their house.

Villain squirmed, terrified of the all too familiar face. The face that brought tears of pain to many. The face that was probably here to punish Villain for taking care of a hero.

But Supervillain only walked to the other side of the bed, scooped the weak villain up, and laid them prone on the bed.

"Are you too warm?" Supervillain asked, placing their cold hand upon Villain's burning forehead. The cold hand that was going to be the death of Villain...

"Still running a fever..." Supervillain murmured and turned around. Villain barely had time to register the words before they were faced with a small, evil-looking, torture device.

Oh boy did it look simple and the possibilities were endless of what it would do. Villain imagine maybe it had a hidden needle and they would be drugged. They also wondered if it contained a knife- knives were threatening them before, why not do it now?

But nothing prepared them for the way Supervillain clutched Villain's jaw, forcing it open and sticking the device under their tongue.

Nothing prepared them for the lack of pain other that a sharp pinch. Their eyes began to flutter closed. After all, Supervillain wasn't torturing them...

A loud beeeep brought them back around. They stared deep into Supervillain's concerned eyes.

"I'm going to get you some medicine. Okay?" Supervillain laid a hand on Villain's head. "Try to stay awake for me."

Villain swallowed and nodded, small and helpless. Weak and fragile like a thin glass just waiting to break at the slightest touch.

But, despite Supervillain's request, Villain began to doze off only to awake when they felt like they were falling. They kept on forgetting what their half-consious self was dreaming or thinking about after those falls.

"Dang it Villain," Supervillain groaned when they entered the room and saw their colleague's eyes half-rolled into their head as they stared at the ceiling without any real object or reason.

"Come here," Supervillain cooed and gently cupped Villain's chin, opening it, and slipped the medicine into their mouth. They hoped that the sick villain still had some instinctual reflexes as they dumped some water down their throat. Supervillain then went to work on rubbing Villain's throat until they swallowed, taking the tylenol nto their stomach.

"Good job," Supervillain praised. They wiped Villain's sweating brow with a wet cloth while their patient drifted off to sleep. Supervillain did nothing to stop it.

Hero was struggling against the restraints as henchmen pried their mouth open.

"Gosh!" One of them squealed when Hero nipped at their hand. "They got rabies or something? They are wacko."

"They are a vampire you dim-wit," another henchman growled. That same henchman took Hero's mouth with some pliers and held it open long enough for the other to slipped some tablets into their mouth.

The hero swallowed and hissed.

"Okay. Supervillain told me that those will keep their vampire side at bay until they gain some weight," Henchman1, the one got bit said, wiping their nose with their hand.

Hero continued snarling until they exhausted themselves, slipping into sleep. Henchman2, the other, stood up and started to pace.

"Knock that off," Henchman1 snapped, standing up themselves. "You are taking first watch."

"No. You," Henchman2 shoved their friend. "I am not sitting with a freaking vampire. Did you see Villain? Part of me wonders if they were mind controlled."

"I thoroughly assure you that they weren't," Henchman1 rolled their eyes and slipped away from Henchman2. They opened the cell door and left.

Henchman2 walked over to Hero where they laid on a cot, unmoving. But, as if the presence of another was like a stimuli, the hero woke up.

Their eyes this time were not filled with desperate starvation or anger, but of worry.

"Where's Villain?" They asked, looking around. "They are not thinking. It's dangerous... it's..." they trailed off, their gaze meeting Henchman2's. "Are they dead?" They chirped.

"No, but sick and unconscious," Henchman2 replied, relaying the last update. That was about five minutes ago.

"They need my saliva," Hero continued. "To quicken the healing process. I cannot stimulate blood production, but I can share my healing."

"Villain has a healing factor as well and it doesn't seem to work."

"Because they are beyond exhaustion. Pair that will blood loss and starvation themselves, their chances of surviving are low. They need my saliva."

"How do I know this isn't a trick. A way to eat more?"

"I am human now. I need actual food. When the vampire takes over is when I can only consume blood," Hero glanced down at their bony wrists. "Blood satisfies like candy, but it is far from nutrious, but I thank Villain. Truly."

Henchamn2 smiled despite their best effort to remain nonchalant.

"I'm glad you do."

~ not going to edit, so I apologize for any mistakes

[morizoras-cave]

Manners (Request)

Sherlock x gn!child!reader, John x gn!child!reader

Genre: fluff

Request Description: Thank you for saying you’ll write for Sherlock, I appreciate it :) Could you do one where all the peeps are round for dinner (Sherly, Mycroft, Greg, John ect) and John invites his cousin round (like age 9) and she’s just like REALLY polite and even when Sherlock says something really mean from one of his deductions she just brush’s it off and forgives him for it and even Mycroft likes her (PURELY PLATONIC PEOPLE) and she asks to see the brains in the fringe and Sherlock is ECSTATIC

Warnings: none really

(A/N): the only warning here is really that i dont remember the sherlock characters THAT well. and ive totally forgotten who sherly is, so this fic must live without her hahaha

“Fuck,” John mumbled, looking at you at the entrance to 221B Baker Street. He had to take care of you today, and while he usually loved taking care of you, his niece, today was not the day he had expected. 

You were the most delightful and polite girl, your mannerisms just made everyone around you smile. But John did not want you to meet the careless, brutally honest, and genius Sherlock. But today, the one damned day where he had to take care of you, there was a dinner with Sherlock, Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft (the latter had with pleasure paid for it all).

“Language,” you said, giving him a warning glare. The action was enough to make him smile. His heart melted.

“Let’s go inside then,” he said reluctantly, deciding that there was nothing he could do about it. 

You entered the home, eyes glittering as you saw all the weird and unconventional items stacked on the shelves and furniture. You held your admiration, and politely brushed your shoes off on the mat, before taking them off. You then placed them in order, even taking the time to lightly push the others’ strewn-about shoes in a straight line.

John watched you with a smile. He had no idea how his aunt had produced such a person as you, but he was thankful for it. 

From the kitchen loud clattering and sizzling sounds came. Sherlock popped his head out, gaze first on John, then lowering to you. John took a deep breath, knowing he had to introduce you now. 

“This is Y/n. They’ve just turned-”

“9 years old..” Sherlock mumbled, looking a you with narrowed eyes. John sighed. You gave the sociopath a toothless smile.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m actually 9 and a half,” you walked up with him and then reached your tiny hand up for him to shake it. Sherlock looked at you, and you had no idea what he was thinking, but you hoped it was about shaking your hand. 

“Lower your hand, Y/n,” Sherlock said and disappeared behind the doorway to the kitchen. You lowered your hand slowly. John was already regretting bringing you over. “A nine year old’s hands? That’s an enormous number of bacteria I could gladly live without.”

“Nine and a half year old!” you called after him, but remained positive. It was his decision to not shake your hand, and it was your duty to respect that. 

You stepped further into the living room - or what was normally the living room, now just a room stuffed with a dining table that was too big for it. 

“I told you all we should’ve done this at a restaurant. Or my house. Or anywhere else, really,” Mycroft, you guessed, said from his place at the table. He had a very cat-like voice, you thought.

“Yes, well, now we’re here,” Mrs. Hudson (whom you’d met several times before, and who was always delighted to give you homemade cookies) argued. Just as she finished, you made your way up on your chair, greeting the guests with a smile. 

Currently seated was you, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Greg (the police officer John had told you about), and John who was settling down beside you. Sherlock and Molly were in the kitchen, and by the sound of it, they were making soup. 

“Aw, who’s this?” Greg asked, pointing at you. 

“Y/n. Y/n Watson reporting for duty!” you said proudly. The people around the table aww’ed. 

“They’re a charmer, huh?” Mycroft commented. John nodded at this.

“Soup’s coming in! Soup’s coming in!” Molly warned, carrying a rather heavy looking pot into the living room, holding it with some cloth. She placed it down with a ‘plunk’, and then sighed in relief. “Gosh, I thought I was gonna drop it all.” 

“You were statistically very likely to drop it, you’re very lucky,” Sherlock said as he entered, sitting down on his chair at the end of the table. Molly flushed and sat down as well. 

“Dig in!” she said and everyone did, hoisting some of the boiling-hot pea soup into their bowls. You made sure to compliment Molly on the soup, to which she smiled with a smile that mostly said wait-why-is-there-a-nine-year-old-here.

You kept a proper conversation with everyone at all times, making sure to bring in the quieter ones. Meanwhile, John was staring at you in adoration because you were simply overbearingly cute, but also because in his head it was very unlikely that you came from the same gene pool, yet here you were.

“She’s quite polite, this one. Children these days usually have no discipline, no manners,” Mycroft said at one point, and from what you had gathered throughout the evening, that was the closest thing to a compliment you would get from him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, but I think that kids my age can be very polite. Maybe you just don’t know the right kids!” you said, sipping your soup. Mycroft smiled and shook his head. Sherlock, who was sitting at the end of the table, soup untouched, seemed unamused. 

“Kids are dumb. Nine year olds are dumb. Gosh, people are dumb too, and you kids are just dumber versions of already dumb people,” he said finally.

Everyone at the table turned their heads towards you, wondering if you would snap and start yelling or crying. Instead, you snickered, putting your spoon down. 

“That’s a very bold statement, Mr. Holmes,” was all you said, and although you wanted to say more, you couldn’t stop snickering. Sherlock watched you, and you saw his face change. You couldn’t quite tell what it meant, but he didn’t retort. 

Slowly, people fell back into conversation, and so did you. The dinner was very pleasant, and you were happy to see that you had made a good impression. 

“So, Sherlock, you started cooking soup these days?” Greg pointed with his spoon to the pot, now only a quarter or so full. The noise of his spoon against the metal let out a hollow ‘clunk’. 

“No, no, I was in there supervising. Making sure Ms. Molly didn’t mess with my refrigerated brain.” 

At this, you gasped. 

“You have a brain?” you asked breathlessly, mouth wide open, and your hands on your cheeks in shock. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I see the brain, Mr. Holmes? Please, can I see your refrigerated brain, pretty please?” you begged, curiosity and adventurousness getting the better of you. 

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock came first, with a small smile, that he didn’t seem aware was on his face: “Yes, of course!”

You tried to control yourself and not run into the kitchen, but your excitement was still very visceral. You were bouncing about, unable to stand still, and doing a little victory dance every once in a while. 

Sherlock opened the refrigerator theatrically, the light turning on and shining on you, as your eyes landed on the human brain. 

“Wooooooooow,” you squealed, “that’s so cool- I mean, that’s very impressive..” you could hardly contain your excitement, but Sherlock couldn’t either. No one was every excited about his brain (the one in the fridge, of course, the other was often a topic of interest). 

Sherlock then proceeded to give a full anatomical tour of the brain, taking it out and showing it to you up close, letting you hold it, and telling you all the facts. Meanwhile, John was having a mental breakdown, trying not to look. He knew very well that he would get in trouble with his aunt for this. 

“This is the frontal lobe. If you damage it, you become like me,” Sherlock said morbidly, showing the front part of the pink nerve. 

“That doesn’t sound all too bad, Mr. Holmes. You seem pretty cool,” you said passively, still fully entranced by the brain. Sherlock, however, took full note of this, eyes snapping to you immediately. He smiled. 

“Alright, I think it’s about time me and Y/n head home!” John said when he’d finally had enough. You were too polite to protest, so you just quite literally bowed to everyone and then left with John. 

When John came home later that night, after dropping you off back at his aunt’s place, Sherlock was still awake, brain in hand. 

“Uh, doesn’t that go back in the fridge?” John asked. 

“In a moment,” Sherlock responded. Then, “Why don’t they come over more? The kid.”

John looked at him in confusion. “Y/n? Why would I bring them over more?” 

Sherlock sighed, turning his attention from the brain. “I feel like I could give them good anatomical knowledge. Perhaps, teach them a bit about science and such.” 

There was a moment of silence and then John scoffed. 

“You really just want me to bring Y/n over, because they think you’re cool?” 

“That’s not at all what I said, John!” Sherlock protested, moving to put the brain back in the freezer. John sauntered off into his bedroom. 

“Whatever!” he said, and then the conversation was over.

But then, slowly, he started bringing you over more, each time letting Sherlock and you have your own weird conversations on life, people, biology and everything else. You become very rich in knowledge of science and anatomy, and in return Sherlock’s ego went through the roof. 

It was a fair trade, you decided, and you loved every moment of it. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun​ @deephideoutmilkshake​ @rae-is-typing​ @sophs-library​ @herecomesthewriterwitch​ @alicedanganh​ 

[oneletteredwondered]

Notes on a Wall

Sum: Patton communicates with his roommates through notes on whiteboards.

Pair: literally whatever you want, but honestly probably polyamsanders/LAMP

Warnings: uhhh slight weed mention? pot brownies for like four lines, lots of food mentions, swearing

–

When Patton first decided to live off campus and live in a shared house with three random strangers, he honestly really didn’t know what to expect. Sure he had been hopeful in some regards, maybe he could make a friend in this new place, or maybe one of them would answer the door when he knocked so he wouldn’t have to put the heavy box in his hands down to fish out his keys from the depths of his pocket.

“Hello?” He calls into the open room. No answer. He lets out a small huff and works on kicking the box in with his foot in lieu of lifting it back up. He closes the door behind him to not let any of the colder air out and then takes a look around his new living space.

It looks exactly as advertised. Plainly painted beige walls and plain beige carpet. He stands in the living room, spinning in a bit of a circle to take it all in. The living room is a decent size for a rented place. Someone already brought in a couch and there’s a TV placed on the floor. It’s all joined into what could be a dining area if there was a table, but for now it’s just this floating open space. Then there’s a kitchen, small, cramped, and a single coffeemaker stands on the counter. 

On both sides of the living space is two small hallways, each with three doors. The two on the ends are bedrooms, the one in the center a shared bathroom between the two bedrooms.

Patton twists up his nose. He huffs again and lifts up his box of books, the heaviest of his things so the first he brought in and heads towards the left hallway. Both bedrooms doors have some small decal on them. The room tucked in the corner has a wooden sign on the door, the words “Please do not Disturb” written in white against a dark blue background. The other has a wooden name placard in a bold glittering red, ‘R’, written in calligraphy that’s almost hard to read.

Patton teeters to the right side of the living room with his heavy box.

The door more hidden in the corner has purple caution tape wrapped from corner to corner, making it look like an X across the door. Patton tilts his head to the side to read the writing. ‘Caution Reclaimed Water Below’. Now Patton is sure that’s not accurate, but he doesn’t know enough about the place to dispute that claim. He turns to the other door, plain and unmarked.

Carefully, and with his tongue peeking out of his mouth, he manages to twist the knob without dropping his box on his foot and opens the door. Finally! He is able to put the box down in somewhat of a proper place. He puts his hands on his hips in triumph for just a good self proud second, then heads right back out to grab more boxes from his beaten down truck.

Perhaps not a good car, but he loves Bessie and the little cow plushie sitting on the rear dash too much. His truck is plain silver and on the smaller side when compared to most trucks, but it makes him worry less about driving in the lines so it works. The back seat is full of boxes of random things for college while the bed of the truck holds his dresser, bookcase, and a side drawer painted with bright blue flowers.

He’ll travel later tonight to get his bed from his dad’s house. It’s one of the last things he has at his dad’s place besides an odd photo album or poster or two. Patton can barely believe they’ll be apart like this for the first time. Sure he’s been at college for about a year now but his dad kept his bed even when he moved almost three times during the year. It’s an odd feeling.

Patton manages to get the rest of his things settled in his room, beginning the stages of putting stuff in their rightful place as the night creeps in. His clothes are hung up and his college books are placed back on the shelves of his bookcase. All in all he’s rather accomplished.

He skips out of the room, eyeing his box of kitchen wares on the floor near the open space next to said kitchen. It hasn’t been touched, which is a good sign so far. None of his roommates have sticky fingers, or they just haven’t come out of their rooms yet. Patton blows up a puff of air at some of the curls in his face and heads out the door, locking it snugly behind him.

–

Patton is sniffly on his way back to his new apartment. He and his dad shared a very tearful goodbye, knowing they are very much separated now that Patton no longer has a bed there. But there were promises to write all wrapped up in a linked pinky that makes Patton feel better. He’s on his own and he’s proud of himself for that.

Plus! Now he has more than a bed. He has the old rickety table that leans to one side but doesn’t wobble, an old set of knives his dad never used, and then a set just for Patton. The knife set is complete, the blades baby blue and the handles white. Of course Patton cried. He loves them so much.

It’s been his passion since he’s been young and with a degree in hotel and restaurant management under way, he’s even closer to owning his own restaurant. He loves cooking too much, the passion of food, the spark of delight, and seeing someone ask for seconds fills his heart with rainbows.

He takes the box of knives in first, placing them in the kitchen area to be dealt with after the bed and table situation has been figured out. His box of other supplies has been moved slightly to a less in the way spot.

He struggles of course getting his mattress inside, but makes due all the same. When it’s finally set up and Patton manages to hook the corner of the fitted sheet over all edges, he flops down hard. He ends up giggling to himself. He did it all by himself and he feels tired, sore, and so accomplished.

But there’s still more to be done.

He’s about to get up when he hears a door open, and close. He can’t help it. He rushes to his own closed door and rips it open, just in time to see the front door close shut. His shoulders drop comically. So close, yet so far. It takes a moments pep talk for him to head to the kitchen area. Not a lot of drawers are taken up and there’s ample space for Patton to put all his utensils. He hums a little himself putting everything away, happily smiling at the sets of knives he now owns. Those go on the counter.

With everything put away he puts the container on the floor of their small pantry. Only a few things left. The table is much easier to move inside by himself. It fits nicely in the corner spot and even though he doesn’t have chairs, it’s still makes the place feel more homey. It’s then Patton knows exactly what to do with his dad’s other present.

All the time he’s been there, less than a whole day, Patton has felt off about the place. It looks like people live here, but it doesn’t look lived in. There’s no spark of fun. And Patton plans to fix it.

His last gift from his dad is a set of note boards. One plain white board, one scheduling white board with the days of the week with enough spots for four people, a cork board, two pads of paper, two different sticky note pads, and a dozen magnets.

He puts the cork board near the front door all even like and the scheduling white board right next to it. He writes the letter ‘P’ in a bright blue marker and what he knows of his schedule for the next semester. Next he puts the plain white board on the fridge with the magnetized pad of paper next to it. After careful consideration, he opens the fridge, and jots down on paper what to get from the store next time he goes.

After more consideration, he draws a simple blue heart on the fridge white board too.

After even more consideration, he takes a piece of paper from the pad not on the fridge, left on the counter, and writes down a simple greeting note.

“Hey! I just moved in! Feel free to use the boards!”

He pins it to the cork board, and heads to bed.

–

Shopping, Patton decides as his stomach grumbles audibly, is the most important thing to do with his morning. He woke up way too late in the afternoon, tired from moving all his stuff yesterday. Classes don’t start for another month or so, so he’s in no rush.

The bathroom is open for his use and he locks the door behind him. He puts his stuff in one of the open drawers and his shampoo in the shower corner. There’s already some stuff in there, including a make-up bag. Though curious to it’s contents, Patton doesn’t pry. He takes a decently long shower and feels happily refreshed and ready for shopping.

Maybe he writes on the mirror in washable marker a smiley but that’s not a big deal.

He grabs the shopping list off the pad and squeals when he notices.

To say Patton is delighted to see his boards have been used is an understatement.

There’s more items on the shopping list than before, two other sets of hand writing, both having written please on the bottom. Patton would be thrilled to get them things.

His face feels like splitting int two when he sees a note in response to the one left on the cork board.

“heard you come in last night. wanted to help but I didn’t. was too nerv didn’t know if was asleep.”

Even though Patton is unsure how they could have heard him and be asleep at the same time, it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sentiment all the same. in response, Patton takes one of the sticky notes, draws a happy face, and tacks it to the response note.

During his whole shopping trip, Patton can’t help but feel giddy at seeing someone else’s writing next to his. He gets so much food, probably too much. But he saw the empty contents of that fridge and he is not about to let anyone eat scraps of food. Not on his water proof watch.

He shuffles in the groceries himself. Almost having to make three trips but he struggles with a determined smile on his face. As he puts away the groceries his mind races and over thinks and thinks again about all the different kinds of dishes he can make with his new ingredients. It’s a whole world to explore and the only constant is that he wants to cook for his new housemates.

So Patton does the only thing he can think of, and writes on the white board on the fridge, biting his lip happily seeing a red crown drawn next to his blue heart.

“I want to make dinner for you! What kind of foods do you like?”

And how he can not wait for a response he’s tempted to sit on the kitchen floor and hope someone comes in and answers his burning question. Do they like chicken? Steak? What about veggies? Are they vegetarian? Pasta? There’s so much Patton can barely contain himself.

The barely turns to can’t when he goes to head to his room and notices more writing on the schedule board. ‘L’ writes in black and their handwriting is neat. Patton can recognize it from the grocery list. They have their next semester schedule written along with times for going to the library, perhaps a job? Patton doesn’t know, oh but he wants to.

There’s a small pang of sadness knowing he has yet to actually meet, let alone see any of his roommates, but this? This is a wonderful start.

He’s certain the homemade mac and cheese he makes tastes better than ever this time around. He puts the leftovers int he fridge and puts a sticky note on it.

“Feel free!”

–

It’s not until later does Patton hear a door open, and yet again, even though his door is open this time, he doesn’t catch whoever is leaving. He huffs. Shouldn’t they talk by now? It’s been at least a whole day! He trudges to the living space, still not exactly lived in. Maybe if he sits on the couch someone will appear. Like magic, or hopeful thinking.

Still he smiles at seeing the last two spots on the schedule board filled up. ‘R’ uses red and takes up as much space as possible with their writing, and ‘V’ barely writes down any info except for some times and ‘out’. But it’s something and Patton, well Patton always did love too easily now didn’t he?

The only trouble comes when he does really look at their schedules, and how well they don’t line up at all. They have classes at different times, work and ‘out’ings all scattered, there’s barely a time when either of them could be in the house at the same time at all. That surely puts a damper on Patton’s not so slowly growing fondness to people he’s never really met.

He’s nothing but not optimistic, and that optimism strikes hard seeing some of the food taken out of the mac and cheese bowl, two new sticky notes of thanks written on the containers, and wonderfully, lovingly, responses written under his question from earlier.

“I am partial to nothing in specific. I appreciate the sentiment to make food for the house.”

“I am fond of Italian and Spanish cuisine~ Spicy foods always have a way to my heart as well~”

“pineapple pizza”

“hEATHEN”

Patton can’t help but giggle at the word boldly written through the pizza suggestion. As an aspiring food connoisseur he has yet to give his full opinion on the pros and cons of pineapple on pizza and will make no such judgement lightly. And maybe he does wish the other two had given him more to work with, he has something now and the words reply in his head like a melody in bright red marker.

Italian. Spanish. Spicy.

He can work with that. It’s not a lot, but it’s something and Patton loves it all the same.

So he cooks and fills the house with lovely smells and even if he doesn’t get to see someone eat it right away, he somehow knows they will like it.

–

“Thank you for all the food darling~”

“I agree it was delicious.”

“thx.”

–

Patton manages to land a job within the week, some moderately busy bistro in town. Not quite hole in the wall, but a very local business. The owner and manager is lovely and they seem to adore Patton. The head chef takes a shine to him right away and pulls Patton under his wing before Patton can properly say hi. To say Patton loves his new job is an understatement. 

He’s lucky, he knows he is. They are willing to work with his school schedule and the owner is willing to help Patton understand the business and how it works giving him an edge in one day owning his own place. It’s nearly a dream come true.

Patton takes his training very seriously and though it makes the head chef laugh, he admires Patton’s attitude when it comes to creating and cooking and actively encourages his branching out. Whenever they practice new dishes, they let Patton take home extra for his housemates. It’s the little things Patton decides.

He lets out a happy sigh at home, body buzzed and head full of fluff at his day at work. His work schedule has already been added to the white board and a take-out menu is pinned up to the cork board. It’s joined by a pamphlet to the planetarium, a list of dates for a school play, and flyer for some concerts in town.

Maybe it is silly but Patton loves writing to them. They still haven’t met just yet, but Patton swears he saw one of them passed out on the couch covered head to toe with a blanket the other day, and he swore he could hear another singing across the living room. Either way, he’s happy they are at least interacting with him in small ways.

He goes to put the containers in the fridge, marking an ‘L’ on top of the one he has, thinking that whoever ‘L’ is, they will enjoy this dishes specifically. Gosh if he doesn’t sigh dreamily looking up at the white board, looking at what everyone has written for the day.

“Thank you for the food, wonderful as always.”

“Everyone at my theater is jealous of my personal chef~”

“thx for food”

–

“Would you be willing to make the salmon and rice dish again? I find myself craving it’s flavor.”

“Not until they make those red hot wings again! I want to not be able to feel my taste buds!”

“do you want like us to pay you for this or something? you like buy all our groceries too dude i feel bad”

That question has two arrows pointing to it in different colors. 

That gives Patton pause. Pay him? Well, sure he wants to be paid for this eventually, and he is buying the groceries a lot, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. His college is mostly paid for on scholarship, and his job pays him well enough to cover rent and some fun. But most of Patton’s fun is cooking anyway so he would just spend it on groceries in the end.

He bites his lip as he responds.

“Only if you want to! I love cooking so it’s not a bother to me!” 

He’s sure to draw a small smiley face too. He hums happily and makes his way to work. He wouldn’t mind the financial help, but thinking back to the little notes of thanks and compliments they give him, it almost feels like payment enough.

When he gets home, he’s absolutely tickled to death seeing three separate magnets, one black, one red, one purple, each with two twenty dollar bills underneath. Well Patton may just cry at the thoughtfulness. He’s quick to write down the ingredients for Salmon Pilaf and Red Hot Wings. One day he hopes ‘V’, or who he thinks is ‘V’ based on color scheme, will write down what they like so Patton can make it for them.

He takes the money off the fridge.

“You guys are so sweet!!!!!”

–

“Thank you for the meal.”

“I want a copy of your cookbook, a subscription to your cooking show, and you as my personal chef~”

“thank”

–

Patton looks at the schedule, sticking his tongue out slightly. He’s sure, almost positive, that no one is home. ‘R’ and ‘L’ are out, and though ‘V’s schedule doesn’t say they are out, the house is so very quiet Patton doesn’t think they are. So he risks it, and dumps fruits and juice into the blender.

It’s not the most pleasant of noises, yet the way everything looks being ground up into a slush makes Patton wiggle in excitement. He’s left sticky notes on all his outward appliances, telling the others they can use them, but he doesn’t think they do. Maybe he’s spoiling them. He giggles because he enjoys it for now.

Once everything is blended he fills a cup up with the slushie smoothie mix he made. He keeps the rest in the blender and smacks the lid on. It’s put in the fridge with the same note all his mass of extras has.

“Feel free!”

–

“I had completely forgotten about breakfast foods, the smoothie was a good wake up.”

“My taste buds are singing your praises~”

“can you make another one? if its not too much trouble i mean”

–

Patton experiments with breakfast foods after that, leaving some pancakes and eggs and bacon and toast either in the fridge or carefully in the oven with notes telling where food is for them all to find.

He works with more fruits now after ‘V’ asked him to make another smoothie. He finds that his sweet things, not quite desserts, but fruity dishes go by fast. Perhaps he finally found out what ‘V’ likes and doesn’t that make Patton float above the ground.

Experiments are fun and though he’s not sure what he’s doing, Patton sticks his tongue out as the fruit simmers with the sugar carefully added. It’s a mixture of a few recipes from online with his own base instinct. He pours it in a mason jar to let cool and puts it in the fridge with a question mark written on a sticky note on top. Then he goes to the white board next. After his question has been posed, he takes the grocery list, another twenty magnetized next to it, and heads on out the door.

“I tried to make jam! Let me know how it tastes?”

–

“I may have gotten carried away, my apologies.”

“I didn’t even get to try any you scoundrel!”

“wow savage”

Well Patton surely didn’t mean to come home to the jar empty, finger scraped clean, and half of the loaf of bread gone. It’s a good thing he bought more fruit.

–

“Hope your classes go well today!”

–

School starts up and Patton is diligent in his classes. Business, Math, Home ec, Yoga because it’s good to breathe once in while. Enough to keep him busy. He’s begun making food in containers, easily portable to and from school for him and his housemates.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s seen them before on campus. It’s not a large campus but it surely isn’t the smallest. ‘R’ once said his theater was jealous of their food, do they do any of that at school? What about ‘L’ or ‘V’? Do they bring the food out? What if Patton sees them eating it in public? Wouldn’t that be a shock to them all.

Either way he works, focusing on what he needs and wants to do. Really he thinks of his housemates as his test group. Figuring out which of his dishes are better than others, which ones take work, which ones they ask for more often.

He collects all that, written down in his own notebook for future menu item ideas. He has no idea which kind of eatery he wants to run. He loves breakfast foods, but lunch is so yummy, and dinner makes him so warm inside, and desserts he has yet to master. But what can he do?

He worries his lip between his teeth, wondering if what he’s going to do is a good idea. He writes on the whiteboard and then hides in his room, not ready for the answers.

“I want to own my own restaurant. But I don’t know what kind. Any ideas maybe?”

–

“Apologies but I would have taken up the whole board so I am writing on the notepad. I firmly believe that regardless of what kind of restaurant you own, you will be exceptionally proficient in whatever you chose to excel in. That being said, what kind of food gives you the most satisfaction to make? Is there more worth in making one style of food over the other? Which one would make you more financially stable? Can you be happy making one style of food all your life or will you change eventually? These are important things to ask yourself when figuring out your path.”

“YES PLEASE DO THIS I LOVE YOU I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HELP BUT I WILL EAT THERE EVERYDAY TO MAKE SURE YOU STAY IN BUSINESS~”

“idk follow your heart dude your stuff is good”

–

Maybe Patton cries a little at their blind support, but no one has to know that. He takes a picture of their notes and pulls ‘L’s from the board to keep forever. In turn he draws a big heart on the board with no reservation what so ever.

–

“fuck math holy shit.”

“Are you having problems in your course of study?”

“Math is the bane of my existence and steals my soul like a demon at midnight~”

“numbers and shit”

“Aw math is difficult for me too kiddo”

–

“I apologize, it seems I have lost some self control again.”

“That was MY jar of jam thief of sweet!”

“sux 2 suc”

“I can make more!”

–

Glimpses of feet, of hair, of something not enough is all Patton gets and his heart aches to meet the people he’s considering friends. He wants to know so much. The notes tide him over, but how long until it’s not enough?

–

“I shall be out at rehearsals all weekend, coming home late~ Wish me luck~”

“Fracture a femur.”

“dude what”

“Dinner is in the fridge! Good Luck!”

–

“okay can you actually make pizza from scratch or are you bullshitting me”

“Language! Yes I can, it’s not that hard really!”

“It sounds like a very tedious process and one must be skilled to get it right I presume.”

“put pineapple on it”

“HEATHEN”

–

Patton’s day is, not going well. He almost missed a class, did not do well on his test, and certainly did not have time to prepare for the rush at work, which left both him and his bosses frustrated. Not at him they reassured, but Patton knows he could have done better.

He flops to the couch at home, sniffling softly. It’s not the worst of days yet it could have been so much better. He doesn’t care enough to muffle his sadness and falls asleep on the couch, too tired to move.

The next morning he wakes to the smell of eggs. He rubs his eyes, crusty from tears and sleep, and looks at the box in front of him. There are two things on it, a book on ‘Tricks of the Trade in Food Industry’ and a plate of messy scrambled eggs with a small note on it.

“i tried - v”

Patton pulls the blanket on his shoulders tighter, knowing for a fact the deep red blanket is not his and he certainly didn’t fall asleep with it, and carefully brings the plate to his lap. He can see bits of shredded cheese mixed in with some left over sausage he made the other day on the side. Maybe the eggs aren’t the best and the sausage is old, but Patton loves it more than words can handle.

“Thank you guys so much

–

“Thank you for the meal.”

“Lovely as the sun shining~”

“thanks”

–

“Did you make brownies darling?”

“Nope! Were there brownies in the fridge?”

“Well they were exquisite!”

“I saw them earlier but they did not posses the usual ‘feel free’ notice.”

“have fun in like an hour dude my friend made those green”

“I can hear colors and you all sound wonderful~”

–

“Whomever left their music going, I turned it off. I apologize for breaching privacy but it was starting to cause a headache.”

“sorry my b”

“That was your Disney playlist going? Have you been saved by the glory of goodness?”

“bruh”

“I want to watch movies now!”

–

It had been a risky move, one that Patton isn’t even too sure how it worked. The schedule whiteboard works well for all of them, a simple notice of who is going where without saying much. ‘L’ has been changing the dates, written in neat black marker and surprisingly, everyone else keeps up with writing their odd outings as well.

Patton had wanted this though and so he put on his free Sunday night ‘dinner?’ and then put little blue question marks on everyone else’s, so far free, Sunday night. He expected rejection just a little bit, but he comes home from work, to everyone writing their confirmation, and someone erasing his own question mark. That causes some butterflies.

It’ll be their first dinner together, it will be their first time together at all. Patton can hardly wait.

–

“What would you all like for dinner on Sunday!!!”

“Whatever you decide to make will be satisfactory for all of us.”

“I will love anything you can stir up love~”

“uh spaghetti?”

–

Patton is going all out Italian. There is pasta boiling, meatballs sizzling in a red sauce made from scratch. He even bought a wedge of parmesan to properly grate into shredded cheese. There’s a bowl already on the table of a classic ceaser salad with four places set and ready.

He dips a small spoon in the red sauce, taking a quick taste. He drops the spoon to the sink and adds a few more spices to the pan, stirring it all together once more. He has to make sure it’s right, just right. After all this time, he wants everything to be his very best.

He carefully slices a fresh loaf of bread to put on the tray, garlic bread a must for this endeavor. He’s melting butter in the microwave and adding spices to it. He’s in the middle of carefully mincing his garlic clove when the front door opens and Patton freezes.

“Oh it smells absolutely divine in here~” The person says. They lock eyes with Patton and somehow the dashing smile they wear grows even wider. Their hair is wavy and tousled and there’s a dimple high on their cheek. They stand tall in a red and white jacket and Patton is too excited to meet them to breathe.

Luckily they close the door and put their bag on the couch. They come right back to Patton and hold out their hand. Naturally going for a handshake Patton takes it and is wonderfully delighted when his roommate turns his hand and kisses the back of it, complete with bow at the waist.

“It is simply an honor, my personal chef, to finally meet you~” And Patton, well he can’t help the stream of giggles that burst out of him. He covers his face with one hand and tries to say thank you or hi or anything really. He can’t though and frankly, his roommate looks smug about that.

“Oh to hadestown with it!” They say suddenly and Patton is wrapped in a hug that lifts him off the ground and twirls him about. Oh if he thought he was dizzy with happiness before, this certainly makes it worse and better all at once. He’s laughing loudly now and he’s sure his face is flushed dark when he’s finally put down.

“My name is Roman,” They introduces themselves. Patton smiles so wide his face hurts.

“Patton,” He’s breathless. Something beeps and Patton hops so fast out of Roman’s hug he actually feels the loss for a moment. His focus is now razor sharp, cutting the garlic again and mixing it with his butter and spice.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Nope!” Patton pops the ‘p’ and continues on. He spreads the garlic butter on the bread and pops it in the oven carefully setting a timer for barely a minute long. The red sauce is tried again and satisfied with the flavor, Patton picks it from the stove to place on a trivet to the side. He tests his noodles by picking one out with a fork to nibble.

That too he pulls from the stove and strains. Once the water is gone he replaces the noodles and drops a decent portion of butter in the middle of the noodles. He lets it melt slowly as the oven beeps and he pulls out the tray of garlic bread. The smell wafts through the house and someone whines hungrily. 

“You can start on the salad if you’re-” Patton finally looks up, not realizing that two people are now watching him, both already with plates of salad in their hands.

“Beat you to it puffball~” Roman winks and shoves another bite in his mouth, making it crunch decidedly. The other person eats more carefully, adjusting their glasses every so often. They wear a black long sleeve and a tie.

“Salutations, it is nice to be able to formally introduce myself. I am Logan,” They say. Patton lets out a happy sigh.

“I’m Patton.” The edges of Logan’s mouth twitch up in an almost smile before they hide it in their salad. Patton goes back to his work. He slowly mixes in the melted butter to make the pasta shine. He sprinkles some of his freshly grated cheese on the bread and pops it back in the oven for just one more minute. The meatball skillet is brought to the table and then follows with his pasta pot.

“I am sooo hungry, I skipped lunch to make sure I was extra prepared for this,” Roman says as he takes a seat at the table. Sometime during their stay, four mismatched chairs appeared. Patton never questioned it and right now it seems fitting.

“That is an unwise decision,” Logan remarks and sits down at the table as well. Patton laughs and makes sure all the appliances are turned far off. The garlic bread is stacked on a plate and brought over to the table along with the plate of grated cheese. Patton looks at his work and can’t help but feel proud and so elated that he’ll finally be able to see to the people he’s been feeding for almost half a year eat his food in person.

“So worth it~” Roman manages to say around another too big a mouthful of salad. Patton snickers and Logan rolls his eyes, there’s a small smile on his face so it’s okay. Roman reaches for the pasta ladle when Logan speaks up.

“Aren’t we currently missing someone?” The question gives them all pause and Patton glances over to the hallway leading to his door and the other’s. Patton bites his lip.

“We have to wait for them,” He mutters out determined to have them all there. Logan folds his hands and though pouty and hungry, Roman leans back away from the ladle. Good thing it doesn’t take too long.

They all perk up when the bedroom door opens and closes softly. A head peeks around the corner and looks visibly shocked to see them all there.

“Oh okay shit fuck we’re doing this okay,” They take a deep breath and come around the corner. Their hoodie is ripped and sewn back together, a mess of purple and back. Patton can’t stop his smile.

“I’m uh.. V,” They say and give an awkward two finger salute. Patton beams as they all introduce themselves one last before sitting down.

“Thank god,” Roman breathes out and immediately drops a hefty portion of pasta on his plate that could really be considered ‘too much’.

“Roman!” Patton squeals out. Roman just flashes him a smile.

“Food coma or not, it shall be worth it,” He teases and plops meatballs on his plate too.

“I’m such a slut for garlic bread,” V takes three pieces and uses the spoon to put red sauce on them, along with more cheese and then tops it with spaghetti, making a weird pasta pizza. Logan takes his time, getting an almost measured ratio of pasta to meatball to sauce to cheese. Patton can’t wait to hear their thoughts.

It takes a minute or so, watching with baited breath as they all finally start to eat. Patton has yet to put food on his plate, much more eager and interested in them. Roman breaks first with a loud over done groan.

“I’m in heaven,” He says somehow with a face full of pasta. Patton feels like he’s glowing.

“Like I said before, it is satisfactory to the highest degree,” Logan comments as well, carefully putting each bite in his mouth to not spill.

“If I wasn’t already gay for food, this would turn me,” V raises one of his bread pieces in a ‘cheers’ like motion, then ceremoniously shoves the largest bite he can into his mouth to the point he can barely chew. It causes Roman to nearly spit up his own food and Logan just puts his hand to his head.

And to Patton it’s everything he could have hoped for and more. He finally gets a plate of his own food, happily eating his own meal with the others around him.

“So this is like a new regular thing right? We can round table pick the dish and have it every Sunday?” Roman is leaning back in his chair, hands on his belly and a dazed smile on his face. V, who is very much in a similar position shrugs. Logan who paced himself and ate a proper amount, wipes his face with a napkin.

“I shall not be opposed to Sunday dinners if that is what is preferred.” Then three pairs of eyes on him and Patton blinks back.

“Is that okay?” Roman asks.

“We do not wish to impose of course,” Logan adds.

“No pressure,” V mumbles to him as well.

Patton can feel the smile spreading across his face into one in full bloom. They want him to keep cooking for them.

“I would love that,” He says and the already easy atmosphere around them grows more loving. It cuddles them all close and Patton, who once didn’t even properly know his roommates names, feels closer to them more than ever.

–

I really liked this au, wouldn’t mind writing more for it if anyone has like, a scene they want to see or something

[caroldanversmohawk]

Quidditch Captain Danvers Chapter 2!

CHAPTER 2 POSTED!

Carol goes on a quest to figure out who her Ravenclaw friend is and gets into trouble in the library. And by trouble I mean Natasha Romanoff. Original au idea inspired by anon and @agentnatasharomanov 

Added Original Character and Tony Stark! Already working on Chapter 3. Read the full chapter here or on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794877

NOTE: Carolnat is still and always will be a thing in this fic. As it says in this chapter, they're not necessarily an exclusive couple so other relationships are on the table without negating carolnat. Not sure whether that fact will be taken advantage of, but it's there.

—

EXCERPT:

Natasha raised her eyebrows again in challenge, taking another step forward into Carol’s personal space. “That the best you got, Captain?”

Carol was still glaring at her. “Why don’t we take this to the Prefects’ bathroom and I can show you exactly what I’ve got,” Carol promised softly. Their lips were centimeters apart. Natasha was so close that every fiber of Carol’s being wanted to reach out and touch her, to grab her, to yank her against herself.

“You coming, Romanoff? This essay isn’t going to write itself. Well…it will because I charmed the quill, but that’s besides the point. We have a date with firewhiskey and the Shrieking Shack.” Tony Stark’s voice burst through the silence of the library, obscenely loud, completely ambivalent to the fact that he just announced to the entire library that the Slytherin Prefects were cheating on their homework.

–

Full Chapter 2:

Mazie Stanton sat in the Ravenclaw common room, nestled up in a big leather chair with a book. The cover looked like some magical text, so she blended in with her studious peers. She had charmed it to look that way. She was actually reading a sci-fi novel. Totally engrossed in the wacky plot, she didn’t even notice Pebbles until he screeched indignantly.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw he was carrying a reply. She snatched it from him, muttering praises to her owl as she jumped up from the chair. She couldn’t handle reading the note in a room full of people. She knew she was horrible at hiding her emotions, everyone could read her like an open book. And while she had no idea what the letter contained, she didn’t want her classmates having any inkling of it. Not that any of them were paying attention to her anyway. She knew she was just being paranoid.

Mazie raced up to her bed, flopping down and yanking the curtain around it to give herself some semblance of privacy. She opened the letter with shaking fingers. Her breath hitched at the first line. Danvers had called her sassy! Was that a good thing? Had she annoyed her? Or was she just teasing? She kept reading. By the last word, Mazie felt like her whole body was on fire. She squealed into her pillow. Danvers had liked her ‘gift.’ And she thought her owl was cute. 

Come say hi sometime in person? Mazie scoffed. Yeah right. Like she’d ever actually approach the mighty Captain Danvers in public. It had taken all of her courage to send Pebbles to her. An actual face-to-face? Not happening.

Mazie scolded herself for acting like a lovesick first year. She was about to graduate from Hogwarts in a few months. Set up with a job, assumedly, after taking her N.E.W.T.s. She was caught somewhere between wanting to “seize the moment” and from logicing her way out by saying that starting a relationship now was pointless when everyone was about to leave for the real world. Who was she kidding? Danvers didn’t want a relationship with her. She was probably just being polite. Wanted to shake her hand. Completely professional. She fell into a fit of giggles at the idea of Danvers ever acting professional.

Mazie was still undecided if she’d actually reveal herself when she saw Danvers next. All she knew was that she was going to hold onto that letter forever.

—

Carol expected to meet her Snape-Savior the next day. But no one ever came up to her. She didn’t tell any of her friends–it wasn’t like one should really spread the fact that they cheated. But beyond that, she felt like she wanted to keep this for herself. Outside of the jostling, bubbling mayhem that was her quidditch team. She loved them like family, but sometimes they could be obnoxious about certain people.

Like Romanoff, for example. They always made these weird faces any time Carol mentioned that she was going to prank Romanoff again. Or get revenge on Romanoff’s latest attack. None of them knew about Carol’s interactions with Natasha behind closed doors…and Carol wanted to keep it that way.

She was starting to feel the same about her Snape-Savior. Even if it annoyed her that they never showed themselves. Were they too shy? Did they just not care? After three days of nothing, Carol decided that she was tired sitting around, waiting for it to happen. She was going to take matters into her own hands.

—

The stench from the owlery was awful. Which was why Carol usually made a point of avoiding it. But that bloody owl was her only lead. So she put a hand over her nose, in a vain attempt to mask the odor, and went to work searching the scores of owls for the right one.

It took a surprising amount of time to locate the fluffy, round owl asleep on his perch. “Hey handsome.” Carol greeted him. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked at her. “I’ve got something for your master.” Carol continued to speak to the puff ball like he could understand her. He yawned in response, but kept didn’t go right back to sleep, little eyes still peering up at her. She took that as a good sign. Carol brandished the envelope, and the owl seemed to understand that better than her words. He grabbed it from her, taking off immediately.

Carol wished she could just follow it directly, but she knew that it would take the easier route out the castle windows. Carol, on the other hand, had to find her way back down the shifting staircases, taking the steps two at a time in her excitement. She had no idea if her sassy Ravenclaw would be in the library, but that seemed like the most likely place that Carol also had access to. So, without a better option, she found herself lurking in the stacks of the library, trying to strain to hear the flap of tiny wings.

She never did hear the owl, so she had to assume he had made it there before her. But that wasn’t her plan anyway. Carol peaked through the shelves, subtly trying to glimpse the hands of all the students working away at the various tables scattered throughout the stacks. 

“Hey Danvers, you lost?” That voice. Carol was glad the fabric of her robe hid the instant shiver that ran across her skin.

She turned to face Natasha, controlling her expression as she saw the Slytherin smirking up at her. “No,” Carol muttered indignantly, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t sure what kind of mood Nat was in. Or how dangerous she wanted to play this, in a only-semi secluded area. “I’m not lost.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows at her. “You came to library willingly then? Surely not to study.” There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that Carol was ready to face, to face with fire.

“Nope. No need to study. I’m not a suck up.” Carol smirked down at Natasha.

Nat’s grin widened. “Hmm, not sure I agree with that last part.” She said softly. 

Carol glared at her lover. “Bugger off, Romanoff.” 

Natasha raised her eyebrows again in challenge, taking another step forward into Carol’s personal space. “That the best you got, Captain?”

Carol was still glaring at her. “Why don’t we take this to the Prefects’ bathroom and I can show you exactly what I’ve got,” Carol promised softly. Their lips were centimeters apart. Natasha was so close that every fiber of Carol’s being wanted to reach out and touch her, to grab her, to yank her against herself.

“You coming, Romanoff? This essay isn’t going to write itself. Well…it will because I charmed the quill, but that’s besides the point. We have a date with firewhiskey and the Shrieking Shack.” Tony Stark’s voice burst through the silence of the library, obscenely loud, completely ambivalent to the fact that he just announced to the entire library that the Slytherin Prefects were cheating on their homework.

Natasha took a step back from Carol just as Tony rounded the corner. “Ah, Danvers.” He said by way of greeting. “No wonder you were taking so long, Romanoff. Did you want to invite your girlfriend?”

Carol blanched, heart racing. Did Natasha tell him? Nat just rolled her eyes at him and gave him an exasperated look. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Hey, I’m not blaming you. I’ve seen her play quidditch. I’m sure she’s got some moves–”

“Stark–” Natasha tried to cut him off.

“–I mean, maybe it would be good for you two to hang out without trying to claw each other’s eyes out–”

“Stark–” Natasha tried again.

“–But if you wanted to, that’d be cool too. I’ll just enjoy the show.” He finished. Mainly because Natasha had stopped trying cutting him off.

“I bet you would enjoy the show,” Carol smirked back at Stark, realizing now that he was like her friend Valkyrie, teasing them but not actually knowing anything. “But Romanoff doesn’t like getting her robes dirty, so you’re out of luck. No fights today." 

"I bet you could convince her to…” Stark hedged.

His words suddenly gave Carol an idea. An awful, amazing idea. She knew what her next prank on Nat was going to be. Let’s see how calm Natasha was after Carol got her with this. That’ll show her for distracting her during Potions, again.

“Come on, Tony,” Natasha was literally trying to drag Tony away by the arm.

Carol found herself stabbed with a pang of jealousy, seeing Natasha touch someone else and call him by his first name. It wasn’t like she and Nat were exclusive. But it didn’t help that the past few times their secret rendezvous, however unplanned they were, had been interrupted. Carol was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to throw her lover against the nearest bookshelf and show Natasha just what she did to her. There was a fire ignited in her core every time the girl walked by. And Carol wanted to show Nat just how hot that fire could burn, to scorch her skin with kisses until she was begging for mercy. She bet it was much more pleasurable than firewhiskey with Stark would be.

Nat saw the look in Carol’s eyes, and she shook her head slightly at her lover. Asking her to exercise caution. Stark may have a decent heart, but he had a loud mouth. They couldn’t give him any actual evidence of their relationship.

“Got something to say, Danvers?” Tony pressed seeing the shift in Carol’s eyes too, as he fought Natasha’s grip.

Carol glared at him. “Watch your back, Stark." 

"From what?” He laughed. “From you? I’m not worried. Besides, I have Natasha to watch it for me.” He winked at Carol. 

That was all it took. Carol found her wand in her hand before she even realized she was reaching for it. She wasn’t sure what hex she was going to use, but whatever it was, it was going to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face. That was how Carol dueled–by instinct. She never had a plan.

She opened her mouth, ready to cast the first spell that came out, when a flash of red and brown rushed in front of her. “Merlin’s Beard, Danvers. What did I do to piss you off?” Carol was caught completely off guard. She had never seen the girl in front of her before. Well, she had, in her classes, but she’d never really talked to her. Or noticed her. But now she was beyond noticeable.

Her brown hair was streaked with splotches of red. The chalky substance covered half her face too. Her hands were completely covered, as we’re the sleeves of her robe. It was like a bomb of red chalk had gone off in her hands. Which it had, Carol realized. Her sassy Ravenclaw friend had gotten her present. Carol just hadn’t expected to have the girl confront her. She had expected to find her herself, which was why she had planned such a clear indicator of who she was looking for. Well, the girl was definitely impossible to miss now.

“Bloody hell, Danvers, did you really do this?” Stark was laughing. “It’s a masterpiece.”

The red-streaked Ravenclaw turned around to glare at Tony. “Bugger off, Stark.” The girl said with surprising confidence to the Slytherin Prefect.

Natasha just stood there in shock for a moment, before tugging on Tony’s arm again. “Come on, Tony. We have better things to do.”

Carol tried not to let the comment hurt her. With how she had almost completely lost her temper with Tony, it probably was for the best. Not to mention that she had another situation on her hands. One that she had nearly forgotten about as soon as she had seen Natasha. And was actually her doing.

“I thought she only pranked you,” Tony mumbled as he gave into Natasha’s insistence. “I guess she’s just an ass to everyone.”

Carol didn’t realize her wand was raised until it was flying out of her hand. 

“Expelliarmus,” the Ravenclaw in front of her said the spell softly enough that Tony and Natasha didn’t hear. Carol’s wand only crossed the short distance to the girl’s hand. She offered it back to Carol almost immediately, as soon as Tony Stark was out of view. Carol took it back without a word, knowing that this girl just stopped her from getting in a fight but too pissed at Stark still to actually be thankful to her.

“So I guess you’re not shy,” Carol grumbled, looking down at the girl in front of her, still a bit in shock at the change in direction of her evening.

The Ravenclaw laughed. “Oh, I am. I just hate confrontation more.” She stuck out her red-caked hand. “Mackenzie Stanton. My friends call me Mazie." 

Carol felt herself smiling despite herself at the odd girl before her. She raised her eyebrows at Mazie’s hand. "I’m not touching you. That stuff gets everywhere.”

“And how would you know that?” Mazie joked accusingly.

Carol raised her hands in surrender. “It was just supposed to get on your hands, I swear.” She looked Mazie up and down, seeing the red powder staining patches of her uniform. “It comes out of clothes…I think.” Actually, Carol was pretty sure it didn’t. “How’d you know it was me, anyway?”

“Literally no one else would do this to me.” Mazie laughed. “I mean, I’m a bit surprised you did. I didn’t think you’d even remember me. But once I heard your voice in the library…I mean why else would you be here?" 

"There’s that sass,” Carol commented, noticing Mazie’s cheeks flush at her words.

“I think I deserve to be sassy, given the situation,” Mazie raised her hands up slightly, in case it wasn’t clear to Carol what situation she was referring to.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be. I like it when you are.” Mazie blinked at Carol’s praise, forgetting how to speak momentarily. She wasn’t sure if Carol noticed though, as the other girl continued, “So the girl who doesn’t like confrontation decides to confront me?”

“I came here to distract you. From doing something reckless. Even if Stark deserves it.” Mazie explained.

“But why?” Mazie didn’t seem to understand Carol’s question at first, so she clarified, “Why do you care if I fight Stark?" 

Mazie shrugged. "Why do I care if Snape assigned you extra homework?” She countered. “Like I said, I don’t like confrontation.”

“And I create confrontation,” Carol said, unabashed.

“Not always intentionally.” Mazie shrugged, but didn’t contradict her. “Besides, I’d hate for Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain to be suspended before the match next week. I have a wager that you’ll beat Slytherin 2 to 1.”

Carol raised her eyebrows, “That’s a lot of confidence in my team.”

Mazie shrugged. “Wishful thinking maybe. But I’m going to stand by it. So try not to get expelled before then, okay Danvers? I hear you’re the best Chaser Hogwarts has seen in years.”

Carol grinned, “I think they say I’m the best Chaser that Hogwarts has ever seen. But that’s okay, I’ll let that slide this time.”

Mazie smiled back shyly, starting to understand why Carol resorted to confrontation. It was much easier to make conversation that way. “I’ll remember that for next time.” Mazie muttered.

“So, there will be a next time? You won’t keep hiding from me?” Carol pressed.

Mazie’s smile turned wry. “I wasn’t hiding! I just didn’t see a good opportunity to come up to you and randomly introduce myself.” Carol looked like she was about to call Mazie on her bullshit, considering there had been plenty of opportunities the past three days, but Mazie rushed on. “Anyway, I can’t really hide now, can I?” She waved red covered hands at her red-speckled self.

Carol laughed. “I may have gone a little overboard with the Combusting Chalk." 

Mazie shrugged, "At least I’m the right color for the game next week." 

Carol snorted. "True. I should send this to the whole school!”

“Bloody hell, don’t you dare!” Mazie’s face turned pale and Carol fell into a fit of laughter, both at the thought of the havok it would wreck on the school and at Mazie’s terrified expression.

“Yea, but can you imagine Snape opening it?” Carol wheezed.

Mazie’s eyes were still wide, but she couldn’t hide a chuckle at the thought. “He’d be livid!" 

"Positively murderous,” Carol agreed with a glint in her eyes.

“Do not,” the words were a command, but Mazie’s tone was closer to begging.

Carol shook her head. “I won’t, I won’t. That stuff’s too expensive anyway. Especially the 'Radiant Red’ one. The pun was just too good to pass up.”

“What pun?” Mazie looked less terrified now that Carol was no longer talking about pranking the entire school.

“I wanted to catch you red-handed,” Carol said proudly.

Mazie shook her head. “You’re a dork, Danvers. But I love it.” Mazie froze as she just realized what she said. Carol didn’t seem to notice, her crooked smile never faltering.

“Hey, want me to let you into the Prefect’s bathroom to clean up? It’s the least I could do, after…” Carol just waved a hand at Mazie’s whole red-splotched form. There wasn’t any apology in her eyes though.

Mazie almost didn’t accept. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more exposure to Carol Danvers. Honestly, her stomach had already did backflips at the notion that the Quidditch Goddess, Carol Captain Danvers, had pranked her. But she’d always wanted to check out the Prefect bathrooms. And all the other Prefects were too rule abiding, or maybe it was too selfish, to let anyone else in there. Leave it to Captain Reckless Danvers to offer her the invite. “Uh, yea, sure. That would be great.”

They walked down the halls in companionable silence. Mazie’s thoughts were going wild, scolding herself for all the embarrassing things she had said to Carol during their conversation. But also freaking out at managing to talk to her, for like a whole conversation. And for making her smile. And making her laugh…

Once they got to the Prefects’ Bathroom, Carol admitted that she had to run to Quidditch practice, to Mazie’s relief and disappointment. But she didn’t let Mazie off the hook that easy. As she held open the door for Mazie, Carol smirked, “Hey, who knows, maybe if you’re still in there after two hours, I’ll see you after practice?” She winked at Mazie, who just looked up at Carol completely stunned as the smug witch turned around and trotted off to Quidditch practice.

There was no way in hell that Mazie would still be in that bathroom after two hours. Not because she wasn’t completely turned on by the thought, by the way Danvers’ voice had gotten all low and husky when she had suggested that, or by the mischievous glint in her eyes. But because she was way too shy to think that Danvers actually meant it. And she was too chicken to stick around to actually find out. Mazie went to work frantically trying to scrub the Combusting Chalk off of her skin.

[klovenhooves]

BenWash drabble: Unformed Clay

For @grumblebee-trilogy: 

George loved the summertime; the warmth spread through the city like a comforting blanket, and his nephews (well, not quite nephews, Gilbert’s children were not his blood, but they were close enough) came to visit for a week. George allowed himself the week to indulge in his childhood memories; he got to take George (he affectionately called him Junior), Henriette, Anastasie, and Marie out to Central Park, to Coney Island, and to a little paint-it-yourself pottery shop that he’d frequented when he was a child, long before he allowed himself to admit that he was terrible at painting anything, especially a piece of pottery.

 But still, the week was coming to a close, and Marie, especially, had been asking since their arrival (a flurry of cheek kisses and squealing, his dog Captain hiding under the kitchen table at the noise) when they were going back. He worried that Junior, the eldest, had lost interest in pottery painting, at a moody fourteen years old, but even he had a nostalgic grin on his face when they entered the shop.

 A man that George didn’t recognize was at the counter, his hair long enough to be pulled back in a bun, an apron splattered with paint over what looked like a sweater with leather elbow patches and some tight khakis. The children immediately scattered, their eyes trained on the shelves of ready-made pottery, just itching to be filled in with carefully applied paint.

 “Good afternoon, sir,” the man said kindly, but George could see a weariness behind his eyes that spoke of hours on his feet. “My name is Benjamin Tallmadge, have you been here before?”

 Before he could censor himself, George extended his hand, grasping Ben’s paint-flecked one warmly. “George Washington,” he replied. “I’ve been coming here since I was a child.”

 Their hands were still connected, rising and falling softly as if the ritual of handshaking had yet to be completed. George released his hand, his gaze finding the children, settling in at their own tables to their work.

 “Your children have been coming here as well?” Ben asked, retreating to the counter in the back of the shop to retrieve more brushes and refills of black and white paint.

 George watched him go, his graceful gait only slightly marred by what was obvious exhaustion. He felt a pang of sympathy for the man, and had an irrational urge to usher the children out so he could rest.

 “Oh, these aren’t my children,” he explained. “They’re my nieces and nephews.”

 “So you’re the benevolent uncle,” Ben said with a smile that transformed his whole face. George lost himself in that smile for a moment, long enough to take in the intoxicating blue of his eyes and the soft gold of his eyelashes. “I can see that.”

 “And you?” George asked, following Ben back to his counter to give the children the privacy to paint without distraction.

 “Me what?” Ben asked, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand.

 “How long have you been working here?” George asked, noting silently the way that Ben leaned on the counter, the way his eyes flickered back to the cameras in the corner that he knew were there. Was he afraid of talking to a patron? Or was he afraid of being chastised for something else? George knew the owners of the place; he knew they were rarely in the shop anymore, especially as they aged. They left the shop to the worker for the day, or the shift, and they had to run the ship alone until closing or until they were relieved. Usually, it wasn’t so bad; but based on the deserted shop and the fatigue of Ben, his angelic eyes heavy and his shoulders stooped, George would have to hazard a guess that he’d been at work since they opened.

 “Only a few weeks,” Ben said, trying to blink past the tears that his most recent yawn had brought forth. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, indicating his own hand over his mouth.

 “No need to apologize,” George said with a grin that pulled a blush to Ben’s cheeks. “This job can be tough.”

 Ben seemed to be unwilling to answer, but a loud grumble from beneath the counter told George all he needed to know. Ben’s faint blush at George’s smile became a full red face of embarrassment as George’s smile widened at the sound of Ben’s grumbling stomach.

 “Can we just…pretend that didn’t happen?” Ben said quietly as Marie screeched in delight behind George.

 “How long have you been on this shift, Benjamin?” George asked, lowering his voice as if to tell a secret. Ben leaned in closer to hear the question, and George was again struck by the cherubic innocence and beauty in the younger man’s face. He was a masterpiece worthy of a museum, not just a little pottery shop, gilded only slightly in the light like he was dusted with gold.

 “We opened at 8 a.m., sir,” he said, trying to maintain professionalism that George waved off.

 “It’s four in the afternoon,” he replied. Ben nodded, shifting away from him slightly as his voice rose. “You’ve been here since you opened?”

 “Well, the person that was supposed to take over my shift didn’t show up, so,” Ben shrugged, but his shoulders fell heavy, as if carrying an enormous weight. “It’s okay,” he said when he saw George’s face contort in disbelief. “It happens all the time. I’m used to it.”

 “But I’m sure it’s exhausting,” George coaxed, pulling a nod from Ben as he cast his eyes about to the four patrons, dutifully painting away. “But the pay is worth it, I imagine?”

 Ben shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in that familiar cadence that George was rapidly getting accustomed to; it was the movement of ennui, of someone who had already given up liking their job. He noticed it in people at his firm before they resigned. He saw it here now.

 “I mean, when we get paid,” he muttered, almost to himself.

 When they get paid? George wanted to ask him what he meant, to repeat himself, but he knew the touchy subject that was the salary of any job. Some people were forbidden to talk about it with anyone by contract, others pressured into not saying. In the silence that followed, the poor man’s stomach rumbled again, and George tapped the counter with a sudden resolution. The sound made Ben jump slightly, but it didn’t matter.

 “I’ll be right back,” George said to him, his hand dropping to land on the top of Ben’s wrist for only a moment before he retracted it. “I trust you four will behave while I’m gone?”

 “Mais oui,” Junior said with an offended smirk, brushing his flopping hair out of his face with the back of his paint-covered hand.

 Ben watched him go, the jingling of the bell punctuating his exit. Exit stage left, he thought with a sigh. If he wasn’t so tired, perhaps he’d give the man his number. It wouldn’t be a bad investment, based on the way he dropped his hand on Ben’s wrist. But Ben could tell by his Armani suit, in danger of paint splatter, and the careless way he moved around the shop in it, that a man of that caliber would not be interested in a man who wore the same cardigan to work every day because he hadn’t had the money to do laundry in three weeks.

 Still, he was handsome, and the low timbre of his voice was so soothing Ben found himself drifting off while he spoke. The way he used his whole name, Benjamin, and the way it fell from his lips sent a shiver through him far too indecent for his current setting.

 He regarded the children, painting away, with a faint smile. They really were a delight, painting quietly, not like the children he’d been dealing with all day. He had a child yank four different statues off the shelves and break them all without so much as a hint of remorse – his father hadn’t had much remorse either, come to think of it. He’d dealt with a mother who wanted her daughter to paint one of the little princess statues, but the little girl had insisted on a Batman logo. The resulting row had been almost too much for Ben, who was already dizzy from a lack of food and sleep.

 His boss had unexpectedly popped in only half an hour before to let him know that he was going to have to cover until they closed, and to remind him not to use his phone, because they could see from their security cameras when he did.

 He thought, momentarily, about giving the camera the finger.

 He wished he had brought himself something to eat for lunch; he had expected to be out of here by one in the afternoon, prime lunchtime, but once that had passed, and then two o’clock came around, he knew that his relief was doing what he often wished he could do, but refused to do. Shirking responsibility was almost impossible for Ben to do without waves of guilt crashing over him. He wished he could do it.

 The jingling bell caught him off-guard, and he realized he had been daydreaming again. George had returned, a devilish grin on his face that Ben rather liked; it sent a jolt of electricity through him, and a brown paper bag that smelled heavenly.

 He didn’t.

 “I didn’t know what you liked,” George confessed, placing the bag on the counter and reaching in. “I figured a club sandwich would be the most applicable, but I did tell them to put the avocado on the side, just in case.”

 The smell of the food made Ben’s stomach physically ache, but he restrained himself from devouring it. He lifted his gaze to George, who was staring at him hopefully, waiting to find out if he had done a good thing or overstepped his boundaries.

 “You – you brought me lunch?” was all he could think to say.

 “You’re starving,” George replied, reaching into the bag to take out a little Styrofoam container of macaroni salad, “and you’ve been here all day. You’re exhausted, probably because you’re hungry.”

 “You didn’t have to do that,” Ben answered quietly. God, had he been so pathetic that this man literally felt like he had to go out and buy him food? He wanted to hide behind the counter to cover his flaming cheeks, the warmth of his blush rising all the way to his ears. “Really, you shouldn’t have.”

 George faltered for a moment, his eyes falling to the food. “But – Benjamin, I wanted to.”

 “You don’t even know me,” Ben’s voice hardened a little, and George softened further. Ben could feel guilt in every inch of his body; it pained him, to know even the children were looking at him curiously now. He was so embarrassed; he wanted to bury his face in his hands, he almost did, too, but George shifted closer to him, and his proximity claimed his attention.

 “Look,” George dropped his voice, “This place is obviously taking advantage of your good nature, making you take over extra shifts with no break, having you run this whole shop. I know how they work – you work all day until your shift is over, no lunch break, no nothing. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not healthy.”

 “Mr. Washington –”

 “George, please –”

 “George, then. I appreciate it, I really do, but I could get in trouble for eating while you’re here.”

 George’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and he leaned away from Ben, but somehow closer to the camera that watched them both. “And what if I said that I would cease my yearly donation to this shop if you didn’t eat that sandwich? A donation that, mind you, Benjamin, keeps this shop’s doors open.”

 Ben’s mouth dropped open, snapping closed quickly at Marie’s giggle.

 “I – I suppose I would have to eat the sandwich then,” Ben stammered.

 “The macaroni salad, too,” George replied easily, charmingly. “It’s to die for.”

 He nudged the bag closer to him, and Ben peeked in just enough to see that the napkin at the bottom had a phone number scrawled onto it. He smiled, the grin morphing into a giddy laugh as George unwrapped the sandwich and pressed it into his hand.

[quinlin-blog1]

The Lost Island ~ Chapter Two

And as I suspected, it wasn't. I was stuck in between Catherine who was dressed and Crystal, who was scrambling to find her pink shoes that matched her dress. Catherine and I were seated on my bed, Catherine reading a book she had found on my bedroom floor while I was playing with an old Yoyo, let me tell you, I wasn’t very good.

“I knew there was a reason I never used that thing” I grumbled to myself.

“It’s all about practice Delly, my Mom can yoyo really well” Crystal stated as she found her shoes.

When Crystal was finally ready, I ran down stairs to be greeted by a rampaging Alex who knocked me down.

“Addy!” Alex both yelled and signed “You've been gone for ages! I haven't seen you in like forever!” She said dramatically

“I know! Crys trapped me in her fluffy pink dungeon! It was torture Al! Torture!” I said crying out, dropping to my knees for effect.

Alex fake gasped “Crys! How could you?! Come on Addy! I'll save you!” Alex pulled me into the living room. Where Logan and Keira were deciding on a movie to watch.

“Alex! Come on! We're going to watch a movie!” Lily told Alex

“What about the magic show?” I asked

“Oh! Uriah’s got the chicken pox so we have to wait until he's over them to do it” Lily said

“Alright then”

 So now we were watching Toy Story. Crystal’s mum, Elena, was going to be here any moment.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Right on que! I went to go open the door and I was surprised by what I saw.

Not only was Elena there, but Catherine’s mother Dalilah was right next to her. Though she preferred to be called Ms. Towle.

“M-Ms. Towle! I didn't expect to see you” I said.

I turned sideways, gently pulling a frozen Catherine out of the way. She mostly went to my house to escape from her mother, not that she didn't love her, but because she was so overbearing.  

“Hello Adriana” She greeted in the finger language so that Catherine could understand us, but also out loud, so that Alex may hear us as she appeared on my other side. Ms. Towle dragged in seven extremely large suitcases and four smaller ones. My head finally clicked around what was happening.

“Mother?! What are these for?” Catherine asked, for the leader and smartest of the group, she did have her moments.

“You, Catherine and Alexandria are going to go to that boarding school. I-” Alex interrupted her mother.

“I thought I was too young?”

“They have a special program for younger children, I have registered you both already” Her mother replied irritably.

“What about our- Er- Disabilities?” Catherine questioned, her fingers shaking slightly.

“They are perfectly fine with taking you both in, they are going to help with it. So, as I was saying before. I have arranged with Adriana's mother, that you two will be staying here for the remaining how ever-many days until you leave for your school. You will be coming back here for both Christmas and spring breaks. I will be in contact girls.”

And with that, Ms. Towle kissed both Catherine and Alex's heads and left out the other door, giving Bets and I slight nods.

I looked over at Alex to see that she was elated. But when I looked to Catherine, she was pooling with emotions. Joy, Happiness, Sadness, Anger. Like she didn't even know how to feel.

“Well girls! Let's get going!” Elena said cheerfully. The apple never falls far from the tree. This was going to be a long night.

   THUNK!

 I threw myself on my bed. I had been correct. It had not been a rough night, just tiring. Fun none the less.

“You know one of these days you're going to do that and break your bed, it’s only wood after all” Catherine pointed out to me, not even looking up from her book. Nerd.

“Nah! It's just metal painted really well to look like wood” I knocked my fist against the base of my bed, causing several clanking noises. “See?” I said to her

Catherine merely rolled her eyes.

“Dell?” Crystal asked in an extremely sweet voice. Uh Oh...

“Yes?” I said cautiously

“Can you draw me an otter?” She said using the same tone.

“Why?” I asked

“Because you draw best out of us. And I NEED one”

I sighed, but nodded anyway, making Crystal squeal with joy.

So, a grabbed my large art bag and opened it to grab out my stuff, I had a lot of art supplies. Art was one of my major hobbies, I had everything from water-color pencils to oil pastels.

Soon enough Catherine and Crystal were on the bean bags watching a movie.

A loud thump knocked me out of my concentrated drawing. I looked over my sketchpad, to see Catherine on the floor, asleep.

“Can he be pink?” Crystal asked from where she was playing (Or as I like to call it “Babying”) with Lee.

“I didn't know otters could be pink” I stated.

“Well this one can.”

I watched as Crystal babied Lee and I rolled my eyes.

“You guys baby her too much.” I mused.

“You tell me every time, but she loves it” Bets said airily

“What?” I asked incredulously.

“She loves us all very much and loves it when we “Baby” Her” Bets told me

I chose to ignore this, with Crystal, you never know what's going to come out of the girl.

“And- Done!” I said, finishing the shading and coloring on the pink otter.

“I knew you could do it! I hereby make you my official artist!” Crystal exclaimed happily.

“Oh, I thank thee, thy highness. Mine humblest thanks and gratitude!” I said.

Crystal and I looked at each other for a moment then burst out laughing. Yeah, my friends and I were weird, but they were my weirdos and I was theirs. Catherine groaned, sat up, threw a pillow at us, and laid back down again.

After this, Crystal and I continued to pelt each other, and Catherine, with pillows until we collapsed, with the movie playing in the background.

      CRASH

  I jolted up from my sleeping stated, the sound had been muffled by two floors, but me being the light sleeper I am, I woke up. I cautiously slid off the bean bag chair that I had fallen asleep on. Grabbing my slippers and putting them on, while I walked upstairs.

What I saw when I walked into the living room, made me drop to the floor, unable to contain my laughter.

Lily had her lower abdomen and legs tangled in her blankets on the couch, while her upper half was on the floor. While Alex on the other hand, had caused the crash because she literally did fall to the floor. With her blanket covering her.

Once I composed myself, I lifted Lily’s heavy body, fully onto the couch, before turning to Alex and doing the same. I almost fell over because I lifted her up too fast.

After that incident, I went upstairs to check on Lysander, Uriah and Maya.

Uriah had gone into my mother and fathers room, like he did every night, Lysander was sprawled out, all over his bed like normal.

Maya was sitting awake, on her bed, chewing on a plastic teething ring.

“Addy!” She cried out happily as I stood in the doorway.

“Looks like someone’s up early” I said to her, smiling as I did so.

“Duck!” She said. Holding out her favorite rubber duck

“That's right! Duck! And what does the duck say?” I asked

“Quack!” Maya imitated.

“Good job” I praised as I picked her up and carried her down stairs.

I peeled her a banana (Yuck), and peeled myself an orange. I sat myself down on the couch and watched as Maya played with her dolls.

Fifteen minutes later. Maya and Twilight were having an all-out battle. And me being me, I decided it would be a good idea to leave them alone while I went to take a shower. Boy, was I ever wrong.

“OK Maya, I'm going to go shower. Be good, don't destroy anything, make sure that Twilight doesn't tear up the couches, don't go outside and eat anything off the ground, don't go bug your brothers, leave Lily and Alex alone, no playing in Mobius’ and Iggy's litter box, no climbing the curtains, no taking the videos and books off the shelves, no tearing book pages and no messing in the kitchen” I said to Maya who only looked at me “Yes I know that you can't understand me, just bear with me”

Yes, Maya had done all that stuff and much, much more. So, I wandered up the stairs to the bathroom and turned on the hot water and had a quick shower, not really wanting to leave Maya alone for too long.

  Oh, I knew that that was a bad idea. I walked down stairs completely dressed for the day and it was quiet, too quiet.

I walked into the kitchen, where I heard giggling and barking. Bracing myself for the worst, I opened the door and my eyes widened to the size of saucers at what I saw.

Maya was standing on the counter, throwing dog treats and cat nip for both of our cats, Twilight and Lee.

I watched as she threw a hand full, looked over at me, hid the dog treat she had in her hand, behind her back and look at me with her “I'm innocent” look that works on everyone, including myself.

“Promise me you'll only use your powers for good” I told her as I approached.

“Quack!” Maya exclaimed as she threw the last bit of cat nip and dog chews for the dogs and cats.

I carried Maya downstairs to where Catherine and Crystal were sleeping. I put Maya next to Crystal’s ears and told her what to do. I then ran to grab a large bucket of ice water to throw on Catherine.

“One... Two... Three!” I counted and I threw the water onto Catherine, while at the same time Maya stuck her wet fingers into Crystal ears.

They both screamed away and I grabbed Maya and we ran.

  Maya and I were outside, watching the birds in the sky, drawing with chalk on the sidewalk and playing with Twilight.

“Dell!” Catherine called.

I was still a little unsure if Catherine and Crystal wanted to get revenge on me, so I cautiously yet casually walked into the house, where Catherine was dressed and waiting.

“Your mum needs us to go to the store,” Catherine told me

“But I don't want to!” I whined

“Well you have to,” Crystal said

“Is this your form of revenge?” I asked

They looked at each other for a moment. “Yup” They said.

I sighed, went to grab my bag and my mother handed me the list and money, then we left. On the way, I handed Catherine the money and the list.

“You guys do realize that going to the school is going to change things forever” I stated bluntly, bringing up the topic that we were all avoiding.

“I think that's the point Delly,” Crystal pointed out to me

“Is one of them, telling you that?” Catherine asked me

“No. But do you ever get those feelings that something really important is going to happen? That's what I've been feeling for the past four days,” I told them

“I agree. I just wonder what's going to happen,” Catherine asked

Half way to the store, I started to see some very weird people, and if you take that offensively then that's your choice. But these people were down right strange. It was verging on summer weather and some of these people were wearing winter jackets and boots! I swore one of them even had gills!

“Am I the only one seeing this?” I asked

“You mean the strange people, with wooden limbs and lava rock hands?” Crystal asked

“I see them. But it's rude to stare guys!” Catherine scolded as we approached the super market.

We walked in and we were instantly greeted with a wave of coolness that was the store. I sighed in relief and looked to Catherine.

“We need Apples, Oranges, milk, Sugar, Coffee-.”

“Blech!” I exclaimed

“-Chocolate chips, eggs, baking powder and cinnamon,” Catherine said ignoring my comment

“And Ice cream!” I stated

“Yeah!” Crystal agreed

“No! No, ice Cream” But Catherine was interrupted by Crystal and I both running off.

This was how trips to the shop usually went, Catherine would tell us what we needed, Crystal and I would decide on an extra treat, then run off before Catherine could tell us off. Poor Catherine.

“Strawberry, Mint, Raspberry, Chocolate, Vanilla, Orange, bubblegum and cookies and cream,” I said as I picked them out.

“Ice cream time, Ice cream time! Time to eat ice cream!” Crystal sang.

We walked back up to the cash register, where Catherine was setting out the things from the list.

“Cookies and cream?” She asked, not even bothering to scold us for running away.

“Yep! We've got enough for an ice cream war,” I stated.

“What's an ice cream war?” Catherine asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The cashier was giving us weird looks for only speaking in sign language.

“It's when each of us get one tub, because these things are huge, and we separate into teams. Then we have a battle, where we throw ice cream at each other, last person standing wins,” I explained briefly.

“Why haven't we thought us this before?” Crystal asked incredulously.

“I know,” Catherine agreed.

We may be fifteen-years-old, but we can still be as childish as seven-year-old. It's not our fault.

We grabbed our bags and walked out the door. Once again, I noticed the strange people. The one with gills had gone, but was replaced with on with a robotic eye. OK... Are we going into a robot war, and why wasn't I told?

“Am I the only on seeing this?”

“If you mean the weird people again then no, I see them too,”” Catherine reassured me.

“What are they?” I asked

“Dell! That's rude! They're a “who” Not a “what,”” Catherine scolded

“Alright then, who are they,” I corrected irritably

“I don't know. But I think it's strange that we've been seeing them now-.”

“And every time we've seen them before we don't remember them and we see them most when we're-“ Crystal continued.

“Together.” I finished.

“Well. I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to be caught in some sort of X-Men, mutant war. It's not giving me a good feeling,” I told them, shuddering.

“I don't think we're looking at this the right way Delly. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to get caught in an “X-Men mutant war”.   But I'm sure that there's got to be more to this,” Crystal stated

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked

“Well, think about us. What if they’re here looking for people like us?” Crystal pointed out

“Like us?” I asked

“Out of all the people in the world, there has to be more people like us. It's just common logic,” Crystal continued

“I guess. But why would they be looking for us?”  Catherine inquired

“Maybe there not looking for us, but protecting us. There are bad people in the world too”

This made sense to both myself and Catherine. If the world could just be full of good people, where would they learn from if the world was full of people with no mistakes? Some people may wish for the world to have peace and be perfect, but if it was perfect how would we learn to do anything?

“Makes sense,” Catherine spoke

“It does. Since when did you get so wise Bets?” I asked

“I guess I'm just trying to keep an open mind about things,” Crystal shrugged

We walked through the doors and I called out to the kids.

“Ice Cream!”

“Ice cream!”

“Stampede!” I cried out and we ducked for cover. Even Catherine, who couldn't hear us, ducked knowing from experience.

I held up three fingers counting down and when I reached zero we jumped out and ambushed the kids. Pelting them with ice cream. The kids screamed as the frozen treat hit them.

I tossed Alex a tub and we ran outside to where my mother and father had set up the sprinklers and the pool. Ice cream was being flung everywhere, I ducked behind a tree, climbed up it and started tossing ice cream at people from the branches. Catherine had hidden behind a stone wall that separated the top part of the yard from the bottom part.  Crystal and Lysander were using the pool as cover, though when the ice cream hit the water it splashed up and got them wet.

Catherine ducked out from where she was hiding and hit Crystal from where her head was just barely poking out from where she had been hiding. I quickly jumped from my tree and threw a giant glob of ice cream at Catherine, which hit her in the back of the head and sent her tumbling face first into the pool. Only for me to be tackled in by Lily and Lysander. Then for Alex, Crystal and Uriah to jump in after because everyone else was doing it. We stayed in the pool, swimming around, for a good fifteen minutes before Catherine, Crystal and I got out to get change out of our soaking shorts and t-shirts that were now so wet that they were sticking to our skin. So, it was a race to see who could get to one of the two bathrooms to shower first.

 As Catherine and Crystal ran upstairs, pushing each other for the larger bathroom, I went to the basement for another shower. I grabbed warm, dry clothes from my dresser before jumping into a cold shower, and I was in and out within Five minutes.

                                                            *

  It was four hours later, Catherine, Crystal and I had done nothing but sit in the sun chatting. I was sure that Crystal had fallen asleep. Catherine was sitting there talking to me as we discussed the strange people. I know, it's a continuing topic, but it's an important one. I feel like there is something more to it.

“Alphs, I feel like there’s something we’re missing,” I said

“I know what you mean. Think about it, how often do you see these weird people?”

I tried to think for a moment, I knew that we had seen them briefly as we walked by today, I remembered seeing them the other day on the way to school when I saw one of them standing in the middle of the road. I tried harder to think of other times where I had seen them, I wondered if I had ever had a conversation with them, maybe I had once asked them for directions? Maybe Crystal had asked them if they had any baby animals.

But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t think of any times I had spoken to the unusual people. Not one.

“I mean, I don’t really know. I have seen them around, by school, out front of the store, maybe out by the park. But I can’t remember ever having a conversation with them” I told her

Catherine shook her head “I think- I’m not sure, but I think I’ve talked to them once. When I was younger. It’s blurry, like there’s a fog over the memory. I remember walking down the street, everything seems bigger so I must be younger, I remember seeing one of them, she has a monocle, but her other eye is black, like completely black. For some reason, I found this cool and I wanted to go talk to her. I think we had a conversation, a small one, but then she took out this device, almost like a remote and then. . . I don’t know, that’s all I can remember. It almost hurts to think about it” Catherine explained.

Listening to her talk, hanging on her ever word, I wondered how long they had been watching us for. If they were even watching us at all.

“Do you think they’ve been here since we were kids?”

“Well technically we still are kids. But I get what you mean. It is a possibility. I don’t remember that far back. I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper conversation with one, other than that one time. I’m not too sure that that one time even happened”

“Alphs, how often do you see them? Like more so when all three of us are together?” I asked

Catherine looked at me with her eyebrows furrowed and thought for a moment “I think so. I mean, I remember seeing them more often when we are together. Do you think the voices know?” she questioned

I shook my head “I think that they know something. Arrow kept talking about “The Big Guy” and Cal spoke almost like she was afraid of whoever this big guy is”

“So, if they've been here since we were kids-,” Catherine started

“And have some sort of tech that can erase memories-,” I continued

“And they show up more often when we’re together-,” Catherine pointed out

“And they are possibly somehow connected with the voices in our heads-”

“That have something to do with an even bigger scheme of things, but they won't tell us because-”

“Of the so called “Big Guy” That's controlling them and telling them what to do-”

“Or what to say. So, there's only a limited number of things that they can tell us-”

“So, we have to figure out how to get these people to talk to us-”

“And figure out why they're here and what they're doing with our memories,” Catherine finished

“Well” I same dragging out the word. “We're screwed” I stated

“Definitely,” Catherine agreed.

“So, until the time of such screwing happens, what do you want to do?” Catherine asked after a few moments

“Let us go and see what Alex and Lily are doing, they're being too quiet for their own good” I stated and we went quietly inside to check on the silent children.

And it turned out that I was right. Lily and Alex were not up in Lily's room where they had been staying, but no they couldn't be where they were supposed to be, they were down in my room.

When we found them, they were filling our pillow cases with whipped cream and hiding stink bombs under beds.

“And what do you think you are doing?” I asked using both forms of words.

“Uh- We were just uh- You see we- We got to go,” they said running out of the basement.

“Looks like we're going on a stink bomb hunt and are getting new pillow cases,” I stated to Catherine who only chuckled.

 Over the next twenty minutes, we found five stink bombs underneath of our beds, in our dressers and some even in our suitcases. We had emptied our pillow cases of the whipped cream and were putting new ones on. But we left Crystals’ alone. Who doesn't like surprises?

“Bets isn't going to be happy,” Catherine said to me

“Nope”

“And you don't care?”

“Nope”

“What do you plan on telling her when she finds out?”

“It goes like this and I repeat.” I cleared my throat “Alphs did it!” I cried out

“Thanks! Throw me under the bus will you”

“What would you expect from me?” I asked

“Nothing further from that.”

“Well you can't blame me!” I exclaimed

“Yes, we know. You were dropped on your head as an infant” Catherine teased me, with a small smile on her face.

“Hey! I was not dropped on my head, I feel off the swing set!”

“Alright. You fell off a swing set. My point is that you are weird.”

“Weird doesn't even begin to describe it. I have my own category of weird.”

Catherine rolled her eyes at my silliness “But, thinking back to the beginning of the conversation, how do you think Bets will react?” I asked eagerly.

“Oh, there's probably going to be a lot of screaming, yelling, cursing the otters. She may even swear for the first time!” Catherine said.

“That'll be the day Dell. You know we’ve made quite a few memories here in our home town,” Catherine said after a moment.

“I think the best time was Bets trying to climb the tree and her falling off, then cursing the were-rabbits that had put a curse on her. That was when she made her platform,” I recalled.

“Ah yes! That was also the day I fixed my first sprained ankle and the reason the first aid kit is still there.”

“We'll have to go there in the next few day to take all of our stuff out as well,” I said sadly.

“Don't be sad Dell. I read that the school is surrounded by forest. If we wanted we could make a bigger one there that we could live in instead of the school.”

“Think we'd anger the headmistress by doing that,” I pointed out.

“Well she doesn't need to know. But think of all the space we would have if we made it there. We'd have our own homes, kitchens, living spaces, bedrooms. And we won't have to room with anybody we don't know,” Catherine pointed out.

“With our luck, we'll be roomed with our enemies or something”

“How do you get your dorms anyway?” Catherine asked.

“I have no clue. Apparently, they have” I shuddered “Uniforms I think it's like a “Let's judge this kid by the way that he/she dresses and acts and place him/her with the other kids.””

“Well then. Do you think we'll be separated?”  

“I don't think you and I will be. You're just a bit quieter than me, being deaf and all, but I think that either we'll all be together or Bets will go to some place different.”

“I wonder if they even have a place that Bets would qualify to go to.”

“There have to be at least another fifty kids that are like her. We can at least hope I guess.”

“We'll definitely be together though. I have this feeling though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we're going to find our Gamma there.”

“Yeah. Our last member. Could you imagine that?!” Alphs asked.

I guess I should explain.

What we mean by our ‘Gamma’ is the last member of our group. They, the Gamma, would be the person whose advice was respected, and they can maintain order during chaos.

It’s kind of silly, referring to ourselves as a pack rather than a group, but the three of us agree that a pack is closer than just a group, a pack is family and they take care of each other. I guess in the beginning we all agreed that we should have nicknames the represent our ‘Ranks’ in the pack, Catherine got the highest one because, even though she wasn’t exactly bold, both Crystal and I knew that she was brave and that she would fit best in the highest leader position.

Crystal got the second highest rank because Catherine thought that she would make the best ‘Second in Command’ even though she may not look or act like it, Crystal is very smart.

And I got a semi-lower rank because I don’t do well as a leader, despite what the others may tell you, I chose to be the one who is the voice for the rest of the pack, and, if necessary, I would lead the others if I needed to.

“I hope it’s a boy. I don’t think I could survive another girl. Especially if they're anything like Bets. She's a handful at the best of times.”

“I have to agree. So, is that the last of them?” Catherine asked referring to the stink bombs and whipped cream pillow cases.

“Yeah I think so. It's hard to believe that after six years of knowing each other and practically living with each other, that we must leave now. It's just so hard to believe you know?” I asked.

“I know. It's just strange to think that after all this time, we'll be going to some new place. New people. New Ways of life. New everything It's just not right,” Catherine stated.

“I agree.” Zell and Arrow chorused.

“Alright. So, do I have your guys' attention?” I asked.

“Yep” They said.

“Good. Do those people have anything to do with the school?” I asked.

“Yup,” Arrow said.

“Are they like me?” I tried.

“Not Bein' exactly like yer-self, but ther' close enough,” Zell stated

“Alright will you stop beating around the bush and tell me!” I snapped

“It's important that you know that we can't tell you everything,” Tori told me

“But we can tell you some things,” Cal Informed me.

“Like the fact that they are in fact protecting you,” Arrow stated.

“And that they be under strict orders not to be goin' near ya' or yer friends,” Zell said.

“So, if I went to talk to them, I'll get more out of them.”

“Most likely,” Zell and Arrow said

“But we could get in trouble!” Cal reminded us.

“Yeah! She isn't supposed to know these things! If master found out we told her-,” Tori started.

“Ye be worryin' too much Tor. We didn' tell Ads anythin' she shoudn' know,” Zell stated.

“Yeah, she figured it out herself,” Arrow pointed out.

“I'm just smart like that,” I smirked.

“I’m not getting into this,” Cal said.

   It was six fifty-four in the evening. How would I know that? You can always count on Tori to know the time. Like to the millisecond. Catherine and I were hiding, waiting for Crystal to come down to bed.

“When is she coming?” I whined to Catherine who was about three meters away from me. She’d been keeping an eye out for Crystal for the past ten minutes.

“Now! So, shush!” She hushed me and I stuck my tongue out at her.

As soon as she did this I heard footsteps coming downstairs, I instantly quieted down like I was instructed to. I saw from where I was hiding, I saw Crystal coming down the stairs. She went to her bed and threw herself down. Releasing the whipped cream that had filled her pillow case and covered her face. She squealed as the foam touched her face. She stumbled over to the cupboard where the stink bombs were hidden. As the light hit them they were set off and they blew up in Crystal’s face. Catherine and I covered our faces as the literal green cloud of stench came over to us. Bets coughed through the stink and stumbled onto her bed and fell into more whipped cream pillows.

Catherine and I were stuck in silent fits of laughter. Laughing was the only time you could hear Catherine. But we were trying to be as silent as humanely possible. Which in this scenario was not easy.

Though no matter how much we laughed, it was drowned out by Crystal screaming.

Due to this, Catherine and I began to laugh and unfortunately, we were not very quiet about it.

“Ah Ha!” Crystal shouted as her whipped cream covered face came into our view.

Catherine and I scrambled to get out of the way of Crystal who was trying to make us give her a hug.

“OH, Come on! You know you want to!” She called out as we ran upstairs and hid up the jungle gym/slide house thingy. We were panting from both running and laughing. Crystal looked through the window of Lily and Alex's room and scowled at us. We could see from out place in the tree that both Alex and Lily were laughing that their prank worked on at least one of us.

“They seem happy that their prank worked on someone,” Catherine told me.

I nodded, trying to catch my breath, while looking around to make sure that Crystal wasn’t approaching us before I slid down the slide, which I was much too big for, Catherine following me closely. I turned to Catherine with a grin.  

“Whelp! It's almost dinner time and I'm craving Soup and Garlic bread”

“Warning! It's going to be an amusing dinner,” Arrow warned.

   Thank The Epic Arrow for that warning because he was right.

About five minutes into the nice peaceful dinner I started to think that he was lying.

But Then My dad started cracking Star Wars toilet jokes that included but were not limited to “Luke Pull up Your Shorts” in a Ben Kenobi voice.

I was extremely disturbed.

It was currently nine forty-three in the morning. The next day if anyone is confused and I had pulled an all-nighter.

Reason being? I spent the entire time listening to music on my radio while sorting through all my stuff. I didn't realize that I had so much stuff until I had collected it all from around the house. Out of the toy bins, my stuffed animals, my aquarium, my novels, my action figures that I had collected, my old laptop, my old clothes, my art supplies, jewelry, my old kids camera, any old notebooks or paper related things that I had.

Considering that I was leaving in two days I figured that I would go through my stuff figure out what was going to charity, what I would give to the Kids and what I would take with me. I didn't intend for it to take all night. I only had intended for it to take an hour. But an hour turned into the entire night when I looked at my bed and floor stacked high with all my stuff on it.

I was sitting on my bed and I was almost passing out from exhaustion Catherine was in the half awake, half asleep state. While Crystal was completely snoring.

I had seven boxes that were going to charity.

Twelve that were going to the kids, each kid getting different things.

My two suitcases that were going with me were completely stuffed. I had three carry-ons as well. It was going to be a heavy load.

All of Catherine’s stuff fit into six suit cases and one carry-on.

All of Crystal’s stuff didn't even fit into my two and three plus Catherine's six and one. She had so much stuff that her mother was shipping half of it to the school itself! I don't know how one person could have as much stuff as Crystal did.

I knew one thing. This trip was going to take it out of me. The same was going to Catherine, Crystal and Alex.

    That evening Catherine, Crystal and I set out to go find one of those people that Zell, Cal, Arrow and Tori told me about. Honestly, I didn’t think that we’d find anyone, but that might have been my sleep deprived brain.

“I don't think that we'll find just one of them. From what I've seen they travel in groups of four of three. On occasions, I'll see them in pairs of two but never one,” Catherine said.

“Maybe we'll get lucky!” Crystal chirped. Yeah . . . I highly doubt that.

It seemed to me that Catherine was having the same thoughts.

“Hey look! There's two there! Come one!” Crystal shouted as she ran.

“Bets! No-” Catherine didn't even finish her signing before Crystal was half way to them.

“Don't you find it a bit curious that we're out here for not even five minutes and there's already two of them there like they're waiting for us?” Catherine asked.

“Or the fact that they look extremely familiar?” I added.

But out thoughts were useless to the fact that Crystal had already cornered them.

“Excuse me? We have some questions if you wouldn't mind,” Crystal was saying as we approached.

“Um . . . Sure,” One said.

“You've been here since we were little, and show up most when we're together,” Crystal started.

“Not to mention that you have some sort of ability to take our memory of you” Catherine continued by signing, but they seemed to understand, this made me a bit more suspicious and cautious.

“But let's forget that for now and start with introductions. My name is Adriana, that is Catherine, and that Is Crystal. So, what do you have to say for yourselves?” I asked.

“Carter, Conner.”  They introduced themselves. Carter had skin made of lava rocks, Conner seemed to be completely made of glass.

“So back to our questions. You have technology that can erase or block memories?” I asked.

“You - you aren't supposed to know all this,” Conner stuttered.

“Well for fun and giggles, let’s say we do. Is it true?” I asked.

“Yes,” Carter admitted.

“So, you have been taking them?” Crystal said.

“Yes”

“And you’re here protecting us?” Catherine stated.

“Yes.” Came the same answer.

“But you're not allowed to show yourselves?” Crystal said.

Nods.

“And now you'll be in a lot of trouble for speaking with us”

“Yes but-”

“And you can't take our memories again. It won't work anymore” Catherine reasoned.

Without even a second glance at us Carter lifted his hand, revealing a strange metal object that fit in his palm, connected with long, spiked cords that looked to be implanted into his fingers. Catherine was right, it did look slightly like a television remote, but it was smaller.

“No!” The others shouted. “Don't let him. It'll cause severe brain damage,” they told me.

Something clicked in my mind. Once I knew the danger, my mind took over. I lifted my hand and my eyes turned a deep golden that clouded over my vision as my fingertips turned that same color. Carter and Conner's eyes soon turned the same and Carter lowered his hand.

I didn't realize the effort that small little gesture took until I felt like I was in a dream, unable to feel my body and my vision clouded.

  Catherine’s point of view.

   I watched as Adriana fell and Crystal caught her, though Crystal struggled to hold Adriana up. Suddenly I didn't feel so safe around these people, but I pushed those thoughts away. I turned to them, faster than ever.

“Did you ever think, with those tiny little brains of yours, that stealing memories could cause brain damage!? You’re completely irresponsible!” I shouted. Suddenly something shot out of my chest, something like a shock wave that sent them flying. Crystal stared in shock as I panted. What did I just do? I looked down at myself, looking for something that could have caused the shock-wave thing, but I couldn’t see anything, which made me more confused.

We had to half carry-half drag Adriana l home. She didn't weigh much, but she was taller than us so it was a bit awkward. I was glad that Adriana’s family and Alex had gone out for Lily and Alex's choir practice. We walked through the door and had to throw Adriana on the couch. The breeze that was coming through the windows was not warm and I realized that Adriana was shivering.

I ran to the closet with spare blankets and grabbed a fleece one and threw it on Adriana.

“How did you do that Alphs?” Crystal asked me with a look of wonder on her face.

“I don't know. I just acted on instinct. I think that Dell did too.”

“What can I do?” Crystal wondered.

“I don't know try,” I urged.

Crystal screwed up her face slightly, something she did often and I burst out laughing. I didn't understand what I was laughing at, or what was so funny, I was just laughing. Crystal looked at me, slightly offended.

“What's so funny?” She asked.

“I really don't know” I said once I had calmed down. Crystal pouted slightly and that alone sent me into another rib breaking fit of laughter.

“What!” Crystal asked offended.

“I- Don't- Know!” My fingers faltered to get the words out properly.

“Meanie,” Crystal said.

Once I had calmed down I looked curiously at Crystal.

“OK what now,” Crystal asked, irritated.

“I don't understand why I was laughing. Nothing funny happened. But I was laughing like Dell had just taken a pie to the face,” I told her.

“I don't get it either!” Crystal pouted.

I heard Adriana groan and I looked to see her trying to sit up. Crystal ran and grabbed her a glass of water while I sat down in front of her, helping her sit up.

“Well that sure was f-,” Adriana started,

“Delly!” Crystal warned.

“Fun! I was going to say fun!”

“You alright?” I asked.

“Yeah. What the hell happened?” she asked.

“We don't know” I said.

“Well. When in doubt, jump about! Pizza party!” Adriana exclaimed and the fun was back.

[lovelyexistentialcrisis-blog]

seven deadly sins

summary: virgil and roman accidentally kill each other and are sent to hell where they have to get past the seven deadly sins before their body is found or they're disintegrated

paring: prinxiety

word count: 1879

roman groaned as he sat up. he looked around the room to take in the scenery. the floor was a dirt texture but black, the sky was blood red. there was shuffling beside him and he looked over and saw someone he would have never expected to see.

"dr. gloom? i thought you were dead." roman scoffed. virgil pursed his lips.

"y-you're kidding.. right?" virgil asked. "also don't call me that prince not so charming."

roman's eyes widened as he clutched his chest. "how dare you insult me! i am the hero, i will not accept this disrespect!" virgil laughed and shook his head. "i see that ugly stutter has came back, too. what happened? are you scared of me?" roman taunted.

"fuck off." virgil spat. "and why would i be scared of you out of anyone. you were scared of a puppy for goodness sakes!"

"i was not! and you would be scared of me because i killed you once i will not hesitate to do it again!" roman went to get out his sword when it wasn't there. he gasped and narrowes his eyes at virgil. "you wouldn't!"

"i didn't." virgil said. "but are you actually serious? you don't understand what's going on at all..?"

"no!" roman groaned and ran his hands down his face. "is this your layer or something?"

the amount of stupidity you would have to have to not understand what was going on here was high, and virgil clearly saw roman had that amount and more.

"let me give you a hint. we share something in common right now."

"uhhh... we both have enemies?" roman asked, virgil said nothing, only sighed. "oh! we're both trying to get out of here."

"are you honestly that stupid. do you  not see the blood red sky?! or how about the literal ashes on the ground!"

roman furred his eyebrows and looked at the ground. "i'm really bad at hints okay.." roman frowned and waited for virgil to explain.

"well i guess common sense skipped over you but we are in hell!" virgil shouted. "and unless we want to get out of here, we're going to end up like everyone here. burned to ashes."

roman yelped as he brushed what he thought was dirt off his clothes. "why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

"you were too busy fighting with me." virgil defended himself. "but you know what, fine. i'll just find out how to get out myself."

"but how?! there is no possible way tp get out of here!"

"yeah there is, unless someone finds us dead. then we literally disintegrate." virgil's voice got darker as he spoke. "thanks for killing me and leaving me in your field."

"no problem." roman noticed virgil glare at him. "ah, i'm sorry..."

the younger man completely ignored the older one and walked to the big building that looked deserted. "wait up for me!"

inside the building was an abandoned library. virgil looked around in amazement. many different colors of books were on old wooden shelves. it was cold looking on the outside but on the inside it looked so warm and accepting.

virgil walked up and saw his favorite book on the shelf. he gasped and picked up the book. looking over his shoulder at roman he saw roman go over to a huge king sized bed. it looked incredibly comfortable.

he looked over at the rest of the building. he saw a table filled with food. suddenly he caught on. "princy! don't lay down!"

"why not?" roman asked. "you have your book, i have my bed."

"it's the seven deadly sins, i'm guessing we have to resist them. it makes sense just look around."

roman nodded, but said nothing. it was like he completely ignored virgil. "roman!" roman flinched at the sound of his name. he looked over. "do you want to get out of here or not?"

"yes. i apologize. what should we do?" and with that, the two started planning out what to do.

as the two were planning a girl sauntered over to them. "hey, boys." she was wearing a mini skirt and a blouse that showed way too much cleavage. "can i help you with anything?" she asked, sticking her chest out.

that was clearly lust. virgil looked at her in disgust. "sorry, sweetie. i'm gay." virgil snapped, trying to get her away. roman's jaw dropped open, causing virgil to groan. virgil shoved the girl aside and grabbed roman's face, kissing him.

roman was immediately snapped out of his trance and kissed virgil back. virgil pulled away when he saw lust leave them. "sorry. i needed to snap you out of it somehow but don't get any ideas." virgil turned around and saw thomas, his ex. "huh..?"

thomas put his finger up to virgil's lips. "shh. i know what you're thinking, how the hell, right?" virgil nodded, stepping back. "i was killed a day before you and i've been trying to get out. i'm so glad to see you."

virgil stammered over his words. he tried to make sense of what was going on. "no. i am sorry, i can't trust you. i didn't see you before outside of here so i can't trust you." virgil grabbed roman's wrist and began to walk away.

"what are you just going to ignore me and be a whore with that guy?!" virgil understood exactly what was going on, roman not so much.

thomas was clearly envy that turned into anger. as much as virgil wanted to turn around and get thomas back or curse him away he managed to stay calm.

the two walked into a new room filled with mirrors and virgil knew it was the last sin, pride.

"keep you- jesus christ you're unbelievable." virgil looked over to roman staring at himself. "roman i will leave you here."

"sorry! i just look so good, i've never seen myself like this before."

"no duh, cause this is what you wish you'd look like, just stop looking at yourself." virgil grabbed roman's wrist dragging him through the maze of mirrors.

it didn't take long for virgil to get out of the maze. in front of the two was a throne. it was a deep maroon with three spikes.

there sat the devil in the throne. striking eyes and pitch black hair. his suit had flames and his skin was tan. "great job, boys! you've successfully gotten past my challenges. and for that, you have a choice either stay in hell where you can do anything you want for passing or rise from the dead."

"bring me back to life please, and soon! i need to feed my cat." virgil rushed out, already knowing what he would choose. the devil nodded and snapped then virgil disappeared.

"i would like to be alive, too. see you soon." roman said out of habit as he was brought back to life.

roman groaned, sitting up. he still knew what happened so he got up and raced to the kitchen to see if it worked for virgil. it did.

out there in the field stood virgil. roman smiled and ran outside to where a bloody virgil stood.

"want to call it a truce?" roman put his hand out for virgil to shake. virgil smirked and nodded, shaking roman's hand. "so about the kiss-"

"shut the hell up!"

-------

virgil sat on his couch thinking back to a few days prior. specifically the kiss that happened. it was definitely only him but he started to like roman and it doesn't help roman keeps randomly visiting him.

his cat jumped on his lap and started rubbing herself against virgil. "am i stupid for falling for that stupid prince?" he asked, stroking the cats white fur. "i am aren't i? god i'm going crazy."

the doorbell rang abruptly snapping virgil out of his self loathing trance. virgil placed his cat onto the couch and went to answer the door. "hello!"

virgil's heart fluttered when he heard roman's voice. "hey, what's up?"

roman cleared his throat and straightened his shirt. "would you like to go out sometime?"

virgil could have fainted there. "d-do you mean on a date?"

"i-uh um i mean o-only if you want it to be." roman stuttered, blushing bright red.

"of course i would want it to be!" virgil smiled. "i uh mean, yeah sure whatever." roman smiled widly at virgil. "wanna come in?"

"um, sure!"

------

it was date night and virgil was freaking out. "i don't look good enough.. do i?" virgil was on the phone with his father, patton. "i know we're going to a restaurant then watching some movie but i don't know if i look good enough though!"

"calm down, either way roman will love what you're wearing. stop worrying bud, i see the way you two look at each other. no outfit will make him not like you anymore."

virgil sighed and rubbed his face.. "thanks, dad. i just- i want him to like me."

"he will love you, okay? now go get 'em tiger!" and with that virgil heard his dad hang up on him.

"you think i look nice, veronica?" virgil pet his cat until he heard a knock on his door. "bye sweetie." he kissed his cat and then answered the door. "h-hey, roman."

"hi.." roman extended his hand for virgil. "you look stunning.." virgil blushed and thanked him as they walked to his car. "so i may have lied about what we're doing.. but i think you're going to love it.. a little hint is it involes where we first properly met."

"we met in high school at the school's musicial- wait. no way!"

"yep.. wanna guess the show..?" virgil sat there, thinking of the most significant musical to him or their relationship.

"heathers?" roman nodded and virgil squealed. "oh my gosh! no way! this is amazing!"

roman asked virgil to hook his phone to the aux and play his heathers playlist. they sang every song that came on perfectly and had so much fun before getting to the theatre where heathers was being held.

the whole way there, virgil couldn't contain his happiness. back before virgil and roman were story-like crime fighters, they used to be best friends in high school.

it was theatre that brought them together. virgil was geeking out about the school's production of guys and dolls when roman overheard. the two hit it off fast and other than guys and dolls, the first ever musical they both equally loved was heathers. virgil ended up developing a crush on roman, and when he got a cat he wanted her name to be relevant to roman.

he decided on veronica, it wasn't obvious at all and the only one who knew the true meaning was his father. and maybe now roman.

the show was amazing, after the show, roman took virgil to a fun restaurant. after they finished at the restaurant, roman took virgil home. the two didn't talk much on the drive home.

roman walked virgil up to his door. "i had a great time tonight, thank you roman."

roman smiled and held virgil's hands in his own. "no problem.." roman leaned down and kissed virgil. "i'll see you later, bye."

"bye.." virgil blushed.

oof that sucked