#only i would go on a week's vacation and wail about the video games i left at home. but god my silly d4 guy.

[lord-shitbox]

i miss d4

[bunky-writes]

World Past Six

Chapter 1:

”The Incident ”

The first thing I recall before ‘The Incident’ is waking up, it was a sweaty and awful awakening. It'd been the most alarming heatwave yet and no matter how many fans we used, it was like satan's foul breath had been blown all over Sweden.

Most nights were spent in bed or in front of the TV with fans desperately attempting to blast the heat away. And when you're young and poor, that's pretty much all there was.

I'd spent my entire life so far assuming I'd be taking over the world by the time I was 25. Little did I know the whole world would be destroyed by bombs.

Although I still have 6 years left so who knows? Maybe I will be the man who decides the fate of the human race. Or maybe I'll become the diplomat between humans and a reformed reptilian race after I spend a few years living with a whole bunch of aliens.

No matter what, I'd still better be having fun because I've managed to live longer than a lot could.

Since the day I was born, I didn't like school, most likely because I was an art kid, too busy writing stories in my head, envisioning paintings, and so forth.

By age 10 I'd already seen many conflicts on the news so I knew the effects of war and was terrified of another World War. I worked hard to get good grades, attended the right kind of classes, and pretty much did everything I could to prepare myself for the future and yet still stay happy. This was even though by age 17, the world was on the brink of a third World War. I always figured that if I didn't become a professor then I would become a writer. And if I didn't become a writer then I would find some other profession where I’d write, maybe a journalist. So I spent my last 2 years at school studying, but before I knew it my mom fell ill, deathly ill.

I had to quit school to look after her. I had no idea what was wrong. I didn’t dare ask mom or dad about the illness. I just knew that I was supposed to take care of her while my dad worked. It was a lonesome reality and I still remember being so frightened because I knew what was coming. The knock on the door eventually came and my father broke the news to us. I remember nothing but wails and a strong embrace. I felt like I was in the way of doing what I needed to do, I was in the way of the peace that was supposed to be coming.

The worst part is, I was angry, so angry, that my dad’s new wife had ’replaced’ my mom. I was angry that my mom just left me, all of us, alone to deal with this tragedy. How could she? I was always so convinced that my mom and I were in this together and now I was alone.

After a couple of weeks, I stopped crying, though. I don't know if it was because my dad never cried or that I was in the process of dealing with so much. I don't know. My stepmom was nice, too nice, I felt nauseous from the guilt for wishing she'd been the one to die instead of my mom.

I didn't blame my dad for what happened to my mom, but I did blame his lack of reaction. He was just numb, and I feared that his apathetic demeanor would shatter if I spoke up about mom. I felt enraged and abandoned.

I moved in with my dad and his new wife. He was working long hours and so he didn't spend a lot of time with me. The only time he did was when he took me out to eat or watch a movie. If I was at home alone he would tell me to go to school or work but he never seemed to care that much in reality. He was a indifferent man and I was intimidated by him.

I think he wanted me to become a better person than he was. He probably wanted me to have a higher career and become a doctor, or something, and to avoid being a secretary or a clerk or even a fast food employee. But then one day he and his wife left to visit Colorado for vacation, and I went with them. But while they went to explore the state, I stayed in the BnB they had rented and played video games all day. And that was when the shit hit the fan.

It happened quickly. All of a sudden my phone was going off, bombarded by notifications from local news sources. Bombs had been launched, from both USA and Russia. A war had begun. The one that everyone thought would never happen. The one that everyone had been hoping to avoid.

Suddenly I was in an Uber, heading toward the nearest bunker.

I had a choice to make. Would I save my family? My friends? Would I sit this one out and accept the consequences? Or would I fight for the future of my country? And I knew that only one of those options was going to save my life.

There was nothing left for me to do but flee. I wasn't a trained soldier, sure my dad had shown me survival tips and a few self-defense moves, but that wouldn't help anyone. I knew my dad and friends alike would've wanted me to live, there was no reason for me to go on a suicide mission.

I don't know why but there's a hole in my memory between me getting into an Uber and a scene from my nightmares unfolding. The car stopped, and the driver slumped over, bloody. I stumbled out of the car, the streets were dripping red. Mangled bodies, unidentifiable.

My face was probably pale as if I'd aged ten years overnight. There was fire everywhere, and people screaming. My skin was bloody, but I wasn’t the one hurt. My hands were covered in red. Every ten minutes or so I would flinch, startled by a sound. Seconds would go by before I would be able to calm myself to remember to breathe. My mind went blank. I didn't know how long I'd been stumbling around, but I knew I'd had to hide. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up from a bad dream. But the worst part was the burned doll, abandoned, in a broken stroller.

I was no longer the person I had been. Instead, I was a weak, vulnerable adolescent.

I was running down the street, my hands were trembling. A man in a military uniform screamed for people to get inside the bunker, he grasped my arm and threw me in. Suddenly the door closed with a bang, and then silence. But not for long, the ground shook with the power of an explosion. The door felt hot to the touch, practically burning.

I sat down on the floor, or more like toppled, and attempted to calm my nerves. I took deep breaths, over and over again. Eventually, I looked around at the people who were at the bunker’s entrance with me. I flinched when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw the face of a middle-aged man, his face bloody and scratched, his clothes torn. I jumped to my feet, my hands shaking.

"Stay calm, we're all going to get out of this," he said, patient and somewhat monotone.

He had a thick southern accent, it would not surprise me if he was a farmer, he certainly had the build for it. He was like a bear, broody and towering over me and he seemed grim and stoic. Although not dangerous, his hazel eyes seemed kind. His blonde hair slightly hid his graying strands, he was probably in his mid-40s.

Although he seemed kind enough, I couldn’t let my guard down yet, but I had to play along. I looked down at the ground and gave him a weak nod.

"I'm…-he coughed, clearly uncomfortable- sorry for what has happened to you."

I nodded again, then felt an ice-cold shiver down my spine.

"My dad... he, he didn't make it, did he?" I asked, putting my hand on my chest, already starting to feel the hidden wounds that would never fully heal.

He shook his head.

"I’m the only man old enough to be your dad here. Sorry, kid"

My sight darkened, disoriented, and lost. I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't see anything. Just a black mist filled my vision. I could taste bile in my mouth, ready to escape. I was drowning, everything was distant and blurry. My lungs crying out for air yet refused to take a breath if I moved the whole world would shatter, and I’d plunge into a black hole, to be forgotten. To no longer feel or think.

"Are you okay?"

I heard a feminine voice say behind me. But I didn’t dare to turn and see the pitiful look in their eyes.

I wanted to say something, scream that I was not fucking okay, anything to reveal that I wasn't fine. My last family member was no longer alive and there was likely not even a fucking body to recover. And the last thing I said was something as indifferent as a hummed ”goodbye”. My heart was screaming and wailing, but I couldn't find any strength. I couldn’t utter those words.

"Yeah," I whispered.

[master-sass-blast]

Winter Stay-cation.

*insert pithy quip here*

Summary: A massive squall hits New York City. The snow, combined with a deep freeze, brings the city that never sleeps to a standstill once the police issue travel bans. Fortunately, you and Piotr know how to keep yourselves entertained during your impromptu stay-cation.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Ellie Phimister x Yukio.

Rating: G for fluff.

Word Count: 3.4k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

A/N: The movie quote from Day Five is from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

“—continuing into the middle of next week, if not longer. Expect heavy snowfall and temperatures below freezing, with windchill taking things below zero over the weekend.”

“Good grief.” You shake your head as you watch the weather report on the morning news. “It doesn’t get that cold when I fly full speed.”

Piotr, your husband, hands you a cup of coffee and shrugs. “January is ugly month.”

You smirk into your mug. “Bet this doesn’t compare to Siberian winters.”

“Not really,” he admits with a chuckle.

“The Chief of New York City’s Fire Department has issued a statement reminding residents to be careful when using their fireplaces and to monitor children and pets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you quip, “Don’t use fireworks as kindling, we got it.”

Piotr snorts.

“In addition, the Police Department has issued a travel advisory in light of the predicted precipitation and sub-zero temperatures. All none-essential travel is restricted until the cold snap passes.”

“Groovy. Tell that to half the city.”

Piotr grins, shakes his head again, then turns the TV off. “Looks like we will have to keep ourselves occupied here this week.”

You cast a disparaging glance outside –where the snow is already up to Piotr’s knees—then say, “Like we were going anywhere else.”

 ***

 Day One

 There’s an upside to when the “deep freeze” hits. It’s already winter break, meaning there’s no coordinating classes, figuring out how to pick up students that don’t live at the mansion, or having to get up at the balls-ugly hours of the early morning in the stupid, frigid cold.

The two of you wake up at your leisure, around nine o’clock. You laze around in bed for a bit, snuggling and chatting and smooching, then head downstairs for breakfast. You wind up setting up shop at the dining room table, catching up on grading and filling out end of the semester report cards.

“Can you check these for me?” Piotr asks, handing you a stack of essays from his art classes. “I already made content-based marks; I am just not sure about English grammar.”

“Fun fact: most native English speakers aren’t sure about their grammar, either,” you joke with a smirk.

Piotr snorts, then checks his computer clock before standing. “Is about lunchtime. I was thinking soup and sandwiches?”

You nod. “Sounds tasty.”

“Would you like anything in particular?”

“Surprise me.” You make a contented hum when Piotr leans over the table to kiss you, then smile as you watch him head to the kitchen.

You really are the world’s luckiest woman (a sentiment you feel even more keenly when he comes back with a fresh cup of hot cider for you).

 ***

 Day Two

 “We should clean.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch. Your laptops sit on the coffee table, displaying the completed efforts of uploading grades to the online gradebook that the school uses. Two mugs that once contained coffee sit next to either laptop.

You look up at Piotr. You’re tucked against his side, head leaning on his shoulder while his fingers trace designs on the sleeve of your sweater (which is technically his sweater, but that’s neither here nor there). “Huh?”

“We should clean,” he repeats as he scrubs at his face with his free hand. “House could use it.”

You crane your neck to look over his shoulder. “We don’t really have that many dirty dishes.”

Piotr snorts, then raises an eyebrow at you. “When was last time we vacuumed? Or deep cleaned bathrooms? Or washed windows?”

“We can see out the windows just fine!”

Piotr grins and shakes his head. He stands, holding his hand out to you. “Come on, myshka. Clean home, clean mind.”

“I’ll have you know that my mind is nothing but dirty, and I’m offended that you would dare insinuate otherwise.”

Piotr laughs and helps you up. “We can start upstairs and work our way down.”

 ***

 Cleaning with Piotr isn’t so bad. He carries his fair share of the workload, does things to their proper doneness, and is a firm supporter of blasting tunes while cleaning.

“Take! Me! On!” You bounce up and down in time with the beat while you clean the sliding glass doors in your bedroom that lead out to the balcony. “I’ll… be… gone! In a day or two!”

Behind you, Piotr laughs. He’s hauling out a trashbag from the bathroom –no doubt filled with the sheer amount of crumpled paper towels it takes to get the place sanitary again. “I see you are enjoying yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I’m suffering endlessly. I’m going to die any minute now.” And then, to prove you point, you flop to the floor dramatically (taking care to use your powers to cushion your landing).

Piotr lets out a choked gasp, then clutches at his chest. “You keep scared me!”

You look up at him and laugh. “You know I can catch myself! You’ve seen me do that before!”

“Changes nothing!” He lets out a ragged breath, hand still pressed over his heart. “I could have heart attack.”

You giggle, then lift yourself off the floor with a swirl of wind. You land nimbly on your toes before him and wrap your arms around his waist. “Aw, now who’s being dramatic?”

“I fail to see how concern for your well-being is dramatic!”

You suppress a grin, opting to pop up on the balls of your feet and kiss him instead. “I’m very sorry I scared you, baby.”

“Is okay.” He kisses you gently, then gazes down at you with a rueful smile on his lips. “What am I going to do with you, myshka?”

“Dance with me?” You flash him an impish smile, then start bouncing in time to the music again.

Piotr chuckles, then takes your hands in his and bops along with you.

The two of you dance around the room –well, as much as what you’re doing can be called dancing. You sing the lyrics of the song to each other, not sticking to any particular key or tempo.

You laugh when Piotr lifts you into his arms, bridal style, then squeal in delight when he spins the two of you around.

It’s perfect.

 ***

 Day Three

 You wake up to the sound of Piotr’s phone chirping –because, even on vacation, he still keeps a daily morning alarm.

He groans as he comes to, then laughs when you roll over him and shut off his alarm for him. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

You set his phone back on his nightstand, then straddle his hips and plant your hands against his brawny chest. “You’re not making me clean today.”

Piotr smirks up at you, bushy eyebrow raising in challenge. “Oh?”

“We’re spending today in this bed,” you continue. “Just you” –you tap his chest—“and me, and as few clothes as possible. Sound good?”

He pretends to mull it over, even has he takes off the shirt he’d been sleeping in. “Are we allowed bathroom and meal breaks?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Ah, very generous. Thank you, benevolent myshka.”

“You’re very welcome.” You giggle when he grins –then let out a delighted yelp when he rolls suddenly, pinning you between him and the bed. You sigh as he kisses you, eyes fluttering shut. You arms wind around his neck, holding him against you while his hands smooth down your body.

 ***

 Day Four

 Cabin fever starts setting in between the third and fourth day. There’s only so many chores you can do, only so many papers you can grade (and you’re out of papers to grade, which doesn’t help your case), only so much sex you can have before you’re gonna start losing your mind.

Fortunately, Piotr is well-attuned to you and your mental states –meaning he notices that you’re getting twitchy before you dip into pyromania to keep yourself entertained.

“We should do something fun today,” he says during breakfast. He spreads some sour cream over his plate of blinis, then adds cottage cheese and sausage meat. “Perhaps play some video games. Ellie has been pestering me to play some multi-people games with her and Yukio.”

“Could be fun,” you say before stuffing your mouth full with Nutella-covered blini. You swallow, then ask, “What did she want to play?”

“Ah… she had two. I think… Falling Guys and Among Us?”

A slow, wicked grin stretches across your place. Fuck yeah. “Let her know we’re in.”

 ***

 Piotr, unfortunately, turns out to be none too good at Fall Guys.

“No!” He wails, then flops back against the couch when he gets thrown off a platform and into the slime. “I could not run away!”

“You have to anticipate the enemy’s movements,” Ellie says over Discord. She’s already qualified and is spectating you and Yukio. “Predict their strategy, then counter.”

“I think it is less strategy and more ‘giant hands do not play nice with tiny controller,’” Piotr grumbles good-naturedly.

“Or maybe you got your butt kicked like a scrub,” Ellie fires back.

“I never contested that,” Piotr chuckles.

“Alright,” you say, eyes glued on your pink and yellow striped player. “I’m almost there, there’s plenty of slots left –no, you fucking pigeon! Let me go!”

“Language,” Piotr murmurs between bouts of laughter.

“It’s always a pigeon!” Ellie groans. “Fucking skyrats.”

“Language, NTW.”

You qualify for the next round (no thanks to the damn pigeon, who qualifies, too). Egg Scramble is next, and you wind up facing off against Ellie and Yukio for the win.

“Damn it!” There’s the sound of something hitting the floor –most likely Ellie throwing her controller—when she and Yukio get booted out. “Yellow always loses!”

“Is that it?” you ask while the loading screen plays. “Are we at the final round yet?”

“There’ll be one more,” Yukio says. “To finish whittling down the competitors.”

Sure enough, there’s a round of Tip-Toe –which you get through by the skin of your teeth—and then you and eight other players are sent to the finale.

“Okay, Hex-A-Gone. You’ll want to just hop from tile to tile,” Ellie advises you while the level loads. “It makes the tiles last longer.”

“Don’t be afraid to drop a couple levels at first,” Yukio adds. “You can carve out one of the lower levels, meaning anyone that falls above you will have further to go and will be more likely to get out.”

“I appreciate it, but don’t expect any miracles,” you say, laughing self-deprecatingly.

Piotr kisses the top of your head. “You can do this, myshka.”

You follow the girls’ advice; you let yourself drop down two levels, then start hopping from tile to tile to start carving out the platform.

“One guy’s already out!” Ellie announces. “You’ve got this!”

“Shit! I fell!”

“That’s okay,” Yukio reassures you. “Find a decent mass of tiles and hop, don’t run. Make them last.”

“The pigeon grabbed another player,” Piotr marvels, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, they both died, so fat lot of good it did them,” Ellie mutters.

You keep going, bounce from brightly colored hexagon to brightly colored hexagon.

“Only four left!” Ellie lets out a whoop. “Holy shit, you’re gonna make it!”

“Don’t jinx me!” you laugh as you dodge another player’s attempt to grab you. “Don’t jinx me!”

“Three left –two! It’s just you and one other guy!”

“You’ve got this, Y/N!” Yukio cheers.

You dive for a clump of tiles –and miss. “No!” You groan, then laugh as your character plummets into the pink slime. “Damn. I’m never going to do that good ever again.”

Piotr wraps an arm around your shoulders in a conciliatory hug. “You did wonderful job, myshka.”

“He’s right. That was really good. The winner fell a few seconds after you, so it was basically a coin toss as to who was gonna get the crown,” Ellie says while the winner’s animation plays on screen.

“Yeah! Great job!” Yukio congratulates you.

“Wanna do another round?” Ellie asks as she flicks between skins and accessories for her avatar.

Yukio laughs lightly. “Baby, we were going to get lunch.”

“Oh, right.”

“Perhaps we can try other game after lunch,” Piotr suggests. “‘Fall Guys’ is okay, but makes me too dizzy.”

“Yeah, sure. Text me when you guys are done eating.”

***

 Among Us doesn’t go much better for Piotr, if only because he doesn’t adhere to the strategy of the game. He does his tasks without fail –which usually leaves him alone, and thus a prime target for killing or pinning a murder on. He’s also a terrible liar, which makes it easy to tell when he is the impostor.

You laugh as Piotr’s little red spaceman goes floating into space. “I honestly feel bad.”

“I don’t,” Wade says (he and Nate hopped on the Discord call when Yukio sent them an invite). “Pay for some acting classes, Chrome Dome! Give us a challenge, at least.”

Piotr starts grumbling in Russian, but it gets cut off when the round starts up again.

(You all still wind up losing because Nate’s the other impostor and racks up bodies like nobody’s business.)

“I’m still waiting for when Ellie and Dad get the impostor role together,” you comment as the defeat screen flashes on your laptop screen.

“What, so we all die in five minutes?” Wade grumbles. “So we can suffer the agony of betrayal and not honoring trust again?”

“It’s just a game, Wade,” Nate sighs. “And I apologized already.”

“Is our relationship ‘just a game’ to you, Natey? I gave you an alibi –and then you shanked me in the shower like rejected prison bitch!”

“Language, Wade,” your husband pipes up, voice world-weary. “Please.”

You all start another round once Wade calms down –which, admittedly, takes a while and a great deal of coaxing from Nathan. You grin when you see that you’re an impostor alongside Yukio –then giggle to yourself when a plan pops into your mind.

You start stalking Piotr around the map. You fake doing tasks alongside him, acting as his shadow as he treks around the map. On the corner of your screen, you watch your kill timer wind down, then wait for the right moment once it runs out, and—

Downstairs, in his art studio, your husband lets out an indignant scream when your character murders his.

You fall back onto the bed and cackle.

 ***

 Day Five

 The squall rages on outside. The world is practically buried in snow. It’s a sea of white outside your bedroom windows, blinding and sterile.

You peer at the swaths of snow blanketing every inch of ground, every tree branch, and every shrub, then nestle further under the blankets. “Ugh. I don’t even want to get out of bed today.”

Piotr chuckles, then wraps an arm around your waist. “How come?”

“Have you seen what it’s like outside? It’s disgusting!”

“I thought you liked snow.”

“I do. That’s how you know it’s bad.” You sigh as you eye the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky. “I wish I could, like, go outside. Go to a store or something. Leave the house.”

“Is not safe to drive yet.”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “Is it bad that I miss the color green?”

“Nyet. Is normal.”

You smile, just a little, when Piotr kisses the back of your head. You roll over to face him. “Can we build a blanket fort today?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What… here? In bedroom?”

“Yeah. We can make it look all pretty, and snuggle in bed, and watch movies, and have sex…”

“Bozhe ty moi.” Piotr snorts, then takes a moment to study your face, your eyes. “You really want blanket fort?”

“Kind of, yeah. I just… I want something new to look at.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a soft smile. He presses his lips against your forehead. “Alright, myshka. Let’s make fort.”

***

 “When a man and a woman see each other and like each other, they ought to come together. Wham. Like a couple of taxis on Broadway.”

You let out a content, relaxed sigh, then wriggle closer to Piotr.

The fort, admittedly, is simple –but you don’t mind. While you were taking a shower, Piotr assembled the whole thing, just to give you a little surprise.

He’d brought up a couple floor lamps from the main floor, then clipped some fairy lights to them before draping the largest quilt in the house over top to make the room. He’d pinned some throw blankets to either side of the quilt to make the sides, then made the bed and assembled the pillows so the two of you could have a nice, cozy, comfy den to watch movies in.

The recurring, delighted thought of ‘he made it for me; he made it for me because he knew I wanted one’ loops around in your brain like a bumblebee drunk on fermented crab apples. You grin, then loop your arms around Piotr’s neck and kiss his cheek.

He grins, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What was that for?”

“You made me a blanket fort.”

“You asked for one.”

“Yeah, but you made it for me. You could’ve just waited until we could both work on it.”

He shrugs, lips curving into a soft, pleased smile. “I wanted to see look on face. You were very happy.”

“Correction: I am very happy.” You kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

 ***

 Day Six

 You know it’s bad when you wake up before Piotr.

You look over at your husband, who’s still slumbering away next to you –and sawing some logs, no less—then out at the winter hellscape outside, and decide there’s only one thing for it.

You’re channeling your inner Great British Bake Off contestant and demolishing the kitchen.

***

 Piotr comes downstairs around ten in the morning –which is a miraculous amount of sleep in time for him—but by then, the damage has already been done.

There’s a cake cooling on the counter (you’d found a box of cake mix in the back of the pantry and decided to use it as a warm-up. The mixer is working overtime on a double batch of sugar cookies –plus there’s already chocolate chip cookie dough chilling in the fridge.

You look up from the cookbook you’d been perusing –you were thinking pie next—and flash your husband a slightly sheepish grin as he gapes at the kitchen. “Uh… good morning?”

“Myshka…”

“I made cake.”

“I can see that.” Piotr drops his heads into his hands and makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Why?”

“Because being trapped inside is stressing me out and I want to cope by eating my weight in desserts.”

Piotr sighs, then lifts his head. He eyes the mixer, then the increasingly sheepish expression on your face. “How much is that?”

“In the bowl or in the fridge?”

“Bozhe ty moi.”

“Look, the way I see it, we can share—”

“You have that much correct. We do not need five million cookies.”

“Excuse you, I’m only making three million. Also, do you know where the lard is?”

Piotr’s face scrunches up. “Lard? Why—”

“I wanna make pie.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We already have cake. And goodness knows how many kinds of cookies.”

“But those aren’t pie.” You smile impishly at him. “Plus, like, pie has fruit, so it’s good for you. You like fruit. Think about how good it’ll be to eat something with fruit after all the cake, and the cookies…”

“Or I could just eat fruit.” He sighs, resigned and slightly frustrated, when you bat your eyelashes at him. “I will check pantry.”

***

 Day Seven

 “—as of today, authorities are lifting the ban on nonessential travel—”

“Yes!” You launch yourself into the air, twirling around and pumping your fists before landing lightly on the couch once more. “Finally!”

Piotr laughs and shakes his head. “What, is staying inside with me so terrible?”

“Absolutely not.” You crawl across the couch and into his lap, then give him a loud smooch. “I have enjoyed every single day of your company. However, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before I start repainting the walls out of sheer boredom.”

Piotr bursts into raucous guffaws. He puts a hand over his eyes, shoulders and stomach shaking with each laugh. He sighs, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes as minute giggles slip past his lips. “Well, we do need to restock on food. And flour and butter, since someone decided to open bakery yesterday.”

You pointedly ignore the pies and full cookie jar sitting on the kitchen counter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He snorts, then pats your thigh. “Get dressed, myshka. We will go shopping.”

“Fuck yeah!” You zip up the stairs.

Downstairs, you can hear Piotr start laughing again.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Lesbian!Kidge would be a blessing from above, but I understand that you're busy and since you asked for opinion I came to deliever❤❤❤

Hope you were all ready for some more Lesbian!Kidge; and this time there’s also bonus Lesbian!Allurance because I felt like it and have no self-control~! :3c

She jumped about a half a foot in the air when the dorm toher small apartment was thrown open and her friend shouted, “Katie, get in theshower! I got you a date!”

“Lexi!” She snapped, narrowly managing to catch her laptopbefore it could topple to the floor, pinning to other woman with a glare. Whenshe spotted the small silver case in her hands, however, her eyes widenedbefore shifting to look up at the cheeky grin staring down at her. “Ugh, Lex, seriously? I had plans for tonight!”

Lexi quirked one well-plucked eyebrow at her and clicked hertongue. “Sitting around and moping because the girl you had a crush on turnedout to have a boyfriend does notconstitute as plans. Besides, you promised you’d go with me to Allura’s nextshow. Now go get in the shower; I’ll raid your wardrobe and see if I can findsomething presentable for you to wear,” She mused lightly, walking over andcarefully plucking the computer from the smaller girl’s lap.

“I wasn’t moping,” She grumbled, but still moved to get up,“and I do have plans. I was going tostart a new game plus on Tales of Graces.”

“Oh, no, I’m taking some time away from your video games! The horror!” Lex harrumped dramatically.Once Katie was off the couch, she settled one hand on her shoulder as sheguided her towards the restroom. “And besides, wouldn’t it be nice to go out?You can meet a girl you think is cute, maybe bring her home, get some of thatfrustration worked out?” She mused, her tone becoming playful as they movedalong. She skid to a stop and turned, red-faced and sputtering, but Lex’expression continued to remain that of amused. “So, you know, take your time inthere. Make sure you’re all set before we get a move on~!”

And with that, she was unceremoniously shoved into herbathroom with the door shut behind her.

She let out a resigned sigh and headed over to get the waterstarted. She knew better than to argue with Lex when she was on the warpathafter the several years they’d been friends. As she stepped under the warmspray she let her head tip back and smack against the tiled wall lightly. Shemust have been off her game in the last few days if her friend was going tosuch an extreme to get her out and about. It wasn’t normal that Katie Holt felldown into slumps like she had, but when she did, she was usually able to fakeit a little better.

While letting herself into Katie’s apartment with no warningwasn’t necessarily uncommon for Lex,the bombastic way she’d done it screamed of something more.

Clearly, Katie hadn’t hidden her anguish over her long-termcrush, Nadia Rizavi, revealing she had a boyfriend. Nadia and Katie had beenassigned as lab partners in their shared chemistry class in the previoussemester of college and hit it off right away. They were both wildly passionateabout science and technology, with a keen interest in video games; both classicand modern. They moved from simply being lab partners to being friends pretty quickly.Over the weeks, Katie’s feelings had moved from friendship to something more, adesire to be with Nadia in a more intimate way.

And then, while they’d been having lunch between classes,that Nadia had pulled up some pictures from a trip she’d taken over theprevious vacation week. “Oh, who’s that?” Pidge had asked, pointing to the tallmale with an arm tossed over Nadia’s shoulder, expression completelyunreadable.

“Oh, that’s Ryan, my boyfriend. He looks like a total grumpin every picture I took, but I promise he’s actually a big sweetheart once youget to know him,” She laughed.

And, though she’d played it off well, Katie was pretty sureshe’d felt her heart crack.

It was her own fault, though, she had to admit. She’dassumed that Nadia’s casual comments about actresses or singers that she foundattractive had been enough to imply that there was a sexual attraction to thesame sex there. And, certainly, there was still the chance that the other womanwas still attracted to the same sex, but she’d never thought to ask Nadiaoutright. She knew how uncomfortable it could be when someone pestered youabout your sexuality and hadn’t wanted to put the other in that position.

She could, however, have asked her about her relationshipstatus once her crush started to develop. Nipped it in the bud before it couldupset her as badly as it did. But she hadn’t and, knowing she had no one elseto blame but herself, opted into keeping closed up about how she felt, and mopingabout it when she was alone.

And, for the most part, she was pretty much over it. She wasmostly just tired at this point from long hours at work and even longer hoursfocusing on school projects.

Then again, she couldn’t blame Lex for thinking that she wasstill feeling heartbroken from the pseudo-rejection. Plus, the fact that shewas here and dragging her out to a performance without any forewarning, was asign that she really did care about Katie. She sighed as she stepped out of thebathroom, carefully tucking one corner of her towel into the fabric coveringher torso. Even if it was last minute, perhaps she would have a good time thatnight.

And then she stepped out and saw goldenrod, tattered scrapsof fabric littering her floor.

"Did you take a pair of scissors to one of myshirts?" She asked, carefully stepping around the edge of her bed. Shefelt her stomach plummet at the extremely familiar logo on the now snipped upshirt laid across her bed. The shirt had been cut down either side along theirseams and then, using some of the remaining slivers of fabric snipped away,tied back together so there were little knotted up bows all along both sides.

Lex was rummaging through her dresser, tossing a dark greenbra and matching lacy panties over her shoulder on to the bed. "Don'tworry; I picked one you don't wear very often, so that way you wouldn't bebothered," She said happily before shutting the top drawer. She thenpulled open the lower drawer. “Do you still have that really tight skirt I gotyou for your birthday last year? That’ll look amazing if I pair it with sometights.”

"This is the Garrison shirt Matt got me once he gotaccepted into their engineering program! It was a limited print they only sold on campus for his first semester!" She wailed as she picked the shirt up off thebed.

"Well, not it's even more unique!" She answered happily, standing back up as shepulled out the skirt she’d been looking for. She watched as Pidge held theshirt up to herself, a small frown in place, fiddling with the little edges ofthe bows along the side. "Oh, lighten up Pidge! It'll be fine!"

"I liked this shirt for lounging around. And now you'veruined it," She said, her tone more like a petulant child than the pureheartache she’d wanted to infuse it with.

Lex snorted as she set the skirt down then returned to thedresser drawer she’d been in before and pulled out a pair of leggings. "Ididn't ruin anything. Now get dressed then sit down. We're gonna get you alldolled up," She sang, tossing the leggings down before tossing the pantiesat Katie. Katie’s eloquent response was to let out a small groan as Lex steppedaway, picking her make-up case back up and heading towards the bathroom."And before you whine about it; yes, I knowyou don't like make-up. All I’m going to do is a little bit of highlighting tomake your eyes pop and such. I promise it’ll be painfully modest.”

And with that last little note, Katie accepted her fate andgot ready. Ultimately, the outfit was fine but it screamed of a punk rockaesthetic that she never would have pegged herself with. The leggings were finebut typically more suited towards when she decided to go make use of the littlegym in her apartment complex to work out frustrations. The skirt was one thatshe’d only worn once simply because it was of a tight, leather-esque materialthat seemed a bit too enticing for her. Lex had gone so far as to curl her hairjust a bit and, true to her word, only used nude hues of eye shadow and used apale pink lipstick on her.

Upon taking a second glance at Lex, noting the tight bluedress and knee-high boots, that the other was also looking for a more punk-rockfeel to her attire.

While she was still uncertain about how she was feelingabout hooking up with anyone that night – mostly because she herself wasn’tkeen on casual hook-ups in the first place – the whole change in appearance hadher curious about meeting Lex’ latest girlfriend. Allura came off as some kingof ethereal being beyond the realm of existence, based upon how she wasdescribed to Katie by Lex. Up until this point, though, there simply hadn’tbeen a point in time for her to meet Allura proper in the last four months.Partly because, until a week ago, most of her free time had been spent hangingout with Nadia, and partly because Lex had been having a bit of difficulty withone of her classes. As Lex drove them down to Seventh Street, she wondered whatwould go down that night.

They parked in one of the local structures and then madetheir way down, falling in line with the rest of the crowds swarming towardsthe strip of clubs and bars. Seventh Street had developed a bit of a reputationas being called the “Gay Strip” because so many of the clubs and bars wereowned and operated by members of the LGBTA community. It was a bit comfortingto see that the establishments were popular with not only members of thespecific community, as well as by members outside of the community, and turnedthemselves a decent profit. She’d only been down there a few times, as she’donly turned 21 a little bit ago, but she’d always liked how the place was solively and thriving.

As they walked into the doors of Kral Zera, shedouble-checked to make sure she still had the small purse Lex had shoved herthings into for her.

“Oh, man, wait until you hear Allura! Her skills areunparalleled! She basically has to carry the band, though, since one member oftheir group has been really so-so lately,” She mused, pushing the door open andleading her in. Once they were both inside, Lex offered a coquettish wave tothe tall, stocky male bouncer at the door. “Hey, Antok! How’s Regris doing?”

“Oh, hey, Lex. And Reg’s doing well; ankle’s healing upnicely,” He said, offering her a small smile and salute.

“Awesome! Let him know I’ll buy him a drink once he’s up andabout again,” She said before leading Katie along over to the bar.

“You come here often enough to be on first name basis withthe staff around here?” She asked in slightly surprise.

“Oh, totally. Allura’s band plays here all the time and I cometo the audio tests and shows. I may not know a lot but I like to help out.Allura’s suggested I apply as a server here for some extra scratch but whoknows,” She laughed as they headed over and settled in at the bar. “Antok’s oneof the cooler bouncers around here, one you get to know him. Regris is hisfiancé; twisted his ankle playing basketball a couple days ago.”

“Huh,” She mused as the bar tender approached them. Sheturned in her seat to watch the stage, where four figures were setting up theirequipment.

The women on stage were all wildly different yet somehowcohesive. The one setting up what Katie was pretty certain was a bass guitarhad a tall, platinum blonde dyed ponytail, wearing a hot pink tube-style dressand so many bright bracelets along her arms, she was surprised the microphonewasn’t picking up on the clicking of her jangles against one another. The onesetting up the drums was harder to see, as she was adjusting her stool, but shewas of a sturdy build wearing a tank top for some band that showed off hertoned upper arms. Her hair was cut to just above her jawline and had also beendied two-tones; pink on the bottom half and navy blue on the top, the colorspopping in contrast to the light brown hue of her skin. The bass player saidsomething to her, twirling briefly and fluttering luminous blue eyes at her.The drummer’s near-golden eyes widened a bit before she threw her head back andlaughed, motioning the other woman over with one of her drumsticks. The bassplayer waltzed over for a moment, the two exchanging a quick peck, beforehappily bouncing back over to her post.

Neither of them could be Allura, she surmised, since Lexhadn’t said they were in a polyamorous relationship. She let her eyes swivelover to the other two on stage instead.

Her eyes turned to the guitar player next, a tall woman thatscreamed to Katie of living proof of an elf. Her hair was a bright silver, butshe couldn’t see any sign of it being a dye job, but albino also didn’t makesense given her darker skin and bright blue eyes. Katie perked up when shenoticed the other woman using an incredibly familiar powder blue and whitecheckered headband to keep her hair pressed back on her head. It lookedsurprisingly good with the pastel pink tank top and ruffled black skirt with aspiked belt. She stole a small glance over at Lex and watched how she leanedone elbow on the bar, taking a sip of her drink with a contented, dreamy littlesigh. Katie could almost see her pupils turning into little hearts as shewatched the guitarist move to her own post.

And then her eyes fell on the lead singer, carefullyreadjusting her mic stand, and she felt her stomach flip a bit.

Lex wasn’t necessarily wrong in asserting that hergirlfriend had an ethereal creature, but to Katie that seemed like a betterexplanation of the front runner on stage. The girl wasn’t the tallest figure onstage, but she was certainly taller than herself. She was wearing a blackt-shirt with the silhouette of a lioness in a bright red color which, sherealized, was also painted onto the front of the bass drum. With that she waswearing a pair of black and grey camo pants and military-style boots. Her hairwas pitch black but there was a bright red streak dyed down the center, and itwas tucked back with a few clips.

But what really caught Katie were the bright indigo eyesscanning the crowd and scowling lips coated in a blood red color.

Back when she’d realized she was interested in girls, thefirst person she told was her older brother, Matt. She hadn’t been worried herparents would react poorly, but more just wanted to talk with someone closer toher age. Her brother had leaned back in his desk chair and, with a look thatwas unusually sagely, told her, “Allows be careful around women who can wearred lipstick and own it. Those are the kinds of women that will either blowyour mind, break your heart, or some awful combination of both.”

As she sat there watching the other take a breath in slowly,she could only think on how the other was making the red lipstick her bitch.She resigned herself to being completely doomed.

“Hello, everyone,” She said, pausing briefly as the crowderupted into thunderous, excited cheers. Katie took the chance to swipe thedrink that Lex had ordered for her. It was way too fruity with not near enoughliquor in it for her in that moment. “We’re Roar,Lioness, as most of you know. Tonight’s set is filled with requests fromout twitter page, so hopefully you all enjoy.” She said before stepping backfor a second as the drummer started counting them in.

The set started out with a mix of different songs, jumpingfrom Three Days Grace to Nirvana and then, surprisingly, actuallywent and did a few songs by Journey. Theband sounded amazing, as far as she could tell, and she couldn’t help but admittheir front runner had been gifted with a killer set of pipes. Her movements asshe sang shifted depending on the song and type of energy the song carried;shifting between upbeat, sultry and morose from track to track. It was a bitenthralling, really, given how flat and bland her tone was as she introducedeach song they performed. It was clear, however, that she clearly loved whatshe did, by how her eyes shined with a fire being reignited with each word. Katienursed her drink throughout the performance, watching how the lead singer movedlike a hawk, vaguely aware of how Lex was eagerly shouting her undying loveafter every song and cheering enthusiastically after every guitar solo.

The second the set ended, Lex was tugging on her arm whileslapping a few bills down on the bar top. “Come on! I’ll introduce you toeveryone!”

Katie carefully hopped down from her seat, nearly stumblingin her ankle boots with how much she was getting yanked on. She carefullyjogged so that she was level with Lex’ steps, not wanting to get dragged alongthe whole way, and slunk closer to her friend as she waved at the bouncerwatching the curtain leading behind the stage. They could hear quiet chatter asthey headed back, watching as the lead singer and guitarist spoke quietly.

“I told you I wasn’t interested in this, Allura,” The singersaid, scowling something fierce.

Allura rolled her eyes a bit. “Look, it’s been two months.It’s about time you start looking around and figuring out what it is you’relooking for going forward. What’s one date going to hurt?” She insisted, Katiecatching the slightest hint of a British accent.

“I told you; I’m doing fineby myself right now. I need to stay focused on things with the band. You know,writing and composing original songs and stuff?”

“One night isn’t going to sabotage anything. Besides, Lexpromised me that the girl she’s bringing it super sweet and cute. You couldcertainly use a girl like that after what happened between you and Acxa,”

“Um, excuse me, but what?”Lex sputtered indignantly as she and Katie reached them.

“Lex, darling! How did you like the show?” Allura askedhappily as she turned around, approaching and pressing a quick peck on theother girl’s lips.

Lex leaned in and kissed her happily, looping her armsaround the other’s neck and leaning into her. Allura snaked one arm around herwaist and pulled her in as close as she could, a sly grin on her lips when theypulled apart. “Oh, the show was amazing. But you already knew that,” Shegiggled, her previous irritation forgotten. She glanced over at the darkerhaired woman, however, when she let out an annoyed groan, and then sheremembered what was going on. “Now, what was that all about? You didn’t seriously invite Keira to be Katie’sdate tonight, did you?”

“Lex,” Allura said with a small sigh, tipping her head backas she spoke.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Lex’ me! Keira is the last person I’d want one of my friends to date!”

“You aren’t in much room to talk. I mean,” Keira drawled,glaring at Lex, “you’re part of the reason I’m even on the market.”

“What? How is your sorrytail getting dumped my fault?” Lex snappedback.

“Lex, Keira, please,” Allura sighed, holding her free handup in between the two women.

“No, Allura, I think I have every right to be upset! It’snot my fault she was a shitty girlfriend and got dumped!” She sneered at the other.

Keira shifted slightly, her shoulders squaring and handsclenching into fists. For a minute, Katie thought she was going to deck Lex forher words, but instead she abruptly turned and shoved past her. “I’m getting adrink,” She ground out through clenched teeth.

“Lex, that was uncalled for,” Allura said, pinning hergirlfriend with a firm look.

“What? I’ve told you before that I don’t like Keira! She’ssuch a snob!”

“You don’t know her that well, love, and what little you doknow comes for a skewed place,”

Katie watched them for only a second before turning andheading after Keira. She thought back to the situation with Nadia, how she had hesitatedand bided her time too long and not asked the significant questions early on.She was interested in at least getting to know this Keira girl better. She knewKeira was single. She knew that Keira was interested in girls. She wasn’t goingto miss out on a potential chance again.

She approached the bar just as Keira flagged the tenderdown. “Rax, hook me up with a Whiskey Sour,” She said.

“I’ll take one of those, too,” Katie said, causing both toturn and look to her. She didn’t shy away as she slipped into the empty seatnext to the other woman. “I’ve never had one of those before. It any good?”

Keira stared hard at her for a moment before snorting. “Dependson your tastes,” She huffed.

“I’m still kind of new to the whole thing and haven’t triedanything with whiskey before,” She elaborated.

“Good for you,” She grumbled, rapping her fingers along thebar top impatiently. It didn’t take very long before Rax returned with bothdrinks, setting one in front of them each.

“Sorry about Lex, by the way,” She offered, picking up thedrink and turning the stool to watch as the next band began to set up. This oneseemed to be all male. “She can be a bitch and hold grudges, but she’s actuallya pretty cool chick once you get past all the bravado and whatnot.”

Keira made a small choked noise. “Isn’t talking shit abouteach other in public the opposite ofwhat girls like you do?”

Katie took a small sip of her drink and wrinkled her nose abit. Not entirely unpleasant, but certainly not her first choice. “What type ofgirl do you think I am?”

“Uh, the same type as her. Caddy, superficial, obnoxious…They type of girls that have a clique of other vapid girls that are all usingeach other for the status and then talk shit behind closed doors? Spreadingrumors and stealing boyfriends or girlfriends and what not?”

“Well, if I was, I wouldn’t be doing a very good job at it. Imean, I doubt girls like that would talk shit about their Queen Bee as close byas Lex is. And, additionally, this just highlights that you don’t know Lex thatwell. She comes off like that because she knows that it keeps the actualbitches from picking a fight with her or hers. She looks after everyone in ourgroup pretty tightly, though,” She hummed with a small shrug. She thenindicated the Garrison logo on the front of her shirt. “Oh, and, sinceapparently I need to outright say it… I’m more of the astronomy androbot-building type of girl.”

“Seriously?” Keira asked, sounding a bit dubious.

“Mmhmm,” Katie mused lightly, taking another sip of herdrink.

Keira stared at her for a moment in silence, seeming to bethinking, before chugging down her drink and ordering another one. “What’s yourname?” She asked.

“Katie, but most people just call me Pidge. Whichever youprefer to choose, really,” She hummed, stirring her drink a bit. She thenturned and leaned on the bar, smiling a bit at the other girl. “So what got youinto music?”

“Oh, uh, a whole bunch of stuff, really,” She said with asmall laugh, pausing as Rax sent another drink in front of her before beginningon a long, involved story about how she got stuck doing community service forbreaking into her high school after hours.

And Katie smiled and listened, genuinely intrigued as towhat was on the other’s mind.

[summonhouse]

your...ttime loop?? can you explain this sounds so interesting!

/pos /nm /gen curious :O !!!

OK I promise it is NOT a good thing that happened to me and theres gonna be a lot of details here thatll make ppl think less of me but its not like i. care so. DRUG USE, unreality, and intense trauma below. please dont judge me for this because i promise im doing this enough already for the both of us and then some

SO on a recent vacation i went on (if you noticed that i was offline for a good week) it was a Bad Situation where i kept. being fed drugs (dont ask) and i got. super super cross faded took a Big Fat Nasty Rip off a vape for the first time ever and reality broke down into a million pieces before me. my first realization was that nothing was real and i began to interpret the world as a video game- my family was there and they kept repeating the same words, actions, and phrases over and over again, despite my attempts to break out of the cycle. they kept making exactly the same movements, i couldnt feel my body, my chest (lungs and heart) hurt more than i could ever ever describe, i was utterly detached from the physical realm except for the burning hotter than ive ever experienced (and ive dumped boiling water on my hand before) hotter than i ever thought a person COULD experience. i was on a lake at the time (BAD TIME) and the waves were all clone shaped repeated stamps, wind moving broke me apart i was just essence in a spot, and when i realized it was all a game i saw the LED make up of the world, a close up on the little lights making up every image.

i had to climb up stairs to get back into the cabin i was staying at which, predictably given i was trembling horribly and unable to stand upright was, uh. bad. i kept seeing myeslf going up the stairs, seeing myself fall, and then returning to consciousness a few steps below- and it kept repeating, and repeating, and repeating. i kept saying over and over again, im not well, im scared, it hurts, over and over again. when i finally got into bed it really wasnt any better... my family was there, but they kept ignoring me. my body hurt so so so much, i couldnt tell when i was talking and when i wasnt, i kept thinking things and my family kept responding. i tried to touch my face but either i couldnt move my hands or i couldnt feel touch. at times i remember screaming desperately for anyone to pay attention to me- my sister just told me to stop mumbling. i was certain i was dying, i couldnt feel my heart beat, i couldnt breath, and my family kept ignoring me even as i begged them to stay with me, because things kept repeating- id see things happening, then something weird would happen that tipped me off to it being fake, and then id sober up to a few minutes in the past, and then id make a few more minutes progress before it happened again, and again, and again. i kept checking my phone (the first time i did it i was afraid of texting anything weird but i had to see if people were online, so i kept saying i think outloud "im good, i can be good") and seeing only like 3 minutes had passed when in my mind id gone through loops which lasted hours to me and wailing in anguish when i realized.

eventually i went to sleep, and i woke up entirely fine. when i asked my family what had happened, because i wasnt sure what was in my head and what had physically occurred, they told me nothing had happened and continue to gaslight me to this day about anything having occurred.

it was a really important lesson to me, i realized no one will ever help me, so i have to help myself. and of course drug use is bad and if i ever use drugs itll be around people i trust. please, please, please do not ever do drugs. if you have no reason so you think youre immune to abuse, youre a bastard and i fucking hate you for treating something so serious so flippantly. and if you have a reason to escape reality, please, im begging you, seek help, i know its trite but this cannot be the way to deal with it. it is not fun, it is not cool, and the worst case scenario can be so so so much worse than you could ever imagine

and im sorry, by the way, if any of my friends have noticed me being especially absent or manic or strange lately. the experience still haunts me, i havent been all together since then. i dont have time for anyone who will fuck with me, my threshold for strain is impossibly low right now

[cherubvalkyrie]

“I don’t think they even see us as human,” says Jenny. She almost seems to be pausing, before saying something else, but then releases a puff of air and looks away. “I have to get going, anyhow, there’s still so much left to do today…”

As she leaves, Bea stabs out her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. A sidelong look at me. “What a fucking bummer. Don’t invite her back.” She's already lighting another cigarette. 

Malorie sits, in a cloud of smoke, wondering if this will be the cigarette that gives her cancer. 

----

“I just don’t know what to do with them!” she half-sobs into the phone, clutching it close, the ringlet cord pooling around her feet and snaking up her torso. “All they do is fight and scream… this place is a mess… I haven’t showered in a week and he’s supposed to be home tonight!” 

A soothing murmur from Lindsay, but it is lost over the sounds of dogs and children howling in the background. She hears the sound of the flint catching in the lighter. She watches the dog shit on the floor. 

----

Sitting down at the grocery store, bored and impatient. Small bones aching as they grow and stretch. “She’s so smart for her age, already….” “Oh yes, mine is growing up and he’s already a little ladies’ man…” A tantrum begins. The men nearby look over, exasperated, and stomp away from the noise.

---

There was no technology available to tell what sex the baby would be. The baby was a joyous surprise, a girl, a Girl, A girl. Holding her, she thought, ‘thank god I’m not alone anymore’ then stomped on it, hard. She’d never been alone. She had her boy, her man, hadn’t she? But the smothered feeling of relief, remained. 

----

In 1993, the UN declared marital rape a human rights violation. Previously, rape was only defined as something that could happen outside of marriage. My older brother does not know his father. 

----

I sit, small and frozen in the backseat, hating the long car journeys. I Always had to sit in the middle, my brothers got the window seats because they had balls and those needed space, or something. I was too short to really see out the window anyway. Instead, I watch my mother get tense, cringe into her seat, grip the handle above the window for support, and plead my father’s nickname as he lurches through traffic. He cusses out yet another female driver and belittles women in a tirade for minutes. Traffic slows to a halt. My mother lights a cigarette, stares outside. My parents don’t look at each other. The car is tense, and silent. 

----

She carries me, a screaming, wailing newborn, onto the airplane. The other passengers send black looks in her direction through the entirety of the flight. She finds her way to her mother’s house, staggers through her doorstep, and clutches her. They look upon me, wondering, full of hope. She’s here to change the world… This is my only time meeting my maternal grandmother. Her name has already been erased by patriarchal lineage, her mother’s names unknown to me.

---- 

She begs and wheedles me, not even seven, to make her a cup of tea. I climb all around the counter and find all the ingredients except milk, which we don’t seem to have. I do find a cup of it, covered by cling film, in a cup in the fridge. I dutifully assemble the tea, teetering on tiptoes and pulled out drawers to reach all the implements. I carry the hot cup carefully downstairs and present it, mention where I found the milk. I scurry just outside the room and listen outside the door. I hear, “I’m not drinking this” in the brash tones of a joke for her listeners. I retreat to my bed, rejected. What was the point? 

----

I experience blood for the first time. I steel myself to go into the living room, where she always sits. On the corner of the large couch, closest to the window, a haze fills the room. Sunlight, warm and cloying, shines in through the windows. Cigarette smoke just hangs in the air, a lazy fog that makes it hard to see clearly. I awkwardly blurt out that my period has started. She begins to cry, which disgusts me, I have already been taught to be disgusted by all things feminine and womanly, and I am obedient to this training as I feel repelled by her. She rubs my back awkwardly and tells me about periods. She hasn’t touched me in years. She has to beg for hugs, for love. I smell the cigarette smoke and my brain clouds. I can’t wait to get away from her. I only told her so I would have pads, all she used was tampons. She calls them ‘plugs’ and I inwardly recoil with disgust. The guys online were right about women. I was a quick reader, and the internet was full of message boards. 

----

I am a small child, too young for school where my older brother goes, and I play in a house with my younger brother. When She gets angry, I teach him the best places to hide. You put your feet into the shoes, and stand inside the clothes, very still. You wiggle under the bed into that gap there, and hide right in the middle. He does as I say, and we don’t get caught. We come out when it’s calm, and we don’t tell where we were hiding. 

----

I am a small child, and I am told to tidy my room or else. I start, get distracted, and wander out of my room into my parents room. I climb onto the bed, which smells like home, and lay down in a patch of morning sunlight. The pool of light is heat and warmth and I feel safe for reasons I can’t explain, falling into a sound sleep. She finds me there, is furious I haven’t cleaned- I am spanked awake. I flee, forever terrified, the association made. There is no safety in comfort that smells like her. Like them. Their bed unsafe, themselves unsafe. Conditioned behaviour. A wall, immovable and thick, sits between us, always. Physical contact becomes tense, underscored by fear. This is family. Do not get the idea that you belong here. Comfort is an illusion. 

----

Years later, I always win at hide-and-seek at parties. I also hide at friend’s houses on a regular basis. On a family vacation, I walk away from my family and cousins to hide in an amusement park. I am always walking away from the barbs, the little attacks on me, the total freedom for my brothers. I hide until. Until. I come back. Many times, nobody really notices that I left. I have no answers for where I’ve been. I don’t even remember where I was. But I have restored my blank composure. Or my sullen silence. My mother is exasperated. She lights another cigarette. 

---

As a small child, I make a ‘magic love potion’ from all the jars under the sink. I want her to drink it. I have a tantrum when she only pretends to, and doesn’t really take a sip of my poison.

---

My brother is playing the super nintendo, while I watch, because video games aren’t for girls. He is too scared of the second level of a game, so I watch him play the first level until he has 100 lives, then encourage him as he tries the second level. Eventually, there is a game for two players, and we become a good team to win the minigames. My mother calls me to help her clean, but lets him continue to sit there. He’s already learned to ignore her somehow, and refuses to comply or help her with anything. She praises how nice I am, how good. Her voice drips with desperation and condescension and syrupy pleading, and I loathe it. I clean. 

---

I am in middle school, and it is the first time I am playing the flute in public, a christmas recital filled with religious songs. I had only started learning how to play it four months ago. It is only my best friend and me, struggling through a piece together. I am incapable of even making the instrument sound, all that comes out is sad, breathy bottlish noises. Humiliated and dejected after such a low performance in front of peers and their families, I fall back to family. My mother is peering around, looking at everyone in all their finery. “Which one is your boyfriend?” she asks me, completely missing what just happened and how I’m feeling. I despise her for it. I don’t like any boys, and I wish she had paid any notice to me. She’s wondering if she fits in, feels out of place amongst all these rich, established families, feeling judged, feeling poor. 

---

In the early teenage years, I watch my brother mess his chores up on purpose. A dishwasher filled with dish soap. Wrong clothing mixed in the washer. If they refuse, I refuse. The sullen, aggressive silence of having dishes washed at me, clothes sorted at me, things cleaned at me. A constant fog of cigarette smoke. If my brothers get to play video games uninterrupted, why can’t I? I withdraw deeper into silence of my own. I hear her talking about me, in words I can’t quite make out. I stop listening, retreat inside, a book or a message board, anywhere but the present. 

----

We have moved to a suburban neighborhood to be closer to school. I befriend a neighborhood teen, Amanda, and we all go to the beach together. I wander off, to get away from the cigarettes, and loop back around just in time to overhear my mother telling my friend, a twelve-year-old, that her daughter has ‘always been a bitch’. She turns around and sees me. There is no apology. She flicks her cigarette, and the ash joins the sand on the beach. 

----

She was supposed to be my best friend! She was supposed to help! She was supposed to see!

We point our fingers at each other, echoing accusations, missing what the other person says. 

----

[cinnaminsvga]

She’s Oblivious, He’s Ridiculous | Hoseok

prompt: “I’m flirting with you.” from this drabble game [x]. Requested by anon (hi there friend!) For more, request here!

→ summary: Hoseok had a problem: there were only two days until prom, and he’s asked you nine times already but you really couldn’t take a hint. Luckily, Hoseok doesn’t know the meaning of giving up. → genre: Fluff, High School/Prom!AU → words: 4.1K (This got too long. Sorry anon lol.) → a/n: Honestly, I hate public promposals because they’re really embarrassing. But here’s Hobi doing it anyway because he looooves you. Enjoy!

In the words of the wise Min Yoongi, Hoseok could say that he was very much catastrophically fucked.

He was fucked because their prom was coming up in two days and Hoseok still did not have a date—but it wasn’t from his lack of trying.

In fact, he had promised himself that he would secure himself a date the moment prom season started in order to avoid the situation he was in from happening in the first place.

Unlike most of his awkward peers, he had been excited for prom. Rejection was a word he did not have in his dictionary; he was so sure you would say yes. He wasn’t going to fumble his words when he would utter the three most important syllables of his life (well, his life as of now. It was too early in the game to say the three other most important words to you. He had to be patient for that.) He wasn’t going to mess up because he had been planning his promposal ever since freshman year.

He had known ever since he had laid his eyes on your pretty face that you would be the one. No one else could ever begin to compare—it had to be you.

From the moment he decided this, everything easily fell into place for him. He started off by trying to be your friend; occasional greetings in the hallways slowly evolved into casual hang outs at the local burger joint. Within the span of three years, the pair of you had become almost inseparable. Everyone had expected the two of you to get together eventually, so Hoseok wasn’t worried that someone else would try and nab you first. He had almost complete control of his situation; it should have been perfect.

Many would say that his promposal was almost too perfect: he was going to invite you to a lovely dinner at your favorite restaurant, order your usuals, etc. However, when dessert time came around, he would casually order a chocolate cake that had been specially prepared beforehand. Within the cake would lay a small plastic capsule, which you would pop open to find a small paper with the words “go outside.” You would be confused at first, but after seeing the knowing look that Hoseok would send you, he was sure your heart would start palpitating from nerves. You would dash outside, your head swinging around in excitement, wondering what on earth Hoseok could have planned!

Lo and behold, four foil balloons spelling out “PROM” would stand proudly in the parking lot, with flower petals and confetti scattered across the gravel floor. You would stand there, mouth agape, as Hoseok would go on one knee and say the three fated words: “Prom with me?”

It should have gone like that. That night, everything had been set in motion so smoothly that by the time Hoseok got on his knees, he was sure that he would become the happiest teenager in Seoul.

It should have fucking gone like that. But you were a goddamn, motherfucking, oblivious, idiotic—

“Eh? Hoseok? Are you practicing your promposal or something? Is this a prank?” You looked around in confusion, trying to figure out if someone was filming you. Coincidentally, Hoseok had indeed asked someone to take a video of your reaction; Jimin was sitting behind a truck with his phone in hand, and you had automatically assumed the worst.

You slapped Hoseok across the cheek.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hoseok yelled, but you merely crossed your arms in annoyance.

“I don’t know what’s up with you, but I don’t appreciate the joke!” You snapped, promptly stalking away from his bewildered figure. After that whole escapade, you had ignored him for a week until Jimin explained to you that no, he had not been pranking you. It was a genuine promposal, you idiot.

Although you still didn’t believe either of them, you eventually forgave him for his “prank.”

Hoseok realized that he had forgotten a teensy variable to his almost perfect equation: you were so fucking oblivious.

A damned boulder could fall out of the sky with the handwriting of god saying “Hoseok is in love you!” and you still wouldn’t understand. It was honestly kind of ridiculous, but Hoseok supposed he still loved you regardless.

In short, Hoseok has been trying to ask you out for prom for two months already, and he was really starting to get pissed off.

Today, however, was going to be different.

“Are you planning your tenth promposal already?”

Hoseok hears his senior class president and best friend Kim Namjoon asking him exasperatedly, while tutting his tongue in pity.

All his friends have known about Hoseok’s embarrassing crush on you for years now, and all of them are aware of his special predicament. Many of them have even tried offering their assistance in his elaborate promposals, all of which have failed miserably due to your thick-headedness. Your obliviousness has started pissing them off—most especially Min Yoongi, their older friend who had already left for college the year before. It is Yoongi who tells Hoseok to give up, but Hoseok declines for the umpteenth time.

Hoseok is going to prom with you, and that’s that.

“I gotta hand it to you, you get full points for creativity and tenacity,” Namjoon muses, opting to take the empty seat beside Hoseok. Normally, that seat is reserved for you, but for whatever reason, you are running late this afternoon.

Hoseok sighs, mussing his hair into an even more disheveled mess than it already is. “I don’t get it! I’ve done everything I can think of, but she still just doesn’t get it!” He groans, slamming his head dramatically onto his table. A few heads turn in his direction, but most of them just shrug indifferently. Almost everyone is aware of his problem, and they are excited to see what he comes up with next.

“Namjoonie, I’ve done everything! Serenades outside her house, romantic lakeside walks, beachside picnics. Hell, I even rode that roller coaster with her that one time! I think I might just die.” Hoseok continues to wail in anguish, as if he had just been castrated with Namjoon’s $70 mechanical pencil. (‘Hey! Don’t make fun of my special pencil!’ ‘What the fuck dude, this is MY internal monologue.')

“Well, it is kind of understandable.” Namjoon starts, but the tired glare from Hoseok makes him rethink his statement. “What I meant to say was that it’s understandable that she doesn’t take you seriously. You haven’t exactly shown much romantic interest in her before this whole prom thing started.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes until he can practically see the insides of his skull. “Namjoon, I am the epitome of extra. I have literally been coddling her since freshman year. How much more could I possibly have done?”

Namjoon snorts, but he supposes that Hoseok’s right. “To be honest though, you kind of act clingy with everyone, Hobi.”

Before Hoseok could retort, the bell rings and his eyes look up to see your rumpled figure making a dramatic entrance by the door, your books almost spilling onto the linoleum floor. “I made it!” You screech triumphantly, to which your teacher merely nods in mild acknowledgement.

“Go to your seat, Ms. L/N. We’re about to begin,” your teacher drawls, and Hoseok watches as your bright eyes make contact with his. Immediately, your mouth stretches into a brilliant grin and Hoseok cannot help the way his heart skips a beat for just a moment.

“In my defense, Namjoon? Everything I do for her is extra special.” Hoseok finally replies to Namjoon’s earlier statement, but the younger has already vacated the seat by then. You immediately take his place, dumping your books onto the small table exuberantly.

“Heya Hobi! Haven’t seen you today,” you greet him as you promptly take out your notebook for the class. Hoseok does the same, but the notebook he takes out is not the one for his Physics class. Instead, it is a messy leather-bound notebook, filled from start to finish with his (failed) plans to ask you out to prom. He has written another promposal, which is scheduled for this lunch break, and he intends to make use of this period to make sure nothing would go wrong this time.

“Eh, sorry. I was late this morning ‘cuz I woke up late. Did you miss me?” Hoseok flirts, but as usual, the comment passes over your head like a breeze. You snort at what you assume is a joke, and shake your head at his ridiculousness.

“Me? Miss you? Hardly. We see each other everyday, including the weekends.” You reply, already beginning to copy the work problems your teacher had begun to write on the board.

What Hoseok had said was only half true: he was late, but not because his alarm clock didn’t wake him up. He had been busy gathering the materials he needed for today’s promposal attempt. He called it “Operation Promposal: Plan J.” It was titled Plan J because this was officially his tenth attempt.

Yeah, it was that bad.

“Sooo, are you eating lunch with me and the boys today?” Hoseok asks casually, and you barely look up from your notes to answer. “Yup,” is your simple reply, and Hoseok ticks a small box on his notebook.

Ask Y/N to lunch? Check.

“Oh, but my friends from band club might pull me out midway for some rehearsals.” Your words make Hoseok pause in his writing, and you can see from the corner of your eye the way his head jerks up.

“No!” He yelps almost immediately, and you stop your note-taking long enough to send him a look of confusion. He clears his throat, stuttering a bit. “W-what I meant was that I, uh, really wanted to eat with you today. Yeah.”

You furrow your brows in bewilderment. “Uh, Hobi? We eat together almost everyday. What’s the problem? And besides,” you shrug casually, not noticing the way Hoseok’s forehead is beginning to sweat from nerves. “I’m gonna eat with you at least for half the time. So no need to worry.”

Oh shit. Now Hoseok had to deal with another variable: time. Albeit his plan for this promposal was a bit more… extravagant than his other attempts, he supposed that 30 minutes was just enough time to finish the entire spectacle. All he needed to do was warn his accomplices of the time restraint, and he was sure that he could make it work.

Hopefully.

Hoseok pulls out his phone, texting his three other friends about the change in plans:

From: hobi

To: taehyungie, jungkookie, jiminie

WILDCATS! We have a slight change in plans. Plan J starts at exactly 12:10 PM instead of 12:30PM. We only have less than 30 minutes to finish the promposal.

From: jungkookie

To: hobi, taehyungie, jiminie

Hyung, that’s really pushing the limit. Are you sure we can do this?

From: taehyungie

To: hobi, jungkookie, jiminie

YES SIR! I BELIEVE IN TEAM WILDCATS

From: jiminie

To: hobi, jungkookie, taehyungie

Tell me again why our name is Wildcats? @hobi, noted. I’ll prepare the materials once class ends.

“Mr. Jung. Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Just as Hoseok is about to pocket his phone, he looks up to find that the eyes of his teacher and classmates are trained directly at him. He attempts to flash them the most innocuous smile he could muster, but he knows that his teacher isn’t going to buy it.

His teacher stands up, walking towards him and puts out his hand in a silent question. Hoseok sighs, placing the phone in his hands. While Hoseok expects his teacher to simply confiscate the phone, he watches in horror as his teacher unlocks it, where his previous text messages were still open.

“What’s this? Plan J? Are you planning more trouble again, Mr. Jung?” His teacher reads suspiciously, and Hoseok tries to suppress the embarrassed flush from rising in his cheeks. You stare curiously at his flustered form, confused as to what their teacher was talking about.

Unlike you, however, the remaining students have a pretty good idea as to what Plan J is, and many of them have started whispering in excitement. Namjoon spares a rueful smile at him, but Hoseok is too busy trying to keep you out of the loop (not that he needed to try in the first place because you were still very much confused.)

“N-no sir! I’m not causing trouble, I swear!” He defends himself immediately, to which his teacher just scoffs indifferently. Deciding it is probably just another one of Hoseok's weird ideas, his Physics teacher goes back to the board to continue the lesson.

On the other hand, you are still curious as to what the text messages mean. “Plan J? What’s that?” You whisper to Hoseok, who tries to casually brush it off. He could feel his Adam’s apple bobbing from the close call.

“Uh… No need to worry, Y/N. Let’s just listen to the teacher, alright?”

You give Hoseok a scowl, obviously not believing a word he says. Seeing that Hoseok is not going to budge, you eventually just roll your eyes in exasperation and the class finally moves on in peace.

…

After what feels like hours, the bell dismisses them and you yelp in surprise when Hoseok jumps out of his seat in a flash.

“Woah, woah. What’s the rush, hotshot?” You giggle, watching your usually neat friend stuff his things into his backpack like a maniac.

“Uhhh, I gotta pee real bad,” he explains offhandedly, his desk already clear of his clutter in record time. He shines you a heart-shaped grin, and you force the beating of your heart to settle.

Yeah, you liked your best friend. But it wasn’t like he was ever going to reciprocate, right? I mean, all those dates he asked you out to? Totally platonic, or so you liked to tell yourself.

Before you can ask if you can tag along, he has already made his way to the door. “Meet you at the table! Save me a seat, will ya?” He shouts at you, and you barely get an “ok” out before he rushes out the door.

“Hey, Y/N. Wanna go to the cafeteria together?” You turn to find your other friend, Namjoon, standing beside you with a dimply grin on his face.

“Yeah, sure. By the way, what’s up with Hoseok? He’s acting weirder and weirder these days,” you say conversationally, shrugging your bag on your shoulders. You both exit the classroom, and you have to struggle a bit in order to match your strides to Namjoon’s much longer ones.

He just gives you a sly grin. “Hmm. That’s a good question,” he muses, and you want to slap the smirk off his mouth.

“Hey! No riddles.” You pout, but Namjoon just chuckles at you. He pats your head almost endearingly, offering you no further comments on the subject.

It takes you only five minutes to arrive at the cafeteria, and the two of you are instantly dragged away by your dongsaeng, Jimin.

“Hey hyung! Hey noona!” Jimin greets, and although you are currently being manhandled by your underclassmen, you cannot help the friendly grin from appearing on your face.

“Hi Jiminie. Why are you dragging me? I can walk on my own, thank you very much.” You chide at him, but he only laughs at your reprimand. You are used to his antics, but you had to admit that his actions right now are more Taehyung’s style.

“I'm just excited to see my favorite noona, that’s all.” Jimin replies, and your eyes narrow suspiciously at his words. Why did it seem like everyone is set on having you eat lunch with them today?

“You’re so weird today. Speaking of weird, Hobi’s pretty weird today too.” You ponder to yourself, but the he doesn't reply because he promptly settles your small body onto your usual spot. You see that Jungkook is already seated on your other side, munching happily on a pizza.

“Hi noona. All of those hyungs are always weird, no matter what day it is.” Jungkook says in greeting. He sends you a big grin, his bunny teeth on full attention.

It doesn’t take long for all of you to sit down in comfortable conversation, talking about classes and upcoming exams that are worrying the younger ones. You are just about to offer to help tutor them during the weekends when the overhead speakers suddenly plays its famous opening tune, signaling the start of an announcement.

The din of the cafeteria settles significantly, with many of the students hoping for some good news (A suspension of classes? It was unlikely, but a student could only hope.)

“Good afternoon,” a low voice greets, and you crinkle your forehead in puzzlement. Normally, your female vice principal makes the official announcements on the campus radio, but the voice sounds awfully male.

A person quickly shushes the entire cafeteria, but hushed whispers continue to fill the room as the other students also wonder the same thing you did.

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch break, but we have a special announcement for you today. Uh, so like, can you direct your gazes to the door please?” The noticeable stammer makes alarm bells ring in your head, because you know someone who often blundered their words just like that. You do a quick headcount of your tablemates, and notice that Taehyung has yet to make an appearance. You have a bad feeling about this.

Just like the voice had said, your eyes snap to the entryway as cheesy romantic music plays on the overhead speakers. You hear many girls squeal in excitement, one of them whispering, “Oh my god, someone’s definitely promposing right now!”

Your heart deflates at that comment because to this day, you had yet to be asked out by anyone. (For some reason, Hoseok has the sudden urge to sneeze.)

A spotlight from who knows where is suddenly directed at the door, and your mouth hangs agape at the sudden influx of rose petals being blown in. People ooh-ed and ahh-ed as students who you know are from the school’s dance club enter in complete ballet costumes. Afterwards, students from the gymnastics club cartwheel into the cafeteria while wearing their leotards, and you even notice some of the glee club members singing behind the cafeteria queue.

It is all very dramatic and extravagant, and you feel a stab in your heart from jealously. Whoever this promposal is for, she must be luckiest girl in the world. This guy must really like her.

Just as you are about to take out your phone to snapchat the spectacle, you feel strong arms hoist you into the air. Your view is suddenly bombarded by the muscular back of Jeon Jungkook, almost making you drop your phone in surprise.

“Jeon Jungkook! What are you doing?!” You screech, beating his steely back with your tiny fists. It is as if your punches barely make an effect on him, as he continues to carry you to wherever it is that he is going.

From your vantage point, you cannot see anything at all. Even when he drops you unceremoniously onto the ground, you are much too disoriented to focus your eyes on your surroundings.

After gaining your senses back, you shake your head to find that the dozens of performers who had entered the cafeteria now surrounded you in a circle. You stand up wearily, trying to exit the ring of people in embarrassment when they suddenly part in scary synchronization.

You pause in your fumbling, and you can only stare in wide-eyed stupefaction at the sight that greets you.

Because in front of you stands you best friend, Jung Hoseok, wearing a complete suit and tie, with a bouquet of the most gorgeous flowers in his hands.

You did not know for how long the music from the speakers has stopped playing, but you are suddenly aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on you in the silence.

Seemingly unfazed by the spotlight, Hoseok steps forward, a small smile on his lips. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but you are more confused than you are nervous.

“Hobi? What’s going on?” You ask, and you gasp in surprise when he suddenly goes to grab your hand in his.

From up close, you can smell the musky cologne that he always wears, a scent that you have always associated as home. Despite the suit and tie, he is still your Hobi, just as you have always known.

“Y/N L/N. For two months, I have been trying to ask you a very important question. In those two months, you have rejected me constantly.” Hoseok pauses in his speech, a blush rising in his cheeks. His confident façade is slowly crumbling, but he feels your hand squeeze his in comfort. It gives him the strength to go on.

“Although you have rejected me nine times now, I like to believe it’s not because you don’t like me. In some ways, I guess it’s my fault for not making my intentions clear enough from the start.” With one last heavy breath, Hoseok settles on one knee, just like he had during his first attempt. You recognize the gesture, and you scarcely notice Jimin’s squeal of delight from the crowd.

“Y/N L/N. I am going to ask you plain and simple. I, Jung Hoseok, would like to take you to prom. No one else. Just you. This isn’t a prank.” He hastily adds at the end, and he waits for reaction with bated breath (along with the rest of the cafeteria, all of who are holding their phones to capture the special moment.)

“So, what do you say?” Hoseok asks quietly, hope sparkling in his deep brown eyes.

Meanwhile, you are still trying to wrap your head around his sudden declaration. This is all too sudden—how could this be happening? Where were the signs? Why was this happening? Could Hoseok actually be serious?

“Wait, you’re serious? I don’t understand…” You mutter confusedly. Cue the groans from the crowd.

It is at that moment in history when the normally calm and dignified senior class president Kim Namjoon finally snaps.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? HOSEOK IS ASKING YOU TO PROM! HE’S BEEN FLIRTING WITH YOU SINCE FRESHMAN YEAR! JUST SAY YES YOU IDIOT!” He bellows, and the both of you are stunned by his sudden exclamation. Hundreds of eyes turn to face the red-faced senior, who swiftly sits down once he notices the effect of his little episode.

You turn back to Hoseok. “Wait, you were flirting with me?”

Hoseok almost sobs. Why are you like this? “YES! I HAVE! FOR THREE YEARS NOW!”

You pause. “Wait, so… Does that mean… Are you flirting with me… now?”

The entire cafeteria groans again. Multiple voices express their complaints: “Are you kidding me? Y/N!” “God, when is this gonna end?” “Just say yes, you hoe!”

“Yes, Y/N. I am flirting with you. Always have, always will.”

Unbeknownst to you, tears start to prickle in the corners of your eyes. Hoseok panics, thinking that he must have gotten the signs wrong. Oh my god, what if you actually reject him for good?

“Hoseok, I…” You sniffle, squatting down to Hoseok’s level. You wrap your arms around his frozen torso, and just as he’s about to offer you his sleeve to wipe your eyes, he hears you speak.

“Of course you big idiot. Of course I’ll go to prom with you!” You say through your tears, and the cafeteria erupts into cheers.

You are torn away from Hoseok’s embrace by Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung, who had appeared sometime in the middle of the promposal. They throw you up into the air, cheering a hearty “YAS!” in celebration. You also see that Namjoon approaches Hoseok, who shake hands in congratulations.

After a while, you hear Hoseok telling the three idiots to put you down. “Hey, put down my girlfriend!” He jokes, but he freezes when he realizes the implications of his words.

You both stare at each other in stunned silence, but you awkwardly offer him a shy smile to ease the tension.

“Well, I guess we’re official now. Sorry for being so dumb.” You say shyly, making Hoseok relax. You reach out to him for a hug, to which he gladly gives you.

In the midst of celebration, Hoseok sighs. “Fucking finally.”

Suck it, Min Yoongi. He told you he could do it.

…

“Wait, so you had a crush on me since freshman year? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Y/N. Are you serious.”

“So, you really flirted with me since then? How did I not notice? I thought I was smart.”

“It’s ok, babe. I can be smart for the both of us.”

“Meanie! I hate you. Or, are you flirting with me again?”

“I’m always flirting with you. Get used to it.”

“Already am."

[gamerszone2019-blog]

WRC 8 Review

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/wrc-8-review/

WRC 8 Review

Though it’s been through some hard times over the past 19 years, KT Racing’s WRC series has been steadily improving since the French development team’s tenure with the license began in 2015, and WRC 8 represents its biggest leap in quality to date. Packed with outstanding stage design and bolstered by a number of welcome improvements – including a much richer and more nuanced career mode – WRC 8 is certainly the most in-depth rally sim to ever wear the official license. Finally, it’s positioned to compete with the big names in the genre.

Whether played with a pad or a wheel, WRC 8 is a satisfying arm wrestle and certainly the best-feeling WRC game I’ve played – and that extends back to Evolution’s memorable stint with the license back in the PS2 era. On a pad, the FWD cars like aggressive taps of the stick for countersteering – anxious drags just induce fishtailing. They also need keen tugs of the trigger to brake hard and step the rear out. The AWD WRC cars and their otherworldly acceleration and grip require much more finesse; you can pivot them on the throttle but they demand smoother inputs all around. On a wheel, however, it really starts to sing; it’s slippy but responsive as the tyres relentlessly claw at any surface, and the force feedback is impressive and effective.

Watch the KT Racing team discuss WRC 8’s improved physics in the video below.

There have been some drastic changes to the career mode in WRC 8 as well, and the result is far more engaging than the basic menu cycling from event to event that characterised WRC 7. WRC 8’s version has blossomed into something that feels more representative of a large-scale, globe-trotting motorsport, with non-championship events to opt into, training tasks to complete, and team members to contract.

WRC 8’s [career mode] has blossomed into something that feels more representative of a large-scale, globe-trotting motorsport.

“

Specific staff now need to be hired to fill six important roles, each of whom come with gameplay benefits attached to make those decisions feel meaningful. Skilled mechanics can accomplish more repairs within the limited window at the service park between stages; effective agents can wrangle invites to more exclusive one-off events; and canny meteorologists can forecast further into the future, giving you an idea about potential weather changes deeper into stages.

Granted, it’s a little daft how quickly staff tend to tire considering they’re not the ones doing to the actual driving. For instance, while my co-driver and I spent several days slicing through Swedish tundra at speeds that would make even the sternest scrotum shrivel, my agent got so burnt out from sipping champagne and eating tiny triangle sandwiches in the hospitality tent that he needed a week off. It’s also more than a little incongruous that it’d be up to the driver to personally manage staff vacation time in the first place. That said, I think the crew management is still a good addition to WRC 8, injecting a welcome team atmosphere into what had previously been a pretty lonely experience.

There’s also now a large skill and tech tree, shamelessly reminiscent of the R&D system that’s been part of the F1 games for several years now, and it adds a bunch of extra layers to WRC 8’s racing career. Whether you choose to apply upgrade points to improving your cash and XP awards or you opt to target strictly technical improvements is up to you. There’s a little bit of arbitrary game-y nonsense when it comes to managing bonus objectives (it’s illogical your reputation with your current manufacturer would take a hit simply for using a particular tyre compound during a rally if you’d also just won the rally) but overall it’s still a huge improvement from the entirely vanilla career experience of WRC 7.

Watch the KT Racing team discuss WRC 8’s stage design in the video below.

A handsome looking racer, WRC 8’s lighting effects are particularly strong this year. Low sun pierces through the treelines and a spectrum of time-of-day conditions are on offer to really change up the aesthetics of stages run under different cloud and weather scenarios. Attention to detail has improved, too. Beading water, which was surprisingly sub-par in WRC 7, has been replaced with a much more modern and authentic rain effect in WRC 8. The suitably streaky effect that accompanies flicking the wipers on for the first time is nice, too (with dynamic weather, those of us who race in cabin view need to manually toggle the wipers any time it begins to rain, or if the windscreen has simply accumulated too much muck to see out of). The water-splash effects have had a boost as well, and they’re accompanied by a deafening blast as puddles pummel the undercarriage.

Sound is pretty top notch this edition, to be honest, with a great mix of a barking and burbling exhausts, tons of a kick-up, and plenty of meaty collision noises. Subtle stuff like the muted noise of crowds cheering big jumps – audible even over the wail of the needle bouncing off the limiter – didn’t go unnoticed, either.

The full 2019 season is replicated inside WRC 8 – the complete 14-country calendar and all the cars and teams from WRC Junior, WRC 2, and WRC. This means Poland has been flicked, but Turkey and Chile have been added and those stages are all-new. Not every stage in WRC 8 is fresh – there are repeated routes from the previous game, plus reversed stages – but they’re still amongst the best in the business. The key strength of the stages in WRC 8 isn’t just the sheer variety that 14 extremely different locations from across the globe affords, nor is it just the colossal length of the very longest of them (which, again, are the longest stages in the genre). It’s rather how effectively claustrophobic they are, and how amazing the sense of speed is on a ribbon of road flanked with so much danger at barely an arm’s length. WRC 7 established KT Racing as uncommonly astute rally stage craftspeople, and WRC 8 only strengthens that reputation.

See some of WRC 8’s newly-added retro rally cars in the video below.

The car roster is largely just the modern metal from the current WRC and supporting classes. There are a few older classics included for the first time – which is true step in the right direction – but don’t expect an extensive selection of rally icons (I hope you like Lancias, because they’re mostly just old Lancias). Dirt still has the WRC series well beat when it comes to the garage.

Source : IGN

[lesbianrewrites]

Sorcerer’s Stone Chapter 02

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of Harry Potter by J.K Rowling.

Chapters will be posted every other day at 9pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursley's front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another child lived in the house, too.

Yet Hayley Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

“Up! Get up! Now!”

Hayley woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the door again.

“Up!” she screeched. Hayley heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she’d had the same dream before.

Her aunt was back outside the door.

“Are you up yet?” she demanded.

“Nearly,” said Hayley.

“Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.”

Hayley groaned.

“What did you say?” her aunt snapped through the door.

“Nothing, nothing …”

Dudley’s birthday — how could she have forgotten? Hayley got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Hayley was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Hayley, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favorite punching bag was Hayley, but he couldn’t often catch her. Hayley didn’t look it, but she was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Hayley had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s, and Dudley was about four times bigger than she was, so a number of his shirts looked more like very ugly dresses on her. Who knows what would happen when she eventually needed to wear a bra! Hayley couldn’t see Aunt Petunia buying them for her, and she had never had any money to speak of.

Hayley had a thin face, knobbly knees, dark skin, black hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched her on the nose. The only thing Hayley liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

“In the car crash when your parents died,” she had said. “And don’t ask questions.”

Don’t ask questions — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Hayley was turning over the bacon.

“Brush your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Hayley needed a haircut. Hayley must have had more haircuts than all the boys in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way — a long curly mess which reached down to her mid back.

Hayley was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Hayley often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Hayley put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

“Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy.”

“All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Hayley, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?”

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …”

“Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia.

“Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

“Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. ’Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Hayley and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take her.” She jerked her head in Hayley’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but Hayley’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Hayley was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Hayley hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.

“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Hayley as though she’d planned this. Hayley knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbies, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested.

“Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl.”

The Dursleys often spoke about Hayley like this, as though she wasn’t there — or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug.

“What about what’s-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?”

“On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia.

“You could just leave me here,” Hayley put in hopefully (she’d be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon.

“And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled.

“I won’t blow up the house,” said Hayley, but they weren’t listening.

“I suppose we could take her to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave her in the car. …”

“That cars new, she’s not sitting in it alone. …”

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying — it had been years since he’d really cried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let her spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.

“I … don’t … want … her … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. “She always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Hayley a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang — “Oh, good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Petra Polkiss, walked in with her mother. Petra was a scrawny girl with a face like a rat. She was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Hayley, who couldn’t believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Petra and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Hayley aside.

“I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Hayley’s, “I’m warning you now, girl — any funny business, anything at all — and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”

I’m not going to do anything,” said Hayley, “honestly …”

But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Hayley and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn’t make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Hayley coming back from the hair salon looking as though she hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of electric clippers and shaved her hair so short she was almost bald except for her bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Hayley, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had shaved it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Hayley. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Hayley wasn’t punished.

On the other hand, she’d gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Hayley’s surprise as anyone else’s, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Hayley’s headmistress telling them Hayley had been climbing school buildings. But all she’d tried to do (as she shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Hayley supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Petra to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg’s cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Hayley, the council, Hayley, the bank, and Hayley were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

“… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Hayley, remembering suddenly. “It was flying.”

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Hayley, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Dudley and Petra sniggered.

“I know they don’t,” said Hayley. “It was only a dream.”

But she wished she hadn’t said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Petra large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Hayley what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn’t bad, either, Hayley thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn’t blond.

Hayley had the best morning she’d had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Petra, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Hayley was allowed to finish the first.

Hayley felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Petra wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

“Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Hayley moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Hayley’s.

It winked.

Hayley stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Hayley a look that said quite plainly:

“I get that all the time.”

“I know,” Hayley murmured through the glass, though she wasn’t sure the snake could hear her. “It must be really annoying.”

The snake nodded vigorously.

“Where do you come from, anyway?” Hayley asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Hayley peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

“Was it nice there?”

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Hayley read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. “Oh, I see — so you’ve never been to Brazil?”

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Hayley made both of them jump. “DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

“Out of the way, you,” he said, punching Hayley in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Hayley fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Petra and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Hayley sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Hayley could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, “Brazil, here I come. … Thanksss, amiga.”

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

“But the glass,” he kept saying, “where did the glass go?”

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Petra and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Hayley had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Petra was swearing it had tried to squeeze her to death. But worst of all, for Hayley at least, was Petra calming down enough to say, “Hayley was talking to it, weren’t you, Hayley?”

Uncle Vernon waited until Petra was safely out of the house before starting on Hayley. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, “Go — cupboard — stay — no meals,” before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Hayley lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn’t know what time it was and she couldn’t be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She’d lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she’d been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn’t remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn’t remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Hayley had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Hayley furiously if she knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Hayley tried to get a closer look.

At school, Hayley had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Hayley Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang.

[thatjenperson-blog]

Harriet Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: Chapter 2

Again, I don’t own the series. Any mistakes you find, let me know! You can email me for a copy at jenzeldonline@gmail.com. The third chapter is to be released this Thursday, April 27, so be sure to check in! And now, for you own enjoyment, here’s the second chapter of Harriet Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone!

CHAPTER TWO THE VANISHING GLASS Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys’ front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mrs. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets – but Dudlie Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond girl riding her first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with her mother, being hugged and kissed by her father. The room held no sign at all that another girl lived in the house, too. Yet Harriet Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Uncle Petune was awake and it was his shrill voice that made the first noise of the day. “Up! Get up! Now!” Harriet woke with a start. Her uncle rapped on the door again. “Up!” he screeched. Harriet heard him walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she’d had the same dream before.

Her aunt was back outside the door. “Are you up yet?” he demanded. “Nearly,” said Harriet. “Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddie’s birthday.” Harriet groaned. “What did you say?” her uncle snapped through the door. “Nothing, nothing…” Dudlie’s birthday – how could she have forgotten? Harriet got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harriet was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept. When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudlie’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudlie had gotten the new computer she wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudlie wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harriet, as Dudlie was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudlie’s favorite punching bag was Harriet, but she couldn’t often catch her. Harriet didn’t look it, but she was very fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harriet had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudlie’s, and Dudlie was about four times bigger than she was. Harriet had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudlie had punched her on the nose. The only thing Harriet liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Uncle Petune was how she had gotten it. “In the car crash when your parents died,” he had said. “And don’t ask questions.” Don’t ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Aunt Verna entered the kitchen as Harriet was turning over the bacon. “Comb your hair!” She barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Aunt Verna looked over the top of her newspaper and shouted that Harriet needed a haircut. Harriet must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way - all over the place. Harriet was frying eggs by the time Dudlie arrived in the kitchen with her father. Dudlie looked a lot like Aunt Verna. Se had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly down her thick, fat head. Uncle Petune often said that Dudlie looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudlie looked like a pig in a wig. Harriet put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudlie, meanwhile, was counting her presents. Her face fell. “Thirty-six,” she said, looking up at her father and mother. “That’s two less than last year.” “Darling, you haven’t counted Uncle Mart’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Daddy and Mommy.” “All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudlie, going red in the face. Harriet, who could see a huge Dudlie tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dudlie turned the table over. Uncle Petune obviously scented danger, too, because he said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?” Dudlie thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally she said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty…” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Uncle Petune. “Oh.” Dudlie sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Aunt Verna chuckled. “Little tyke wants her money’s worth, just like her mother. ‘Atta girl, Dudlie!” She ruffled Dudlie’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Uncle Petune went to answer it while Harriet and Aunt Verna watched Dudlie unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. She was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Uncle Petune came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Verna,” he said. “Mr. Figg’s broken his leg. He can’t take him.” He jerked his head in Harriet’s direction. Dudlie’s mouth fell open in horror, but Harriet’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudlie’s birthday, her parents took her and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harriet was left behind with Mr. Figg, a mad old man who lived two streets away. Harriet hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mr. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats he’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Uncle Petune, looking furiously at Harriet as though she’d planned this. Harriet knew she ought to feel sorry that Mr. Figg had broken his leg, but it wasn’t easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mrs. Paws, and Tufty again. “We could phone Mart,” Aunt Verna suggested. “Don’t be silly, Verna, he hates the girl.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harriet like this, as though she wasn’t there – or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-his-name, your friend – Yvon?” “On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Uncle Petune. “You could just leave me here,” Harriet put in hopefully (she’d be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudlie’s computer). Uncle Petune looked as though he’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” he snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harriet, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take her to the zoo,” said Uncle Petune slowly, “… and leave her in the car….” “That car’s new, she’s not sitting in it alone….” Dudlie began to cry loudly. In fact, she wasn’t really crying – it had been years since she’d really cried – but she knew that if she screwed up her face and wailed, her father would give her anything she wanted. “Dinky Duddiedums, don’t cry, Daddy won’t let her spoil your special day!” he cried, flinging his arms around her. “I… don’t… want… her… t-t-to come!” Dudlie yelled between huge, pretend sobs. “She always sp- spoils everything!” She shot Harriet a nasty grin through the gap in her father’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, good Lord, they’re here!” said Uncle Petune frantically – and a moment later, Dudlie’s best friend, Pia Polkiss, walked in with her father. Pia was a scrawny girl with a face like a rat. She was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudlie hit them. Dudlie stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harriet, who couldn’t believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Pia and Dudlie, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her uncle and aunt hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they’d left, Aunt Verna had taken Harriet aside. “I’m warning you,” she had said, putting her large purple face right up close to Harriet’s, “I’m warning you now, girl – any funny business, anything at all – and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.” “I’m not going to do anything,” said Harriet, “honestly…” But Aunt Verna didn’t believe her. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harriet and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn’t make them happen. Once, Uncle Petune, tired of Harriet coming back from the barbers looking as though she hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so short she was almost bald except for her bangs, which he left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudlie had laughed herself silly at Harriet, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Uncle Petune had sheared it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly. Another time, Uncle Petune had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Dudlie’s (brown with orange puff balls) – The harder he tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harriet. Uncle Petune had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Harriet wasn’t punished. On the other hand, she’d gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudlie’s gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Harriet’s surprise as anyone else’s, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harriet’s headmaster telling them Harriet had been climbing school buildings. But all she’d tried to do (as she shouted at Aunt Verna through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harriet supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid- jump. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudlie and Pia to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, her cupboard, or Mr. Figg’s cabbage-smelling living room. While she drove, Aunt Verna complained to Uncle Petune. She liked to complain about things: people at work, Harriet, the council, Harriet, the bank, and Harriet were just a few of her favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles. “… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” she said, as a motorcycle overtook them. I had a dream about a motorcycle,“ said Harriet, remembering suddenly. "It was flying.” Aunt Verna nearly crashed into the car in front. She turned right around in her seat and yelled at Harriet, her face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!” Dudlie and Pia sniggered. I know they don’t,“ said Harriet. "It was only a dream.” But she wished she hadn’t said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon – they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas. It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudlie and Pia large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling man in the van had asked Harriet what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn’t bad, either, Harriet thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudlie, except that it wasn’t blond. Harriet had the best morning she’d had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudlie and Pia, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudlie had a tantrum because her knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Aunt Verna bought her another one and Harriet was allowed to finish the first. Harriet felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudlie and Pia wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudlie quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Aunt Verna’s car and crushed it into a trash can – but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. Dudlie stood with her nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. “Make it move,” she whined at her mother. Aunt Verna tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge. “Do it again,” Dudlie ordered. Aunt Verna rapped the glass smartly with her knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on. “This is boring,” Dudlie moaned. She shuffled away. Harriet moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Uncle Petune hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house. The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harriet’s. It winked. Harriet stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. She looked back at the snake and winked, too. The snake jerked its head toward Aunt Verna and Dudlie, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harriet a look that said quite plainly: “I get that all the time. "I know,” Harriet murmured through the glass, though she wasn’t sure the snake could hear her. “It must be really annoying.”

The snake nodded vigorously. “Where do you come from, anyway?” Harriet asked. The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harriet peered at it. Boa Constrictor, Brazil. “Was it nice there?” The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harriet read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. “Oh, I see – so you’ve never been to Brazil?” As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harriet made both of them jump. “DUDLIE! MRS. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!” Dudlie came waddling toward them as fast as she could. “Out of the way, you,” she said, punching Harriet in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harriet fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened – one second, Pia and Dudlie were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror. Harriet sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harriet could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, “Brazil, here I come…. Thanksss, amigo.” The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. “But the glass,” she kept saying, “where did the glass go?”

The zoo director herself made Uncle Petune a cup of strong, sweet tea while she apologized over and over again. Pia and Dudlie could only gibber. As far as Harriet had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Aunt Verna’s car, Dudlie was telling them how it had nearly bitten off her leg, while Pia was swearing it had tried to squeeze her to death. But worst of all, for Harriet at least, was Pia calming down enough to say, “Harriet was talking to it, weren’t you, Harriet?” Aunt Verna waited until Pia was safely out of the house before starting on Harriet. She was so angry she could hardly speak. She managed to say, “Go – cupboard – stay – no meals,” before she collapsed into a chair, and Uncle Petune had to run and get her a large brandy. Harriet lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn’t know what time it was and she couldn’t be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. She’d lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she’d been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn’t remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn’t remember her parents at all. Her uncle and aunt never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house. When she had been younger, Harriet had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny woman in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Uncle Petune and Dudlie. After asking Harriet furiously if she knew the woman, Uncle Petune had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old man dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A woman in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harriet tried to get a

closer look. At school, Harriet had no one. Everybody knew that Dudlie’s gang hated that odd Harriet Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudlie’s gang.

[casualcatchycookie]

Harry Potter book 1 Chapter 2

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys’ front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

“Up! Get up! Now!”

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

“Up!” she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he’d had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside the door.

“Are you up yet?” she demanded.

“Nearly,” said Harry.

“Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday. ”

Harry groaned.

“What did you say?” his aunt snapped through the door.

“Nothing, nothing. . . ”

Dudley’s birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn’t often catch him. Harry didn’t look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

“In the car crash when your parents died,” she had said. “And don’t ask questions. ”

Don’t ask questions — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

“Comb your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way — all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

“Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year. ”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy. ”

“All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right”

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty. . . thirty. . . ”

“Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia.

“Oh. ” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then. ”

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

“Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. ‘Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him. ” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.

“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested.

“Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy. ”

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there — or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug.

“What about what’s-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?”

“On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia.

“You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon.

“And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled.

“I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening.

“I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “. . . and leave him in the car. . . ”

“That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone. . . ”

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying — it had been years since he’d really cried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

“Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.

“I. . . don’t. . . want. . . him. . . t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang — “Oh, good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

“I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas. ”

“I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly. . . ”

But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn’t make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar. ” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished.

On the other hand, he’d gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surprise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg’s cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

“. . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Harry, remembering suddenly. “It was flying. ”

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

“I know they don’t,” said Harry. “It was only a dream. ”

But he wished he hadn’t said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn’t bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn’t blond.

Harry had the best morning he’d had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

“Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry’s.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

“I get that all the time. ”

“I know,” Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn’t sure the snake could hear him. “It must be really annoying. ”

The snake nodded vigorously.

“Where do you come from, anyway?” Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

“Was it nice there?”

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. “Oh, I see — so you’ve never been to Brazil?”

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. “DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

“Out of the way, you,” he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, “Brazil, here I come. . . Thanksss, amigo. ”

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

“But the glass,” he kept saying, “where did the glass go?”

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, “Harry was talking to it, weren’t you, Harry?”

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, “Go — cupboard — stay — no meals,” before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn’t know what time it was and he couldn’t be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

He’d lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he’d been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn’t remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn’t remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.

At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang.

[clinquantine]

@blissfulbees

notebooks

keys

pencil case

perfume

water bottle

Five Things In My Bedroom:

a bed lmao

wall stickers and frames

a huge box containing all of my colors, brushes, markers, and the junk i use for drawing, painting, and making crafts

a jewelry box

LOTS of books, novels, and textbooks

Five Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do In My Life:

go out whenever i want

learn other languages

travel around the world

travel to outer space!

hold a gun and brandish a sword lmao

Five Things That Make Me Happy:

internet

my collection of books (… and mangas and illustration books)

lance :’)

friends

ice cream

Five Things On My To-Do List:

study harder

learn how to draw better

learn how to put makeup

visit a friend’s house for a movie night

catch up with some shows, manga, and anime

Five Things People May Not Know About Me:

i don’t like ginger or any food that contains it

i don’t like kids but somehow kids are really fond of me? idk how that even works

i don’t like cooking either even though i’m pretty good at it

i don’t know how to dance

i love physics and astronomy sm

Name?: rawan

Nicknames?: ru, and many others

Zodiac?: virgo

Sexual Orientation?: asexual

Ethnicity?: uh… somewhere between arabic and caucasian i guess?

Favorite Fruit?: basically everything but red and yellow apples

Favorite Season?: winter

Favorite Flower?: hydrangeas

Favorite Scent?: the smell of book pages and fruit-scented perfumes

Favorite Animal?: snakes, killer whales, and sharks

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate?: hot chocolate

Cat or dog?: cats

Dream Trip?: outer space lmao

Number of Followers?: 🤷

What do I post about?: random stuff

Do I get asks on a regular basis?: depends i guess?

Favorite Band?: starset and owl city

Aesthetic?: a lot of stuff. mainly things related to space, middle ages, or winter…

Fictional Character I’d Date?: lance lance lance lance lance lance lance

Hogwarts House?: ravenclaw

Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo

I have at least one piercing

I have blonde hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair

My abs are at least somewhat defined

I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people

People tell me that I’m funny

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges

I enjoy mental chanllenges

I’m playfully rude with people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well

I can play an instrument

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping

I’m a fast runner

I can draw well

I have a good memory

I’m good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I have learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month

I enjoy writing

FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION

I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship

I have a crush on a celebrity

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least 3 relationships

I have never been in a relationship

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”

I live close at my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the united states

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CD’s

I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I know someone who has gone to jail

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages

I have made a new friend in the past year

Relationship status: single

Favorite color: black, pale purple, sapphire and ocean blue

Lipstick or Chapstick: chapstick

Last song I listened to: Dragon Night

Last movie I watched: haven’t watched movies in forever

Top three TV shows:

okay ima list non-anime and non-cartoon shows for this:

Brooklyn Nine Nine

BBC Sherlock

Supernatural

Top three characters:

Lance (Voltron)

Ichigo (Aikatsu)

Killua (Hunter x Hunter)

rules: copy/paste and replace my answers with yours and tag people :^)

a - age: 17 
b - biggest fear: failure 
c - current time: 9:30pm (this is scheduled lmao) 
d - drink you last had: water 
e - every day starts with: setting the alarm off f - favorite song: tbh i dunno but recently i can’t stop listening to knnw osts by radwimps and alan walker’s songs 
g - ghosts, are they real: nah 
h - hometown: lebanon 
i - in love with: space 
j - jealous of: articulate people/ people who are good at expressing themselves and using words 
k - killed someone: tbh i did kill my own self-esteem and motivation to live years ago so.. 
l - last time you cried: i rewatched knnw today and i was bawling and squealing and wailing m - middle name: dad’s name 
n - number of siblings: 2 sisters and 2 brothers 
o - one wish: to jump in time to 7 years later where my soul is finally set Free p - person you last called/texted: my friend at school q - questions you’re always asked: “can’t you show any emotions at all?!?!” lmao 
r - reasons to smile: lance mcclain :)))))))) 
s - song last sang: nandemonaiya - radwimps t - time you woke up: i woke up at 6 today, went to sleep again, then woke up at 7:45 
u - underwear color: purple v - vacation destination: outer space (actually the only vacations i go on are to my homeland rip) 
w - worst habit: sloth 
x - x-rays you’ve had: i don’t quite remember but i think i had one when i was in 2nd grade when i broke my arm. not sure tho. i also had x-rays of my jaw/teeth multiple times too haha y - your favorite food: ice cream 
z - zodiac sign: virgo

post a screenshot of my lock screen, home screen, and last song played

RULES: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions. Then tag some friends.

I choose:

boku no hero academia

voltron

gintama

The first character you loved:

i love them all that i don’t remember anymore tbh? probably deku?

lance (it was love at first sight even though i don’t even believe in it)

kagura

The character you never expected to love so much:

KACCHAN

pidge!

gintoki! i’m ready to die for him!!

The character you relate to most:

kacchan, iida, and todoroki

pidge

gintoki

The character you’d slap:

mineta T_T

lotor

takasugi

Three favorite characters (these are in order of preference):

todoroki shouto, bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku (keeping angel’s answer bc!!! SAME!!!)

LANCE, pidge, keith

gintoki, kagura, sougo

A character you liked at first but not so much anymore:

umm? idk??

i still love them all so much

zenzou

A character you did not like at first, but they’ve grown on you:

kacchan surprisingly

uhhhhhh

otae

[readbookywooks]

THE VANISHING GLASS

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets -- but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.　　

Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.　　

"Up! Get up! Now!"　　

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.　　

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.　　

His aunt was back outside the door.　　

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.　　

"Nearly," said Harry.　　

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."　　

Harry groaned.　　

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.　　

"Nothing, nothing..."　　

Dudley's birthday -- how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.　　When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise -- unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.　　

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.　　

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."　　

Don't ask questions -- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.　　

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.　　

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.　　

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way -- all over the place.　　

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel -- Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.　　

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.　　

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."　　

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."　　

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.　　

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right''　　

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."　　

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.　　

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."　　

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.　　 

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.　　

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.　　

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.　　

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.　　

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.　　

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."　　

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there -- or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.　　

"What about what's-her-name, your friend -- Yvonne?"　　

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.　　

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).　　

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.　　

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.　　

"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening.　　

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave him in the car...."　　

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone...."　　

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying -- it had been years since he'd really cried -- but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.　　

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.　　

"I... don't... want... him... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.　　

Just then, the doorbell rang -- "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically -- and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.　　

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.　　

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy -- any funny business, anything at all -- and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."　　

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly..　　

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.　　

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.　　

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.　　

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls) -- The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.　　

On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid- jump.　　

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.　　

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.　　

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.　　

I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."　　

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"　　

Dudley and Piers sniggered.　　

I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."　　

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon -- they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.　　

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.　　

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.　　

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.　　

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can -- but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.　　

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.　　

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.　　

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.　　

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.　　

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself -- no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.　　

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.　　

It winked.　　

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.　　

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:　　

"I get that all the time.　　

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."　　

The snake nodded vigorously.　　

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.　　

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.　　Boa Constrictor, Brazil.　　

"Was it nice there?"　　

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see -- so you've never been to Brazil?"　　

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump.　　

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"　　

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.　　

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened -- one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.　　

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.　　

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come.... Thanksss, amigo."　　

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.　　

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"　　

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"　　

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.　　

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.　　

He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.　　

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.　　

At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.