#the weird thing about art is that almost nobody seems to see it as the communication it is

[nezuscribe]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: six years ago, when they placed that sorting hat on your head, nobody expected for it to assign the muggleborn to the slytherin house, but it did. six years later, you find yourself as alone as the day you walked through those doors. little did you expect the prince of slytherin, the pureblood maniac himself, gojo satoru, to be the one to coincidentally fill your empty hours.

warnings: gojo is a pureblooded slytherin, slight angst, slight messy makeout

word count: 12.6k

note: part two is out now! comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading as always!

part two

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

When you were little, all the strange and peculiar things that happened to you, such as Ms. Bromsely, the awful maths teacher's desk going up in flames, or Patricia Gallaghers rings disintegrating after she teased your dress, were chalked up to chance or just something else.

Your mother was too busy covering extra shifts down at the pub to worry about it, so she rarely made an occurrence to the meetings your headmaster had scheduled, resulting in very awkward meetings with just you as you were explained how peculiar it was that you always seemed to be in the middle of all these weird occurrences.

So when that brown spotted owl almost crashed into your bedroom window at the ripe age of eleven, explaining that you were chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you suspected that one of your classmates was playing a cruel joke on you, but alas, it turned out to be very real. 

You were whisked away soon enough, stumbling your way in some sort of haze through Diagon Alley, and then in a blink of your eyes, you found yourself waving goodbye to your mother from that red train, on your way to a life you may have only imagined when you were younger, dreaming of a place far away from where you were.

And you loved it.

The feasts, the history-soken steps that you walked on every day to get to class, the little town that was within walking distance that you could go to every weekend. 

While most of the students here had been introduced to this early on in their lives, you hadn’t. Your mother was just as shocked and as bewildered as you were all those years ago, and given your special circumstances, sometimes you wondered if you were yet to see the thick of it, wondering if some things were hidden from you given your upbringing, given your blood.

But you blinked out of your stupor, being brought down from your daydream to the sound of quills scratching, the smell of faint smoke burning in the background, and the quiet sounds of different animals in their cages. All of these tall-tell signs of the transfiguration classroom. 

After years of spending time in this classroom, it slowly became one that you’d look forward to, and despite most Slytherins having an aptitude for potions or defense against the dark arts, transfiguration was where you shined the best.

The light that carded through the high arching windows illuminated the desks, and you were glad seeing how the back of the classrooms was usually the most poorly lit place. Unfortunately, they’re the only places you found yourself sitting throughout the years, which is just another reason why this specific classroom in itself brought you a slight sense of comfort. 

“...cross-species and inter-species transfiguration is one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult, sort of transfiguration to achieve. Even the most accomplished witches and wizards find themselves struggling with it,” you watched as Professor McGonagall walked around the front of the classroom, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head, her emerald robes swaying behind her like green waves, “The only way we were able to replicate this form of magic is through ancient runes.” 

Her eyes raked over all the students of the class, to make sure that everybody was understanding the weight of her words. As seventh years it was expected that you all would be ready to face the challenges of such a high-level class. But especially with Professor McGonagall, seeing just how difficult her classes usually were. 

“Of course, this was all covered during your fourth years, so I hope that some of you,” she gave a knowing look over her glasses, “Remember your lessons.” 

You momentarily caught her eyes.

You squirmed in your seat, knowing that her displeased look was directed to the Gryffindor’s sitting next to you. The boy to your left had his mouth open in a large yawn, promptly shutting it when McGonagall looked at him, and the girl to your right was busily finicking with a piece of parchment, trying to figure out how to enchant it so that it could turn into a swan to send to her boyfriend who was sitting across the class. 

You loved Hogwarts. Most of the time. 

The reason why you usually found yourself at the back of class, sitting with people you barely knew, and the reason why you were yet to experience most of the core memories other witches and wizards your age experienced was because you weren’t welcomed the way other would be by their assorted houses. 

Nearly six years ago, when Professor McGonagall placed that sorting hat on your head, you didn’t know what to expect. 

You had heard from some of the people that you sat near on the train that Gryffindor was best. Of course, the boy who said it came from a family of Gryffindors, but his friends seemed to agree with him. Ravenclaw was only for the smart people, which you hoped you might be sorted into and Huffelpuffs were known for their loyalty, which, judging by your mother's statement about how you dared to leave home, you didn’t have much of. 

But the Slytherin house seemed…forbidden. 

At least for you, anyways. 

“And what about that girl we saw?” One of the boys pointed outside the carriage window into the little hall outside, pointing to a much older girl wearing green robes, walking with some other friends who wore adorning colors, “What house is she in?” 

The other boy, who seemed to have the most knowledge out of anyone, scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Not for you, sorry,” he leaned in closer as if he were telling a secret. You tried to listen in, not making it obvious seeing how you weren’t any of their friends and how this was the only cart available with space, “That’s the Slytherin house.” 

“Why’s it not for me?” The other boy argued, his face pulled into a scowl.

“Well, Slytherins are many things. Ambitious, cunning,” the other boy said but shook his head disapprovingly, “But above all else, they’re all purebloods. Some are half-bloods, but even that’s rare. You’re coming from a muggle family. My father works at the ministry, and he says that some of the people in his department who were Slytherin still despise muggle-borns and muggles even long after they’ve left.”

So you had a basic understanding of what to expect. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor.

But when the hat cried out “Slytherin!” you almost jumped in your seat, looking behind you at the professor, your face of hesitancy surely mirroring hers. 

And you soon found out that the boy on the train (who was sorted into Gryffindor, big shock), was right. Word spread quickly that a muggle-born was sorted into Slytherin, the first in centuries, and that it surely must’ve been a mistake. 

But the sorting hat doesn’t go back on its word, and what was said was done. So six and a bit years later you found yourself as the pariah of your own house and were forced to fade into the background to avoid any further trouble. 

“...and this is the one project in which I’m having you work with partners, picked by me, of course. The research that is needed to go into this is too much to be done alone.” Professor McGonagall continued, and you perked up in your seat a little bit, your brows furrowing at her words. 

You felt a part of your heart race at the thought. Normally when professors assigned partners, it either left you with a fellow Slyhterin who hated your existence and forced you to do the project on your own, or somebody from another house who didn’t know you and forced you to do the project on your own. 

Your tongue felt heavy as she began reading off the paired names on her list, your hands becoming clammy. 

“Miss Finnegan and Mister Belton. Miss O’Shea and Miss Adan,” The girl next to you, who you quickly pieced together was Leila O’Shea groaned, her face depleted as she realized she wasn’t going to be paired with her boyfriend, and you watched as she sulkily went to the other girl's desk. 

You listened in anticipation as she went down the list, your heart beating loudly and comically in your chest the closer it seemed that she was getting to the end. 

“Mister Reeve and Mister Thompson,” she paused momentarily as she watched the two boys clap each other on the back, her lips threatening to quirk up into a smile, just waiting to read what foolishness they were going to write, “Miss Ward and Mister Green,” you felt like you might be getting off the hook, that maybe she took pity on you but it all came crashing down when she looked at you, a knowing look in her eyes far worse than pity as she read your name along with perhaps the singular person you would’ve paid all your money to not be paired with, 

“…will be with Mister Gojo,” you heard some of your housemates laugh out loud, some of them pushing at the boy and ruffling his hair as if he were the one that was going to face the brute of everything. He sat near the front, and you could see a flash of his white hair as he begrudgingly began to pack his things up, having no choice but to sit next to you seeing how the seats next to him were filled up. 

You watched as she rolled the piece of parchment back up as if she hadn’t just sentenced your public execution, and she raised a singular thin brow at the faces that were looking back at her, “Well? Get a move on. This essay is due in a month.”

You tried to take in a deep breath, your eyes trained on the blank piece of parchment in front of you as if you couldn’t hear his footsteps getting closer and closer to you, as if you didn’t just feel his robes brush up against your legs as he sunk into his seat.

This can’t possibly be happening.

Anybody would’ve been better than him. Even Marley Petterson and her constant poking and teasing about how your clothes were held together by scraps, and how you must’ve lived with mud people before you came to Hogwarts would’ve been better than him. Being forced to be a partner with the Prince of Slytherin was torture, and you wonder if after all these years Professor McGonagall was just now starting to show her distaste towards you. 

That day on the train was the first time you heard his name. 

“You see that boy? The one with the white hair?” The boy discreetly pointed out the window to one of the kids standing outside your cart. All the other boys hurriedly nodded, each craning their necks to get a better look at him, “He’s a Gojo. He comes from a line of Slytherins, each one worse than the one before. They’re purebloods, obviously. You wouldn’t find a speck of anything else in them. They’re rich too, filthy rich. They could buy this school if they wanted to.” All the other boys guffawed, but he seemed serious as if this stranger's family was nothing to be taken lightly. 

“When it comes to Slytherins, there are four families to be wary of. There’s the Gaunts and the Malfoys. There’s the noble house of Black, but lastly…them. House Gojo is one that every other wizarding family steers away from.”

After the day you were sorted you also quickly realized why most wizarding families stayed away from them. His word seemed to be law, and all the other Slytherins, especially those in his inner circle, held him to it. 

You peeked from the corner of your eye, watching as he unpacked all his supplies, his face contorted in obvious anger and disgust, and you thickly swallowed. You had done a good job in staying away from him these past couple of months, fortunate enough to only be called a mudblood and an offense to their ancient house a couple of times by him and his posse. 

His left-hand ring finger almost caught your eye in the sun, the gold ring with his house emblem shining brightly, a clear reminder of your difference with him, and you tried to hide your old school bag, riddled with holes and stains, something you just couldn’t replace. 

When he was done unpacked, he sat there for a couple of seconds, the silence between the two of you thick and heavy. You felt like you could choke on it, your fingers twitching to do something, to leave.

“...this is insulating…” he was talking to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as you sat awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t one for many words. You had observed him from afar, long enough to see that aside from the occasional words he’d exchange with his closest friends or the few times he’d mutter traitor under his breath when the two of you locked eyes, he was a more brooding type of person. 

When he was angry, he hid it well. His cheeks might’ve flushed a bit, his nose flaring, but he never made an outburst. Which is why, at this moment, you could tell that he wasn’t in a particularly elated mood. 

“I…” you started, your mouth going dry at the way his eyes snapped to you, cold and cruel, “I can do the essay. I’ll get it done in time…if you want.” 

Most times your partners would just tell you to do the work, expecting (and knowing), you’d just say yes and go along with your day. But here, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, rather having your pride be bitten at rather than your overall self. 

You heard him snort, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he rolled his eyes. 

“What? And have you do everything wrong?” His voice was hushed and clipped as if talking to you a second longer than needed would ruin him and everything he and his family stand for. 

He unrolled his piece of parchment, opening up his book as he kept his head down. 

“Well, I’m fairly decent with transfiguration,” you spoke up, trying for a smile that quickly fell when you felt his eyes burn into yours. For most of your time at Hogwarts, the only times you’ve ever really spoken to Gojo was when he was hurling insults at you, his words spurred on by his group of friends behind him. 

Gojo Satoru knew his worth. He knew that his family name would last through centuries and that the gold his family owned could buy out the entire ministry if they wanted to. Those around him treated him as such; as if his word was law. It also didn’t help that he was incredibly charming, growing into his looks over the years. 

You watched as he grew taller, his lanky figure now filled out with muscles that you could sometimes see through the baggy uniform. His eyes were always a topic of conversation, the infamous Gojo blue. His arctic white hair grew a little longer, sometimes falling in his face when he wasn’t aware. He was gorgeous, and you couldn’t even lie to yourself that he wasn’t.

Aside from his looks, he was also freakishly smart. If he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin you were sure that Ravenclaw would’ve been fitting for him as well. He was always top of the class with O’s on every exam. 

Above all else, he knew his difference from everybody else. Even his closest (pureblooded) friends weren't even near his level. Even before he could walk, he’s been told of this. Not only that but he’s been told of the vileness of muggleborns. How their nature threatens the very fabric of wizarding society, and how muggles who have somehow been blessed with magical abilities are below humans, that they don’t deserve the rights every other witch and wizard has. 

Which means that you, the sole muggle-born in Slytherin, stood against everything Gojo Satoru believed. You were an abnormality, inhuman, somebody that he should resent for even existing.

“Well, we could always divide the work…?” You offered, your feet anxiously bouncing on the ground as you waited for his response. One of the blessings of sitting so far away from everyone else is that sure, they looked over to see how this was going, but at least they couldn’t listen in as you embarrassed yourself even further. 

His eyes darted over to your paper, blinking once, deep in thought. 

He sighed deeply through his nose, swallowing thickly as he gave you a singular, curt nod. 

“Hm,” he hummed, not even sparing you a glance as he began going to work, his pen scratching against the paper as his eyes began reading over the page, “But I’ll read what you write,” he said quickly, “I refuse to have my rank tank just because you mudbloods can’t do your work properly.” 

Mudblood  

After six years of it, you know you should’ve gotten used to it, but the stinging in your chest would argue otherwise. 

Your shoulders sank, eyes falling to the ground as your fingers fidgeted. You murmured something inaudible as you opened your book to the page McGonagall instructed you to. 

—

The days moved on and everything continued as it always did. 

The essay you had to write with Gojo was a slight hindrance in your usual schedule, but the two of you worked in silence in class and never interacted outside of it. Sometimes when his elbow would accidentally bump into yours as the two of you were busy writing he’d make a sort of noise in the back of his throat, his hand snatching back quickly as if you had somehow burnt him, but that was the most of your interactions. 

Sometimes when you were in the common rooms, late at night, you could hear him talking with his friends, talking about how heinous and ridiculous it was that McGonagall paired the two of you together, but you tried to ignore it.

That following week you found yourself back in the transfiguration classroom, working away quietly as you tried to understand the scriptures on the pages you had to read. You found yourself lucky that this subject was the one you might have some sort of talent in, seeing that this sort of ancient magic was just as difficult as McGonagall made it out to be. 

You heard some mumbling next to you, your eyes discreetly looking over at your partner, only to find his head in his hands as his brows furrowed in both annoyance and confusion. 

“...what does this…?” You heard him say to himself, watching as he flipped the page back and forth as if he was missing something. 

You looked back at your work, the talking around the room drowning out whatever it was that Gojo was saying to himself. 

Or at least you tried to drown out the noise, if not for the fact that your partner made some sort of sudden movement that managed to knock his ink bottle down, spilling ink all over the table. You moved your work to the side, watching as some of the ink soaked into your robes.

“Fuck,” he snapped, moving suddenly from his chair so that the ink would drip onto his clothes, “damn it,” he looked around almost helplessly, his hands clenching in anger after seeing all his hard work soaked up in black. 

“Wait,” you suddenly say, your arm outstretching over his body, watching as his head snaps over to you, “Stop moving for a second.”

He didn’t have much time to bite back at how dare you order him around because you had already begun to pull out your wand, flicking it on a quick movement as you murmured “tergeo,” watching as the ink slowly yet surely began clumping up in the middle of the table, going back with snake-like movements into its bottle. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Gojo sat still in his seat, his lips pursing as he finally let out a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he said, but it seemed like he had to bite the word out, choking on it as if thanking you was taking too much of his mental willpower to do. 

You nodded briefly, still watching him as he settled back into his seat. 

“Uh,” you scratched at the back of your neck, knowing that you’d probably regret asking this in a matter of seconds, but somehow not able to stop yourself as you continue talking, “I don’t mean to be rude, or intrude, but is everything alright?”

You hold your breath as you watch Gojo sigh, his eyes shutting briefly. You braced yourself to be snapped at, to be victim to yet another reminder of how much you’ve tarnished the Slytherin name, but he just shakes his head. 

“No,” he seethes, but when he peeks over at you he licks his lips, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he grabs his papers, moving it over to the middle of you two as he motions to it, “Everything is not alright. Something’s wrong with the book…and I have no idea what. I’ve read this page at least twenty times and it makes no bloody sense to me,” 

You try to hide your surprise. 

That’s probably the most he’s ever spoken to you without any mention of your muggle heritage. 

You move in a little closer to look at what he’s pointing to. You try not to heat up under his stare, squinting your eyes as you try to make sense of what it was he was writing, trying to hide your reactions when you realize that he was doing most of it wrong. 

The point of this essay was to learn about the origins of cross-species transfiguration, and eventually an animagus transformation and how it even came to be. 

You had to reference at least five other books and scrolls to piece together the correct herbs and spells needed to even begin the process. McGonagall honestly probably told everybody to reference the textbook because there was nothing in it. This essay was a testament to how many people went out of their way to learn about the true nature of transfiguration. 

What Gojo had written was something you were sure almost everybody else was writing as well, a mistake you almost made. His research was simple and black and white, and he was getting everything wrong because he was missing at least ten different very important points. 

“So,” you swallowed nervously, chewing on your already chapped lips, “You have the main ideas down,” which was a lie, “But there are just some things-” Before you could even finish your sentence the bell tower chimed once, twice, and then a final time, telling everybody that their class was over. 

All around you people began hurriedly packing up, surely excited for lunch, the chatter of conversations growing in volume, and you didn’t have to look at Professor McGonagall to know that she was irked by her student's sudden enthusiasm to leave. 

Gojo sat motionless, still looking over at you, waiting impatiently for you to finish. 

“I…” you scratched at your hands, “I can’t go over everything right now, but tomorrow I’ll bring in the other-” He raised his hand, packing up his bag as he cut you off. 

“No, not tomorrow, I’m already behind,” you watched as he shoved his papers into his leather bag, “Just explain it now.” 

You wanted to laugh, not knowing how long it might take to explain your twisted thinking process to him and you doubted he wanted to stay in this classroom with you for a minute longer. 

“Well, there’s quite a bit of things,” you searched for the right word, “Missing. I have to study for the potions exam right now, but I’m going to be in the library tonight anyway. I could show you then…?” 

You stood at your chair, your eyes looking up into his, wavering. 

What did you just do? Surely he’d laugh now in your face, roll his eyes at how absurd it was that you could even suggest such a thing, just as he usually does.

Instead, he looks at you, then at his paper, and then at yours, which is at least three pages long at this point. He’d never admit it out loud, but you were understanding this assignment better than him and nobody in his group seemed to understand it as well as you were. 

“Fine,” he runs a hand through his hair, the white sticking out between his fingers like snow perched on grass.

Your brows furrow, your lips pursing together in sudden confusion. 

“What, okay,” you fiddle with your fingers, tugging on them in that anxious way you always do, watching him tighten the straps on his bag, “But wait, what time…” You try to call out but he has already left, his robes swaying behind him as you stand alone at your seat.

You slowly begin to pack up, your thoughts running at what you have just done.

—

The potions exam went well enough, but you couldn’t stress out about it too much right now. 

After dinner (which you ate earlier than most, too anxious to be late), you made your way to the library, found a table near the back, somewhere that didn’t get a lot of foot traffic, and set up your workstation for the time being. 

Amongst many of the amenities Hogwarts had, the library was one of them you loved dearly. 

It wasn’t usually too busy, but it filled up quickly the night before some exams. But you didn’t mind it, you liked being surrounded by people. In the Slytherin common rooms, you usually had to wait until everybody had filtered out or had gone to bed before you could make your way down, not wanting to face their icy looks or the way they’d talk behind their hands when you were near, so you opted to be in the library above anything else. 

The muted sounds of pages turning, of people talking in hushed whispers, and the books that would sometimes rearrange themselves were calming. You liked the candles that were lit carefully around the large room, illuminating it deep into the night. 

You made sure that the work you had already written was set out, your quill resting straightly adjacent to it, your ink pot above it. Your pile of books sat neatly to the left. You wanted to seem as organized and as composed as you could, this might be your one chance to show the prince of Slytherin that you weren’t the slob he must imagine you as. 

The clock on the wall ticks, and you note that it’s nearly ten minutes till five. You chew on your lips, cracking your fingers as you keep your eyes trained on the door, waiting for the familiar mop of white hair to appear. 

After the first ten minutes, you begin fidgeting again, moving your papers centimeters above where they were as if they could appear any straighter. You weren’t wearing the usual house robes, and you hoped that your decision didn’t cause him to walk in, scan the area, and leave because he didn’t see what he expected to see. 

But you pushed those worries aside, just doing your best to watch the people who filed in and out of the large double doors. 

After the clock struck six, you began to stop looking at the doors, instead choosing to just get some work done while you were here, and opened up one of the books. Of course, he probably just lied just because he wanted to. There might be some of his friends standing outside, snickering as they watched you wait stupidly. 

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling like an idiot.

For the next half hour, you busied yourself with reading about the start of the animagus process, about the mandrake leaf, and the strenuous process of keeping it on your tongue for an entire month. 

Around you, you could hear the scrapping of chairs on the floor, and how most of the people were beginning to leave seeing that it was getting pretty late. The library closes promptly at eight, and although it was an hour till that happened, most people left till then. 

Your eyes flitted to the door, not seeing anybody, and deflated. 

Stupid, you repeated in your head. 

So you began shutting the books strewn out in front of you, packing them all up in your bag as you rubbed at your tired eyes. Madam Pince also made a deal if you left any ink splotches on the table, so you cast a quick tergeo charm to clean up any spots you might’ve missed. 

“You’re leaving?” 

You looked up from the table, eyes squinting to see his tall figure standing in front of you, his face flushed red, sweat dotting on his brow bone as a bit of his hair stuck to his face. Gojo was panting, his chest heaving up and down as if he had just run across the entire castle, and his brows were creasing in the middle, looking down at you as you seized your packing. 

You note his green quidditch robes and muddy boots. 

“I, um,” you looked at the nearly empty table in front of you, and you shook your head, giving him a small smile, “No, no, I just got here.” 

He looked at your bag, as if not believing you, but not caring too much as he hummed in the back of throat, rounding the table, and plopped himself down in the seat in front of you. 

Wordlessly, Gojo began taking out his supplies, and you figured you might as well, setting everything back up to where you initially had it.  You watched as he slyly looked around the two of you, his shoulder becoming less tense when he realized it truly was just the two of you left in the library. 

“Practice took up too much time,” he mindlessly explains, a clear explanation for why he looked so different from the put-together self he usually is. He pushed some of his hair out of his face, his breathing still a little erratic. 

You nod, swallowing thickly as you pretend to understand the ins and outs of quidditch. 

You were aware that amongst one of the many things Gojo could do, on his long lists of talents (which if there was a list would consist of his ability to speak five languages or his incredible ability to calm any creature down), was that he was an amazing seeker. 

While you weren’t very familiar with how quidditch worked, despite trying to best to follow along with others' conversations as you listened in, you could understand that his forte on a broomstick wasn’t talked about just because he was Gojo Satoru. 

He was fast on his broomstick, and thought it could be chalked up to the fact that every year he came to practice with the newest model, he could whize past anybody. He was nimble as well. With how large his hands were, larger than the other house seekers, he was able to secure a win for almost every single match ever since he got recruited. Last year he was named captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, so you were able to piece together that he got held up with the recent tryouts.

“That’s um,” you scratch at your arm awkwardly, “That’s alright…okay so I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but there’s a lot that McGonagall wants us to do,” you start slowly, letting his get situated as you push forward the first book that helped you out, “Oh, that textbook doesn’t help…right now,” you quickly said as you saw him pull out the assigned reading, saw how he looked at you for a second, his face scrunching up in an unreadable emotion. 

“This one is good, though,” you motion to the one in front of you. 

Gojo’s movements are slow as he takes it, eyes scanning over the title until he looks back at you. 

He doesn’t do much talking, you decide. 

“This book covers cross-species transfiguration, but it briefly mentions inter-species transfiguration. But the author referenced this one,” you pull out the other hefty textbook, sliding it over to him, “And this covers all things related to inter-species transfiguration and then goes into animagus transfigurations.” 

You pause, biting your cheek to stop you from rambling on. Transfiguration was something that you could talk about forever and ever, and you’d never really talked about out loud to anybody else up until now. 

“McGonagall said that the essay was on inter-species, she never mentioned animagus transfiguration,” Gojo said suddenly, pushing the two textbooks back, letting out a heavy sigh as if this was all a waste of his time.

You nod slowly, picking at some of the skin around your nails.

“R-right, and you’re right,” you quickly sputter, nodding, “But because cross-species and inter-species transfiguration are so close together, I doubt that this was what she wanted our month-long essay to be about. Which is why,” you pull out some old essays you had done earlier in the year, “I referenced back to these animagus essay’s we had done. I mean, she wouldn’t introduce us to the topic and then drop it for no particular reason, right? I suspect she wanted us to piece the two and two together.”

Gojo gently took the papers from your outstretched hand, his eyes raking over your words, and then back to the textbooks. He seemed to read it intently as if things were slowly starting to click for him. 

“Which is why the textbook she gave us isn’t really helpful, because it resembles more of an herbology textbook rather than transfiguration. So I think that this textbook, if anything, should be referenced at the end of the essay, seeing how it mentions the mandrake leaf and the properties of the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth. It’s all instructions on how to become an animagus without saying it.”

His eyes, a different shade of blue in the candlelight, watched your every moment. He listened carefully as you eventually did end up rambling, watching the way your face, on its own accord, twisted into a proud smile at your clever handiwork. 

You abruptly stop to catch a breath and glance up at him apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, I went too fast,” you shake your head, rubbing your temple in your hands, tired from staring at textbooks for as long as you’ve had. 

“No…it made sense,” Gojo murmurs suddenly, his lips pulled into a thin line as he quickly looks away from you, back down to his work which was now surely long after your in-depth analysis, twisting and turning that gold ring on his finger, the one he always wore, the symbol of his family crest as he looked through the books you had offered him. 

You stay silent, not knowing what to do, resting back in your seat, picking your nails. 

“Well, that’s all of it,” you rub your hands against your pants, your dry eyes blinking a couple of times, yearning for sleep.

“You could’ve said this during class,” he said, still reading, his attention preoccupied, as if this was a hindrance to him. 

You wet your lips, trying not to clench your hand in anger, frustration, and years of pent-up emotions, as you slowly nod, pulling the leather strap of your bag over your shoulders as you begin to stand up. 

“Right, sorry,” you apologize quietly, taken aback when he suddenly looks up at you, as if startled but you didn’t feel like spending any more in the presence of someone who despised you anyways, “goodnight,” you bid farewell, not noticing how he had opened his mouth to say something, scurrying out of the library as you make your way back to the common rooms before he could.

—

The next day at transfigurations, the two of you didn’t speak to one another at the beginning of class, like normal. 

You took out your books like normal, as did he, and began writing silently, like normal. Everything was going normally until he suddenly paused, his hand wavering above his essay as he set his quill down, turning his head over to you.

“Can I see what you’ve written?” 

You stop writing, eyes darting to the side as if you had misheard him.

Gojo points to the papers you’ve been working on as if you didn’t understand his first command. 

Wordlessly, you pass it over to him. 

He reads it over a couple of times, flipping through your endless pages, muttering some words to himself now and then. You would wager that compared to other people you had made far more progress in terms of how much you’d compiled, so you weren’t necessarily worried about the time restraint on this essay. 

You couldn’t say the same for him, however. 

You’ve never seen him look so intense, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed in clear concentration. He almost seemed frustrated, and it was a strange thing to see from somebody so usually put together. 

“Our work together is too divided, it looks like we haven’t been working with each other,” Gojo says as if that wasn’t purely what was the issue. 

You didn’t say anything, wanting to see what idea he’d propose.

“I need to finish the rest of these texts,” he jutted his chin to the textbooks you had given him last night, “We can work on the essay after classes are over, in the common room.” 

A part of you wanted to laugh at him as if he had just joked. 

But Gojo Satoru was not a joking sort of person. You rarely saw him smiling, even when with his friends, and it was even rarer for him to say something of any comedic value. Which could only mean that he was being serious and that he truly was proposing to work in the common rooms with…you.

A little snort escapes your lips, looking at him as if he were crazy. He looked at you as if you were the crazy one.

“I don’t go to the common rooms after class, it’s too busy,” you explained slowly to him, wondering if he was daft and even after all this time didn’t take the time to understand your situation. 

He blinked, eyes narrowing. 

“...and?” 

Your head tilted to the side, confused. 

“Well…there’s people there,” you explain even further. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as if you were stupid. 

“Ironically, that is the point of a common room.” Gojo looks back to his essay, picking up his quill as if he were done with this conversation, but you pushed.

“Right,” you say more curtly, nose flaring, “For you, it might be. But people don’t want me there.” You say, a truth that you had to stomach, something that you grew used to after too many unsavory encounters with other Slytherins when you tried to come down to the common rooms during social hours. 

“So during the hours of two to eight, you don’t go to the common room?” He didn’t even look up, his voice sarcastic, not believing such an insane thing.

“No.” You reply as if it was obvious as if he should at least know that this is why you rarely ever make an occurrence unless it’s early in the morning or late at night. 

That finally gets him to stop and look at you, confusion woven into his expression. 

“What?” He set his pen down again, and you noted that his eyes seemed a different shade of blue when he was confused, a little bit lighter than usual, he seemed like he was the only one not in on some sort of joke, “So from two to eight you just stay in your room?” 

You shake your head, playing with your fingers. 

“I’m not always in my room,” ignominy clear in your tone, “Most days I either go outside and do my homework or go to the library.” 

You hate the attention this brings to you from him. You’ve never had such a long conversation with somebody in your own house, let alone Gojo. You hated the way he looked at you as if you were either lying your arse off or even worse…pity?

But you almost shook your head at that thought. The great Gojo Satoru pitying you? 

“What if it’s raining?” He asked, pushing you to see if you were telling him the truth. 

“Then I go to the library,” you said as if it was obvious, mainly because to you it was. This was the usual schedule that you’ve become used to over the years, something you’ve just forced yourself to become used to despite wanting everything in your soul to go to the common rooms like everybody else, to laugh at their stories, to talk about your lives, like you were supposed to. 

“What if the libraries closed?” 

You squirm under his heavy gaze, wondering how the topic of transfiguration got turned around to him interrogating you. 

“Um, well, right now, because of the weather, I’d probably just go up to the astronomy tower if the library was closed. They don’t have lessons during the day. Or I’d probably just find a broom closet and do my work in there.” 

His head tilts just a bit, his lips quirking up into a disbelieving smile as if he just caught you in your lie. 

“In the dark?” Gojo presses, and you can hear the people around you already beginning to pack up their supplies, the class nearing its end. Had you spent this much time talking that you wasted nearly half an hour?

“I’d cast a lumos spell,” you argue, packing up your things as you break eye contact with him. You take your paper back, making sure the ink has dried before putting it in your bag. 

“I’ll be in the library,” you say finally, making sure that was the end of it, “See you there.”

—

In some strange way, meeting up with Gojo in the library became part of your routine. 

Every night at seven, after his quidditch practice would end, he’d run all across the entirety of campus to work on your transfigurations essay together. 

The two of you still didn’t talk much, but it was different nonetheless. 

“I’m tired,” Gojo suddenly announced, the candlelight flickering on and off from his face. 

You could visibly see the dark circles that were under his eyes, how he slouched (which was uncommon for him, seeing how he usually sat as straight as a ruler wherever he was), and how he couldn’t go four minutes without letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“You should take a break,” you muttered, not paying attention, head still stuck in your book as you continued to read the rest of the paragraph you were reading. 

Gojo snorted, rolling his eyes at the prospect. 

“I can’t take a break,” he dragged his hands across his face, “I need to finish this essay, the quidditch games in two days, and Snapes up my arse about that potion exam.” 

Your eyes flickered up to his, startled at how much he had spoken, but then tried to mask your surprise by looking back down to your book.

“Potions wasn’t too bad,” you offer, “And I can finish the last bits you have,” you look back up, putting your hand out, a silent ask for him to give you whatever it was that he had written so far. 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, silently passing over his stack of parchment, and you scanned through it quietly, shrugging as you nodded once more. 

To be honest, the two of you were far ahead of the other students in your class. He had eventually concluded on his own that you’d be wasting more time not working together, so you guessed that he just had to suck up a bit and bite back on his pride and work with a muggle-born.

His rush to finish the essay was spurred on by the plethora of other things he needed to do, a drawback of being the prime and perfect Slytherin prince everybody made him out to be. 

“You don’t have much left,” you deduce, “I can just write about the Scalivier trials,” the trial in which a man refused to register with the ministry that he was an animagus, “I’ll have it done by Saturday, I’m nearly done with my bit.”

You slide his essay back to him, but stop when you see the perplexed look on his face. 

“Saturday’s the quidditch game?”. 

Your eyes dart to the side, squinting a bit as you try for a laugh. 

“…and?” 

He scratches at his temple, tilting his head to the side. After these past couple of days working with you, he’d be wrong to say that he became more and more increasingly perplexed with you. Six years he spent watching from afar, muttering words to his friends about the absurdity of your existence, but now that he was able to see you from up close, a part of him has to agree that you’re an enigma he’s never been able to crack. 

You don’t say much during class, you don’t talk to many people, and if he was being honest, in that sense, you mirrored him. You were reserved, but the times he picked and prodded at you, you seemed to open up. You don’t have any friends from what he could tell, often eating at the end of the table during the meals. He watched sometimes to see you during the common rooms during the times in which you said you never came, a part of him thinking he’d be able to catch you. 

Gojo Satoru would never admit it, but in a way, he had become interested in you.

“Well,” Gojo didn’t like to be the one confused, hating being perceived as if he didn’t know everything, which is something he prided himself on most of the time, “After the game, there’s the usual…party,” he bit out, hating the word, because it was so unruly from the usual balls and galas he was forced attend, too many people sweaty and jumping, “In the common room.” 

You blink owlishly at him, fidgeting with your quill, twisting and turning it around in your hand. 

“Right…so I’ll be here.” 

Now it was his turn to blink slowly. 

Was this really that hard to understand?

“Coming to the library after a quidditch game seems a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?” He leaned back in his chair, playing with the green and silver tie around his neck. You wondered how he could bear to wear it even after classes were over, that even his most posh friend ditched their formal wear the moment they got back to their dormitories. 

“Thankfully I don’t go to quidditch games, so for me, it’s just climatic,” you said, smiling at your little joke, covering your mouth as you yawned, tired and longing for your bed. 

He sat up in his chair suddenly, looking even more shocked than before. This was the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emmett before and you didn’t know what to do with it. 

“What? Why not?” He seemed so startled that you almost wanted to laugh. It was strange seeing somebody you had regarded as stoic look like he did now. 

You shrug, rubbing your fingers across your eyes as you let out another yawn, resting your chin on your palm. 

“I went once, during my first year, but everybody seemed rather annoyed that I was there, and they crowded in front of me so I couldn’t see anything,” you recall back on the memory, one that you could remember vividly, “and I don’t know,” you’re suddenly very thirsty, your cheeks heating up the more he stared at you, laughing uncomfortably, “I don’t really understand…quidditch, so it works out in the end. And I also get to have some time to myself in the common room to do my homework, you know, unlike usual.” 

Gojo didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and you tried to pretend that you had read something interesting to not embarrass yourself any further with your mindless babbling. Sure, he might be willing to work with you now, but that didn’t mean that Gojo Satoru was up for a friendly conversation with you.

You looked at him briefly, feeling your stomach churn a bit to see that he hadn’t stopped looking at you.

“Everything alright?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting on the inside of his cheek as he picked up his quill, a wordless agreement that the conversation was over.

—

Transfiguration the next day went by oddly silent. 

Gojo didn’t talk to himself now and then, he didn’t sigh his exasperated sigh, and he didn’t peek up every once in a while to check how much you’d written since the last time he had looked over. 

You didn’t pay it much attention, keeping your head down, your eyes to yourself. Silence was better than being reminded of your muggle heritage, which even then, Gojo had yet to remind you these past weeks.

Briefly, you looked up from what you were doing to see if Professor McGonagall was walking around or sitting at her desk, but in doing so you felt Gojo shuffle a little in his seat as if he had felt your sudden movement. 

“Tonight…” he started and you quickly nodded, waving off any of his worries. Of course, you chided yourself, he’s anxious about the quidditch match, nothing else.

“Yes, yes, I know, you have quidditch tomorrow. I’ll finish up what I have left and then start reading about the Scalivier trials tonight,” you finished for him, tracing some of the wood grains of the table with your finger. 

He shakes his head. 

“Not that - and I’ll finish up the trials by Sunday,” he’s avoiding eye contact, and if you didn’t know any better it seemed like he was trying to find his words, as if they had slipped from his tongue and were dangling in the air for him to grab, “Tonight…tonight, don’t go to the library.” 

You purse your lips, trying to smile to see if that was his goal, maybe he was trying to be funny.

“Would you like to meet in one of the broom closets then?”

You felt even more lost after it seemed like he was debating taking up your offer, but his eyes shone a bright shade of aquamarine, and his cheeks twinged a slight shade of pink. 

Strange. 

“No,” he chewed on his lip, as if he were anxious, a preposterous thing to even think, “No, come down to the common rooms around eight.” 

The cursed clock tower chimed, three loud rings, and it cut the two of you off once again. 

“Look, I told you-” you go to say but he cuts you off.

“I know, just come down.” He was being so cryptic, and he looked so on edge that it was starting to freak you out. He was already beginning to pack up, his eyes snapping to his group of friends that were nearing the two of you, and he quickly looked back down at you, his head dipping down urgently. 

“Eight. Be there.” 

—-

You couldn’t say you weren’t at least a little apprehensive. 

You were so nervous that you just stayed up in your room, not even coming downstairs for dinner as you waited for the clock on the wall to read eight. 

Why were you so nervous? You first asked yourself, but then asked the more logical question, what did Gojo want with you?

The minutes on the clock seemed to take hours to pass, and the hours seemed to take days. It was such a slow process, and you knew it would be going faster if you were doing something more productive with your time until it was necessary, but you couldn’t. 

The other girls in your dorms could come in and out, sometimes exchanging glances with their friends when they saw that you hadn’t moved from your spot, but they didn’t ask any questions, opting to just leave you be. 

You were picked at your fingers, cracking your knuckles, and finally, finally, the small hand pointed to the eight on that ancient clock. 

Funnily enough, even though you had been mentally waiting for this to happen, you waited for a couple of seconds, trying to calm yourself down, nodding to yourself that this wasn’t anything big and that you were just overreacting. 

Slowly, you rose from your spot on your bed, a little dent in the mattress from just how long you’d been sitting there. You turn the handle of the door, taking in yet another deep as you take a tentative step outside the safe sanctity of your room. 

The common rooms are usually more busy on Friday nights, and that might’ve been a blessing in disguise as you’re able to slip past most people, keeping your eyes peeled for a flash of white hair. 

You scan the couch area, the sitting area, and the large window that looks into the black lake, but you don’t see him. It’s only until you look near the entrance to the common room, the large oak double doors, do you see him. 

It seems like he’s scanning the area as well, blue eyes looking everywhere until they fall onto yours, and you’re able to sneak past some people watching as he cocks his head in the motion of the doors, and before you could do anything else, he leaves, and you take it as your sig to follow him.

You’re glad that nobody’s looking your way as you push the two doors open, looking to your right to see him waiting for you. 

You go to open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. 

“Follow me, and be quick,” he’s already walking and you have to nearly jog to get to him, walking at a much faster pace seeing how his legs were abnormally long, “Put these on over your clothes.” 

Gojo throws you a pile of ratty-looking uniforms, but the more you open up the folded mess you come to realize that they’re old quidditch uniforms. In fact, when you’re finally able to get a good look at him you realize he’s wearing adoring green robes. 

You don’t say anything, multitasking as you walk and shrug over the (huge, it was practically dragging on the floor) robes, buttoning them up as quickly as you could without tripping over your feet, the quidditch uniform, or over the stones. 

He looks at you briefly, and he’s glad that you’re too busy trying to figure out how the robes are supposed to fit over you to notice the way his lips quirked up slightly at the look of you at the moment. 

“Put this on too,” he says once you're finally done, handing you another huge helmet, and you take it silently, pulling it over your head. 

The helmet is way too big for you, as it nearly hangs over your eyes, and you can barely see anything with it on, and you pause, a smile making its way onto your face as you push it up only for it to fall again.

You stop walking for a second, and when Gojo looks back he sees the helmet masking most of your face up until your nose, the only thing he can see is your large grin, the sleeves of the uniform enveloping your hands, reaching to your knees, and for the first time, he hears the softest sound, 

You’re giggling as you try to figure out how to tighten the straps on the helmet, not able to see where Gojo is because you have your head tilted down, struggling with the buckle until his boots come into your field of vision. 

All of a sudden you feel a hand tip your helmet upwards, and your smile falters when you now see his face, the way his eyes are swirling with different hues of blues, something you notice that happened when he was battling multiple emotions at once. You can tell that there’s a small, barely noticeable smile on his face, surely from how insane you look right now. 

You’ve never seen him look so at ease. His shoulders seem more relaxed, his jaw not clenched. It helped that he looked like he was smiling for once. 

But there’s no time to think as you feel the brush of him on your skin, his slender and swift fingers working fast and expertly at tightening the strap under your chin. He looks focused, his white brows scrunched up the way he always does when he’s trying to figure out a transfiguration rune. You feel your breath lodge in your throat. When he’s satisfied with how it was resting on your face his hands drop to his side, and his eyes slightly widen, as if he just realized what he had just done. 

He cleared his throat, looking around the hall to make sure that nobody was around, and he turned his back as he began his brisk pace out to wherever it was that he was taking you.

You walked, corrected, ran with him for a little more until he brought you to one of the openings of the castle, the one that led directly to the quidditch fields. 

“Where,” you were a little out of breath, noticing how the sun was nearly about to set, and also knowing that you sure as hell didn’t have a pass to be out this late, “Where’re we going?” 

“To the field,” he said, which was the answer you were most dreading. 

“Right, I can see that,” you feel hot under all these layers, despite the fact that it was late October and the weather was biting at best, “Why are we going out to the fields.” The breeze that was hitting your cheeks was stinging, so you were at least glad in that aspect that the quidditch robe offered you some sort of warmth. 

“Ravenclaws practicing right now,” Gojo said, turning around to look at you for a fleeting second, “I need to see what Nanami’s strategy is, and you need to learn quidditch.” 

You almost trip. 

And you need to learn quidditch.

His words were ringing in your head, possibly even louder than the blood rushing to your ears. He had to be lying, or have some sort of cruel prank planned out. He must be waiting for his friends to run out from behind one of the stands so that they could tie you to a tree. Not that he’s ever done that, but also not the first time it’d be happening at the hands of other Slytherins. 

Because sure, while you might’ve offended him in saying you didn’t understand how quidditch worked, that wouldn’t mean that he, Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, hater of all muggle-borns alike, would be taking time out of his life to fix this wrong.

You should’ve just run the other way, ditched the scratchy uniform somewhere, and ran back to your dormitory, somewhere where you’d at least be safe from experiencing any sort of humiliation. 

But the closer that the two of you neared the stands, the more you felt confused. Because nowhere could you see any other Slytherins, and he was right, the Ravenclaw team was practicing right now, if the flashes of blue and white from above you meant anything. 

Which could only mean that…? 

Gojo finally stops at the stairs that lead you up the stands, his hand on the wooden railing. 

“We’re going…up?” 

He snorts, nodding as he ushers you to move. 

“Obviously,” his voice now seems more amplified with his small and cramped winding staircase, “I’m not going to be observing them from the ground.” 

You’re the one that’s ahead, so you try to go even faster so that he won’t be held up behind you, but everything is moving too fast. Did he give you these robes so that you’d seem like another player? So that you wouldn’t be marked up if you were seen out of your dormitory so late at night?

When you finally got to the opening, you were able to hear the yells that the Ravenclaw players were enhancing with one another. You hold the tarp that acted as the door above your head, heading over to one of the seats in the far back, feeling Gojo right on your tail. 

It had been years since you were here since you looked out into the fields. The stands were high, and the winds were stronger up here. Gojo sat where you were, to your right, and you waited silently to see what he was going to do. 

Nanami was the Ravenclaw seeker as well as the captain. You could see the flash of blonde hair as he flew by, the other team members either watching him or practicing with their respective posts. 

Gojo rested his elbow on his thighs, leaning in as he observed intently. 

Eventually, after a minute or two, he sat back up, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his hair ticking your temple, his nose inches away from your cheek as he began to talk. 

“In quidditch, you have seven players on each side. One seeker, one keeper, three chasers, and two beaters.” 

You nod, following along. 

“You see number seven?” He points to the guy flying around near the three tall hoops, and you nod again, “He’s a keeper. He makes sure that the other team doesn’t get any balls into the hoops.” Gojo is leaning even closer to you now, and you can feel half of his body pressing up against yours. You feel like you're heating up, and not because of the excessive quidditch uniform you’re wearing. 

“The beaters, number four and two,” he then points to the boy and the girl flying around, holding wooden bats, “try to protect their team from the bludgers; which is this black ball that sort of follows around team members, trying to knock them off their brooms. Those bats ward off the bludgers.” 

You make a mental note of everything he’s saying, trying not to be distracted by the fact that you’re being given a quidditch lesson from Gojo Satoru. 

“The chasers, which are the rest of them, aside from Nanami, throw around the quaffle to each other. Every time they get it through the other team's hoop, they score ten points…do you follow?” Gojo pauses, looking at you and you push your helmet up so that you can see him, giving him a confident nod. 

“All that’s left is the seeker-” 

“Which is you, right?” You cut him off, rubbing at your nose which was now freezing at this point. 

Gojo pauses, eyes flickering to you as he raises a brow. 

“I may not know quidditch but I’m not daft,” you tell him.

For a second there, you swear you could see the start of a smile play on his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, almost softly, “I’m the seeker.” You’re too busy looking ahead to notice that he’s busy looking at you, so you continue to talk. 

“...plus, Kento was telling me about it a while ago. He said you were really good.”

This time, his brow raised even further. 

“You know him?” 

You shrug, your eyes following the quick and hurried movements of all the players, too focused on their practice to notice the change in Gojo’s voice, or overall, the change in his entire demeanor. You must’ve missed how he slightly tensed up, or the way his eyes narrowed. 

“We had potions with Ravenclaw last year, remember?” You turn slightly to look over at Gojo before you go back to watching, “He helped me with some of my brews, but we talked about other stuff!” You had to raise your voice, the wind was getting stronger, “And Quidditch came up!”

Gojo’s nose flared momentarily before he swallowed thickly, his jaw ticking as he tried to focus back on the practice as well. 

“A-anyways,” he cleared his throat, not remembering that last time he choked on his words, “The seeker catches the snitch. I can’t see where it is now, but once the snitch is caught, the game is over.” He tried to push some of the hair out of his face, getting annoyed at how it kept getting stuck in his eyes. 

“I need to get something, I’ll be back,” Gojo murmured in your ear, pushing himself off of the seat as he walked in front of you disappearing down the stairs within seconds. 

You glanced at where he left but found yourself looking back to the players, your face breaking into another excited smile when you began to piece together what Gojo had just told you, finally able to understand quidditch after all these years.

The sun had set and the stars were peeking out through the sky, and you watched the players as they furiously rode around, each one tense and stressed for the match that would be happening tomorrow. 

You tried to hide yourself in the background as much as you could, now feeling a little more out in the open with Gojo gone.

The minutes ticked by and yet Gojo didn’t come back. Now and then you found yourself looking at the stairs, eyes darting back and forth from those on their broomsticks to where you had first entered from. 

Slowly yet surely, you found yourself in that position the first night you saw him at that library. 

When the Ravenclaw players slowly began dissenting from the air, running off the fields as they went in from shelter from the old, you felt a part of your stomach twist. 

This was all part of his plan, you concluded, shivering to yourself as you tried not to feel let down, or even worse, like an idiot for thinking anything had changed, that you had maybe actually begun to have a friend after seven years.

You feel your eyes water, either from the wind or from everything, and you make your way for the stairs, your lips trembling as you suddenly start to feel claustrophobic under all the clothes you're wearing, your fingers slipping and sliding as you try to take that wretched helmet off of your head.

You feel like if you go any faster you’re going to trip and tumble down the stairs, and it doesn't help that you’re already too distracted with trying to take the helmet off. You sniffle, your eyes blurry as you feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You couldn’t even tell if you were thinking that in your head or saying it out loud as you neared the end of the never-ending stairs, unbuttoning the buttons of the scratchy uniform as you bundled everything up in your hands, wiping at your wet cheeks with your palm.

Amongst all the things people have done to you over the years, this wasn’t the worst. You’ve had your room ransacked, your trunk thrown into the river, your shoes stolen on multiple occasions. You’ve been called a mudblood more times than you’ve been called your own name, and none of these things were actually done by Gojo. 

Perhaps you thought that deep down, maybe he could change. That maybe after all that time spent in the library, talking to you, controlling some of his laughs at your awful jokes, he saw that maybe muggle-borns weren’t as bad as he thought they were. 

And yet tonight you suffered your first prank, if that’s what this could even be called, at his hands. It didn’t hurt because of its nature, but because a naive part of you actually thought that he could’ve been your friend. 

But none of that mattered now, not that you-

“Where are you going?” 

You stop in your tracks, your head whipping around to the voice. 

It was now fully dark outside, the moon and the spare candles that were lit around the castle and the stands were the only sources of light. You could see his figure standing a couple feet away from you, his white hair like a beacon in the night. 

He takes a couple tentative steps closer to you, close enough so that you can see the furrow of his brows and the small pout on his lips. Damn it, you wanted to curse, you could hate him more if he didn’t look so pretty. 

“Back to the castle,” you snap, wiping at the corners of your eyes, throwing down the old uniform and the oversized helmet on the ground near his feet. You sniffle, looking to the side so that you won’t have to see his face.

“What?” He steps closer to you and you take a step back, your head still turned, eyes trained on the dewy grass, “Why?” You try not to think too much about the two sets of brooms in his hands, or how for some strange reason, he actually sounded dejected that you were leaving.

Letting out a shaky breath you laugh curtly, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up to the sky, counting the stars, wondering if that could calm you down. 

You hear the grass crunch under his feet, the warmth of his body as he comes in close to you. 

Why does he care? 

“I brought you a broom,” he holds it to you so you can see the outline of it, “Here,” he bends down to pick up the helmet you had thrown to the ground, “At least put this on,” he’s already securing it on your head, not noticing the way your lips were trembling, his fingers brushing up against your chin once again but you don’t him faster it, smacking his hand to the side as you rip the helmet off your head, throwing it with more force on the ground. 

“S-stop,” you murmur harshly, wiping at your cheeks, “Stop, stop whatever it is you’re doing-” 

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarls, his eyes a dark shade of navy blue, “So stop crying, I don’t know what it is you think I did.”

He’s angry now, good, it’ll be easier to yell at him if he’s just as amped up as you are. 

But when you finally look at him and get to see his face, it’s not the kind of anger you’re feeling. His eyes are narrowed, his eyebrows pulling together down the middle the way they do when he’s confused, the way you often see him looking like when he’s frustrated at your cursed transfigurations essay. He’s not angry at you because of you, he’s angry because he doesn't understand where your frustrations are coming from. 

He’s at least a head taller than you, looking down as his chest heaves slightly, waiting for you to say something, anything, so that he could explain himself for whatever it is he’s done wrong. His cheeks are a little pink, either from the cold or…something else, and his hair is messy, no longer kept the way it usually is. 

Gojo looks different.

And you don’t know who it was that moved in closer, whose rational mind slowly turned irrational as you two took another step towards the middle, but all you do know is that the two of you didn’t care as you roughly grabbed him by his robes, tugging him in as you slammed your lips to his. 

It happened in an instant, your lips moving against his soft one, your hands gripping onto that fabric for dear life. And for a second, you begin to pull away, your eyes opening in shock, but there’s no use, because Gojo slams his lips down onto yours as he pulls you into his chest. 

It’s rushed and messy, your teeth clash against one another, your hands going up from his chest as they intertwine around his neck, your fingers tugging on his long white strands and you hear him groan into your mouth. 

He moves fast, biting at your lips, one hand sprawled on the expanse of your back, the other one behind your neck, almost cradling the back of your head, tilting your head upwards to meet him. His tongue prods at your lips, and somehow, mindlessly, you part them a little more, moaning quietly at the way his tongue explores your mouth. 

Gojo leads you a little back, so that you’re up against one of the wooden pillars of the quidditch stands, offering you more stability, a good thing, seeing how you feel like you're becoming lightheaded, soon about to faint. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, heavy on your lips as he dips down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he says once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips. 

“G-gojo,” you whine, feeling hot as his hands travel across your chest, cupping your tits through your thin sweater as he continues to kiss down your neck, tugging some of the material down so that he could leave even more marks across your collarbone, “G-god, oh my god,” 

His pants tighten at your voice, his pupils dilate at the way you're pawing at him, pulling at him, needing him. 

“Satoru,” he says against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.” 

He’s delirious, he kisses you like you’re the air he’s been missing his entire life, and holds you to him as if you’re the only furnace in a land barren with snow. He needs you. 

Your fingers are lost in his hair, pulling and tugging, hearing the way his breathing stutters when you do so. 

One of your hands drops down to his chest, feeling at the skin that’s exposed from where his uniform was pulling up, and when your cold fingers make contact with the skin resting taunt on his stomach you swear you could hear him almost whine, his head momentarily dropping into the crook of your neck as he urges you to continue, holding your wrist tightly, pushing it up further. 

Your eyes find his, your breathing coming out in short spurts, and he seems so far gone, so transfixed with how you look under him, that the two of you fail to hear the footsteps that come near where the two of you were.

“Who’s there?” 

A voice calls out, and you see somebody behind him standing with a lantern. 

You push Gojo off of you, but he stays put, looking over his shoulder, shielding your body with his. 

“Oh, fuck off Taylor,” Gojo calls out, anger and irritation laced into his voice.

The boy's eyes widen when he realizes how it is, the blue and white Ravenclaw robes dashing away into the distance, the lantern long gone in a matter of seconds, but it’s no use. 

When Gojo looks down at you, you’ve been given too much time to come back to your senses. 

You push him away from you, and this time he moves.

You take a deep breath, not looking at him as you wipe at your spit-soaked lips, blinking rapidly as you try to make sense of what happened. 

He didn't say anything, but you could hear the quiet pants that escaped his lips, trying to catch some air. 

You open your mouth to say something but close it promptly, shaking your head in disbelief. 

You don’t think twice as you make your way back to the castle.

---

(part two)

taglist (CLOSED): @satorusemepls, @mokonasenpaiposts, @kao-ri, @rinxgojo, @notsochillnerd, @astral-hydromancy, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron, @tedbunny333, @13-09-01, @mynameislove1, @hyunsuks-beanie

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 10

Source for pic

Trouble 10

Word Count: 4546

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I feel like this story just keeps going from bad to worse! But bear with me, please! I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. Chapter 11 will be NSFW and will end with a cliffhanger, just a heads up!

Masterlist

Just in case people missed this, I can't stop raving about @laidenbreecatchall art for Zoro! Just look at him! *sigh* Okay, back to the story:

This can't be happening. It can't. It's all a bad dream, and you're bound to wake up soon, drenched in sweat and tears. It has to be a nightmare. 

Because the alternative is too terrifying. 

“Tremble for me, Kitten.” He purrs against your ear, his breath sickeningly hot, as the fingers he has wrapped around your neck squeeze with a gentleness you wouldn't associate with a psychopath. “I get so turned on by seeing you scared.”

Gross. Sick. Disturbing. 

Why does nobody come to your aid? The club is packed, doesn't anybody sense your distress? You try to move your head around in the vain hope of making eye contact with someone - anyone - but he just squeezes tighter. His chuckle is low, and somehow, you still hear it perfectly, even with the loud music thumping away in an infernal rhythm. 

“Nobody is coming to help you, Princess. To everybody else, we look like a couple.” The hand that's gripping your wrist, holding it tight against your waist, pushes further, and you feel him pressed against your back. “To everybody else, you look like you're mine.” 

He moves his lips, placing wet kisses along your neck as you sob softly. There's barely enough strength in you for more than that. You're terrified. Fight or flight instinct? How about frozen in fear? And what does he plan to do to you? Kidnap you? Abuse you? Kill you? 

You try to turn your head to the side to get a glimpse of who he is because you can't shake the feeling that you've heard this voice before. You know this man. But the movement only makes him squeeze your neck tighter, and the only thing you glimpse is a black beanie. 

“Not yet, Princess. You're not ready to see me yet.” He tuts softly and inhales your hair with a lewd groan. “Now… you know why I'm here, right? You misbehaved. You let the cop stay the night; you let the cop touch you; you let the cop kiss you.” He growls as he delivers the sentences, and his hand grips your wrist tighter. You're starting to lose feeling in the tips of your fingers as he seems to be cutting off your circulation. “I don't want to do this, Kitten, but I need to punish you. You need to learn.”

He sounds upset. Almost as if he's actually sorry he has to do this to you. 

“But first…” He removes his hand from your neck, but it's as though a phantom limb is still pressed against your throat. The power and terror he exerts over you are unthinkable and terrifying. Then, you feel a weight in your pocket, and he sighs against your ear. “Here's your phone back, Princess. I got it from our kitchen drawer.” Our? “You can't shut me out. You won't change your phone again. Got it?”

You stay still, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Your heart is thumping in such an insane rhythm that you wonder how you're not having a heart attack right now. 

“Do you understand?” His free hand climbs your nape and grips your hair. When he pulls, you gasp and nod stiffly. “Good girl.” Another purr makes your ear vibrate, and you tremble from the heat of his breath against your skin. 

His feverish touch travels from your nape to your neck, then to your clavicle, his nimble fingers gathering the fabric of your clothes as he exposes the flesh of your shoulder. Another involuntary shudder makes you tremble as you plead silently for one of your friends to come find you. 

“You will do as I say and stop indulging the cop. Sever the connection, Kitten, or I will. And you won't like it.” His lips hover over your shoulder, and the hand on your wrist keeps squeezing. The bite of the bracelet is harsh and unforgiving, making your blood run cold. 

“It would be the simplest thing. He gets called to an emergency and simply gets shot…” The stalker's chuckle sounds unhinged. “Boo-hoo. Another cop killed in the line of duty. No one would blink an eye.” Your lower lip trembles, and your heart constricts. He’s capable of hurting Zoro. And if Zoro dies, it's your fault. “But you'd know why he died. Do you want that, Kitten?”

“D–don't hurt him.” You whisper, and it's unlikely he heard you over all the loud noise of the club. Even so, for you, it seems as if the music is coming from a faraway place. 

“That is entirely up to you.” He sighs, and you close your eyes. “Your punishment, Princess.” Then, his massive gloved hand covers your mouth as he sinks his teeth deep into your shoulder. You feel a sharp sting of pain traveling down your arm and back. Tears sting your eyes and your sobs drown in a muffled whine against his hand. The pain is blinding and hot, and you're pretty sure he's drawing blood. 

A stark realisation hits you just as he removes his teeth from your flesh, his tongue collecting droplets of blood as he eases the sting. 

He's marking you. 

“Mine.” He growls, and a tear rolls down your cheek. 

You feel helpless, violated, and terrified. 

“You won't disobey me anymore, Kitten. You won't misbehave anymore, and more importantly, you'll get rid of the cop.” His hand leaves your mouth as he fixes your clothes to cover up the bite mark. “Or I will. Don't forget it.”

His other hand releases your wrist, and you let out a ragged breath as your fingers twitch from lack of circulation. 

He's still pressing against you. 

“You're almost ready. We'll be so happy together, Kitten.” Your head slumps forward when he presses his lips against the back of it in a mockery of affection. “Don't disappoint me anymore.”

Then, just as swiftly as he approached you, he leaves. You turn quickly on the spot, trying to get a glimpse of your tormentor, but you only seem to catch a sliver of white. 

Was it hair? Clothes? The reflection of the lights? 

Or just your tears playing tricks on your mind? 

With trembling fingers and uneven breaths, you dislodge the bracelet that seemed to mould into your skin. The redness is daunting - it will bruise. Another whimper makes your lower lip tremble as you try to keep your wits about you. 

You need to calm down. You need to act like nothing happened. 

Zoro will be here any second now, and the stalker's threats were very clear. He'll hurt Zoro. He'll get rid of him if you don't push him away - whatever that might mean, so your plan to tell Zoro everything just went out the window. 

You need to keep him safe. At all costs. 

“Miss, your drinks are ready.”

A gasp leaves your lips, and you nod at the bartender. You’re still massaging your wrist, trying to alleviate some of the redness, but it's not disappearing. It's just getting worse. 

The way your heart is beating out of sync is a testament to how scared you still are. You need to compose yourself. New plan: take the drinks to the table and immediately excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Then maybe you can leave, claiming to be sick. You can't disguise the bruising on your wrist, though. Thank heavens the bite on your shoulder is hidden. 

With a steadying nod, you pick up the tray of beverages and make your way to the booth. 

Leave the drinks. Bathroom. Excuse. Home.

It's simple. You can do it. And then you can work out a plan. Maybe you can make an anonymous tip to the police about your stalker. Would that work? Or beg Ichiji again for protection? Even if you have to grovel? Maybe ask your father where he stores his rifle and take matters into your own hands?

You try to ignore the fact that just the stalker’s presence left you frozen in fear. It's highly unlikely you can fight for yourself. Who are you trying to kid? 

Leave the drinks. Bathroom. Excuse. Home.

You repeat the words like a mantra, but as soon as you set the tray on the table, you feel a touch on your waist, making you immediately flinch and hide your arm behind your back. 

“Hey, Troublemaker.”

“Zoro!” The moment your eyes fall on his, all your resolve crumbles. He can help you, you know he can. 

“Get rid of the cop… Or I will.”

“He gets called to an emergency and simply gets shot.”

No. You can't tell him anything. 

Not yet, at least. Not before you have a foolproof plan to protect him. Can his captain help? Surely he can. You just need time to think this through. You need to shake away the fear and think with a cool head. 

“Are you alright?” Zoro's eye scans your face. It's most likely still red. Your eyes still feel watery, and you're sure he's picking up on those signs. Zoro's hand still lingers on your waist, so you shuffle away from him and force a smile, your arm tucked behind your back. 

“Yes, Zoro. I'm fine. Did everything work out with the bomb threat?” You step away from him and distribute the drinks with just one hand, your jaw clenching with the fakest smile you've ever produced. 

“Not really, it was a freaking mess.” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Most of the time, these things are fake. Someone wants attention and pulls one of these, thinking it's funny. This time, it was a real threat.”

A small gasp leaves your lips as you lock eyes with Zoro again. A real bomb? But… Does that mean it wasn't the stalker who planted it? Or does it mean it was him, and he's just showing you again how seriously he can play? 

How easily can he hurt Zoro?

“Another cop killed in the line of duty.”

“Shit.” You exclaim, and Zoro nods while reaching for a beer from the tray. After a sip, his expression softens, and he reaches for your waist again. 

“Come here. We can talk later - we need to talk later - but for now… just come here.” 

Your heart thumps louder than the music, and you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. He's still watching. 

“It would be the simplest thing…”

You take a step back to avoid Zoro's touch, your smile faltering as you try your hardest to keep a neutral expression. 

“Trouble?” Zoro reaches again, and it's like your chest is exploding as you avoid his touch once more. “You're running again.”

The faintest flicker of pain darkens Zoro's gaze, and you bite your lower lip just to keep it from trembling. 

“I'm not… I… I have to go to the bathroom.” And before he says something else, you rush towards the dimly lit corridor that leads to the bathrooms, but before you can take refuge inside, you hear Zoro call your name. 

He’s following you. 

You pretend that you don't hear him and press on, hastening your step. 

“Wait!” He calls you again, and you raise your hand to push the door open, unshed tears are already pricking the back of your eyes. Would it be simpler to just tell him everything and hope for the best? 

“You'd know why he died.”

You can't tell him. 

“Trouble, stop!” Zoro nearly growls, his hand wrapping around your injured wrist in an effort to stop you. Instant pain shoots up your arm as you let out a hiss and a grunt. Stopping and turning towards him with a pained expression on your face, you almost let out a sob. 

Zoro releases you instantly, his hands shooting up in a defeated position while his brows scrunch, searching your face for any clue as to why you reacted like this. 

“I barely touched you.” Then it happens fast, and you don't have time to react. 

Zoro's eye lowers as his gaze settles on your bruised wrist. You see it widen, his pupil dilating as realisation washes over him. 

“What the fuck?” The music seems farther away in the bathroom corridor, yet it still vibrates low, making your chest thump in the same rhythm as the electronic tempo, but the buzzing in your ears doesn't come from the loud noise. 

You've been caught. 

“Who the fuck did this to you?” Zoro takes a menacing step forward, and you can physically feel the way the air shifts. You have no time to react when he grabs your arm again - avoiding the bruised area - and inspects it, revulsion and fury contorting his expression. “Tell me, Trouble. Now.” Zoro's tone brooks no arguments. He sounds deadly serious. No. He just sounds deadly. 

“I–” You take a deep exhale and try to release your arm from Zoro's grasp, but it doesn't budge. His eye jumps from your face to your arm like he can't stand the sight of the bruise, but can't stand to look away either. “It's nothing, Zo!” You force a laugh, and it sounds fake and high-pitched. “I bumped into someone earlier and almost fell. The guy grabbed my wrist to keep me from falling, and the bracelet dug into my skin.” Another fake laugh. “You know how clumsy I am.”

That was believable. You think. 

Zoro's jaw clenches and unclenches, and he snaps his neck, rotating his head as he also takes a deep exhale, a gesture meant to calm himself down. 

“Lie to me one more time, Trouble…” 

“I'm not–”

“You are! That's not an accidental bruise! Stop trying to fucking gaslight me. What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck do I have to kill?”

Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“You're being dramatic, Zoro, it really is nothing, I–” 

“You stop showing up, you look like a ghost, you don't eat, you're scared, jumpy, you run from me and avoid my touch. Yet yesterday, you clung to me as if I was your lifeline.” Zoro takes another step forward, and now he's almost flush with you. 

Safety. He's safety. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“And now this? Let me in. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

You can't. 

“Zo…”

“There you guys are! Come on! We're going to sing happy birthday to Nami before Luffy raids the fridge and eats the cake by himself.” Usopp says, without really realising he’s intruded on a private conversation, but you couldn't be more thankful to him. 

You take the opportunity while Zoro's distracted to actually run away from him, confirming his earlier affirmation that you're running and not caring one bit. 

He can hate you all he wants. He can even be hurt with you. 

You just can't bear it if he actually ends up hurt. 

Or worse. 

Dead. 

-*-

The thumping music stopped just for Nami. The DJ got the birthday melody playing, and the whole club is celebrating your friend's birthday, even the ones that don't know her. 

You can't stop a small smile from spreading on your lips: everybody loves Nami. 

You somehow managed to lose Zoro amongst the hordes of people - he's big and bulky, so that gives him more trouble to manoeuvre around the crowd - and as soon as Nami blows out the candles, just after she and Vivi share a sweet kiss, you hug her and make up a quick excuse to leave the party early. 

Then you flee the club without another thought. Not even caring if you don't have a ride home or if you didn't say goodbye to your friends. 

You just need to get away from Zoro and his questioning. 

The slight night chill and the difference in temperature make you shiver, though another buzz from your phone assures you the tremble comes from something other than the cold. 

Yet, before you take two steps, his voice makes you stop. 

“Stop running from us.” It’s Zoro. “Stop running from me.” He sounds exasperated and conflicted. 

Your shoulders slump forward as you inhale deeply. He's relentless, and he will get to the bottom of this if he keeps pushing. And you can't allow that. 

Even if it will destroy you. 

“Tell me what's wrong, Trouble.” You turn to face him, and your knees wobble. Zoro's eye is full of anguish. He runs a hand through his hair and paces forward - everything in his posture is desperate. “I don't know what else to do to help you. I've tried being tough, I've tried giving you space, I'm trying to be understanding… Trouble… meet me in the middle. Please.”

You can't do this. You can't. He looks so broken, so helpless. And this could be easily remedied if you just told him what's going on. 

But you can't. Because you know the Stalker will kill Zoro. And you can't bear that. You'd rather be scared and trapped for the rest of your life than risk Zoro's. 

Zoro sees you struggling and takes full advantage of it, trying to sway you by cupping your face as he forces you to look at him. 

“Let me in.” He pleads with a whisper. 

Closing your eyes, you open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your voice was stolen. The lump in your throat grows, and so does the pain in your chest. 

There's no other way. 

“You got it all wrong, Zoro.” Your voice sounds foreign and affected. Still, you now focus your gaze on Zoro's scar. Not his eye, you can't bear that. “I'm not interested. I never was.”

Zoro's hands twitch slightly as his brow furrows, but you barely give him time to process your words before you deliver more pain. 

“You just can't take a hint, can you? I'm trying to get away from you, but you keep pushing. I don't care for you like that, Zoro.”

You have to close your eyes to keep away the moisture and to prevent acknowledging Zoro's pain.

“Gosh, stop being clingy and needy. Leave me alone. That's all. I'm fine, I just need you to give me space.”

Zoro's hands part with your face torturously slow. You don't look him in the eye anymore, clenching your fists to prevent them from shivering violently. 

But you stand your ground. 

You need to push Zoro away. He needs to be safe. Even if your heart is shattering. 

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

He stopped touching you, but he didn't back away. And as your eyes raise to meet his, you can see steely determination where before was only despair. 

“You heard me: Bull. Shit.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

Fuck. 

“I'm dead serious, Zoro. This was fun and all, but I'm done. Leave me alone.”

You turn on your heel, trapping a sob behind clenched teeth and fighting back tears. 

“Is this how you want to play? I can see what you're trying to do, Trouble, and it's bullshit.”

Bzzzz. 

You shouldn't read it. 

Yet you do. 

Unknown: Try harder, Kitten, or I'll make him go away permanently. 

“I’m not playing at anything. You don't matter.” The words leave your lips in the form of a whisper, but they linger in the air as if they were poisonous gas. Your insides twist and turn, and you feel nauseous. 

“Say that again, Trouble.” You barely hear him, not only because of all the ringing in your ears, but also because his hurt is drowning the words. 

Bzzzz.

No, no, no. You can't. 

Bzzzz. 

You have to. 

“I said–”

“Turn around and say it to my face.”

A sob claws its way up your throat, and you swallow it back down. You need to keep it together for now. 

With a slow turn, you face Zoro's disbelief, willing your heart to slow down, trying to keep your own emotions at bay before you collapse in tears. 

“You don't matter.” You repeat the words, and the way Zoro's face turns from disbelief to pain is immediate and heartbreaking. “I was just having fun, but I didn't expect you to become so obsessed with me.”

You aimed to hurt, and it worked. 

Zoro takes a step back as his eye faces the ground. The way his chest rises up and down with heavy gasps almost brings out the tears you're trying so hard to suppress. 

“Goodbye.”

You turn and hasten your step, wanting to get away from him as fast as you can. 

“Fine.” Your steps waver for a second when you hear Zoro’s voice, before you return to your uneven stride. “Fine! I'll back off. But I know you're lying to me.”

He doesn't say anything else, and you don't want to acknowledge the pain you heard in his voice. The pain you caused. Because your own pain is unbearable and immense. 

And now you've pushed away the one person who would help and protect you unconditionally. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: That's my good girl. The punishment worked. You're almost ready. 

-*-

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Zoro grits his teeth as his eye follows your shrinking form, watching it disappear into the dark horizon. Every freaking instinct tells him to follow you, but you've just pushed him away with everything you've got. 

‘You don't matter.’

“Fuck!”

“Hey! What's going on?” Usopp places his hand on Zoro's shoulder, and he sighs, running a desperate hand through his hair. 

“Nothing.” Then Zoro spots Kaya buttoning her jacket. “You leaving?”

“Yeah, I'm taking Kaya home, we have an early day tomorrow.” Usopp looks around and spots your disappearing form. “Where's she going?”

“What did you do?” Kaya interjects, hands already placed on her hips with a menacing scowl to back up her tiny, aggressive stance. Usopp’s brow raises at his girlfriend, and then he mimics her stance, his gaze also demanding answers Zoro doesn't really want to give. Zoro grits his teeth again, trapping a growl against them. He's so pissed, he can't even think straight. 

“I didn't do anything!” He answers, exasperated. “Fuck! Usopp, can you give her a ride home? She just fucking left.”

Usopp nods, and Kaya jogs a little, trying to catch up with you before you gain more distance from them. So Zoro starts walking towards the club again before you come back, wanting to avoid another confrontation. 

“Thanks.” He pats Usopp’s back and goes inside to say goodbye to his friends and grab his stuff. 

This shit’s not over. You may think you've pushed him away with your performance, but all you did was reel him in more. Zoro had his suspicions, but now he's sure. 

Someone is messing with you. And though his brain is telling him that someone is connected to Lucci and the store clerk, his heart is trying to push that possibility away. Because that fucker is dangerous, and Zoro's hoping against all hope that he didn't set his eyes on you. 

Or Zoro’s going to have to murder someone. 

Zoro's jaw keeps clenching as he drives towards the station. Even though he has the night off, he can't stay still. He's going to present his suspicions to Captain Mihawk and then forge a plan to protect you. Even if he has to drag your ass to the station and lock you in a cell. 

He'll fucking do it. 

Anything to keep you safe. 

You're not going to spend another fucking day terrified of something you won't even tell him about. 

‘You don't matter.”

Like shit, he doesn't. You can lie to him all you want. 

He'll never give up on you. 

-*-

It's barely after midnight when Usopp and Kaya drop you off at home. They have to get up early in the morning, so they couldn't party  late, and you told them you weren’t feeling very well. 

Neither of them pressed because they could clearly see the tears you were trying so hard to fight back. And you're sure they both know that you're crying because of Zoro, seeing as it was him who told them to give you a ride. 

They just don't know that you were the asshole who brought the pain to both of you. 

As Usopp’s car disappears down the driveway, you bolt the lock on the front door and place a chair against the doorknob, knowing deep down that it won't keep the stalker away, but still aiming for a sense of safety you know you won't achieve. 

You do the same to your room, discard your club clothes, and finally look in the mirror to see the mark he left there. Your eyes widen as your trembling fingers run over the bruise: you can clearly identify the teeth marks, there's still caked blood around the wound and it's already turning a dark bruise colour.

You choke back sobs as you disinfect the wound and dress in your pyjamas. Outside, the weather seems to match your mood as you start to hear the gentle pitter-patter of the soft rain against the window. 

You feel drained and exhausted. You were, once again, pushed into a corner. Never have you felt so trapped, helpless, and lonely. All the earlier fight, the will to try and find ways to get out of this predicament, left your body along with the hurtful words you delivered to Zoro.

‘You don’t matter.’

Gosh… he’s everything! But if it takes breaking you both apart just to save him, then you’ll do it over and over again.

Tomorrow is another day, and maybe after some serious consideration, you’ll know what to do.

As you curl up in your bed, trying to stay awake, but already knowing you'll succumb to exhaustion after having cried your heart out, you glance at your buzzing phone before closing your eyes. 

Unknown: Such a good Kitten. My beautiful Princess. My love. Sleep. I'll watch over you. 

-*-

You wake up with a jolt, feeling that something is amiss. You look around, your eyes darting to every shadow and every corner because your room feels wrong. Yet, you find everything in the same place. The shadows are still, and the room is quiet. 

Your heart thrums against your chest, and you take a deep breath to try and calm down. It must've been a nightmare. 

Patting your nightstand, you grab your phone. 01:15. It's still so early. Why did you wake up so suddenly?

And then you notice it. At first, it's just a red blur standing in your nightstand, but then, as you focus your wet eyes, they widen in fear, and you clasp your hand over your mouth. 

There's a single red rose in the nightstand. He's been in your room. 

He was near you. 

A sob disturbs the quietness of the night, and almost immediately, it gets drowned out by a loud thunderclap. And then, you see something else. 

Trembling fingers reach out, and you grab the small paper: it's a photo. And when your eyes adjust to the image and your brain processes it, you stay frozen in place, your breath held in suspension as more tears flood your eyes. 

It’s a polaroid of you sleeping. Your brows are furrowed, and your cheek is wet, but what steals your breath is the huge, veiny, tanned hand that's gripping your hair in possession. The word ‘mine’ is scribbled in red across the picture in a distinct claim. 

He was in your house. 

He was in your room. 

He touched you. 

And you didn't even notice.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall

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|Chapter 11🔞|

[sillygoofyqueer]

Even more thoughts, for you to post if you so choose!

I do love the idea of Shen Yuan having a fancy hair piece with a pin that doubles as a weapon! Just because demon crows don’t have access to spiritual swords doesn’t mean he can’t stab the hell out of you.

For his main weapon, I’m thinking crow demons that can take human form tend to use bows, with the feathers shed by their clan as fletching. (Perhaps demon feathers also grant abilities of some sort to the arrows?)

Looking at the iridescence of crow feathers reminds me of the Chinese tradition of making jewelry with kingfisher feathers. Now I think it would be lovely if the crow demons also had a tradition of fashioning similar jewelry with their own feathers, perhaps treated with solutions and lacquered in a way that brings out even more of their color.

Speaking of colors, while crows aren’t among those birds able to see significant ultraviolet, they are tetrachromats, and thus are able to distinguish colors to a far greater extent than humans. I’m sure his sudden ability to see way more colors than he could in his last life is very perplexing to poor Shen Yuan!

The regular crows acting as an alarm system by cursing and saying spooky nonsense at all unknown visitors is an absolute delight!

I vote that Shen Yuan intentionally never gives them whatever signal that would mark Airplane as a friend, just so they continue to harass the guy every time he comes to visit. 😂

(I’m thinking poor Airplane is trying to set up trade routes for demons, and struggling with the general hostility different types of demons have for one another. Killing interlopers and/or raiding other demons for their stuff is not conductive to trade! It’s no wonder demons lack the arts. Nobody shares anything with anyone, except when giving demon nobles tribute. 😭)

You know, with all the feathers and bird-folks about, the transmigrators probably figure out quill pens. Not sure how big of an improvement they’d be compared to brushes, but they’re at least more like what the transmigrators are used to.

It’d also be funny if all the demon crows and villagers were learning to write simplified Chinese from Shen Yuan, instead of traditional, leading visitors to wonder what the hell is up with this one location’s weird writing system, where half the characters are inexplicably different.

(He probably teaches them traditional too, if only for the sake of reading imported books and things, but simplified is probably faster for personal notes and bookkeeping or the like).

I've always loved when people have weapons in discreet places, so it seemed necessary to dump that onto Shen Yuan because he's the most iconic character ever. Especially CrowYuan as well, it seems like something he'd do just to be safe when it comes to these things - after everything he's read, it's hard not to always be prepared. (Also, a more cheeky reason if I may, imagine Shen Yuan in a sticky situation and he pulls the hair pin out of his hair, now holding a weapon and looking AWESOME as he does it) Also, main weapon as a bow IS MAKING ME LOOOSE MY MIND. Ever since I was little, I've been obsessed with people who use bows (Legolas, Robin Hood, Hawkeye, Kate Bishop, various book characters) and the idea of giving Shen Yuan a bow?? I am dropping to my knees and shaking my fists at the sky. HUZZAAAHH!!! Feathers as fletching is a great idea, almost like a calling card of sorts, as well as a warning. Demon feathers giving certain abilities to arrows is a brilliant idea, such as resilience, poison, increased speeds (useful for high pressure situations where someone has to die before they can be alerted). I'd find it interesting if different demon feathers grant different abilities, and it's almost a norm for these demons to trade feathers! The jewellery idea is absolutely gorgeous and adorable! I was thinking that it could mainly be a crow demon thing, and to have one made for you if you aren't a crow demon is a sign of great trust within the community, a decision that has to be agreed to by at least half of the community! Also, itty bitty angst idea, this jewellery could also be highly sought out because it's gorgeous and its making is entirely a clan secret that is only taught to those within it - so, it's often seen as a spoil of war, a way to brag about a crow demon's death is to wear the jewellery "won" from "battle". Shen Yuan would most definitely be thrown off guard by this wider arrange of colours, often found in the wildest areas of the forest and just staring at everything. At first, he wonders if it's because he's a demon now, but more research (aka, bullying a demon chicken Airplane for answers) shows that it is fact not because he's a demon, but instead because he's a crow. He is both excited that he can see all these colours and fiercely delighted that Airplane can't, because he's a spiteful little shit and I love him. If Airplane comes to visit, he's grown adept to immediately submitting to the harassment of the crows because they soon grow bored of him if they don't get any reaction other than pitiful screaming. (He would highly suffer from trying to set up trade routes as well, lmaooo) OH MY GOD, if Mobei Jun ever comes to visit Bing-ge, he would also be immediately attacked by crows and that is funnier than anything else right now in my mind. His stern face immediately becomes one of absolute outrage, but it quickly becomes confusion when Bing-ge says he can't attack them back because "Shen Yuan would never forgive me" On the idea of feathers as quill pens, that would end up being incredibly useful for them! Perhaps the use of certain demon feathers would be better than others if we go by different demon feathers holding different abilities - for instance, let's say crow feathers hold increased speed, that would be helpful for writing because one would merely need to guide the quill and let it do the rest. However, a demon feather that created a poison effect, let's say chicken feathers, would not be the best for writing, which makes certain feathers more valuable than others for different things! Shen Yuan would be a great teacher, because he knows the traditional Chinese - which is useful for things you previously mentioned - but then he would be able to introduce a whole new writing system that makes it easier to write. This would be especially useful for those who may struggle with the traditional Chinese, because then they would still be able to access writing!! {part seven! part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, and part six!}

[themousefromfantasyland]

Megalopolis Review, or, Why Nobody Seems to Realize the King is Naked

Brace yourselves, this will be a long post @ariel-seagull-wings @thealmightyemprex @the-blue-fairie @mask131 @tamisdava2

Today I watched Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis and never has a movie made me so frustrated and irritated as I’m now. 

The film is absolutely awful. Not in a so bad it’s good but in a so awful it’s awful. Pardon the language but not even if Coppola broke into my house and shit on my face I would be as angry as I am for him having made this movie. 

But let’s go in parts.

The Premise

The film is a mixture between soft sci-fi and magical realism. We are in an alternate universe where the United States is a direct continuation of the Roman Empire and New York city is instead the capital of the empire, New Rome. 

Cesar Catilina is a brilliant architect and scientist that gained a Nobel Prize for inventing the Megalon, a miraculous substance capable of doing anything. Cesar is a mysterious and lonely genius, with a mysterious past involving an accusation of murdering his own wife and the power to stop time itself. 

He wants to use the metal to rebuild New Rome into a utopia, Megalopolis. Because of that he wages a political battle against the mayor of New Rome, Franklyn Cicero, who wants things to stay the way they have always been. The Mayor has a daughter called Julia, and she falls in love with Cesar. Meanwhile a gossip reporter called Wow Platinum has her eyes on both Cesar and his rich uncle, while Cesar’s cousin, Clodio, a decadent playboy wants to destroy Cesar once and for all.

The Problems

Now that we went into the premise of the movie, let’s see in all the ways this premise falls apart

1 - The Film as a whole makes no sense

Film is art, and art doesn’t need to fit in traditional plot structures or pacing styles. 

But art is about communication. An artist has to communicate ideas, feelings, and impressions to their public. A piece of art that can only be understood by its creator is a bad piece of art.  

A good film, as a good piece of art, has to have the minimum of coherence and cohesion to express the ideas, feelings, and impressions of the filmmaker to their public. If the movie is unable to do that, then the movie is a bad piece of art. 

A good film has to either have coherent story, characters, or at least themes.

Megalopolis doesn’t have either of those.

Megalopolis has a complicated plot filled to the brim with pointless characters and it goes nowhere. Some of the characters are killed off in cut-way jokes and the climax happens in the last twelve minutes of the film. The film lasts more than two hours, and still feels rushed, with scenes that feel missing and scenes that seem superfluous.

It has long surreal sequences that don’t fit the characters, the themes or the story. It’s weirdness for weirdness’ sake. It means nothing. 

The characters are painfully shallow and have nothing to say but famous quotes and juvenile language filled with profanity. 

The film draws painfully long scenes quoting Shakespeare among other writers and philosophers, trying to say something deep about humanity, civilization, politics and the pursuit of utopia, but everything that comes out of it is shallow and contradictory.

In some points Cesar’s desire to build his utopian city is framed as almost an act of anti-consumerism and anti-materialism, vices that are endorsed by Mayor Franklyn Cicero. But then Cesar demolishes several apartment buildings, leaving hundreds homeless and hungry, and the movie almost becomes Atlas Shrugged, where the genius has to rise above the stupid masses that drag him down. 

Cesar’s jealous cousin, Clodio, is built as a Trump stand-in, but then his politics are about helping the immigrants and the poor against Cesar’s plans. And he openly dresses in drag. 

In some way, Clodio is a mixture of Trumpism, Occupy Wall Street and Black Lives Matter in a single character, ignoring the obvious ways these ideologies are completely different from each other.

In the end Cesar gives a passionate speech to the crowds that Clodio aroused, and it’s no deeper than Facebook messages of “We can disagree politically and still be friends”.

The film has a lot to say about culture and politics, but with a simple glance you realize that Coppola doesn’t understand neither politics or culture. 

Megalopolis is a film that has a lot of things to say about humanity, culture, and politics, and almost everything is pure gibberish.

2 - The film is misogynistic, biphobic and a little bit transphobic.

It’s no wonder that Coppola took almost 30 years to finish this film, because the script has the trademarked sexual prejudices of the 1980’s. 

Only two female characters are really important in this story, and they role seem to reinforce the madonna x whore dichotomy that Coppola seems to believe in.

We have Julia, our madonna. She has a Mary Magdalene complex. She’s initially presented as a shallow, decadent socialite, who only knows how to party all day and kiss passionately her female friends. She is implied to be bisexual, but her bisexuality is presented as just another vice of the decadent elite of New Rome.

Then she meets and falls in love with Cesar and becomes nothing more than his love interest. She becomes the one responsible for his moral support. Her bisexuality is stripped away and she is resumed to nothing more than  a supportive wife.

Then we have Wow Platinum, a gossip reporter that marries Cesar's uncle, is interested in Cesar himself, and has sex with Clodio, Cesar's cousin. She is a shallow gold digger and the film uses every chance it has to slutshame her. She is a typical femme fatale without any nuance or complexity, a disgusting sexist and demeaning caricature without any depth. 

And then we have Clodio and his drag scene, and just like Julia, his crossdressing is presented as just another form of the decadence of New Rome.

3 - Vesta

There’s a plot point that comes out of nowhere and goes nowhere. 

New Rome has a pop star called Vesta, and she is meant to mirror the Vesta priestesses of Ancient Rome. She is clearly modeled after Taylor Swift. 

Clodio forges a video of Cesar and Vesta having sex, and since Vesta is a minor, he is arrested. But then Julia discovers that Vesta was lying about her age and is actually a 23-year old woman. After her true age is revealed and after the video is revealed as fake, Vesta reinvents herself as a provocative pop-rock star.

This whole plot point lasts ten minutes and has no bearing on the overall story.

I know for sure that it was written in the late 2000’s, because more than being inspired by Taylor Swift, Vesta is inspired by the transition that Miley Cyrus had from sweet Disney girl to provocative pop star. 

It’s very creepy and off-putting considering everything that we now know about how Coppola deals with young women.

Honestly it just feels like he wanted to fuck Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift back in 2010. 

4 - It’s just a giant ego trip

Only one thing is consistent in Megalopolis, how Cesar is portrayed as a genius that has to fight to have his vision of utopia come to life, and it’s obvious how he is an author self-insert.

It’s so annoying and irritating watching Coppola worship himself for over two hours.

He paints Cesar as this tragic figure that is misunderstood by society and how everyone should just listen to him. How he is a genius that has all the answers to solve humanity’s problems.

It’s the equivalent of watching Coppola masturbating while looking at himself in the mirror for two hours. 

The King is Naked

Listen, I too was at first excited about Megalopolis. I wanted this project to succeed. I wanted to see a creative and bold vision. I wanted to see more authoral cinema. 

But Coppola is just a rich creep with delirious visions of grandeur. 

He used this film to worship his obscene ego and to sexually exploit extras on his set.

And now I see people trying to find excuses for him, or trying to defend this thing.

Listen, if you found something positive about Megalopolis I respect your opinion, but this film is a huge piece of shit made by a more gigantic piece of shit, and his talent and past accomplishments can’t excuse this.

The film is awful, the director is awful, and the king is naked. He doesn’t need protection. 

Can we be totally sincere with this film? At least with ourselves?

I want to see films that are original and take risks, but I want from creators who aren’t megalomaniacs, sexual perverts or that at least can develop coherent ideas. 

[toomuchracket]

late night talking (sweetheart!george x reader smut)

calling it smut is lowkey misleading, but it's definitely extremely very sexy. day 7 of summer75, set in the weird tentative dating era after you and george reunite. enjoy <3

you're in bed when your phone buzzes beside you, cocooned in blankets while watching a third consecutive episode of drag race; when you see the caller ID, you extract your arms as fast as you can, one hand scrambling to mute snatch game while you answer the call with the other, smile surely audible. “hi, george.”

“hi, angel,” comes the reply, the always-devastating combo of gravel voice and pet name awakening the butterflies in your stomach. fuck, you've missed him. “how was work?”

“was okay. busy.”

“you're settling in alright, though, yeah? nobody giving you grief?”

“yeah, everyone’s nice. how was your day?”

“busy, too. really busy, actually,” george sighs. “still found time to miss you, though.”

you smile. “i missed you too, babe.”

“missed you calling me that and all,” he giggles after he speaks, the same stupidly high laugh that's always made your heart feel funny. “sorry for how uncool i'm being, by the way. i know we said we'd be cool about everything, about us, but…”

“s'alright. i get it,” you reply, not unkindly, because you do get it, you understand completely. choosing not to rush back into a relationship seemed like the sensible thing for you and george to do after four years and a few countries apart, but it's proving to be much more difficult in practice; he is your first (and honestly only) love, after all, and you never could resist that voice. or those eyes. or those lips, actually - the first time you kissed him again recently (just a normal smooch, mind you), you almost swooned. like, actually swooned, proper virgin behaviour. “feel like a teenager all over again with you, to be honest.”

“so do i, baby - can i call you that, or-?”

jesus. you hope you don't sound too breathlessly desperate. “of course.”

“thanks, baby,” the grin on george's face is obvious, and yours widens even more as you wriggle further out of your blanket cocoon and roll onto your stomach. “but yeah, i genuinely do feel like i'm seventeen again…”

“good film, that.”

“knew that was coming as soon as i said it,” he sighs down the phone, before joining in with your giggling. “genuinely, though, angel - feel like it's still 2007, because all i can think about is kissing you. m'serious. can't get anything done.”

you kick your legs back and forth, overjoyed to hear him admit he feels the same as you. still, you don't miss the opportunity to take the piss out of him. “jesus, it's the new gucci perfume fiasco all over again.”

“christ, don't remind me of that,” george groans, voice slightly muffled by what you know is him facepalming, dragging his hand down his face slowly; he's a creature of habit, your… well, your george. “thought i’d died and gone to heaven when i got a whiff of it the day we ran into each other in the shop, when we first saw each other again.”

“shut up.”

“m'not kidding, baby. driven me mental since day one, that perfume.”

you rest your head on your folded arms, wistful. “i remember. you walking into the art classroom door because you were that distracted trying to lean over and smell me? how could i forget?”

“yeah, well, it had its benefits too, that day,” george retorts. “if i recall correctly, it motivated me to get all my homework done quickly so i could kiss you, no?”

“that's true,” you allow yourself to briefly get lost in the memory, so strong you swear you can feel the shitty bic pen in your hand now. the flashback progresses to a scene you almost wore out repeating at the time, the workbooks and pencilcases shoved off the bed, and school uniforms following as you and george took advantage of having his house to yourself that monday afternoon. despite not having even discussed doing that with george in the modern version of your relationship yet, the mention of that after-school activity leaves your lips before you realise. “and if i recall correctly, we did a lot more than kiss that night.”

there's silence from the other end of the phone line. a very particular, pregnant type of silence, one that you intuitively know will end with something pivotal to you and george's relationship; despite this make or break moment, you keep quiet, not wanting to make it worse by fumbling an apology or explanation, even though you've got a growing sense of creeping dread that you might've just fucked the whole dynamic up beyond repair already.

and then he speaks, and you can exhale again. “i think about that a lot, you know.”

the atmosphere shifts again - it's still one of anticipation, but of the more… sensual variety, you'd say. heart pounding against your sternum, you wriggle out of the blankets completely, clicking the tv off so you can give george your complete, undivided attention. “yeah?”

“yeah. that night, and my eighteenth, and your eighteenth. prom, and all our holidays, and christening your uni flat,” george hums, giggling after he's done listing. “just any time we fucked, really.”

“you miss it?”

he sighs. “a lot.”

“so do i,” you say softly. “i really miss… no,” you close your mouth, shaking your head. “i can't say it. not yet. s'inappropriate.”

“baby,” there's a hint of forcefulness in george's voice, and it goes straight to your already-slick core. “tell me, please. wanna hear you.”

fuck. you really have missed him.

you sigh. “you're sure you wanna do this?”

“angel, i've never been more sure of anything,” george replies, and you know he means it. “talk to me.”

“alright,” you can't help smiling, both at george and the memory. “was gonna say that i really miss the way you would hold me after we both came, you know? you'd just wrap your whole body around me and kiss my neck, and i'd just feel, y'know, so safe, and happy,” you pause, then grin. “i mean, i miss the actual sex too, of course, but…”

he laughs, and your heart flutters. “i miss that too, the post-shag hugging. you're cute, y'know, baby - thought you were about to say something filthy, honestly.”

you twirl a strand of hair around your finger, flirty. “well, if you want me to be dirty, g, i can. can be whatever you want me to be.”

george groans. “don't fuck me about, angel.”

“m'not!” you decide to be proper serious for a second. “i just want to make you feel good, george. i miss doing that. i miss you,” you bite your lip, releasing it slowly in a poor imitation of the man at the other end of the phone line. “and i want you. i really, really want you.”

another brief silence, then he replies. “how do you want me?”

you smirk. “you tell me. like i said, sweetheart, whatever - and however - you want me to be… i'll do it.”

“well, in that case,” god, his voice. “i want you to come over. right now. how does that sound?”

“perfect,” you aren't lying. “is there anything else you want me to do?”

“be my girlfriend again, but we can discuss that when you get here, yeah?”

you beam, kicking your legs excitedly. finally. “yeah. alright,” you roll out of bed and make a beeline for your lingerie collection. “i'll be over as soon as i get changed, babe.”

“please be quick,” george sighs. “oh, a final thing, baby?”

“yeah?”

the smirk on his face is crystal clear. “bring a vibrator.”

[https-mi1zu]

The Peacock and The Crow

(the draft-ish, chapters 1-2)

CO WRITER, SPELL CHECKER, AND MY BESTIE IN GENERAL: @cha0sdumpster

WARNINGS : nothign really ig?

word count: 4,283

To gabby, the first to hear.

CHAPTER ONE . Life is weird, but I'm weirder

I didn't really want to become a hero, but here we are.

Everyday was the same, I woke up early, 5:30 or so. I got ready, fixed my hair and packed my lunch. Meanwhile, my mother was passed out on the couch with some man. I went back to my room to get them a blanket.  I left them a glass of water before I left for school. As I walked out of the house and slowly made my way to the bus stop, I couldn't help but feel a sense of isolation. It was like I was living two different lives - my own and that of my mother's. I waited for the bus, wondering if things would ever change, or if I were always meant to feel like an outsider.

At least my mother was grateful enough to give me her headphones. As soon as I plugged in my headphones, it felt as if the world just stopped for a moment. It felt freeing, it felt as if I was high as a cloud and...is that a horse with wings??

I took off my glasses to wipe them a bit, maybe I was just seeing things. I looked back, only to see just a normal maya bird flying by. As I sat on the bus, lost in thought, I couldn't help wondering if there were other kids like me out there - kids who felt like outcasts and longed to find a place where they could truly fit in. I was aware that there were other kids in my class who also struggled with ADHD and dyslexia. My mother was surprised that I had made it to grade 7.

I wondered if there was somewhere out there where I could find people who understood me and where I belonged, maybe even a place where I could've become a forest witch.

I could daydream about finding a place where I fit in and could be a forest witch, the bus pulled up to a stop, it jolted me back to reality. I got off the bus and began walking to school, still lost in thought. I took off my earphones as I got off.

I walked in the hallways, it was quite early, I couldn't help but notice some strange things around me - a bird that was acting weirdly, a crack in the sidewalk, and a piece of paper floating in the air. But I shook my head, thinking it was just your imagination again. 'Just my imagination is running wild.' I said to myself, mostly.

I put my bags at my desk as I walked over to the corner of the room. Our classroom was quite small, but it had a fire exit. We never got to use it, but it was cool anyway. 

I could hear the slight buzz of the fan, our aircon hadn't been fixed yet. Why did I even bring a jacket anyway?

I looked at our schedule, making myself mentally memorize the subjects. 'math first...science next...filipino right after recess, ‘did I remember to bring my apron?' I thought. We had art today, double period, our art teacher was quite nice.

After I reread the schedule a couple more times, I walked to my desk. It was in the third row of the third column of our classroom.

I brought out my books, I didn't need much other than my whiteboard (which I forgot to bring, again) and my notebooks. After I got my books and shoved them under my desk, I walked over to my locker, 'I should really buy a lock.' I said to myself. Opening my locker and then shoved my bag and lunch box in. I slammed the door to it shut so nothing would fall out.

I made my way through the medium-sized room, the air seemed to grow colder, as if the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The shadows in the corners appear to thicken and deepen, almost as if they are slowly coming to life. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, like there are eyes following my every move. But everytime I turn around there's nobody there.

The flickering of the fluorescent lights above only adds to the sense of unease, casting shifting patterns of brightness and darkness across the room. I could hear faint, almost imperceptible whispers echoing through the corridors.

'it's just the wind.' I told myself, I sat down back on my desk

But the whispers continued, growing louder and more menacing as I sat at my desk. They seem to come from every corner of the room, as if they are trying to communicate something important like they are trying to warn me of something.

The shadows in the corner seem to twist and writhe, almost like they are trying to form some kind of shape. It's hard to make out what exactly they're trying to take the form of, but it almost seems like a familiar shape. I needed to clear my mind so I opened the door  and made my way to the bathroom. It was a quiet walk, the corridors empty with the leaves on the ground. I looked down at the ground as I walked. The rocks embedded in the beige concrete made different shapes, the sizes ranging from big to small. It really looked like a messed up mosaic.

I reached the bathroom, the whispers grew louder and more frenzied, as if they were desperate to communicate something. The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to move and writhe even more.

Turning on the faucet, the water that came out was ice cold, as if it had been sitting in a frozen pond for hours. I splashed water on my face, expecting it to be refreshing and calming, but instead the water felt strange, almost as if it was pulling something out of me.

I looked at myself in the mirror, the whispers in the back of my mind grew to an unbearable level. It was like they were trying to drown me in my negative thoughts. Didn't work though. 

The longer I looked into the mirror, I noticed the small imperfections on my face.

The small but noticeable double chin I had

My many moles on my face

The pimples and the acne

My round baby face. I've always hated my face.

I fixed and tied up my hair. It always looked bad the moment I stepped into school. I think it's the school air that always makes people’s hair look weird. Walking out of the bathroom, I could feel the whispers in the air behind, beside, and in front of me. Why couldn't they quiet down for once? Just for a day is all I ask. They kept persisting, whispering thoughts and messages through my ears. It was as if all I could hear until I saw my teacher.

Mrs Fiore. She was my mentor and my composition teacher. I forgot we had class coaching today, class coaching was for our writing. We had to make a fake myth about an item or a food in our hometown. Mrs Fiore wasn't only our English teacher, but so was Ms Santos, our literature teacher. She was a little bit more meaner than Mrs fiore.

I always found Mrs Fiore kind, she always had this vibe that I could only describe as comforting. Maybe it was because she always smelt like flowers, or because her hugs always felt nice and warm.

The small things I noticed about her was that she always had a flower in hand or her auburn hair. Miss Fiore always wore this necklace with a pomegranate charm on it. She also always had at least something black on, and she for some reason would always disappear in September, sometimes August. Those were the ber-months. I always questioned why she would be gone for so long…she did mention it was to visit someone. Maybe it's her husband, though why doesn't he just live with her? Why couldn't he visit her instead of her visiting him?

Mrs fiore wasn't the only teacher who would disappear for September and august, Ms santos too. Ms Santos and Mrs fiore looked related in a way, like niece and aunt, or mother and daughter.

I gave Mrs. Fiore a small wave and passed her in the hallways, she waved back with a smile.

The weeks felt longer and more tiring as each day passes. Sometimes there would be something interesting, for example my history teacher said that whoever recited the full intro to this TV show would get an extra point on the quiz. Everyone thought it was a joke until one of my classmates, Carmen, raised her hand. 

To everyone’s surprise, she somehow managed to recite it all. She got an extra point on the quiz that day.

I wanted to raise my hand too but, I guess I was too afraid to speak. I was always too afraid to speak, I hated the fact that I was afraid.

Sitting back in my chair, I got lost in thought.

I questioned my purpose in this world. Would it be better if I just hadn't existed? What would my classmates do if I just disappeared? would they even notice?

The answer to my last question was no. One time we had a party, teachers day. I disappeared from the class party to make bracelets with Mrs Fiore, when I came back an hour later, I asked “did you notice I was gone?” 

“Uhhhh…yeaaahh?” My classmate responded uncertainty. The music was loud. Loud to make it sound like a whisper, but not loud enough for me to hear what she was saying

I knew it was a lie.

This made me truly question why I am even here, in this school. Why did my parents choose this school? They did say it was more accommodating to my ADHD. I would've been better off in some public school than this. At least there, no one talks bad about you. Well, not in front of you at least.

Maybe if I had been a better student, only then my classmates would notice me. As the day progressed, it was somewhat quiet. We had two quizzes, one in math and the other in Filipino.

Usually I had to go to a separate place to take these tests. MLP, the modified learning program. It was for kids like me, ones that had a troubled time in learning.

 There was another girl in MLP, her name was Mars. Mars and I, were friends, to say the least. How we became friends was…interesting.

Mars saw that I liked the same thing as her, which was a TV show called The Amazing Adventures of the Hare and the Lamb. It was a children's show, I just watched it because I got bored. It was a good TV show though, I re-watched it three or four times.

The moment Mars saw that I had some merch I made myself, she immediately started to talk to me. Telling me all about her favorite character, why the show’s so good, and then about a song I haven't heard of.

Ever since that day, we became friends. Though we were in different classes, she would invite me to eat lunch, she would sometimes give me rocks she found. Sometimes Mars would even just tell me a story or a character she created on the weekend. Nevertheless, I would listen to her nonstop. It wouldn't matter what mood I was in or how much homework I had, I'd always want to listen to her. It was like she was my sister in a way, or a version of me I wished to be ever since I was young.

Entering the small room for MLP, it was quiet except for the teacher there, Miss Luzviminda. Me and Mars called her Miss Luz for short. She was already there, writing some report or something. I walked into the room, giving her a small wave before sitting down.

“Did you study for the quiz, June?” She asked me, getting up from her velvet chair and handing me my quiz paper. “Yep,” I responded, bringing out my mechanical pencil. I started to write my name, just June Manalo. I didn't want to add the extra Christina, too lazy to write my full name. I looked at the paper and giving a somewhat cringed look, math.

 I didn't like math, although yes I did understand the lesson, I'd forget how to do the steps to the questions. That's why Miss Luz would help me.

Miss Luz was kind, she was like my tita. She’d always ask how I was doing or what I did during the weekends, Mars would start shaking her hands and start ranting about everything she did during the weekend, too bad she’s absent today. Miss Luz would always tell Mars to calm down a bit with a comforting smile. Mars would sit down and fidget in her seat in response. 

I started trying my best to answer the questions in the quiz, asking Miss luz if I did this or that correctly.

CHAPTER TWO: why am I like this?

The day passed very quickly, in the blink of an eye. I didn’t even really do much except for the quizzes and writing notes. At lunch I kind of just stayed at where me and Mars usually eat, which was the gate closest to our classrooms, gate two. Opening my lunch box, I brought out the lunch I made before I had left school, a simple nutella sandwich with banana and a Chuckie. Some others might say that this isn't a healthy or a filling lunch, well I can't cook.

I opened the metal container, bringing the sandwich to my mouth to take a bite, it tasted cold, I still ate it even though. Then I peeled my banana and poked my Chuckie with the straw to drink. I should really eat more, it's not really healthy to eat the same lunch everyday.

After I finished eating my sandwich, banana, and chuckie, I just sat there and opened my notebook to draw. I like drawing, usually though i'd draw some characters I've created in my head, or Mars’ characters

I started with a simple sketch of a head and eyes, not really knowing what to draw, I just went with the flow. As I kept drawing, I heard one of my teachers pass, Miss Estioco. She was my science teacher last year, she was like me. She was socially awkward but kind of a nerd, not in a bad way though. She was like one of those cool teachers who would somewhat let you do what you want, or just talk to casually.

She waved and smiled at me, a strand of her black hair falling onto her face before she brushed it behind her ear. I waved back, wondering what she was doing at gate two. I then heard a motorcycle pull up, oh she was just getting food she ordered. She walked to the gate, gave the driver the money before walking back inside. After that I just went back to drawing.

This was calming, my therapy, I liked sitting by myself and drawing. It would be better if Mars was here but this was fine enough as is. ‘The right eye’s to big.’ I thought, erasing the eye and tilting my notebook to draw it similar to the left one. Drawing was like gambling to me sometimes, I never knew if it looked nice or not, if it looked correctly portioned or not. Its like having a love hate relationship with drawing, I both love it and hate it.

An hour or 40 minutes pass, the lunch bell rung. I packed my stuff, shoving my metal empty container in with my water jug. I fixed my hair in a window that was being covered inside with a curtain. It was dark enough for me to see my reflection through the glass. ‘Eh, look good enough’ I tightened the knot of the jacket around my waist before walking back to my classroom. There were a lot of people, some in groups or just having a normal conversation. I quickly tried to walk past them, saying “excuse me” a thousand times before reaching my classroom. It was loud, really loud, there were people in small groups in the corner and the center of the classroom chatting away. The chatter of multiple conversations and the occasional yell could be heard during break. Walking over to my locker, I opened it and put my stuff inside. Reaching into my locker after putting my lunch box in it, I grabbed my apron since art was the second to last subject of the day. After that I sat back in my seat, my apron in my lap while I continued to draw.

But something felt…different. Something felt as if I was being watched from afar. I looked up and turned my head to look around the classroom, everyone was minding their own business. I tried to ignore the feeling of being watched but, I just couldn’t. I could just feel someone’s gaze staring right at me, watching my every move, like a hawk would do to prey. I felt helpless, I don't like being stared at, it's uncomfortable and awkward. 

I heard the bell ring not too long after, getting up from my seat, grabbing my pencil and putting it in my jacket’s pocket. We didn’t need much to bring, just really our apron and a pencil. I watched as everyone left the room, I was the last so I had to close the lights and close the door. Staying at the back of the line, I still could hear them talking and chatting away, gossiping or talking about plans for the weekend. 

When we reached the art room, our teacher was already there, Miss Reyes. She was there organizing the artworks of the class before us, placing them carefully on a shelf for them to dry. She greeted us with a good afternoon and told us to sit down. Miss Reyes said that we would be making an art based on a country and its tradition, people, and artwork. We’d be able to choose the country, I chose Greece since I liked studying and learning about its mythology.

She gave us a flat canvas and a marker and told us to write our name, section, and the country we chose. She also said that we could choose from a variety of art materials, varying from paints, paint brushes, sand, and newspapers. We could use any material to paint our artwork, so I chose an eraser.  Never really did I like painting or coloring, I liked doing that virtually. We were also allowed to use the computer to search for ideas for our artwork. I stood behind one of my most talkative classmates while I waited for my turn to use the computer to search for an idea. My classmate just kept talking and talking to the point it was annoying, like seriously can't you tell that it's too loud or what you're even saying didn't even make sense? She wasn't even talking to me but one of the smarter people in class, Isabel. I stood there patiently, fidgeting with the eraser. Then I just decided to draw the first thing on my mind, since time was of the essence. I walked back to the table I was situated at and began drawing up a design. It was of the goddess Persephone, most people just say that she’s the wife of Hades but she was so much more than that. She’s the goddess of spring, the queen of the underworld. She was so much more than just “hades’ wife”.

I made sure to draw her to be looking ethereal, with long flowy jellyfish like hair, eyes comforting and kind. I made sure to add her sign, a pomegranate. I gave her a simple chiton, adding some accessories like a crown, rings, bracelets, and flowers. She looked pretty, I made sure of that. 

I was seated in the corner of the classroom, with four of my classmates lingering around  my desk. They didn’t talk to me much, as I didn’t talk to them either. I kept my head down and continued drawing, overhearing their conversation. I sketched a few more lines, as they talked about another person in our batch. Something controversial, as I remember. Every day was like this actually, people talking about someone or something. 

I tried to ignore them, trust me I did, but now I know that one person in this batch is gay, I'm gay but like it's different y'know? 

Overhearing their conversation accidentally, they kept talking and yapping away about someone else now. I stayed silent, although I did know that person, but not really on the friend level more like a simple wave or hi in the hallways type. I felt sad for her, she didn’t deserve this treatment, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I kept my silence, didn’t want to add to the gossip, neither did I want to join the gossip.

As I continued to draw, I still felt as if I was being watched. Someone was watching me, that was for sure. I could feel its eyes peering into my skin, making it uncomfortable for me to draw. I stopped for a moment, looking around to see everyone talking to each other or focusing on their artwork, no one was staring at me. So I just went back to drawing, sketching lines delicately.

After I was finished with the sketch, I didn't want to color it, it was too pretty for coloring. I got up from my seat and walked over to Miss Reyes to ask her if I should color it or not. She gave me good advice, telling me to try and use shading if I didn't want to color it. I nodded and thanked her for that before walking back to my seat. Everyone else was still drawing and painting their artwork. Since I didn't know what to do, I just cleaned up my area and stayed silent while I waited for class to end. 

Boredom took over as I watched the clock tick, waiting patiently for the bell to ring. We had like, maybe five or ten minutes left I think.

The minutes passed by, everyone was still chatting and talking. I saw Miss Reyes walking around, checking up with my classmates and giving them advice about their artworks. When she walked up to me, she asked “oh june! I'm kind of worried that the bracelet you gave me might break, can I ask that you restring it?” She took off the bracelet I made for her on teacher's day. “I wear it everyday kasi” She smiled at me warmly as I took the bracelet from her hands. “Yes miss.” I replied, putting the bracelet in my pocket, she walked off as another of my classmates called her. 

More or maybe five minutes pass, it was finally the next class. I saw everyone get up, still chatting with each other as they cleaned up their tables and their workspaces. We still had one more class, religion. I was the first to be out of the art classroom, waving my teacher goodbye.

It was quiet out, no other students were walking around, no maritesses chatting around or young students running around. I liked the quiet, but I never liked being alone. After I made it back to my classroom, I drank some water as the rest of my classmates filled the room. We all waited for a bit before my religion teacher came in, Miss Elane. Almost half my batch hated her because she always goes ‘im not mad, I'm not sad, nor am I disappointed. I'm worried about you guys failing your test.’ She always says that after half the class failed her test. She expected us to memorize the bible’s verses, I can't even remember what I had for breakfast. I know, I know Miss Elane had good intentions but why did she have to say it like that?

”Good afternoon class” She said, everyone replied with a good afternoon to her too. We were all very tired, mentally and physically. She told us all to stand up to pray, though I didn't want to, so I just stood there with my arms crossed. Then with that she started her lesson on some new bible verse.

Everyone sat back down and pulled out their notebooks to start taking notes on the verse. I didn't want to take notes, for I was too tired to do so. “June, what was Abraham promised?” she called on me unexpectedly. “He was promised angels?” I answered, standing up. Miss Elane just sighed before turning to the board to write, I am scared. Maybe I got scared because of her glare, how intimidating her ‘comforting’ smile was, or how she would always pull me out of class to ask me personal questions. I always tried to answer them vaguely and asked her if I could leave. 

 She would always call me the black sheep of the flock, commenting on how I would always walk a bit slower then my class so I don't have to socialize with them. I didn’t like her one bit, I didn’t like how she would try to talk to me, trying to pry me away from my class. There was even a time where, I swear to you that Miss Elane blinked sideways.

[much-vexed-glowy-mimic]

Just being my obsessive self and making notes on some of the various versions of Music Meister: TB&TB Meister, Pride Meister and Speed Force Meister.

Starting with the original, TB&TB Meister.

-Meister's color scheme here is purple and green, reminiscing of Joker's, but his colors are both much darker (the purple) and paler (the green) than Joker's colors are. Joker's colors are also warmer hues, Meister's are cold.

I can talk a bunch about what these 2 colors mean, but in my mind they're trying tell you these 2 are the same type. Absurd, silly and extremely dangerous. -Meister generally seems really good natured or at least has a good sense of humor since he allows the others to sing this:

"They're dastardly, despicable Disturbingly inexplicable

"And imminently kickable!" "That dirty, rotten rat is..."

Of course, it's likely him making them sing that because he embraces his role as a villain completely and it's the first time he's ever appeared.

-Controlling people is easy for him. No matter their power level, no matter what they are, if they can hear him, he can control them. -I'm guessing, but I don't think he's used to people being able to resist him. I think he has to use slightly more control/power the groups of villains and heroes. Slightly more.

-His shades have some animation, but a lot less than we'd expect?

-His mood can swing abruptly, but he's generally just really jovial. -He's able to alter his clothes however he wants. -He's completely dependent on his voice, his baton and others fighting for him and likely has little physical combat experience. We do see him use his baton, but once it becomes clear it can be avoided, Meister flees. If he cannot control somebody, if he has nobody to fight for him, if they're too fast for his baton blasts, he's going to flee. He's so combat adverse he won't even jump in and fight when somebody is overwhelmed by his minions. -I've said this before and I'll say it again. Meister's motives are really weird for how absurdly powerful he is. He wants money and praise. Both TB&TB and Speed Force Meister are extremely interested in money.

(-This could be art direction thing, but he's so fucking massive. He's built like a house.)

-His eyes are never shown.

-He's defeated in the end of the episode with one punch. General note going forward:

-I think Meister is completely serious about his role as a "maestro/conductor/leader/director". Once you put him in a group he's automatically going to become the leader of it, he cannot help himself.

Next up, Pride Meister.

-Pride Meister's color scheme is pretty much in line with TB&TB's, it just veers into blue.

-He appears to be missing an entire tooth.

-He has a much worse temper. He's never seen smiling and he's incensed by Connor Hawke blocking his voice. (Tho, really, his bad mood could come from being disturbed and he REALLY WANTS TO PERFORM PHANTOM)

-Combat level is the same as TB&TB's. He's just so angry in the end that he doesn't flee.

-He's defeated in the end of comic with one punch.

-The name "Darius Chapel" is very widely believed to Meister's actual name. Considering it's director's name and I think Meister will automatically take the lead in anything, it's completely possible. The major problem is this comic tells you almost nothing about what's going on because it's about Connor Hawke's letter to his mother. You also have to wonder if Meister's had the time to put his name/alias on that banner.

-I'm not even sure what he's doing there? There's an blasting machine on the roof which suggests he wants to blow something up? What is he blowing up? The building? This man wants money and he makes musicals, WHAT is he blowing up? The people after he's robbed them?

-We do see Pride Meister without his shades and it just shows how bad his mood/temper is. This man is going to bite you.

Next, Speed Force Meister.

-Speed Force Meister changes his color scheme to green and red. With his need to be the leader in mind, the change makes sense. Fiddler, who started Symphonee, wears green and I think it ends up implying leadership here. Of course, he could be wearing it because he's the leader of his own section, the scientists and Mas y Menos. It should be noted Mod doesn't wear any green (so it's not a group thing), outright calls Fiddler "boss" and puts himself in supportive role. (Presumably because he knows Meister gets fucking weird about leadership roles.) Meister does call Fiddler the CEO, but an CEO answers to the Board of Directors and Meister might just think he's the director.

Meister's red accent likely comes from Symphonee's logo, which again makes me think he's really vying for the impression he's the leader of everything.

One reason I think this is the case is because he's wearing his original colors before joining Fiddler and Mod.

And once he loses Mas y Menos and Superboy, he goes back to it. He's so ready to leave after losing his fighters, but he's staying on because there's still a chance he can get some money out of it and he loves money.

-This Meister smiles and seems more in line with TB&TB Meister, he just strikes me as a much more malicious person.

-He seems genuinely fond of Fiddler, but he's much, much closer to Mod. (To the point Meister's shipping himself with Mod in the picture above. He could have said that differently, but he went shipping language)

-Meister positions himself as a "guide" for the scientists.

-Meister's face is an SCP. We get an exellect look at it in issue 1, but after that it's obscured and we don't see his eyes most of the time. (We ignore most of issue 6 in this house, I only like the part that reinforces he's besties with Mod.) It tends to be obscured by his shades, his hat or shadows.

The only time he's not wearing his shades is in the club and when they fall off/ (?) are knocked off (?) by Superboy (?). -Combat wise, he's much more aggressive than the 2 others. When Superboy and Kid Flash show up, Mod and Fiddler both flee, but Meister stays back to direct the fight and to capture Superboy and/or Kid Flash. (Of course this could be because Fiddler ordered it, but I think Meister's already set his sights on Superboy at that point.)

He's still completely dependent on his voice, his phone and Mas y Menos. (We do see him with a cane/baton, but that shows up once and he has it to look fancy)

-One thing that sets him apart from the others is he can use his hands to direct his powers. Meaning gagging him won't stop him.

-He's able to create the clothes and shades the twins and Superboy wear.

-His music appears visibly destructive on the environment?

-I'd love to see how his stint in Iron Heights went and what they got him arrested for? And what's up with him and Weather Wizard?

-This Meister isn't actively defeated at the end of the comic. He remains un-punched.

Also, one more thing:

"LA LA LA!" This could be nothing, but this is a master hypnotist that sings to get control over people. I'd be worried when he starts 'LA LA LA'-ing at me.

[urcharactersclasspect]

Two characters that are always switched around on their personalities fanon vs Canon is very much Meulin and Nepeta.

For Meulin though:

Nobody gets how dark the relationship between Meulin and Kurloz is implied to be based on Meulins Openbounds. Like how its implied its not drugs making her head fuzzy, but rather Kurloz straight up getting rid of her memories and frequently using her and Mituna to do the "Dark Messiahs" work. This is implied by a statement Aranea makes, to be so frequent, that Meulin "casually says things to do with the religious doctrine" and it seems like "shes very secretive about it". Almost like Aranea and others are mistaking the effects of Kurloz doing chucklevoodoos so often on her to the point of imprinting doctrine, for Meulin joining the religion on a surface level. Nobody is fully aware of what Kurloz is doing, and those of the team thatr might, dont care enough to intervene. When in reality, Meulin might not even be fully aware of the things shes saying. Meulin acts like she is suffering from legitimate memory loss only after visiting Kurloz. They are still stoners. However, This is not, and is straight up seen to be, not just "shes getting high on weed". Kurloz explicitly brainwashes her and Mituna, using chucklevoodoos on them both.

Toxic Positivity and signs of other toxic behaviour like dismissiveness towards others wishes no matter how blunt people are being (see: how she interacts with people like Meenah) is seen with Meulin. Theres also something very weird about how Horuss and Meulin interact with eachother. Theres some jokey art about this, but honestly their moirailegence is definitely not healthy either; its clear Horuss is an asshole, and Meulins toxic positivity is something hes doing to keep as a crutch to shove everything hes done away.

[erikahenningsen]

Regina/Janis, any of these or a combo or whatever you're feeling 1, 8, 36

36. “I wish I could hate you.”

Regina starts back at school the Monday after Spring Fling.

Janis can't imagine that Regina is absorbing much information, considering how out of it she seemed at the dance, but she remembers how overbearing Mrs. George can be so she kind of gets it.

She spots Regina between first and second period, flanked by Shane Oman, who is holding her books, and Cady, who is talking animatedly about something while Regina just kind of absently at the space above Cady's head.

It's weird, to see Regina George walking down the hallway and nobody giving her a second glance. How times have changed.

Janis stops in the bathroom after her studio art class and looks in the mirror to make sure she didn't accidentally smear any paint on her forehead or in her hair. She didn't, but there is a little bit on her neck, so she grabs a paper towel and starts to wet it when one of the stall door opens.

Regina steps out—or, rather, she nearly falls out, stumbling as she grunts in what sounds like pain and something clatters to the floor.

"Hey, uh," Janis says hesitantly, "you good?"

"Mmm," Regina says, which Janis thinks might be a yes, before she starts to crouch awkwardly, reaching for the lip gloss that had fallen out of her bag.

"I got it," Janis says, reaching down and then handing it to her. She watches for a moment as Regina slowly unscrews the top and starts to swipe the applicator across her lips. It gives Janis as weird sense of déjà vu—she's watched Regina do this so many times, and it's almost comforting to know that some things don't change.

Janis is suddenly overcome with something that feels like a mix of nostalgia and guilt.

"Um," Janis says, clearing her throat. "I know you, like, hate me or whatever, but I want you to know that I'm sorry. About... what me and Cady did. And about the bus."

Regina lowers her hands, just staring at herself in the mirror for a moment. "I wish I could hate you," she says quietly. "But I never could. Maybe that was the problem."

Janis frowns, confused, but before she can ask what Regina means by that, Regina turns to her.

Regina stares at her for a minute, saying nothing. It doesn't feel like every other time Regina has stared at her—like she was cataloguing every flaw, filing insults away for later. No, the way Regina is looking at her is almost... tender. Fond. It feels weirdly intimate for the second floor school bathroom.

Then Regina reaches up and cups Janis's cheek, and Janis feels everything in her body stop: her breathing, her circulation, her heartbeat. She feels frozen, but not like prey—she's anticipating something, but she has a gut feeling that it won't be bad.

Regina just pats her cheek once and heads for the door. "See you later, Jan," she calls.

Janis is late to her next class.

[kyyupidz]

WEIRDO???! (g/n reader x leona kingscholar) ★ love makes u do wacky stuff! ★ fluff with angst if u squint... really hard... ★ probably ooc and definitely badly written... srry leona lovers :(( !!

leona kingscholar is weird. 

for the last few weeks, you guys have been on amicable terms. more than that, you’ve been asked in the hallways by savanaclaw students if you guys are friends. and yet, you don’t know why he’s doing this. it just happened. and you want to believe so, so hard that this’ll last but you just.. 

is he really the kind of guy to just... do this?! 

there’s no way, right? it’s all some elaborate prank where you’re the helpless victim and he’s laughing at you under his breath because you’re so gullible. you think you can actually make friends with the housewarden of savanaclaw? yeah right. 

whenever he walks into a room, his presence takes up all the space and packs itself into the corners and leaves you breathless, gasping for air. you look at him and you can’t seem to stop staring, because the sunlight is bouncing off him in such a way that he looks like an art piece and you just don’t get it. why in twisted wonderland would he ever want to be friends with someone like you, when he exudes radiance and brilliance and sevens you sound like rook. 

what kind of guy just walks into your life like this?! 

you watch as leona scores another goal. you’d be surprised at his athleticism if you weren’t already used to his admittedly impressive trick shots. you’ve been visiting savanaclaw more often just to see his plays, and you have to admit, he’s good. there’s a sudden uproar of joy from the field and you expect leona to scoff at his teammates’ immaturity and just leave like he always does. 

instead, you’re surprised when he shoots a look your way. like he wants you to acknowledge how well he did. 

you blink. maybe you’re seeing things, but leona kingscholar? shooting a look like that your way?  

you were almost done convincing yourself you were delusional when leona walks up to you. you glance around, no way he’s actually walking towards you, right?  

he scoffs, “what are you looking around all stupid for? didn’t you learn any basic manners?” he crosses his arms and you gape at him.  

“...huh???” 

he grins, teeth as sharp as knives, sweat dripping off him. “come on. aren’t i better than anyone else on this seven-forsaken team?” 

ah. so he’s just here to boast. you grin back, laughter spilling out of you. you’d almost notice the fond twitch of leona’s ear and the way his expression almost seems to melt when he’s the subject of your attention if you weren’t so preoccupied giggling at him.  

“okay, kingscholar. mhm. you’re just so superior to everyone here. nobody in savanaclaw could even compare to you.” 

leona’s tail starts lazily swishing around against his better judgement. “glad to see you still have a brain and two eyes.” 

“you know, leona’s been awfully active lately,” ruggie hums absentmindedly, then gasps in mock surprise as he turns to you, “y’know, if he keeps this up, he might just pass school.”  

you roll your eyes, smiling. “really now? well, i’ll be sad when he leaves nrc forever.” 

ruggie nods, propping himself up on his hands. “i think it’s ‘cause of you. that he’s attending class, i mean, not feverishly trying to get himself out of this wretched college. though, i wouldn’t blame him if he gained motivation to succeed just because you were seriously pissing him off.” 

you punch him lightly on the shoulder. “no way. the latter is way more likely, a million times more likely, actually. you can’t seriously expect me to think the leona kingscholar is getting his attendence grade up just because he...” you gesture around with your hands, “you know.” 

you glance up as footsteps clack towards you. “talking about me behind my back?” leona sighs as he plops himself in the chair next to you, “expected more from you two. not that much more, but still. thought you guys would at least have common decency.” 

“hah!” you exhale, grinning wildly, “how bold of you to assume we were talking trash about you.”  

“you weren’t? don’t kid me.” he smirks at you as he leans on the desk, “everyone knows how jealous you are of me.”  

you pretend not to notice how ruggie is snickering behind you quietly.  

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

you shoot a glare at the lion beastman sitting next to you. “nothing,” you croak out, your voice actively going against your better wishes. “just caught a cough, that’s all. why’d you have to word it like that?” 

leona scoffs, leaning back in his chair. without even looking at you, he digs something out of his pocket and slides it across to you. 

you almost think he threw a piece of trash at you when you look closer and realize it looks suspiciously like candy. 

and then you look even closer and recognize the bright, neon yellow on the wrapper. 

“...wow. who knew leona kingscholar had it in him to toss a pitiful student such as i a cough drop.” you grin at him as you gratefully pop it in your mouth. you hate honey lemon, but you find the taste bearable when somebody else gave it to you out of the kindness of their heart. 

well, as much kindness as leona can muster, at least. 

“shut up. i just remembered i had it.” 

you laugh, the same laugh leona has had imprinted into his mind for every night he found he couldn’t sleep.  

leona doesn’t look at you. he doesn’t really know what he might say if he does. 

“wait- so you just tossed me some old and musty cough drop and expected that to make me feel better?” 

“where’d all that gratefulness you originally had go?” 

“i was grateful, until i realized this probably expired years ago!” 

“ah, so you admit you’re a little indebted towards me.” 

“don’t change the subject, kingscholar!” 

“...leona.” 

“..leona!” 

leona turns to look at you, and what you’re pretty sure was pure rage immediately dissipates. 

“...what?” he murmurs, turning back away. you give him another hard shake, and he groans. you briefly recognize that his front braids are untied, and you briefly think about how when he’s like this, he’s almost cute, but then you shake him harder to perish the thought. 

“leona, wake up! seriously, have you just been napping this whole time? i was waiting for you in class and you just never showed up!” 

you were waiting for him? actually waiting for him? leona chokes out a laugh, muffled by the stuffing of the pillow. “should’ve just continued your day without me. leave me alone.” you huff at the pure audacity of this man as he falls back into silence. 

“continue my day without you? where do you get the gall? after i got used to talking to you before class starts and laughing at you whenever trein calls on you because you’re half-asleep and you look like an idiot? no way. get up!” you severly underestimate his weight when you try pulling him out of bed and you almost get the wind knocked out of you. you tug again and you can hear him mumble.  

you have half a mind to pull at his ears when he pulls himself up, looking at you under his mess of hair. 

“you’re really annoying, you know that?” 

you grin, “mhm. okay, get up. i’m not doing flight class without you.” 

“...you’re really lucky that i like you.” 

and you feel your knees almost give in. 

“obviously,” you scoff, even though you feel like you’re about to evaporate into nothingness with how hot everything is suddenly getting, “who wouldn’t like me?” 

leona laughs, curt and short, “mhm.” 

he doesn’t even know why you care about him right now. he doesn’t even know why he cares that you care. and yet, something in him swells, explodes at the thought that you were thinking about him. that for once, somebody was waiting for him. somebody wanted to be with him. 

“you don’t need me,” he thinks. “you could be with anybody else in the world, you could’ve been laughing and spending time with ace, running around with ruggie, and here you are with me.” 

leona wants to breathe you in like air, drink you in like water. he wants to remember every part of you, he wants to kiss your hair and your eyes and your cheeks and your lips and be content that you’re just here with him. that you chose him over everybody else.  

leona kingscholar wants you. 

“you should be glad, you know that?” he says, “really glad.” 

note: wahhh!! first post!!! hai twst fandom!!! please dont immediately kill me!!!!!!!!!!!! on a real note tho dont expect too much from me if u genuinely like my work....... this might be my only post ever on tumblr dot com!!!!!!

[layraket]

okay finally the most waited post (of mine (maybe)) since yesterday!!! me rambling in a weird/deep way!!!!

first of all we start strong

the Wolfie thing was something that i've been wondering when will be adressed, and when i read the word "wolf" i got nuts

I felt weird here cuz Four just mentioned Time and himself??? im crackling at Leg's face "my guy you forgot someone" now thinking better abt it Legend didn't tell anyone abt the bunny thing appart of Twi and Sky, so it makes sense they not knowing he already found out

It makes sense that he didn't wanted to show his wolf form to them at the start, he can't just go "hey guys look i can turn into a wolf *cool shadow transformation* AUUUUUUUUUU-" and not freak them out.

and i find a little amusing Wind wanting a confirmation, he wants to make sure that now there's not fractures between each other's trust. They still got their secrets, yeah, but he still wanted to at least hear that theyre cool about this one

Twi almost died, and the only reason that he's still breathing is because of them, obviously he will trust them now.

my poor guy has been working so hard, being the emotional support dog in the group together with big brother duty is exhausting

still makes me laugh that nobody really made 2+2 and realised that it was a little suspicious that every time Wolfie was there Twi was patrolling. They really share the name Link huh

Wolves are beautiful but dangerous animals, they are strong and usually agressive to invasors, makes sense to hide something that makes people run away from you. You might be able to defend them, but they will only pay back with scared glances

ohhh i would really love to see this! Wild already knew Twilight, well, future Twilight. He saw the giant dog wandering around and thought "hey i know him thats the strange wolf! hey hiii buddyyy" this guy really

love them trying to explain time shenanigans. keep it up buddy. you know basic math you can do this.

the rest of them talking abt the wolf thing while here my man fighting with the gps

Wild you already established your point calm down

Something that i and a lot of people noticed: Wars seems more relaxed, the past updates he was at the verge of screaming at the void. Now here he is, bothering his brother. Happy Warriors is back!

See the only thing he needed was his emotional support scarf back

if i had a coin every time a character hide their true identity in the zelda series i would have 16 coins, which is a lot considering that i thought it would be just 5 or 6 times what the hell

oh i know that look. He has already an idea of what wars menat with that, he has already experienced the same situation

Four doesn't fully approve the use of shadow magic yet. He remembers someone that because of that lost himself in the power. What if this happends too with Twi? How will they handle that situation? His mind is already too noisy just with thinking it a little

He hopes they will not have to confront the consecuences of dark magic's abuse

i remember that someone said Wolfie looks weaker, and honestly i agree

im not sure if this is the case, but if it is i wouldn't be surprised. He looks thinner, his fur more tangled and less flat

Still fluffy boy, tho

AND NOW. the panels that made me laugh for some weird reason/i liked a lot without any comments of why

art at its peak as always

(art credits goes towards @linkeduniverse as always!)

[loudn-mcyt]

Rubyco Episode 10 Liveblogging

Spoilers below the cut!

RUE'S BACK

Downside: I know what is coming. I am so anxious.

"Hi, hi Rue!" Sobs Marm cares for her so much she came to check on them...

I'm sure the fact that it's called adventures and betrayal means nothing hahahaha I'm sure everything will be fine and nobody is going to get pushed into the void

Wait. Did Marm ever find out what happened to Rue. Anathra and Acorn were told by Ruby, Leon found out because of [finale spoilers] but Marm...Marm never got to know, did she.

Rue talking about safety gear I love them

WABAAAN

I love the banners I will miss banner shenanigans

Rue is so excited about the design I love themmmm

Leon! Leon no the trapdoors...

Penguin jail

"I need to remember to actually charge my ELYTRA before anything happens" WAILS INCOHERENTLY

RUBIDIUM COMPANY HOW DARE YOU

Kaos/visorless anathra is being so nice to Rue waughhh

Putting on the safety gear every time she flies is so cute as a character trait

"I guess the cherry portal is...a girl?" "Or a drag queen" asjdkalksls

"I hope that we can be friends." "I think we already are."

"Yay! We're friends! I didn't think we were friends. We're friends!"

Yellow and Rue...

Talking about starting the wither farm oh no

"Last time I was the one with memory issues" sobs

"I know I don't know you as much as Ruby did..." WAILS IN SBK SPACETIME SIBLINGS SO CLOSE TO EACH OTHER BUT THEY NEVER GET THAT RELATIONSHIP IN THIS WORLD

Yellow continues to be so bad at seeming normal

"I do still wonder where Ruby's been." AUGHHH

Rue and Leon end adventure!

The tiny little "ah" when Leon disappears

"Pristine natural beauty" and literally the first thing they see is all the restaurants

"you can eat them. Maybe in moderation." Chorus corruption arc Rue when

It's interesting how realizing her own identity seems to have affected Rue's memories maybe? Like she's so new to a lot of things that Ruby definitely knew that aren't like new developments. Maybe at some point I'll have more thoughts idk there might be something there

"and then I killed the clone" "you what"

WAILSSSSS he told Rue that he killed Cloneman??? That's insane

"Like 90% of OSSHA's budget was going into making evil clones" RUDE she is not evil

This is such a traumatic meeting for Rue they showed up, learned that Milkman murdered another clone and thinks all clones are evil, and then gets fired?????

"Future's very unclear" :(

"Are you reading off a script?" Aksldjajsk

Rue makeover arc woo!

"It's almost like she's avoiding me? That can't be it." :(((

Kittrix is learning so much at once but she's being so nice

Getting ice cream with Kittrix...that's so cute

Shopping trip :D

Ooh Rue remembers a lot of things Ruby remembers but there are things missing and details that aren't there she DOES have memory weirdness going on

Kittrix and Rue were here on the sign...if that's still there in the world download I'm going to cry +

"Who's urmom?" Kittrix trying so hard not to break asjslslkasl

This is so cute

Rue was thinking of dying her hair platinum...Limbo!Rue having the white hair...waughhhh

Link Rue...we can make an au out of this

The biking pilog hoodie...

"It might be a bit meta though" ajslajskalsjsklal

I loved that scene it was so cute and so funny

"I was kind of out for a while" wait what happened to Kittrix???? I am Afraid again

"I really think this could be going really well." WAUGHHHHH

I'm not ready to watch this again (<- has watched this segment of Vintage's pov many many times)

Rue the character ever...this scene hurts so much

CUTTING TO THE DRAWINGS THATS NOT FAIR

The art looks so good...Rue's little blush...

THE EYES YOU

AUGHHHHHH

"Yeah, no I'm completely fine!" I have a feeling those aren't the words Vintage wanted to say...but I don't think she's the one speaking anymore

This is so soft and yet I know what's coming

THE GALACTIC ON THE SCREEN HOLD ON

Translated: "Anomaly Lost"

WAUGHHHH RUEEE

Ruby waking up in the tube NOOOOOO

They're afraid of Vintage...they don't know where to go WAUGHHH

"why did you send me here...rue...was it supposed to be me? Why did she...no one's going to believe me."

I HATE IT HEREEEEE (I love it here that was amazing) but AUGHHHHHHH

That was so good... Rue...

Shaking the Rubyco. What do you mean. Who sent you here. Why was rue in the way. How come you could only wake up after Rue was gone when the other pairs could coexist. What is going on. Anomaly Lost WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN

Amazing. I will be rotating that in my head forever now.

And we can do a Rue double feature! 2 straight hours of Rue content where nothing bad every happens and she gets to be happy forever!

[eldritchtouched]

I don't trust that new character.

So, minor-ish Shadow of the Erdtree spoilers, though Elden Ring's Twitter itself officially posted the art.

Talking about this person here.

Their whole everything is very, very off.

Now, I will first note that a lot of their design elements are very specifically stuff associated with Miquella and Trina. Helixes and lilies and growing plants, along with the colors. (I should know. I spent way too much time screenshotting and looking at stuff in Elphael and the Haligtree lol.)

But it's the how that first set off alarm bells.

So, you see, Miquella's own outfits tend to be very simple when we've seen him depicted in statues, and in the other pieces of artwork. His followers wear some more complicated designs, along with certain items associated with him/implied to be his creations, such as the Pulley Bow and Malenia's prosthetics.

This design is far too overdesigned. It's so over the top and that's what's bothering me. Miquella's following and Malenia wear nicer stuff than Miquella himself, true, but it never is to this point. Mohg himself, while he has his ostentatious mantle, has some much simpler clothing underneath.

(Mohg seemed to key in on Miquella's distaste with showy stuff, too. He's the only logical person to have made the ring that the giant Miquella body is wearing. It's notably subdued compared to Mohg's taste for ostentatious clothing and seems more akin to the little flower buttons on Mohg's undershirt in its relative simplicity.)

There's also some oddities in terms of the details as well. The white cloak isn't pure white and has some almost purple undertones (more of a pink). We've seen this before, though- Dolores the Sleeping Arrow, wearing the page's armor, and it is similar in that it's almost a pinkish color instead of purple. (Who, mind you, is tied to St. Trina.) The sword itself has a crisscrossing pattern that is reminiscent of Radagon's seal.

There's also the implication that they are the one giving the dialogue to tell the player to go to the Land of Shadow, and narrating about what Miquella told them. Along with the implication that they're some kind of knight of Miquella.

First thing's first. Miquella never had any knights sworn to him specifically. All of the people in Elphael are specifically Haligtree knights and soldiers, not Miquellan. We do encounter a Miquellan Knight Sword, but it is explicitly labeled as not having a master. It seems awfully suspicious that someone shows up as what is clearly supposed to be a knight of Miquella.

Miquella also departed for the Land of Shadow alone. And everything in the world design seems to imply that he wanted to keep both his following safe (and probably the Mohgwyn dynasty, too, considering all the design overlaps in security), and to make sure nobody would actually follow him.

So this person miraculously shows up, knowing how to get to Miquella despite Miquella deliberately leaving alone, when everyone Miquella clearly cared for doesn't seem to know what's going on.

Second is how they know what they know. They talk as if they've spoken to Miquella, but that seems really fucking weird, doesn't it? If Miquella deliberately left the way he did, why would he just tell random people he met that kind of stuff? Too much of it is raising red flags for that reason. He seems to have been very secretive in what he knew, like he wanted to fix it all without getting others involved unless necessary. He compartmentalized information quite a bit.

This makes sense, though, if it isn't something they needed to be told because they already knew it.

I think it's St. Trina, searching for Miquella, to get him to go back to his fate. A fate Miquella deliberately wished to abandon.

[endofradio]

MEET THE OC: SYLVIA “SYLVIE” HALFORD

Adam turned around to face the direction of the voice before he looked back at Sylvie. “Nighty-night, jailbird.”

Sylvie didn’t even respond to him directly, instead quietly muttering a “fuck off” as she heard his footsteps leaving. Fucking finally — she could be alone.

But at the same time… she didn’t like being alone.

ABIGAIL OC • INFP • SHE/HER • 27 Y/O • RAT PACK ALIAS: AVA

———————————————————————

a tortured soul — that is probably the most accurate way to describe sylvie. it seems that she was doomed from the start — an unwanted child, she was given up by her poor excuses for parents and placed into foster care as a toddler. she spent most of her childhood bouncing from foster home to foster home, each experience being just as miserable as the next. love. that was an unfamiliar word to her.

art, literature, and music became sylvie’s forms of escapism. drawing, writing, and painting were her ways of releasing her thoughts and feelings into the world. her sketchbooks and journals became her only friends. when nobody listened to her, her journals did.

if there was a specific point in time where sylvie’s life really went downhill, it started when she was 12 years old. she was finally adopted. at first, she had hope. everything seemed to be going well — was she finally being given a taste of what it felt like to be loved?

well, that was what she thought. the longer sylvie stayed, the more her adoptive parents began to regret their decision. just like that, she was taunted with the idea of love. when she reached out for it, it was yanked right out of her grasp. sylvie was confused. what had she done? what was wrong with her?

high school — she did well academically, and it almost became somewhat of an escape from home… but she didn’t feel safe there, either. she was the “weird loner.” she had a few friends, but they turned out to be fake. they all left her once she started experimenting with drinking alcohol to cope. she was lucky enough to get a scholarship to get into the art school of her dreams in new york, and once she graduated, she left her home in chicago, hoping to finally start a new life. well… she was wrong.

the college party scene sucked her in — especially because, hell, this was the 80s. hard drugs and alcohol left and right, it was a temptation she couldn’t resist.

that was how she met frank, or as he was known at the time, “adam.”

he just happened to be sent to “investigate” a particularly unhinged party at the college, all because one of the students, charlie, happened to be an associate of kristof lazar, infamous new york crime-lord. charlie and sylvie had grown to know each other, and became what you could consider “drug buddies.” little did sylvie know that lazar was very much aware of her, and this “adam” was a corrupt detective who had decided to flirt with lawlessness. lazar was fascinating to him.

after the party, sylvie made the mistake of attempting to drive herself home. adam happened to spot her and arrested her for driving under the influence. honestly? if he hadn’t found her attractive, he would’ve just let her carry on. and so, adam became sylvie’s worst enemy. he’d taunt her and flirt with her, finding enjoyment out of getting under her skin and figuring out what made her tick. when she was finally able to go home, perhaps adam was a little… upset.

sylvie soon moved to massachusetts after graduating college and spent the next few years trying to forget about him and turn her life around. things genuinely seemed to be getting better for her, but then one night, she woke up in a mansion. “adam” was now “frank,” no longer a detective but a full-blown criminal. sylvie thought she’d never have to see his face again, but lambert had wanted him to hunt her down and bring her to this particular mansion, realizing that she, along with the rest of the “rat pack,” was needed for a particular kidnapping scheme. unfortunately for sylvie, she’d soon learn that this was all the doing of lazar’s daughter, abigail. abigail wanted sylvie there for a very particular reason… actually two reasons — she fucked with charlie, and her connection to frank. she figured forcing frank and sylvie to be in each other’s vicinity again would be interesting, and she was right. playing matchmaker was the last thing she expected she’d be doing, though.

after succumbing to his lust for power and allowing lambert to turn him into a vampire, frank betrayed the bit of trust that sylvie allowed herself to give to him. she had come to the unfortunate realization she was falling for him, and he only happened to hurt her again — in fact, he beat her up quite badly when she tried to defend joey from him. joey told her to run, and so she did, running into a forest. frank hunted her down, and out of a combination of realizing he didn’t want to lose her and pure bloodthirst, he bit her. if she was a vampire, then they’d be together forever, right? he just so happened to be falling for her too, but he didn’t want to admit that. no, he could never. after nearly killing her due to sheer bloodlust, the little humanity that was left in frank told him to save her.

he was realizing he needed her, and it was scaring him.

[weirdestcornelius]

A little Sketchbook fluff fic for all the slappers out there. . .it had to be done, I don't make the rules. It's been a hot minute since I've written anything so apologies if this seems rough lmao.

This whole thing is building off what I said about Sly helping Scrap design a fersona for him to express himself. I accidentally projected onto Sly. Btw. I cannot promise that it won't happen again.

Scrap was laying on the floor of the Comet family's house, as he usually did on the weekends. But this time was quite different; it was the floor of Sly's room rather than Eve's. The bright green fox was sitting close to him, her drawing tablet in her gloved hands.

Scrap knew why Sly wore gloves, he had heard of it in fens mind multiple times. She picked at her nails out of nervous habit, and the gloves were something that she wore to "keep everyone from having something else to pick on me for" in fens own words. Well, thoughts was probably a better way to describe it.

The two had just been sitting in silence for a while, the only noise filling the room being the quiet scratching of Sly's stylist against her drawing tablet. But after a while, Scrap spoke.

". . .what are you drawing?"

That was probably a bit of a dumb question. Scrap already knew a rough idea of what the answer would be. He knew it was something about some sort of fersona thing, but he still wanted to know what it actually looked like; the way that Sly's mind buzzed with happiness anytime she was drawing told Scrap everything he needed to know about the contentment that the character brought her.

Sly's fur spiked a bit at the sudden words, though fen hesitantly looked down at Scrap's lying form. Nobody has ever asked to see her art besides her family, and well. . .that hadn't really gotten fen any nice remarks that really felt nice. Every compliment her family gave her felt so hollow, compared to all of the insults that were hurled at her. Those, fen felt whole and completely. Scrap could hear her mind swimming with negative thoughts, and he couldn't hide the frown under his paper mask.

"I'm not gonna- make fun of you or anything. You know I already know what you're drawing, kind of. I just want to see. If you're comfortable."

Sly exhaled slowly through her nose. Right. It was a bit weird, knowing someone who could read your thoughts. . .but it was also nice in a weird way. Sly had a hard time articulating all her negative feelings into words, but fen didn't even have to do that with Scrap. It was a relieving kind of weird. Besides, Scrap had never made fun of her for anything else before.

"uhm- yeah, okay. It's not that good though, so don't expect an actual work of art or anything-"

Sly nervously turned the drawing tablet towards Scrap, letting him see what she had been drawing. It was nothing fancy, just a few messy sketches of Stroke and some of her friends fersonas. They were a bit rushed, but clear for the most part.

Scrap could already hear Sly's mind going off in all sorts of directions. He almost winced at how loud it was in there.

"oh Tears, is he going to make fun of it? It's stupid, yeah- it's stupid. I'm going to be called something like coxgirl for the rest of my life- he's being quiet because he doesn't like it, isn't he? That was so stupid, so stu-"

Scrap abruptly cut off the flood of thoughts, his ears flicking as he sat up.

"Hey, those are pretty cool! What are their names?"

Good, a distraction was just what Sly needed. The ears of the fox flattened as they tilted back purely from surprise. Most of her family just said "cool" or "cute" in response to fens art. Nobody had ever asked her about it. Scrap kept his smile visible despite the sadness that creeped onto him hearing this in Sly's mind. Jeez, he really needed to get her out of this place someday.

"O-oh- well, the blue one is Stroke- she's my fersona. She's a cox and dragon hybrid, but it was honestly just because I wanted her to have wings- it's a pretty stupid reason, but yeah"

"it's not that stupid, I probably couldn't name a single person who doesn't think wings are cool"

Scrap laid his hands in his lap as Sly's eyes brightened. It was a nice change, hearing good things from fens head rather than just self hatred and dysphoria. Sly hesitated to speak, a smile forming on the corners of her mouth.

". . .yeah-! That was my thought process too! I've always wondered what it would be like to fly, or just have them to use as extra hands- imagine how cool that would be!"

Sly's smile became a bit more solemn as she looked down at her drawing tablet, her gloved hands resting on its corners.

"I could just fly away from all my problems. It's- kind of freeing to have Stroke. It's like I can live my life through her."

Scrap felt a bit bad for Sly for that last sentence- but the bad feeling was much, much worse in Sly's own head. It had already started to swarm with thoughts of all the things Eve has done to her, how it was hard to even live fens real life because of how bad she felt.

But Scrap could fix that. Not forever, but just for a moment. Sly needed- no, deserved even just a moment of content happiness.

". . .What do you think my fersona would be?"

Perfect distraction. Sly's ears perked up almost instantly, fens eyes drifting back towards Scrap instead of staring down at her drawing tablet.

". . .well, you seem like a drat to me- but like, maybe a cyclops drat. Since you have one eye and all-"

Scrap smiled under his mask. Maybe he wasn't able of fixing every problem in Sly's life, no matter how much he so desperately wanted to; but he could make life happier for her, if only for a few moments.

"Really? How would that work?"

Two hours later, Scrap is standing in the driveway of the Comet household, holding a piece of notebook paper with a few doodles of a bipedal drat drawn onto it in blue pen; with one eye, just like Scrap.

He stared at the paper for a moment, the same smile on his face that had been on Sly's own just a few minutes prior. He slowly slipped his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it to grab the red folder he kept in its large pocket. He opened it, shuffling a few half drawn faces to one side to keep the left pocket empty.

Then, he put the paper inside.

[radama-zard]

Dungeons & Drabbles 2023

Day 2 - Step

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

FCG & Ashton - ModernHuman AU

Steps.

Why did it always have to be steps?

What was wrong with a nice, accessible ramp? They were easier for everyone, nobody had to fear tripping down or up them, parents with strollers could get inside, injured folk didn't have to struggle… and Fresh Cut Grass could have a little of his independence back, being able to wheel themself in with their wheelchair.

But of course life was hardly ever that kind.

A tired sigh slipped past their lips as he stared up at the flight of stairs, blocking them from the sweet little cafe they’d been oh so excited to try out. A customer, Jester, they thought, had been raving about the cupcakes here, and knowing the woman to be a real pastry connoisseur, Fresh Cut Grass had near instantly wanted to get a few themself.

But that dream seemed so cruelly out of reach now.

“Man, you’d think fucker’s would have caught on by now. Shit like this doesn't fly these days! Fancy new chairs and tables, but the owner can't be assed to make their business accessible. Bastard!”

Oh how they startled, jolting in such a way that almost had Fresh Cut Grass and their chair veering dangerously close to toppling. A solid, scarred hand steadied them, letting his frantically beating heart finally come to a rest.

“Fuck! Didn't mean to scare ya like that. My bad. You alright?”

“Y-Yeah! You just gave me a right startling, is all. I'm a-okay!”

“That's a relief. I’d feel like crap if I’d sent your heart packin’ or something…”

Did… Did the stranger look guilty? Well, that just wouldn't do at all! After all, a stranger was just a friend you hadn't met, and the last thing Fresh Cut Grass ever wished to see was a friend all sad and down in the dumps!

“It's fine, really! I spook real easy, my friend Imogen says I’d jump at my own shadow if I ever forgot it was there! But you're not scary yourself. I like your purple hair, and the eyeliner! Oh, and your cane too! Did you decorate it yourself? It looks fun-spooky!”

The stranger stared down at them, slowly blinking as their one good eye focused down on Fresh Cut Grass, taking in everything from their chunky cerulean blue box braids and round, thick glasses, to their bright yellow sweater and mismatched fingerless gloves. In contrast to their own ragged leather vest, covered in hand stitched patches and badges, deep red plaid pants and spiked belts, topped off with boots so hefty they looked able to smash someone’s head in… Well, they couldn't look more different.

Yet Fresh Cut Grass still smiled up at them, all warm and welcoming and so completely genuine that it seemed to catch them off guard.

“Most people would just flip me off and tell me to get fucked,” they muttered, leaning heavily upon their cane before shrugging and sticking a hand in their pocket, seemingly relaxing. “I didn't decorate this shit myself. A friend did. She’s one hell of a spooky ass bitch. Real arts and crafty. But anyway. I’m Ashton. Ashton Greymoore. You?"

“Oh, right! Introductions! Smiley Day to ya, Ashton, I’m Fresh Cut Grass!”

There was a beat of silence, more than a tad awkward, as Fresh Cut Grass awaited their response. Likely a laugh or a roll of the eyes or maybe even a sneer! Most people were funny about names when they weren't the most normal.

Not Ashton though.

No. He grinned, wide and bright and just shimmering with absolute delight.

“That's one hell of a name. You picked it yourself?”

“I did! It's my favorite smell. Ya don't think it's… weird?”

“Oh no, it's weird. But, I mean, fuck, have you looked at me? I like weird,” Ashton grinned wider, throwing one last glance at the inaccessible cafe as something shifted once more in his demeanor. “I know a place a few blocks from here. Unlike these fuckers, they actually give a fuck about people like us. Wanna join me there, Grass?”

“... Do they do cupcakes?” Fresh Cut Grass asked, their mind already made up before Ashton even had a chance to answer.

“Freshly baked in house. So… You coming?”

“I’d love t’ join ya! Thank ya kindly, Ashton!”

Their laughter in turn was rough and harsh, yet the warmth it held settled deep within Fresh Cut Grass’ tired bones… and within moments, he couldn't even quite remember why they’d been upset at all.