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kittenshift-17 · 6 months ago

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Omg I feel like any teen wolf fic (sterek fic) you write would be amazing, on that topic ur an amazing writer and I’m glad that one day I stumbled upon one of your fics. And also speaking of sterek fics (or any teen wolf fic) do u have and recommendations on what to read for that fandom???

Okay, so I took my time with this one because I had read some, but not a lot... but oh boy, did I deep dive into the research to bring you some top tier Sterek Fic Recs.

TOP 20 STEREK RECS

Play It Again by metisket ***I LOVED THIS ONE***

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

“Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

There Are No Wolves In California by kitsunequeen

Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red... ------- Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

He realizes the wolf is breathing.

(not so) Pure Imagination by theroguesgambit

"There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm for missingsun

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays

Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 for xXxClassifiedxXx

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems

Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble.;Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there.

Because of course it does.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

In Case You Didn't Know by Blu_Crowe

Stiles moves into the lofts, and he and Derek start to get closer. Unfortunately Stiles is a moron, and Derek is bad at feelings. They figure it out... Eventually.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”   

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.   

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:   

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.

Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.

Right in front of another Alpha.

Who he was on a date with.

To discuss being heat partners...."

*In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!*

for a good time, call... by EvanesDust for kalika_999

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

Oh shit.

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

Oh God.

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.

Golden Boy by trilliath

Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.

But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.

It's enough that Derek hesitates.

#kittenshift17 #fanfiction #fic recs #sterek #sterek fic recs #derek x stiles #stiles stilinski #derek hale

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lizardaggro · 1 year ago

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on the flip side

part 2 is out! part 3! part 4!

whaddya know, i already have my first piece of writing that's not for an rp. it's a mess, but that's okay, because i admit i have no clue what i'm doing! i welcome all feedback as long as it's not just plain mean. when i asked for writing ideas, i was suggested to try my spin on the twst bully!au, and so i present: reader/yuu is done with their bs. no beta we die like my sleep schedule. genre: gn reader, angst trigger warnings: bullying, slight yandere that hasn't escalated yet word count:896

You’d had enough, thank you very much. The constant jeers, “misplaced” textbooks, and shoves in the hallway were only the beginning. Before long, you were beaten and bruised, and all for what? Just because you didn’t have magic? According to your research, the majority of the population here didn’t either! But alas, such was your plight. The professors turned a blind eye, and Crowley couldn’t care less.

So, when someone “accidentally” dislocated your shoulder during PE, you decided enough was enough. The students you’d never bothered to learn the names of were one thing; you were going to call your former friends out on their bullshit. Despite Grim’s protests, you dragged him all the way back to Ramshackle the moment you had a break in between classes. Why that timing? Because the model student prefect would never cut class, of course!

You locked the door not once, not twice, but three times, thanks to the padlocks you’d had placed on your stuff in the past. Then you took your time creating the Junk Tower. Your materials were all the scraps people had thrown in your yard in the past. You had quite the collection. The windows? They’d been boarded for years, according to the ghosts. Back door? Kalim had it removed. Something about first years sneaking in. You figure it’s better not to ask how he managed to have a door seamlessly replaced with walls in one afternoon.

About twenty minutes after the last class of the day ended, you had your first knock on the door. “Oi, prefect, open up!” Ace demanded. Because of course it was Ace. He was the first student you met here, so it was only fitting that he’d be the first to know you weren’t fucking around anymore. You ignored him.

The knocking stopped “Oi Ace, maybe they’re not home?” Deuce, ever the voice of reason, pondered. You weren’t sure whether to love or hate him. He’d stop others from picking on you, sure, but the moment you disobeyed him, he went back to his old delinquent ways.

“Well, they weren’t in class, and there’s no way my prefect’s with someone else, so they’ve gotta be inside!” Ace insisted. His prefect? Since when were you his? Did Ace eat something funny while you were gone? Because the last you checked, he couldn’t stand the sight of you.

Deuce’s voice dropped an octave, or maybe two. You weren’t too sure how that applied to speaking voices. “Oi, Ace, what the fuck do you mean your prefect? They don’t belong to you!” Yes, thank you for the reality check. Deuce must’ve had the brain cell today. “Obviously I’m way closer to them than you are!”

Scratch that. Deuce did not have the brain cell today. Really though, what was with them? Why in the world were they fighting over who was closer to you when all they’d done lately was make it clear how much they hated you? Oh, wait. They thought you could hear them. This must be some sort of trick. Trey and Cater must’ve put them up to it, since they were far too dumb to think of anything this elaborate on their own. You decided to ignore everything they said from here on out.

All was well, until Adeuce simultaneously let out an ungodly screech. Now that was troublesome. What could possibly scare those two like that? Surely nothing good for you. With luck, it’d be Riddle come to behead them for not wearing fluorescent pink or some other dumb rule, but you wouldn’t bet on it.

You soon had your answer. “Ne, where’s Shrimpy? I wanna squeeze ‘em!” Suddenly you didn’t blame those two for being scared. Floyd Leech in a bad mood was always a force to be reckoned with. You could never tell if he was in a good or bad mood when he was “squeezing” you, and quite frankly, you’d rather not know. The sick fucker probably took pleasure in hearing your bones pop and crack under the extreme pressure.

“Floyd-senpai! The prefect is, uh, we’re not actually sure where they are,” Ace volunteered. You almost pitied him, having to put up with the more rambunctious Leech during basketball practice. Almost.

“Hah? What do you mean you don’t know? Crabby is always crowding around Shrimpy like a little parasite,” Floyd whined. Um, what? Is Floyd in on the joke too? Is the whole school conspiring against you? You wouldn’t put it past them.

A cloud of dust blew up from the floor where you swung your foot back and forth, making you sneeze. You froze. Did they hear that? Wait, what were you acting so scared for? What were they gonna do anyway, break the door down and hit you? All within your expectations when you’d formed this plan. The point was to prove that you wouldn’t just sit and take it anymore. You’d seen all their dirty little secrets, especially during the Overblots; you could hit them where it hurt if you felt like it. No one would ever think the perfect little prefect would tell someone else what they’d confided in them! So when Floyd broke the door down with a display of monstrous strength, you were prepared. You greeted them with a smile. “Ne, you guys,” you began, “would you believe me if I told you I’m done with your bullshit?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst bully au #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech #ace trappola #deuce spade

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neonpaperlanterns · 11 months ago

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Hii! I have a not-so-detailed request! Hope you don't mind! Can you do Dogday (already with his legs stiched) with a short reader? I think that standing he'd be pretty tall, so let's say reader barely reaches to his chest. Reader is not a child, though! It's just that DogDay is inhumanely tall, and that combined with someone who struggles to reach for stuff that's higher up than usual makes the size difference pretty evident. Thank you!

[A/n: I derived part of this story from personal experience. My partner is taller than me and while logically I know those bowls fit better on the top shelf it doesn't make it any better.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Too Big and Too Small

“You did this on purpose.” You’re standing in your kitchen, staring up at your cupboard. You had come in here because you had wanted something sweet. There were cookies on the bottom shelf, you distinctly remember putting them there because you knew you would want them soon. But somehow the box has made its way up to the tippy top.

Which inherently wouldn’t be a problem but your step stool is conveniently missing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Narrowing your eyes you cut a glance at what you're sure is DogDay’s faux innocent expression. Or at least you intended to but instead your gaze settled on the faded yellow fur of his chest. Your lips purse as you lean your head backwards. He’s smiling at you, ears perked and tail swishing back and forth languidly.

The sight made your lip twitch. He looked so happy and sweet. It was making it difficult to hold onto your indignation. But you were gonna try.

Putting your hand on your hip you used the other to point accusingly at the cookies.

“You put those up there.” It was said as a statement.

“Pfft, no. Why would I do that? I bet it was Kissy.” He waved his hand about, deflecting.

“Kissy would never.” She might but you weren’t going to agree with him. “And don’t say Poppy because even with the stepstool she couldn’t reach.” You watched as his face lit up.

“Then maybe it was a joint effort.” DogDay bounced on the balls of his feet. Clearly this was the only explanation because he would never do something like this. It’s getting harder to hide your amusement. Realistically how could you ever be annoyed when he looked this happy? The answer was you couldn’t.

But!

You really did want those cookies.

“Alright, sure, whatever, whether the girls did this or not. Could you help me? ” You heard him chuckle, it was a pleased sound. Like he got away with his mischief. Which you guess he was getting away with it, considering.

DogDay beamed as he bounded over to the cupboard. He easily reached the top shelf. Honestly he was almost too big for the kitchen. His head nearly brushed the ceiling and he had to hunch over to get through doorways. Really your home wasn’t suitable for him or Kissy. Maybe you should move? Find a better place for them. One where they could move around freely. Where they could go outside without concern.

“Here ya go Angel.” DogDay chirped, bringing you out of your thoughts. He held out the box of cookies proudly.

“If ya need me to get anything else for you, no task is too tall.” a large hand came down to encompass your head, ruffling your hair. You smiled though you had to wonder if he put anything else where you couldn’t reach. Not that you minded.

If putting things where you couldn’t get them and playing your knight in shining armor made him happy, you weren’t going to ruin that for him.

“Thank you. Could you go grab Poppy and Kissy. I got something I want to ask you guys." Nodding vigorously, DogDay took off down the too narrow hallway. Figure hunched as he rounded the corner, disappearing in to the rest of the house.

Yeah moving was a good idea. They deserved it after all.

#poppy playtime #dogday poppy playtime #reader insert #kissy missy #poppy #dogday x reader #short reader #dog day got his legs back and he is using them for evil #thoughts of moving #cookies #mischief

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evieelyzabethh · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing(s): spike x demon!reader

summary: watching the man you love fawn over someone else is always hard, especially when you know you could love him better.

warnings: angst with a happy ending, later seasons Spike, soft Spike, the reader is a demon so old that no one knows your name and they call you Honey.

Spike was an actor, but William was a poet. This was easy to tell when watching Spike act as if he wasn't in love with Buffy. William would've written her a sonnet, presented her with a rose and some ridiculously expensive necklace. The image of a stone glittering around her neck would've inspired dozens of lines of prose, enough to keep her image alive in those fateful moments when she wasn't there to be looked upon. Spike looked. He watched. He stalked. It was his bad boy persona, the leather jacket hiding the heart that still beat out of his chest. Some things never changed.

This new apocalypse had changed something, though, that and the fact that Buffy had now come back from the dead a second time. You thought it would make her more formidable. A cockroach. Through apocalypse after apocalypse, thick and thin, even death, she was never really gone. Whether she was crawling, suffering, or drowning, she always came back. You liked Buffy, you were friends, or whatever she called the unhumans she hung around who wasn't dating her or one of her friends.

She kept you at an arms width ever since she found you back before her first death. In a bottle or a vase, something old and dusty that tipped over in the library and through smoke you materialized. You didn't remember much; you didn't remember anything. The collection of you took days, like assembling some million and one pieced puzzle. Pieces were lost along the way, Giles bet that somewhere between your brain being assembled and your bones hardening that your memory slipped through the cracks of the old hardwood flooring and was lost to the Hell Mouth beneath. He also said that if the memory was so heavy it sank, it wasn't worth remembering anyways.

This being said, it made since that she wasn't immediately open to letting you in and you were fine with that. You didn't know how to exist otherwise. Feelings were also lost on you, along with your name, and breathing, and speaking. You read a lot, after being placed in Giles' care, you only ever were in the school library or his personal library in his apartment, and being born again, you now had a broken vocabulary of unnatural and old English.

It was Willow who named you Honey. She told you hot tea helped with the healing vocal cords and that honey would hopefully act as a sticky cement so they would stay together. Lots of honey was what you consumed until your presence became synonymous with honey and then that became your name. Remembering to breath came soon after, it made your human company that much more relaxed around you. That and the fact that because you were so broken, you weren't deemed a threat.

Feelings came crashing after the fact.

Angelus' return took a toll on Buffy and Spikes appearance began your ascension. You had read classics before; Giles didn't exactly keep copies of Dr. Seuss or even Baum. It was all Bronte, Shelly, or Austen. Writers who taught you that humans love and to love is human and you didn't understand at all not until

"And who might you be, love?"

What are you wasn't the question and he called you "love". Could you be called love, was that something you could be. With how much honey you consumed, you probably were part honey, but even outside of that, when the humans introduce themselves, they say "I am..." so you said "I am Honey" to fit in.

But he called you Love.

You didn't doubt Willow, but you wondered if being Honey was a mistake, if being love was an option. To be love would mean to have love and how did one do that.

"I am Honey." you replied. 3 words that didn't even scratch the surface of what you wanted to say. Maybe speech was more lost on you than you thought.

A lot of time had passed since then. A few apocalypses, a more modern and appropriate speech pattern, plenty of feelings and more importantly, the knowledge that feelings couldn't be shared.

Being so far removed from everyone else made it easy to notice things that they didn't. You noticed her push him away. You had heard him confess. You had become friends after a while, and there were many moments when you would be in his crypt talking to him in between bottles of wine and blood, pigs' blood after he became aware of his feelings. He told you about her, he raved about her bravery, he retold her jokes. The affect she had on him was palpable, impossible to ignore. His lips spoke of Buffy, he cried tears that reflected Buffy, even when he looked at you, he was looking for pieces of Buffy. That was the only explanation for why he would look at you for so long. You weren't a genius, you weren't even a poet, but you knew better than to delude yourself. And yet

He looked at you.

He watched you. He saw you. He perceived you; and it was so beautiful.

He also told you of Dru. She would have moments of clarity when she would revert to the ghost of who she was before Angelus drove her insane. Moments when she would look at the stars, not because she was seeing things, but because she was looking at them. Like the haze of one thousand years had cleared and she was looking at the stars, not shiny shards of glass wedged in a rocky ceiling. She stopped echoing wishes, and she made them. He even told you her favorite wish. She wanted a pretty dress to go to a pretty ball. It was so normal and human. She wanted to exist and be a girl in her own time again, like it used to be. Maybe she also wanted to be human.

Sometimes, if you found the strength in you to stomach it, you liked to think he looked at you like how she used to look at the stars. Like Buffy was his pipe dream and you were what he really wanted.

It wasn't a stretch of the imagination. She was a slayer, and he was a vampire. She is a pipe dream. She was the false stars of shattered glass, she was dangerous to him, she would hurt him. She has hurt him.

Every time he told her he loved her, she told him no. A step worse than rejection, she denied he even could love her. Demons weren't capable of love; he was experiencing obsession. He wanted to own her, to take her, ravish her and leave her a husk of who she used to be then toss her when the infatuation faded. He didn't need to, she already was. Death did that to her, she didn't need Spike to finish the job. And obsession. If what Spike felt towards her was obsession, then what the hell was she feeling.

This all lead to today. An old show playing on the boxy television, sitting on a newly stolen couch, occasionally passing a bowl of popcorn between the two of you. The show was a cheesy vampire comedy where the main character had finally cornered the terrifying "Dracula" and staked him with a cartoonishly large stake. "Blood squirted everywhere, coating the main character with what was probably corn syrup, chocolate syrup, and red food dye.

"That is totally unrealistic. Us vampires don't bleed, and he would've seen that stake from a mile away." he said while tossing a handful of popcorn at the screen.

"I doubt they had a way to turn him to dust back in like the 40's." he scoffed at your nonchalance.

"This is ridiculous. Us vampires need better representation on the telly, they're makin' us look like bumbling idiots." you can' help but laugh at his dramatics. In his rage, his hair had fallen out of place. It wasn't gelled like it usually was, a mistake he'll probably rectify in a few hours when the sun goes down.

"I didn't know you took such pride in being a vampire." He dramatically jumps to face you, a disgusted look on his face.

"Of bloody course I do. Why on Earth would I want to be human."

"Maybe Buffy would like you if you were human." For anyone else it would've been a low blow, but he lets you slide. That and the fact that beneath the mocking tone you took, you didn't laugh at it all that much.

"Would you want to be human, love?" There it is again. You should be used to it by now, but you still every time you hear it from him. Maybe because when it comes from him you want it. You had been on dates with other guys, some of whom confessed to you. The Scoobies told you they loved you multiple times before, even better, they all meant it and the feeling is mutual. Why is it still so much different with him.

"I don't know, I think it could be nice. I think life would be easier." He smiled.

"Why? You're not a vampire, you can frolic in the sun as much as you'd like." you shake your head.

"That's not it." What could it be? Spike wasn't often confused, as a matter of fact he was extremely self-assured, but he couldn't figure out what you were missing out on. He'd much rather be in you position than to remember every sin he's ever committed. You got the immortality and the powers with none of the guilt that comes with it.

"If I was human, I wouldn't be nearly as confused. I'd know more, I guess."

"But what if you never lost your memory? Knowing things wouldn't be an issue." If only knowing your name was the knowledge you were seeking.

"Knowing things wouldn't be an issue but there are some uniquely human things I can't experience because I'm not a human."

"Like what?" Being human at one point was interesting, it was so ingrained in Spike he couldn't imagine what it would be like for feelings to not be second nature. He never needed to understand them, feeling them was more than enough.

"I don't know because I'm not human. I don't know what I'm missing, but I'm missing something." Quit beating around the bush.

"What if you didn't need to be human and it just fell out?"

"What is so bad about being human that it fell out."

"Trust me, as a former human myself, there is plenty to hate about being human. They're puny and pathetic." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the couch along then struck a match against a loose plank of wood. Bringing it to his lips, he inhaled the smoke and blew it away from your face, but the breeze from an open (broken) window whisked it towards your face anyway.

"But is that because you were human, or because you are you?" His gaze hardened at how quick the answer came.

"You think I was pathetic?" The fallen embers came onto his pants, but he paid them no mind.

"You think you used to be pathetic." Though this was true, a part of him felt offended. Even stranger, he didn't know which part.

"Because I was. I was human and emotional and a bloody mess, because I was human. Demons don't feel anything which is far better than feeling and getting hurt."

"But you aren't demon enough to know what it means to feel nothing!" You weren't a demon to him, though. It would've been easy for him to forget that you weren't one of those pesky humans had it not been for your distinctly not human scent. It was like whisky, rich and old and expensive. Too expensive to break open and drink because it grew more valuable with time. He'd do anything for you not to go to waste.

"And if you want to feel so badly, you can't possibly be that much of a demon!" To waste you would for you to be human. They're too fragile. They die. Spike longed to be a demon because at his core, he was a coward. He didn't want to die. Judging by how much you yearned to be human, you feared loneliness more.

"Why do you love Buffy so much." Ah, the point.

Spike was many things. A bastard, one of those British nancy boys, a coward, a freak. A thing he prided himself the most on was his intellect. He was insightful, he could be emotionally intelligent when he wanted to be. This was the important part.

A part of him knew his best friend loved him. A part he profusely ignored because he was only emotionally intelligent when he wanted to be. He could admit that he was intellectual and intelligent and at times wise, he believed those to be self-evident truths, cornerstones of his Spikeism. He's the brooding, yet insightful, bad boy with a heart of gold who does the right thing when it conveniences him. He's an actor and this was the character he's had centuries to build, and he'd be damned it cracked because then he'd be proving that he was never anything more than William "The Bloody Bad Poet".

Maybe self-hatred was the root of it. The inescapable need- no instinct, to kick himself in the ass at any possible opportunity, was why he ignored you. It had to be some sick penchant for pain, or the belief that he wasn't deserving of good things, because if you were nothing else, you were good to him which meant you deserved better than him.

But altruism doesn't fit into the paradigm of Spike. Altruism is William's thing which made this so much more horrifying. William loved you. Spike loving you meant nothing because he didn't really mean it. The stage kisses and the dramatized sex scenes were suffocatingly filled with false passion, more passion than humanly possible. Spike loved hard, William loved deeply, and both loved you. It couldn't be undone, but it could be forgotten.

"I don't know." Those 3 words didn't even begin to scratch the surface of why he "loved" her.

"But all I know of love comes from you, I learned it from you, and you don't know why you love her?" You wanted to cry, and you hated it. If you could take it back, you would. You wished you had shut your mouth and watched the stupid show that was still playing as you had this argument.

"Love isn't something you explain." He put distance between the two of you, standing up and walking away from the couch in search for a bottle of alcohol. He wasn't planning on you following him, following closer than the tail of his leather duster.

You threw the alcohol before his hand even grazed it, smashing it against the concrete walls of his crypt. Positioning yourself between himself and the makeshift table that used to be a grave, you stood your ground. Blinking back tears because the second water hit that cement you were done for.

"Then show me. That's how I learned before." He clenched then unclenched his jaw. Buffy was all over him, but you were inside of him. The air he breathed, the blood in his veins, the force making his heart beat was you and it always had been. "Show me."

He was scared.

"What if you don't understand." He was stalling. For too long he hadn't been allowed to have anything. Dru was never his because Angelus had ingrained his way into her very being. Buffy was never realistic, and even if she was, she was human. One day she'd die, and he'd move on long before that date anyways. You were so attainable, and you were willing to be his. What if he fucked up. He has, right in front of him, sharing breaths mere inches from each other, everything he had ever wanted, and he didn't even have to fight for it. Handed to him on a silver platter was the key to the universe, but he could find a way to fuck it up. He always did.

"You don't know that." He held your head in his hands, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. His world in the palm of his hands. What if he dropped it.

"You love me?"

"I didn't even know what love was before I met you." You whispered it and he shattered. He kissed you, as if he could pull the sound from your lips so that your confession him that could replay forever in his mind. Like he was sealing some sort of promise so you couldn't take it back.

"I love you." He said in between kisses. "I love you so much it hurts." He kissed you on the forehead." I love you so much it makes me feel alive again." He kissed you on your right cheek, "Longed for you like the sun and cherished you like the stars, I love you.", then on the left.

He looked you in the eyes before kissing you again. As if he wouldn't be there to say it again, as if you could somehow forget it, he said it once more.

"I love you."

#spike btvs #spike btvs x reader #buffy the vampire slayer fanfic #spike x reader #buffy the vampire slayer imagine #btvs imagine #btvs x reader #spike btvs imagine #spike btvs fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction

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liaromancewriter · 2 months ago

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Child’s Play – Part 2 / 2

Premise: A beloved childhood toy gets a new life.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); ft. Sophie and Eloise Ramsey (F!OCs) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 1,420

A/N: Submission to @choicesmonthlychallengenov2024 prompt 21: Memories. Part 1 is here.

The shirt collar was scratchy, and he couldn’t wait to go home so he could change into a tee shirt. But home was hours away. It might as well be on the Planet Krypton.

Ethan Ramsey snickered at the analogy as he adjusted the seat belt strap so that it wasn’t so close to his neck. Fidgeting in his seat (he also had to pee real bad), he wondered how much longer he’d be stuck in the car.

They were heading to Sunday dinner at his grandparents' house, but they had moved across town, and now it took forever to drive there.

“Are we there yet?” he called out plaintively.

“Five more minutes,” his dad replied from the front.

“That’s what you said five minutes ago!” Ethan whined.

“And it’ll still be five more minutes unless you stop asking,” his mom said, shooting him that look.

Grumbling under his breath about the unfairness of being a child without any control over his life, Ethan watched the scenery blur past the car window. With a distracted hand, he sped an imaginary red toy truck along the narrow ledge beneath the glass.

The toes of his black shoes pinched, and he wondered (not for the first time) whether God would really care if, just once, he wore sneakers to church. His parents seemed to think so, but Ethan wasn’t convinced.

With everyone else going on in the world, you’d think the Almighty had more important things to worry about than an almost eight-year-old boy not wearing his Sunday Best.

“We’re here,” his dad said, turning the truck into the long drive.

Ethan’s eyes lit up at the sight of Pop-Pop waiting for them on the front porch, his tall frame leaning against the white railing. Beside him sat Lucy, his black lab, her tail wagging enthusiastically.

As soon as his dad parked the truck, Ethan bolted out the door, throwing his arms around his grandfather’s long legs. He gave Lucy a quick pat on the head before she could demand more attention with her barking.

His grandfather’s booming laughter filled the air. “Happy Birthday, Ethan!”

“But it’s not until tomorrow,” Ethan remarked, tilting his head back.

“And I’ll wish you then, too,” Pop-Pop laughed, nodding pleasantly as his parents joined them on the porch. “Now, come on inside. Your grandmother’s prepared a feast, and I bet you’re hungry as a bear.”

Later, Ethan sat cross-legged on the braided rug in the cozy living room, licking his lips at the lingering taste of the delicious roasted chicken and apple pie they’d had for Sunday dinner.

He was about to ask if he could go outside to play with Lucy when Pop-Pop disappeared into the hallway only to return moments later, holding a small, rectangular box wrapped in brown wrapping paper.

“What’s that?” Ethan asked, scooting closer as his grandfather crouched down and placed the box in his lap.

“Something I’ve been saving for just the right time,” Pop-Pop said, his voice warm and gentle. “And what better time than your eighth birthday?”

Ethan tore into the wrapping with careful excitement, his breath catching at the sight before him. Inside was a small collection of toy cars, their vibrant colors and shiny metal surfaces catching the light from the lamp.

“Whoa.” Ethan ran his fingers over the smooth edges of the miniature vehicles. “These are awesome!”

“They were mine when I was younger,” his grandfather said, settling onto the floor beside him. “I repainted them for you, so they’re like new again.”

“Thanks, Pop-Pop,” Ethan said softly, hugging his grandfather before lifting out a red fire truck with a tiny extendable ladder.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

Ethan lined the cars in a neat row, already imagining the adventures they’d have. He didn’t know it then, but those little cars would follow him everywhere—racing along windowsills, zooming across tabletops and sometimes even tucked under his pillow at night.

Eventually, he outgrew the toy cars, trading them in for a shiny Schwinn bike he raced around the neighborhood with his friends. By the time he graduated from high school, he couldn’t even remember what had happened to them. His eyes were firmly focused on the future.

But the nostalgia of those early years—before his mother tore apart their family—often lingered at the back of his mind. Until one day, his life came full circle.

Seven-year-old Eloise Ramsey would have toppled headfirst into the cardboard box if her father hadn’t caught the waistband of her shorts and pulled her back just in time.

“Careful,” Ethan said, steadying her with one hand while shifting the box under his arm for a better grip.

Unfazed by her near fall, El grinned up at him. She and her twin sister were spending the weekend in Providence, helping their parents and Grandpa Alan sort through stuff to donate to the annual church charity drive.

Of course, their parents could handle the boring stuff, El thought. She and Sophie were hunting for treasure. To the twins, the basement wasn’t just a storage room. It was a mystical cave, and they were fearless adventurers on a daring mission.

“El, come look what I found!” Sophie called out from the other side of the basement, her voice echoing off the cement walls.

Ethan shook his head in exasperation as Eloise darted off, narrowly avoiding a stumble over an old outdoor mat that had clearly seen better days.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs drew his attention, and he looked up to see his wife, Cassie Valentine, leaning over the railing. Her grin widened as she watched the twins’ antics.

“Are you girls ready for a break?” she asked, coming down the stairs. “I made lemonade and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Look, Mommy, we found real treasure,” the twins cried excitedly. “Can we keep it? Please?”

Ethan met Cassie’s amused look and rolled his eyes. The idea of the twins finding anything even closely resembling treasure in the dusty basement was laughable.

Still, as Cassie and his father often reminded him, the rules of fatherhood dictated that he try and indulge the girls’ fits of fancies.

He froze when he saw Eloise holding a small, dusty box with both hands, her eyes wide with excitement.

“It’s full of cars!” she exclaimed to Cassie, who examined the box alongside the girls, their foreheads nearly touching.

A wave of recognition washed over him as he crossed the room to take a closer look. Sure enough, the box the girls had uncovered was filled with his old toy cars, their once-bright colors dulled by a fine layer of dust but still perfectly intact.

He knelt beside his daughters, taking the box and lifting out the familiar red fire truck, its tiny ladder still movable after all these years.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as memories flooded back—racing the cars with Pop-Pop on the front porch the day he got them, pretending to be a race car driver speeding down the Indy 500 track, or a firefighter saving the world with his trusty red truck.

“These were mine,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. “Pop-Pop—my grandfather,” Ethan clarified at their confused look, “gave them to me when I was about your age. They belonged to him when he was a child.”

“That’s so cool,” Sophie said, leaning into him as she steadied herself with one arm draped over his shoulder, her wide eyes fixed on the cars.

“Did you play with them a lot?” Eloise asked, peering into the box with fascination.

“All the time,” Ethan replied, his voice rough as he cleared his throat. “But that feels like a lifetime ago.”

The last words came out almost as a whisper, heavy with the weight of memories, but Cassie caught them nonetheless.

“Maybe it’s time these cars had adventures again,” Cassie murmured, giving the girls a meaningful look. “Just like my doll, Wilhelmina found a new home earlier this year.”

Ethan nodded absently, his fingers lightly tracing the roof of a blue sports car, savoring one final connection to his past before passing it on.

“They’re yours now,” he said, setting the box between the twins. “Just promise me you’ll take good care of them.”

“We will!” Eloise and Sophie said in unison, already diving into the box to examine their newfound treasures.

As the girls argued over who would get the shiny blue sports car, Cassie slipped an arm around his waist and leaned into his side.

“Now they have something from both our childhoods. And to think, you were convinced your dad had thrown everything out.”

Ethan caught the laughter in her voice and groaned when she added, “Told you so!”

“You just love saying that, don’t you?” he griped with exasperation.

“You better believe it,” Cassie giggled, her lips brushing against his. “There’s nothing more satisfying than proving you wrong.”

As Eloise held up the red fire truck, pretending to extinguish an imaginary blaze, Ethan couldn’t help but smile. Cassie was right. Some toys, like cherished memories, were meant to be passed on.

--------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @justyourusualash

@lady-calypso @kyra75 @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect

@queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

@thosehallowedhalls

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine #ramsey twins

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elixirfromthestars · 2 years ago

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Lucky Day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Summary: Bucky, your childhood best friend, takes you to a baseball game to thank you for helping him with his chemistry class. However, between bets and kiss cams, luck seems to be the real game being played.

Word Count: ~800

Warning(s): nothing really it’s just a whole lot of fluff

a/n: Here is a little fluffy drabble I’ve had in my drafts for quite some time. ❤️ Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! 💖

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“ Y/n, I caught it!” Bucky yelled grinning from ear to ear. Cheers erupted from the seats around you as he waved the baseball he caught in the air. “ There’s no way,” you grumbled staring at the baseball Bucky was twirling around in his hands. You placed a bet with Bucky earlier on whether or not he would catch one of the stray baseballs from the game. He would routinely complain about coming here and never catching one, so you thought this would be a good opportunity to make a few extra dollars. Unfortunately, for your bank account, luck was on his side today.

You reached into your wallet and took out a twenty, handing it to him annoyed at your loss, “Here.” Bucky was grinning smugly as he took the money from your hand, a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes, “ Maybe you're my good luck charm, Y/n. You should come to these games more often with me.” You glared at him playfully,” And have to do more of your chemistry homework? No thanks.” He laughed at that, stealing a cheesy nacho from the container on your lap.

“ Not chemistry. Next time it’ll be algebra.”

“ In your dreams, Barnes.”

“ Oh, so we're on last-name terms now? Well, L/n, to cheer you up I’ll buy you some of that cotton candy you wanted. Although, technically, you'll be buying it,” he cheekily remarked calling over one of the snack vendors and buying a pink fluff of candy floss with the twenty you just gave him. He handed it to you and you gladly took it,” Whatever, Barnes,” you replied holding back a grin. It was nice to see how excited Bucky was to have finally caught a baseball from his favorite team. You knew he wanted one for a long time, and no doubt would stay after just to try and get it signed by his favorite players.

Even though you lost the bet, you were glad you came to the game with him. You usually don’t come to outings like these as you’re usually busy with coursework and Bucky tends to invite Steve or Sam to these kinds of things. However, when he was falling behind in chemistry, you helped him complete some assignments and study for an exam he ended up acing thanks to your tutoring. Tutoring is not your specialty, but when the request came from your childhood best friend, there was no way you could say no. You can’t remember the last time you genuinely said no to Bucky.

The people in the seats surrounding you suddenly started to get rowdy breaking you from your thoughts. You scanned the stadium confused as to what everyone was getting animated over. You knew there was a current break in the game, so it couldn’t be that. Hearing the romantic music being played over the speakers brought your attention to the giant screen in the stadium. Your heart skipped a beat as soon as you saw who was on it.

It was you and Bucky.

There the two of you were on the jumbotron with the words ‘KISS CAM’ plastered on the screen surrounded by a scatter of red hearts. You froze in your seat never been put in a position like this. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as the people around you encouraged the two of you to kiss—including the announcer. You weren’t a stranger to any sort of public displays of affection, but this was something else in its entirety.

“ Y/n, you know we don’t have to do this. They’ll just switch to another couple. Relax,” Bucky spoke up from beside you, his voice gentle and kind. He must have noticed how nervous you had gotten as soon as you two showed up on that screen. You turned to him, the word couple bouncing around your mind with mixed emotions. However, as soon as you locked eyes with him the emotions were no longer mixed.

You wanted to kiss him.

This came as no surprise to you, and most likely no surprise on his part either. There was a constant flirtatious dynamic between you and almost everybody you knew assumed you were a couple. It's not like they would be wrong to assume that since there were a few times you almost crossed the line between friend and lover, however, neither of you ever took the step to fully cross it. Stolen glances, lingering hugs, and near kisses were no strangers in your friendship.

“ But I want to,” your voice came out quieter than you expected, and yet Bucky had heard you. His demeanor changed from earlier, a hopeful yet almost shy look overtook his face. A sheepish grin replaced the confident one from earlier as the reality of what could and would most likely happen, set in.

“ You sure?” He asked coming in closer, his right hand taking your left in his as a comforting gesture. You were so entranced by the moment you only managed to nod your head before he leaned over and kissed you. You kissed back, your right hand dropping the cotton candy and instinctively holding onto his cheek. As the stadium erupted with cheers, he used the hand that was holding yours to pull you in closer by the waist.

Today turned out to be a lucky day for both of you.

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limey-writes · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! I hope you’re accepting imagine ideas, if not that’s cool. If you are I’ve kind of been wondering: how do you think the different yandere mercs would react to learning their counterpart/rival also was yandere for their darling? Ex:, medic is yandere for y/n but soon learns that heavy is yandere for them also. Same goes with rivals like sniper and spy + demo and soldier, stuff like that. I could imagine most would try to get the other merc out of the picture but some may try to work something out. Thanks and have a good day :)

Ooooo that's pretty interesting, I can totally mess with that yeh tw: Yandere themes, maybe some blood, you know how it be and how it do (: Imma do your sniper/spy and demo/solly, since thats a fun dynamic too lol ~~~

Sniper and Spy have been always at each other's throats, but when it came down to meeting someone new who seemed to really catch their attention. They were left to constantly bicker and fight around each other even when you'd be there, it would be slight jabs at each other or ending up beating the ever living christ out of each other until the other finally leaves the two of you be. Sniper would go on and try to hijack anything you would be doing with Spy, whether it would be getting you to come with him in places that would be far away from where Spy might have some wandering eyes. Sniper is whispering sweet nothings into your ear, tempting you with everything you could ever want while he's trying to make sure that nothing would be better than spending nights with him in his camper rather than cooped up with some old smoking rat, right? Spy on the other hand was always trying to gift you things you've had your eye on for a while, showing you different things that he knows would absolutely make you want them. Whether it be jewelry, fancy clothes, items, hell he'd go as far to buy you a new sleek car if you really wanted it. Spy is a gifting man, and if that doesn't keep you away from Sniper, how about a trip to France? Or Spain? Anywhere that would be far enough from the bastard of a bushman just to earn your attention. He knows better than to outright tell you that Sniper was not good enough, besides, he doesn't have to tell you that he's gross, why not show you? After all, what are these totally not doctored pictures doing that he found laying around with Sniper with someone else? How odd. ~~~ Demo and Soldier were always close, spending time together and doing everything together, you'd think that when you came into their lives that they'd actually cooperate and see if they could possibly keep you in both of their lives...which worked for a while. Except Demo was a little hesitant and nervous to let you be by yourself with Soldier, and Soldier was not wanting to spend a minute apart from you. So it's basically Demo playing babysitter and Solly getting to bring you with him on the most dangerous kinda thing he's ever thought of doing. You can imagine the kind of heart attack that Demo had when he saw you and Soldier flying through the air like two proud american eagles. (Soldier's exact words after Demo had to tend to any scratch you might've gotten on the way down, which is nothing but he cant help but be worried.) Soldier follows you wherever you go, to the store? Yup. On a walk? Holding your hand, watching your six. Going to take a nap? Not without him in the room to protect from anyone waking you up, which is usually him yelling at someone to go away and not bother you. Soldier adores you to the moon and back and even more, which means you can do no wrong in his eyes, no matter what you do he's rooting you on and on your side at all times. Which means if anyone ever tells you no, wrongs you, or makes you frown, you bet your ass that their neck is being snapped in an instant. Soldier plays no games and neither does Demo, so they can always be found tag teaming by brainstorming ways that they can make sure some asshole who said something behind your back disappears for the rest of their days. They'd never tell you what happened though, even asking Solly would give you an odd answer that would probably never make sense, but why care about some random person? You have them after all!

#tf2 #limey whispers #tf2 imagines #tf2 x reader #tf2 spy #tf2 demoman #tf2 soldier #tf2 sniper

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year ago

Text

Baby Jack and Baby FL First Fight Part 2

Follow up to this concept

Jack had felt uneasy ever since you had walked out the door and debated on whether he was even going to go to the studio tonight.

Even though his career was extremely important to him, he had always made you a priority so he could understand why you felt the way that you did. He never passed up an opportunity to spend time with you.

He tried calling you a few times before he left to head to the studio, but of course you let it go straight to voicemail which was very unlike you.

Although this was your first official fight, the two of you would have disagreements in the past but it was always resolved then and there with the two of you compromising and nothing else came out of it after.

Jack decided to let it go for now and head to the studio for a few hours in the hopes that it would give you enough time to cool off so that the two of you could talk, but the thing is that Jack didn’t even know if he would be able to focus while he was there simply because he knew his mind was going to be on you the entire time.

He really couldn’t get past the fact that you didn’t tell him that you loved him before you left.

The two of you had a rule, no matter if you are mad at each other (which never happened until now), that you always had to tell the other ‘I love you’, and you weren’t allowed to go to bed without resolving the issue that caused the disagreement in the first place.

Meanwhile you were with Victoria making snickerdoodles in an attempt to get you to feel better, but all she was doing was eyeing you ever since you walked in.

“What? Why do you insist on staring at me like that?” You asked while looking back at her.

“I just…. You and lover boy fighting? This is one for the books and definitely unheard of.”

All you did was shrug your shoulders as you mixed the cookie dough.

“No Y/N, like the two of you NEVER fight and I guarantee you it’s only a matter of time before Jack is breaking down my door to talk to you.”

“I doubt it. He got the studio time that he wanted so bad, so I know that’s where he is. We always share our location with each other and I just checked it ten minutes ago.”

“I don’t like this. My favorite couple needs to fix whatever is going on.”

“He blew me off to go to the studio even though I have barely seen him all week.”

“I get why that’s upsetting to you, but Y/N, this man is trying to make a name for himself in the industry and trying to take care of you. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand where you’re coming from but just think of how many more date nights you’ll be able to have with him in the future? One day he might just tell you to pack a fucking bag and the next thing you know you’re in Paris.”

“Victoriaaaaaa.”

“Babe! Just think about it and call him back! Soon he’s probably going to send the National Guard to come get your ass. I wouldn’t put it past him for a second.”

“I just… don’t want to talk to him right now.”

“Hmm, I’ll check back in with you in an hour and I guarantee that you’ll be speeding down the road to get to your man.”

Jack had been in the studio for an hour and a half and just as he suspected couldn’t focus on what was going on at the moment and was growing frustrated with himself.

Urban had just so happened to meet him there since he had already been out and knew that something was wrong since he wasn't quite acting like himself.

“Uh, Jack? You good?"

“I can’t focus right now.” He breathed out while standing up and looking for his keys.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll be back, I just need to talk to Y/N.”

He knew for a fact that he wouldn't be able to get anything done until he fixed things with you.

“Wait, where is she?”

“At Victoria’s and I’m about to go and see her. I'll only be 20 minutes at the most."

You and Victoria were letting the cookies cool off when there was a sudden knock on the door.

"How much you wanna bet that it's your man?" She asked as she got up from the couch to open it.

"Tell him I'm not here."

"Should have turned your location off first, dumbass."

When Victoria opened the door, she saw Jack there looking pitiful as ever and simply moved to the side to let him in.

"About time you showed up. She's in the living room." Was all Victoria said before Jack made a beeline to see you.

Once there all you did was cross your arms and let out a huff as he came into your view.

"Do not ever leave our apartment again without telling me that you love me no matter how fucking mad you are." Jack said while coming over to sit next to you.

"Wait, what?"

"You were so mad at me that you didn't even tell me that you loved me and just walked out the door. You know our rule, we never do that."

"I didn't even realize that I didn't say it." You confessed quietly and instantly felt guilty.

"I.. couldn't even focus on anything at the studio because of the way we left things so I'm sorry for not going through with our plans for date night and I never want to make you feel like you aren't important to me because you know you are."

"And I'm sorry too. I know how important your career is to you and it's important to me too. I just really needed you and missed you this week."

“So, can we compromise?” Jack asked hoping that you would say yes.

“I’m listening.”

“You come to the studio with me for two hours and after I take you to get ice cream? You’ll have me for the rest of the night. Then tomorrow until you go out with Dani, we can do whatever you want. How’s that sound, pretty girl?”

Your eyes instantly lit up and Jack couldn’t help but to smile.

You eagerly nodded your head before throwing your arms around him and pulling him into a hug.

“I love you and I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.” You said as you leaned over to kiss him.

“I love you too, you know we’re in this together.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow concept #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fluff #first lady of pg

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 1 year ago

Text

OoTP, Chapter 5 - Something Rotten

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: hints of child abuse, death mentions

Masterlist

Word Count: ~5,800

Note: Cedric's death should have affected more people imo. I also had a couple blogs in my taglist that no longer route to anything, so if you've recently changed your blog name and still would like to be tagged let me know!

Halloween went by with the usual fanfare: Jack-O-Lanterns lined the walls of the Great Hall and bobbed lazily under the levitation spell, the ghosts even seemed more chipper and some made a habit of spooking unsuspecting first years. Peeves was especially insufferable this time of year, though you somehow managed to scrape by with only one encounter, during which he'd juggled far too many burning Jack-O-Lanterns above your head as you sprinted for the safety of the common room.

October bled into November, which lasted a single day before it was renamed 'Quidditch Season.' The first game was, as usual, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. You didn't go, but you heard from Herbert that Gryffindor won, and Slytherin (meaning Malfoy) were still dirty players and sore losers. That next week especially you avoided contact with the whole Slytherin house. They were in poor spirits and had a tendency to lash out at the nearest person with a cursable face, though by Saturday your lessons with Draco went smoothly enough.

Monday morning found the Great Hall abuzz with excitement. You sat down to breakfast across from Donna, who turned immediately to Hannah Abbott, and said, "What's everybody talking about?"

Hannah grinned. "Hagrid's back! People are taking bets on how soon Grubbly-Plank goes back into retirement.

The doors to the courtyard flew open with a bang to reveal a snow coated Hagrid. His reception was mixed. Several Gryffindor students leapt from their seats to greet him, but others seemed to turn one or several shades of green. You yourself smiled happily, ready for more interesting Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Then you remembered Umbridge, and your smile faded into a grimace.

Yvette met your eye from across the table. Apparently the same thought had crossed her mind.

"I wonder," you began slowly.

She finished, "What he has planned? Me too.

Donna gulped down some pumpkin juice and got up. "Let's go ask him." You followed Yvette and Donna, cutting him off before he could reach the teacher's table.

His eyes lit up from under bushy eyebrows when he saw the three of you, his cheeks already ruddy from the heat of the Great Hall's gargantuan fireplaces. "Well, if t'isn't me favorite fourth years!" He put his giant hands on his hips. "Where's Herb?"

Donna answered, "Hospital wing. Said Peeves dropped something on his head." You shared a look with Yvette, knowing for a fact he was just trying to get out of a History of Magic exam and had dropped a pumpkin on his own head with the levitation charm.

Hagrid chortled. "Madame Pomfrey will have him righ' as rain for the afternoon then. No doubt about that. How've you all been holding up?"

"Good," Yvette said, "but we're happy to have you back, Professor." Hagrid beamed.

You interjected, "We were also wondering when you'd be back to teaching, and what you have planned. Whether it's something..."

"Dangerous," Donna finished.

Hagrid laughed and patted your shoulder, you swayed under the weight. “Don’t you worry, I've got somethin great lined up for this afternoon, you'll love it. In fact, you should come down a little early, if you’ve got the time. I’ve got a surprise.” He said nothing else, and moved past you to take his place at the teacher’s table.

That had not, at all, answered your question and had only led to more. Which was unsurprising. The three of you shrugged at each other and went back to the Hufflepuff table to eat and cram from A History of Magic before slumping off to Binn’s classroom.

When you got there, Herbert was already sitting at his desk, a bump the size of a snitch on his forehead, grumpily flipping through his textbook.

After slogging through a dozen and a half questions about goblins and goblin rebellions, you pulled Herbert along to the Great Hall, filling him in. He was, unsurprisingly, less than thrilled at the news that your favorite professor (perhaps a close second to Professor Sprout) had returned and would be resuming his curriculum immediately.

He groaned, stuffing sausage rolls into a pocket in his robes. “We have to go now?”

“Yes, Herbert,” Donna implored, doing the same, “we can eat later - let’s go!” She grabbed him by the wrist and began pulling.

“Alright, alright.” He pulled himself from her grasp and walked along with the group willingly. “I just hope this surprise of his doesn’t singe my school robes again.”

You laughed, “Oh, come on. With any luck it’s either something cute or something deadly.”

The four of you hurried down the snowy path, clinging to each other in random intervals to keep from sliding and giggling wildly all the way, to Hagrid’s hut. It was good to see smoke rising from the chimney again. The door was open, Fang lay asleep on the threshold, so still if you didn’t know better you’d guess he was dead. He snored loudly as you stepped over him first.

“Hagrid?” you called quietly. He looked up from his woodstove, a tea kettle sat over the fire. In this lighting, you noticed he looked a little worse for wear. His face was puffy in places, and discolored, but when he saw the four of you he beamed. Same old Hagrid.

“Come in, come in. Oh don’t mind the old lug, he’s been asleep for hours.” He gestured at the chairs crowding a tiny dining table. “Want a cuppa?”

“Where have you been?” Yvette asked before settling herself into a chair and crossing her arms. “We’ve missed your lessons.” Herbert made a noise; Donna stamped his foot under the table.

Hagrid chuckled and set tea cups down in front of each of you. In his giant hands they looked minuscule. “I’ll have ye know it’s none of your business, but I was in France. Visiting a friend.” You shared a look with Yvette. “And you’ll all like what I have planned for today. It’s perfect timing.” He didn’t elaborate, but the tea kettle began to whistle. “Just a mo’.”

Herbert cleared his throat. “So, Hagrid. About that surprise?”

“Right, right, o’ course.” He turned back around and put the kettle back on the stove, which started whistling again immediately. He picked it back up and poured the steaming water into the cups before opening various cabinets. “Now, where did I… ha! The ministry had these enchanted for the tournament last year, and Dumbledore convinced them to leave em with me.” He sat down between Yvette and Donna, a velvet pouch in his hand. It was squirming. “You’ll like this especially, Y/N.”

You gasped. From the bag emerged four tiny but incredibly lifelike dragons. Dragons. The green one took to the air at once, flitting around the hut above your heads, while the one you recognized as the Hungarian Horntail let out a wildly adorable roar and a tiny jet of flame.

“I figured these’d be close enough to the real thing, for Advanced Care of Magical Creatures.” He looked at you pointedly.

The Welsh Green had settled in a hanging pot of basil, observing from above, while the Swedish Short-Snout lumbered towards your hand and tried to take a chunk out of your thumb. It pinched a little, but the tiny dragon did not let go. You laughed weakly, in shock, as you held the thing in your hand. “Count me in,” you said.

The Chinese Fireball had snuck up on the Horntail and tackled it, but was no match for the other dragon’s strength and tenacity. Hagrid pulled them apart before permanent damage could be done.

Herbert whistled. “This is cool, Hagrid.”

“Well don’ sound so surprised!”

He stuttered, “It’s just that, well you know, I just hoped, oh nevermind it.”

Hagrid herded the three dragons on the table back into the bag, you had to coax the Short-Snout to release your hand, and then stood up to be eye level with the Welsh Green. He held the bag open, close to it, and pointed. The tiny dragon leapt up into the air, tucked its wings, and dove into the bag.

“There,” he said, smiling contentedly, “I thought you bunch would get a kick out of that.”

Yvette, who had also not stopped smiling, said, “Thanks, Hagrid. It is good to have you back.”

“Yeah, but we’d better go,” Donna said, peering out the window. “There’s already a crowd by the forest.”

Hagrid picked Fang up and put him by the fire, the dog did not wake up but began to snore louder, and led the four of you out of his hut and out into the cold, carrying a bucket full of something absolutely putrid. He waited until all the other students had arrived, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw shared this class and chatted among themselves to speculate what was to come, and then asked the class to follow him. He did not take a turn into the forest as you expected, but continued along its edge for several minutes, and only stopped at the shore of the Black Lake.

You exchanged confused looks with several classmates. Hagrid looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Now, how many of you’ve heard of the giant squid?” he began. Most students raised their hands. “And how many of you think it’s a prank pulled by older students?” You raised your hand sheepishly, along with a handful of others. “Not surprising, he’s a reclusive creature, but this time o’ year, if you offer him something yummy he usually shows himself.” Your jaw hung open. Hagrid waved again, and led the class to the pier. He had everyone stand in a line at the edge, held the bucket above his head, and shouted out across the waves, “C’mere Squish! I’ve something for ya!”

“He named the squid Squish?” Donna muttered.

“Are you surprised?” you muttered back.

For several minutes, nothing happened. Hagrid pulled an oily fish out of the bucked and dipped it in the black water. Still nothing. The students around you began to murmer again. Then, there was a ripple.

You elbowed Donna. “Look,” you said, pointing out at the line being drawn in the waves. Something big was moving under the water. “Uh, Professor?” you called.

He waved you off. “Here he comes! Get ready!” The line drew closer and closer until it was almost to the pier, and then. It was gone. Hagrid deflated just a bit and reached again for the bucket. Before he could touch it though, two huge, jet black tentacles erupted from the surface, spraying everyone with frigid water, and grabbed the whole bucket and disappeared back under the water.

Donna looked at you, mouth agape, then turned to Herbert. “Do you still have those sausage rolls?”

“Yeah, but I was gonna-”

“Can I have one?”

“But-”

“Oh, come on. I’ll proofread your Divination assignment?”

Herbert sighed heavily, and reached into his pocket. Donna beamed. You, Yvette, and Herbert followed her as she elbowed her way to the end of the pier next to Hagrid. She held the roll above her head and called, “Uh, Squish? I’ve got somethin else for ya!” The Ravenclaw next to you looked at Donna in horror. Hagrid only egged her on.

You watched, enthralled, as a gigantic, black shape glided out from under the pier. The Black Lake, murky as it was, left much to the imagination, but if you had to guess you’d say that Squish was at least ten meters long. Donna held the sausage roll out like you would feed a horse a carrot - on the palm of her hand, fingers well out of the way. A smaller tentacle reached out slowly, much gentler this time, and plucked the roll out of her palm.

The class was speechless. If there hadn’t been the constant thrum of water against shore, you could’ve heard a pin drop.

Hagrid clapped again, grinning ear to ear, and said, “He’ll be happy now, he’s had dinner and desert.” He clapped Donna on the shoulder. “Right, let’s move back onto shore and we can finish up the lesson.”

The class gathered around Hagrid on the stony shore in stunned silence. Clearly, even if they believed the rumor, no one expected the creature to be so big, or get so close. A majestic creature, sure, but what was it doing in a freshwater lake?

Hagrid seemed ready to answer your question, as he began, “Who can tell me the typical stomping grounds of a giant squid?”

A Ravenclaw, a muggleborn you’d met through the DA, raised his hand. “They’re deep sea dwellers. So what’s this-”

“One doing here? An excellent question Mr. Goldstein. A normal giant squid is only expected to live five years or so, but this one’s been living in our very own lake for at least a century. So, what’s special about this one? Ordinary creatures, when they interact with existing magical traces in unexpected ways, can turn magical.”

A thought occurred to you; you raised your hand. “Like the magical barrier surrounding Hogwarts?”

“Exactly! That is my own theory, Dumbledore agrees it’s likely. And ever since then, his lifespan has increased, and he’s far more intelligent than a typical giant squid.”

The Ravenclaw spoke up again, “But what about the other things in the lake? Don’t they get territorial?”

“Another excellent question - five points. Now the funny thing about that, we learned from the merfolk last year. Apparently, they’re able to share because they’ve established hunting grounds, and Squish hunts a number of nasties the merfolk don’t like, like Grindylows, which he’s only able to do because he’s been changed by magic somehow.”

The class continued to pepper Hagrid with questions, apparently the idea of a magically mutated animal fascinated most of the Ravenclaw students, right up to the chime of the bell echoing from far away. The castle was a long walk away and by the time you got back inside, in front of a fireplace, you excused yourself to skip a trip to the library and went to go lie down for the hour before dinner. About five minutes in, Wilbur found you and began kneading into your chest.

The week trudged on, Donna proofread an assignment for Herbert as promised - an essay comparing Herbert’s astrological sign to his older brothers’ - and on Saturday morning, instead of going straight to the Quidditch pitch, you actually joined your friends for breakfast. It was the last Quidditch match before the holiday break - Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw. Yvette had been a vibrant cluster of nerves and excitement all week and by the time she sat down in the Great Hall she was practically bouncing off the walls. Luna Lovegood was wearing a cloak that looked like raven’s wings, along with a large hat with a protruding beak. When you asked her about it, she opened the beak, which promply played the Hogwarts’ anthem in a series of caws.

The match did not go well. Wanda Clemm had apparently just been dumped by her girlfriend, and was even more inconsolable after what she called the worst performance of her life.

Your tutoring sessions with Draco Malfoy continued in relative civility into December - Professor Sprout had the class preparing the fire-breathing snap dragons for hibernation over Christmas break - and you were loathe to admit it but you’d grown rather comfortable with the arrangement. The Dumbledore’s Army meetings continued as well, and before break, you planned to ask Harry Potter about your friends possibly joining. The more you learned from him, the more you believed the urgency of the threat.

The last week of term, you sat at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, surrounded by sparkling evergreen trees topped with stars that twinkled and sent out tiny flying reindeer at odd intervals. Donna and Herbert were discussing their holiday plans next to you; Yvette had been in a perpetually sour mood since losing to Ravenclaw and was angrily flipping pages through Intermediate Transfiguration pretending to study.

A gentle thrum signaled the arrival of at least a hundred owls prepared to drop off mail. The first few dropped in to circle the tables, and as more and more joined them you spotted your mother’s owl - Bertha. She settled on the table and held out her leg casually while she began preening.

Dear Y/N, I hope your year is going well, we all of course miss you at home and are excited to see you for Christmas! The shop is doing well, we may have to expand next year but that’s so long as the prices at Apothecary in Diagon Alley stay so inflated. It’s been a boon to have so much of their business transfer here. Your Screechsnap misses you, so does Buttercup, and so do we! We’ll pick you up at Kings Cross at noon? Love you, Mum & Julien

You smiled to yourself; you missed the family’s King Charles Spaniel called Buttercup too, and you could already smell your step-father’s homemade cauldron cakes.

Ezra Roberts sat down next to your group. “Hey, Yvette.”

She looked up, surprised. “Hey.”

“I’m writing a Christmas card for Mr. Diggory; I wondered if you wanted to write one too. Any of you. I’m asking most of the house. Nothing too fancy, just… you know.” You nodded without thinking. Before you could take it back, Ezra clapped you and Yvette on the shoulders and grinned. “Great - I’ll need them before term ends. I really think he’ll like hearing from people. See ya later!”

What had you just agreed to, exactly? Yvette saw the look on your face and burst out laughing.

“What do I even say?” you asked, incredulous. “I barely knew Cedric. Oh stop laughing at me, you’re on the Quidditch team at least, you can talk about that. I’ve got nothing.” You groaned and put your face in your hands.

Yvette patted you on the head. “There, there, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” You shot her a look. “Yeesh, fine, just write about what you do know and wish him a Happy Christmas. You don’t have to pour your heart and soul out for every single person on the planet.”

“But if she didn’t she wouldn’t be the Hufflepuff we all know and love,” Herbert snarked through buttered toast.

There was a sudden hush as across the room a bench screeched against the stone floor. Draco Malfoy stormed out of the hall, shoulders slumped, not at all his usual haughty gait. During your tutoring session two days ago, he’d sounded perfectly normal. As normal as ever, anyway. The silence broke in a growing thrum of whispers. Ernie and Hannah sat down, gossiping quietly; you leaned over to ask, “What’s going on?”

Hannah laughed, embarrassed. “It’s really not funny, I almost feel bad for laughing.”

“Oh, come on,” Ernie interrupted. “It’s kind of nice to see him knocked down a peg. I heard that his parents don’t want him home for the holidays.”

“What? Why?” you asked.

Ernie thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, I think they had some kind of row or something.”

“Huh?”

“Malfoy and his dad,” Hannah said. “I heard from Justin, who heard from Padma Patil, that Dean Thomas overheard him complaining to those thugs who follow him everywhere that they had a spat about the family’s ‘rightful status.’”

You grimaced, wondering if they were arguing about Draco working for the Ministry.

Donna weighed in, “Yikes.”

“Oh yeah,” Ernie said, spewing toast crumbs across the table, “a gem.”

You excused yourself to hurry after him, spurred on by some unidentified sense of duty, and caught him on the dark stone stairs to the dungeons. “Hey, wait!”

He turned and looked at you coldly. His face seemed paler than usual. “What is it?”

“Are you really staying here for Christmas?”

He scowled and crossed his arms. “How did you know about that?”

“Everyone is kinda talking about it. How come?”

“Because you gave me the bright idea to disobey my father.” He jabbed a finger at you as he said it, and his sleeve pulled back just enough to show a hint of discoloration. Your heart sunk to your feet. “And then he asked where I got such an idea, and then-”

“He found out about-”

“Me being tutored by a Hufflepuff, my undignified career goals.” He crossed his arms again. “So I’ve been banished. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to unpack.” He turned on his heels and disappeared down the stairs.

After forcing yourself to listen to Professor Binns all morning, you spent the break before lunch in the library, either staring blankly at a card with a glittering poinsettia on the front, or starting blankly at the shelves hoping you’d happen across one called An Idiot’s Guide to Greeting Cards. You had no such luck. Draco never showed up to lunch. Hagrid had the afternoon Care of Magical Creatures class pick strips of paper out of a bucket, yours said “Flobberworm,” and when you learned the purpose of them you were wildly jealous of Anthony Goldstein who had picked the strip labeled “Unicorn.” Hagrid handed everyone their own buckets, and said that whoever created the best treat basket for their given creature would win ten points. It was not his best lesson, but it seemed like everyone understood that after Umbridge’s visit to the fifth years’ lesson, it was better for everyone to play it safe.

You’d planned on trying again to write Mr. Diggory after dinner, but the common room had been decorated with garlands and the fireplace had been enchanted to burn red and green and gold, and through the enchanted windows blew sparkling snow and the scent of hot cocoa, and you immediately forgot all about writing a Christmas card in the revelry.

The next morning, though, you remembered.

Draco wasn’t in Herbology, either, though Crabbe, Goyle, and that sycophantic Slytherin girl had shown up to class. The three of them seemed to be having enough trouble handling their snapdragons on their own, so you waited until everyone else was done, and quickly tended to Draco’s. Just to keep it alive over break. After potions, Donna, Yvette, Herbert and yourself all ate a hurried dinner and went straight to the library to get some last minute work done. You scribbled away at a chart for Astronomy, which was due in an hour, until Yvette brought up what she’d put in her Christmas card to Mr. Diggory.

“I thought he’d like to know that the whole house came out for Quidditch tryouts. Left out how badly we were demolished by Ravenclaw of course,” she said nonchalantly. She was only trying to be helpful, but it still felt like nagging. “I really think once you get started-”

“Look, right now, the only thing I wanna think about is where Ursa Major is relative to Cassiopeia on my birthday.”

“Fine,” she said coldly. “I’ll see you in Astronomy.” She swiped her books into her bags and flounced out of the library.

Herbert and Donna were staring at you. “What was that about?” you asked.

“Well,” Donna started slowly, “it’s just that you’ve been so… absent, lately. I think she, I mean, we all just kind of… miss you?”

“What?” you asked, incredulous.

Herbert rolled his eyes. “Come on, you’re all over the place these days. Most evenings we don’t even see you. You never come to breakfast on the weekends, and you’re behind in every class.”

“Am not!”

“Name one.”

You smirked. “Herbology.”

“That one doesn’t count and you know it.” You huffed and crossed your arms. “You’re hiding something, Y/N.”

“Guys,” Donna interrupted, bent over her own assignment, “can we talk about this later? This is due for Ancient Runes tomorrow morning.”

“Am I the only one in this friend group capable of finishing work on time?”

“It will be on time so long as I finish it before Astronomy.”

“You know what?” Herbert picked up his own stack of books. “I’ll see you in Astronomy as well.”

You watched him leave, shocked. “What is going on?”

Donna did not look up, “You have been a little distant lately. Otherwise you’d know that Yvette’s granddad was killed in a freak accident last week. It was all over the muggle newspapers, her mum sent a letter. Dangerous things have been happening in the muggle world, lately. Not that you’d have any reason to know about them. But with how Defense Against the Dark Arts has been going, it would be nice if we could all talk to each other for more than ten minutes at a time.”

The tension in your shoulders deflated. Maybe you had been less than attentive to your friends. How were you supposed to know about any of this if she didn’t tell you? It wasn’t like you didn’t see them everyday. But then again, you wouldn’t want to talk to someone you felt pulling away. “And Herbert?”

“Herbert’s been into Yvette since last term.”

“What?”

She smiled into her parchment. “He never would’ve tried out for Quidditch if he wasn’t.”

“Does she know?”

“Ha, nope.”

“Does he know you know?”

“Nope.”

“Well how do you know then?”

She set her quill down and looked at you knowingly. “Because I pay attention.”

“Oof, ok. Point taken.”

You finished the chart with ten minutes to spare, which was just enough time for you to follow Donna to the Astronomy tower; you thanked her three times on the way for sticking around for you. Yvette didn’t speak to you, and she and Herbert left you and Donna behind on the way back to the common room after class.

Just as you followed Donna through the round painted door, Yvette nowhere in sight, the Galleon in your pocket began to heat up. Tomorrow night, two hours before curfew. You bid Donna goodnight and sat down in an armchair before the fireplace with the pretense of finally writing that Christmas card. Instead, you wrote a quick note to Harry Potter, figuring you could send it discreetly by owl in the morning.

To do so, though, you had to wake up at the crack of dawn. Across from you, Donna still slept soundly, and with the curtains pulled tightly shut on Yvette’s bed you weren’t even sure if she was there or not. You left some treats on your pillow for Wilbur and snuck out through the common room to the Owlery. Donna and Herbert joined you for breakfast; Yvette sat at the other end of the table. You watched for the owls, when one swooped down next to Harry Potter with your note, you saw him read it, and immediately show it to Hermione Granger, who in turn looked up to make eye contact with you from across the Hall. Transfiguration was your only class of the day, after lunch, so when your friends excused themselves to get to their own electives, you met her, Harry, and Ginny’s brother in the courtyard under the clock tower.

“You know Ginny, right?” Ginny’s brother, Ron, asked.

You nodded. “And Luna. But Ginny’s the one who told me about the, uh, study group.”

“And you want to invite some people? For tonight?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, if I can. They’re just friends from my house. Two of them are muggleborns, and they’re going home for Christmas, and even their families can tell something’s off.”

Hermione nodded. “They’ll have to sign up, but the room shouldn’t have any problem scaling for a few extra.” She and Ron both looked to Harry to confirm, who nodded. “We’ll be by at dinner. It’s still a secret until then.”

“Thank you.” A weight lifted from your shoulders. “See you then!”

You hung out in the library until lunch, nestled in between two bookcases in front of a window, trying once again to write a Christmas card. Snow was falling gracefully outside, and you were content to watch it idly until something black, moving fast, caught your eye. Someone on a broom, high above the Quidditch pitch. You wondered for a moment if it was Yvette, if she’d skipped Divination for an end of term practice, but the glint of silver on the figure’s head disproved that theory. Even from a distance, the black blur of Malfoy as he buzzed around the pitch, when he stopped and just hung in the air, seemed a bit lost.

You cursed under your breath and put a piece of parchment over the blank card.

Hi Mum! And Julien! Do you think I could stay at Hogwarts for break? I think I may have given a friend some bad advice, and I don’t want to leave them alone on Christmas. Give my love and apologies to Buttercup, please. Happy Christmas, Y/N

You read back through the letter once, shocked you’d called Draco a friend without a second thought, but you could deal with that later, and headed for the owlery for the second time.

Yvette broke her silence at lunch, asking about an essay on the Shrivelfig due for the fourth year Herbology class the next day, so you took the opportunity.

“So, Herbert said I’ve been hiding something,” you started. Donna, Herbert and Yvette leaned in, listening, so you could speak quietly. “He was right. I’m sorry, I realize this isn’t amazing timing, but if none of you have plans after dinner, I can show you what I’ve been doing.” They all wore the same dumbfounded expression. “It’s kind of a secret, so that’s all I can say until then. Just, come to dinner and then if you want you can go back to not speaking to me.”

Yvette leaned back, her arms crossed. “Have you written that Christmas card yet?”

“Not yet, but I will,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Well then I guess we’ll have to see.”

Transfiguration went better than you’d ever dared to hope - you successfully transformed your cat Wilbur into a white marble drinking goblet and back again. Your friends joined you for dinner, and, as promised, Hermione came over after most other students left to pack for the holiday.

She sat down across from Herbert and placed the DA member list on the table, glancing around for teachers, particularly Umbridge. “We’ve been meeting sporadically, training in defensive magic. Y/N’s vouched for you if you want to join.”

“Who’s been teaching?” Donna asked, “You?”

Hermione shook her head and said quietly, “Harry’s the only one with the qualifications-”

“Harry Potter?” asked Yvette.

“Well, yes, he’s the only one who’s fought with You-Know-Who and lived, so-”

“Last year, you mean?” asked Herbert, who was side-eying you.

She huffed at the second interruption. “Last year, and two years before that, and a year before that! Do you think he’s unqualified?” Herbert shrugged and looked at his shoes. “Anyway, we’re meeting tonight. Y/N can take you, but you have to sign this first.” Yvette signed without hesitation, which meant Herbert signed next.

You looked at Donna. Donna looked back. “You’ve been learning from Harry Potter, and you didn’t think to tell us?”

You smiled sheepishly, “It was a secret! And, up until just now, kind of… invite only?”

She rolled her eyes at you and signed the parchment. Hermione, seemingly satisfied, rolled it up and slipped it back into her robes before departing. None of your friends had heard of the Room of Requirement before, and when they walked in to see their prefects, among several other Hufflepuff students, surrounded by touching but gaudy Christmas decor, their jaws dropped open.

Harry was chatting with some of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but waved politely at his new pupils when he saw you. He addressed the room, “Okay! I think this evening we should just go over the things we’ve done so far, we’ve a couple new people and since this is the last meeting before term, we may as well just get them acquainted-”

Zacharias immediately began complaining, “If I’d known that I wouldn’t have come…” until Yvette shot him a withering look.

Everyone divided into pairs; yourself with Yvette, Ernie with Donna, and Hannah with Herbert. Starting with the Impediment Jinx, Yvette was a quick study; even with your experience with the DA she managed to hit you more than you could manage to stun her. Then, the group got out the cushions to practice Stunning, and you watched as your friends held their own, though with varying degrees of success, against some older students. After a while, Harry called a halt. He seemed impressed with the progress everyone had made, and mentioned trying the Patronus Charm after break, earning a ripple of excited whispers from everyone.

Grinning and out of breath, Yvette clapped you on the shoulder. “This is great! I think I learned more this past hour than a whole semester with Umbridge.”

“Yeah,” Donna said, looking markedly less pleased. “It’s a wonder it took you so long to invite us.”

You sputtered, “Well I just, like I said it was all very secret, and it is technically against the rules according to Educational Decree something or other.”

Donna waved a hand dismissively. “Who cares about that old toad?”

“My mum, for one,” said Herbert, grinning, “she’d be livid if she knew I was disobeying someone from the Ministry.”

All around you, people were filing out in twos and threes. Hannah turned to wish Harry a Happy Christmas, but before she could say anything, her face fell and she tapped Ernie on the shoulder. The four of you turned around as well; it was Cho. Standing in front of Cedric’s picture that had been taped under some clippings from the Daily Prophet on the mirrored wall. You all tapped the other Hufflepuffs as they passed you, and they all stopped, except for Zacharias Smith, who simply rolled his eyes and left.

Her shoulders shook; Hannah flinched.

“Cho?” she said, tentatively, the rest of you moving up carefully behind her.

Cho startled, and turned around, sniffling. “Oh, Hannah.” She hastily wiped her eyes. “I thought you’d already-”

“We just, sorry, we just wanted to tell you that, um,” Hannah looked around at the rest of you, “we’re with you. We miss him too.” A few students around you affirmed this quietly.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, still patting her puffy cheeks.

“He was a good person,” Ernie said.

She nodded.

Yvette added, “Who deserved better.”

Cho let out a choked sob. You, eyes burning, reached a hand out and patted her lightly on the shoulder, which only made her cry harder. “Sorry,” you said, embarrassed. Cho’s friend sidled up to her, looking at all of you suspiciously.

“Have a Happy Christmas, Cho,” Hannah said quietly, before herding the rest of your house back to the common room.

Later, you sat before the fireplace in the common room once again, knit woolen blanket draped over your legs, quill in hand, looking at a blank Christmas card. Then, you started to write.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter #slow burn #dumbledore's army #order of the phoenix #rubeus hagrid

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bestworstcase · 2 years ago

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a present, for you- another salem meme! (also ironically while rewatching this episode to find a good enough screenshot i thought of salem as cain while listening to the brothers telling her about her curse; but i'm not actually a christian so you probably know what possible allusions she could have better than me)

HRGDHSJCJ

oh the less said about the christian perspective on job the better <3

BUT LISTEN

LIIIIISTENNNNN

the book of job begins with the deity and the satan making a wager on the matter of job’s faith, because the deity points him out to the satan like ‘isn’t my servant job the most righteous man alive’ and the satan goes ‘of course he is, you’ve given him a charmed life, take back your blessings and see how long it takes him to curse your name’ and the deity is like ‘bet.’

so the narrative conceit here is the deity gives the satan free rein to torment job so as to reveal whether his faith is true or not: all of his wealth (livestock) is brutally wiped out or stolen by raiders who put most of his household to the sword, all ten of his children are killed, and finally he’s struck with a debilitatingly painful affliction. then his wife tells him to curse god and die and several of his friends come to sit with him in his ABJECT MISERY and that’s the end of the prologue.

the narrative proper is largely a series of discourses between job and his friends on the subject of whether or not he Deserved This.

his friends (eliphaz, bildad, zophar, and elihu) hold a belief in the absolute justness and rightness of the deity which demands that job’s suffering is either punishment for some grievous wrongdoing or else discipline meant to teach him something important.

job’s position can be summed up as “fuck you, there is nothing i could possibly have done to deserve this, i am being unfairly persecuted and because NONE OF YOU ASSHOLES BELIEVE ME I WILL MOUNT A LAWSUIT AGAINST GOD TO PROVE MY INNOCENCE”

and i just—

quotations are from edward greenstein’s excellent translation (read it it fucks)

JOB!

[3:20–22] Why give light to one in travail?

Or life to those bitter of spirit?—

Those waiting for death, but there is none,

Though they dig for it more than for treasure!

Those singing for joy at the mouth of the tomb,

Who are glad to be reaching the grave.

JOB!!

[7:17–18] What is a mortal that you treat him as important?

Why do you pay him any mind,

Take account of him each morning,

Test him every minute?

[19] Why can’t you just look away from me,

Let go for just a swallow of spit?

[20] If I’ve sinned, what can I do to you,

O Watcher of Humankind?

Why have you made me your target?

How could I be a burden to you?

[21] Why can’t you pardon my transgression,

Commute my punishment?

For I’ll soon be lying in the dirt—

And when you seek me, I’ll be gone.

JOB!!!

[19:21] I am innocent—I care not for my self;

I’m fed up with my life.

[22] It is all the same.

And so I declare:

The innocent and the guilty he brings to (the same) end.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

[10:1] My entire being despises my life.

I would prepare a complaint on my behalf,

I would speak in the bitterness of my being;

[2] I would say to Eloah: “Do not condemn me!

Let me know of what you accuse me!

[3] Does it do you any good to do wrong?

To reject the effort of your hands?

While you shine favor on the schemes of the wicked?

[4–5] Have you eyes that are of flesh?

Do you see as a mortal sees?

Are your days like the days of a mortal?

Are your years like those of a man?

[6–7] When you go looking for my crime,

And investigate my sin,

You know very well I am not guilty—

But no one can rescue from your hand!

[8–9] Your hands formed me and made me,

Put me together—then destroyed me!

Mind now, it is you who made me like clay,

And will return me to the dust!

I WILL TAKE MY FLESH IN MY TEETH

[13:13] Keep silent before me, so that I may speak—

Whatever may come upon me!

[14–15] I will take my flesh in my teeth,

And I will place my life-breath in my hand.

Though he slay me, I will no longer wait—

I will accuse him of his ways to his face!

SO YOU OBLITERATE A MORTAL’S HOPE

[14:18–19] And yet, a cliff will fall and crumble;

A mountain will be moved from its place;

Rocks are worn down by water;

A torrent sweeps away the earth’s dust;

So do you obliterate a mortal’s hope.

[20] You assault him continually—and he passes on;

You disfigure him—and then you dispatch him.

AUGH!!!

[16:6] If I speak out, my pain will not be spared.

But if I desist, how will it leave me?

[7] By now he has worn me down;

You have devastated my entire company.

[8] You have shriveled me, and this has become a stigma;

My gauntness stands up and testifies against me.

[9] As his anger rages, he strikes a hostile pose;

He gnashes his teeth at me;

My enemy sharpens his eyes at me.

[10] People’s mouths gape at me,

They strike my cheeks to shame me;

They all form gangs against me.

I JUST—

[19:21] Have compassion, compassion, you my friends!

For the hand of Eloah has afflicted me.

[22] Why do you like El persecute me?

Why can’t you get your fill of my flesh?

HE SWEARS OVER AND OVER HE ISNT LYING

[27:3–4] So long as there is life-breath within me,

And in my nostrils Eloah’s spirit,

I swear that my lips will speak nothing corrupt,

And my tongue will utter no deceit.

JOB!!!!

[30:26–28] For I hoped for good, but there came bad;

I expected light, but there came darkness,

My insides roil and can’t be still;

I’ve been greeted by days of affliction.

I walk in gloom without a sun;

In the assembly I stand and cry out.

SORRY I LITERALLY CANNOT READ JOB WITHOUT BECOMING DERANGED. (BUT DO YOU SEE. WHERE I AM GETTING THE SALEM CONNECTION)

anyway in chapter 30 job makes an oath of his innocence and (after a very! lengthy! interjection from elihu) the deity turns up in chapter 38 to answer job’s lawsuit by going, in essence, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I’M GOD! whereupon job is literally like

[40:3] Up spoke Job to YHWH and he said:

[4–5] Lacking respect, how can I answer you?

My hand I place over my mouth.

I have spoken once and I will not repeat;

Twice—and I will (speak) no more.

“ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION IM NOT GOING TO REPEAT MYSELF”

who else is doing it like job

then the deity goes LOOK AT THESE AWESOME CREATURES I MADE. CAN YOU TAME THE LEVIATHAN, JOB? HUH? EVEN GODS TREMBLE BEFORE HIM

and then—well the standard translation reads job’s final statement as repentance but this is notoriously a difficult passage, and as a matter of narrative and the context of the chapter as a whole i think greenstein’s reading makes considerably more sense—anyway job goes:

[42:1] Up spoke Job to YHWH and he said:

[2] I have known you are able to do all;

That you cannot be blocked from any scheme.

[3] “Who is this hiding counsel without knowledge?”

Truly I’ve spoken without comprehending—

Wonders beyond me that I do not know.

[4] “Hear now and I will speak!

I will ask you, and you help me know!”

[5] As a hearing by the ear I have heard you,

And now my eye has seen you.

[6] That is why I am fed up;

I take pity on “dust and ashes!”

(in 42:2 job is echoing the language the deity uses in genesis 11:6 in reference to the builders of the tower of babel; ‘dust and ashes’ is an epithet for wretched humanity and also occurs in chapter 30.)

I TAKE PITY ON DUST AND ASHES.

WHO IS DOING IT LIKE JOB

imagine being so DONE that you have the wherewithal to be scathingly sarcastic TO GOD’S FACE

and then the deity praises his honesty, scolds his friends for bleating platitudes instead of speaking the truth, and restores everything that was taken from job and more THE END.

/lies down

read job. theodicy of all time

one day i am going to calm down about job enough to finish my actual. coherent salem-as-job screed instead of just firehosing out half the passages that make me DERANGED but DO YOU SEE. DO YOU SEEEEEEEEEEE

horrific torment at the hands of divine beings for the pettiest of reasons. unspeakable anguish. isolation and exile! desolation! absolute certainty that his suffering is cruel and unjust! utter scorn for deceit and falsehood! he cannot rest because the deity will not let him die no matter how he begs for death! his wife his friends his community all turn against him, repulsed by his agony! he sues god!! he tells god i hear you, i see you, i feel fucking sorry for all of us who mean nothing to you!!!

#THEODICY OF ALL TIME

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