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pairofmelaninkweens · 3 years

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Nostalgia

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou x Natsumi Myaski (oc)

By: @sweet-darling91

Summary: (Post time skip )Kurro has been looking for a chance to possibly reconcile with an Ex, but soon comes to learn that nostalgia can realy lead you down a path of thorns instead of a bed of roses.

CW/TW: Angst, vanilla sex, and cunnilingus.

Wc: 4783

art by: twi.night on Instagram! one of the pictures Kuroo kept on the wall of his condo of Him and Natsumi.

The subtle warm scent with fresh citrus notes alerted his senses. It was mixed with that perfectly unique smell and feeling that only one person in existence could provoke, Natsumi. It sprung memories of late-night lovemaking in his dorm, as the rays of moonlight illuminated your cocoa brown skin, highlighting its cinnamon undertones.

The buns you swept your hair up in were removed when he pulled the hair ties free, sending your dark curly tresses tumbling down past your shoulders. Wrapping the curls around his fingers as he tugged them, groaning when you bowed your back as he took you from behind. Remembering the way your ass pressed against his pelvis, the way you would keen when he spread your buttery smooth thighs further, watching your essence coat his cock as he plunged it deep into your quivering cunt.

He remembered the way your silken walls would quiver around him as you moaned his name, the way your small frame would tremble as he sunk balls deep into you, your cum would drip down his balls. Fuck, you were so perfect. He would get lost in you night after night. Even now, years after you left his life. He would still fantasize about you, craving the way your warm body clung to him. It broke his heart when you lost contact with him, because like it or not you were a pillar in his life.

You were the one that brought him to accept parts of himself he neglected. The origin of most of his kinks and preferences. Especially the first girl he endearingly called Chibi-chan. Of course, he ignored the fact that it was indeed the same name he teased his Orange haired buddy with over his height-or lack thereof. It was different for you though; it was meant to be endearing. The most important detail is after all this time and secret pining, he found you, mere feet away far enough not to be in direct contact thanks to the layout of the patio, with the decorative shrubbery around, and the angle his table was stationed at. He had the vantage point in observing you, and it made his cock twitch remembering the way you made his blood heat. The memory of the connection you once shared painfully squeezes his chest.

Natsumi Miyazaki, a name that was burned into his memory forever. Now sits with perfectly crossed legs poised in your seat. Hair cut into a bob, parted on the side, with bangs framing your slender face. Hazel eyes sparkled when you beamed at the man cracking jokes over coffee. He couldn’t be that funny to be making you flash your smile like that he thought as he turned up his nose, letting his lips sink into a frown and eyes narrow at the sight of you with him.

The cashmere top with the sweetheart cut highlighted your delicate clavicle and the swell of your breasts. Your form-fitting skirt accentuated your small waist, hugging your hips and thick thighs. Kuroo began biting his tongue wishing he could get a better view of your ass. The white and cream outfit was cute, clean, and professional. It read that you meant business, that, and the subtle tells in your body language confirmed it. The way your eyes analyzed the orange-haired man, and the all too polite way you sipped at your latte, made him laugh darkly.

Whatever Shoyo was saying must have given you the answer you were looking for, and your response was subtle pettiness. He recognized that polite smile was a mask, the exaggerated nods and the batting of your eyelashes was used to do to supress rolling your eyes. This happened when you asked him questions you already knew the answers to. A cleaver warning and it seems that went over Shoyo’s head. What were you up to? Why were you out here all dolled up with a new outfit and hair styled completely different than when it was back in college? Why change your appearance to shortcake? Then it dawned on him, information. You were working, he knew you were, but was distracted staring at you. The longer you took probing Shoyo, the more impatient he became, fidgeting in his seat and glowering.

Leaving a tip for the waitress he made his way to your table; he was only 5 feet away when the rhythmic tap of 4 manicured digits followed by a double-tap of your index finger against the glass table halted his stride. It was your sign to him; acknowledging his presence and warning not to interrupt. This shouldn’t surprise him. You were always the most astute in class, rivalling him for the top academic grade and overall performance. Along the way to those achievements, you spent so much time together you were well versed in each other’s non-verbal cues.

That’s what got him so interested in you, seeing how your mind worked. The way you would speak volumes with so few words and see everything with a glance. Now pointedly walking past the table, he answered your rasp with two taps of his umbrella against the cobblestone patio floor. “Looks like rain” he remarked as he opened it out, and started walking up the street.

Five minutes later he heard the quick taps of heels and the gentle, beautiful fragrance returned when you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. “Is this a good time?” he asked, eyes still trained forward, steps returning to their previous pace.

You release a contented hum, and then raise your head to ask, “Which one is yours?” releasing your hold on him and motioning towards the parked cars.

“The black Audi,” he responds, as you smile to yourself eying the 2017 R8 model. “Of course, the flashiest car for the former prince of Nekoma high.” You say as you playfully shove his shoulder. He looks down at you and curls his lips shrugging at the tease. “ I mean, were they wrong?”

Rolling your eyes you open the passenger side door, settling in the seat and sliding off the bob-cut wig and cap that encased your curly tresses. Kuroo watched the curls spill down your shoulder as you rub your scalp and sigh in relief, only stopping to spot the time on the dash. “Ok, let’s go, my schedule’s free after that meeting.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Always so forward."

“There’s no time to beat around the bush, if you have something to ask me, go ahead,” you quip, with a sharp side glance at him, before pulling the visor down to adjust your lipstick in the mirror.

“I just missed you,” he admitted.

“Missed me or missed what I could do for you?” Closing the visor, you turn and look him in the eye, your gaze piercing through him. His shoulders slump slightly, and a bitter chuckle escapes his lips. “Is it always going to be business with you? Even after everything?”

“It’s always going to be business with you because of everything. You're the one that said ‘lets just be friends. Realistically that's the best option because I’m too dangerous to be a stranger to you with all that I know." You finish, chest burning with your bitter pettiness and disgust in sympathy for his masked pain. "You were one of the greatest loves of my life. But not THE love of my life.” you continue, thinning your lips and turning away and closing your eyes to soothe the burning in them.

“I still love you too. But it’s not gonna happen, our time is over.” You finally say.

“I figured that you became an information broker to get Kiyoomi’s attention recently.” He interjected with jealousy clear in his tone.

Snapping your gaze back at him. “I chose my career to be independent, so no would hurt me like you did. I don’t want to take orders from someone because I’m no goon. I stand by my policy. It would do you well to stand by it too.” Ignoring his pained reaction, you continued. “Taking me to your place, right? Then let’s get on with that instead because I don’t owe you any of my personal details.” The thought crossed you mind, and the words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. “That information is a premium charge if you’re that curious.” you stated holding out your hand.

“it’s in the glove box” he sighed. “I know you didn’t seek me to purchase information for your ‘work.’ you wanted my time, didn’t you?” looking up to see him nodding in reply with a dejected smile. You weren’t finished though, thinking to yourself as you exited the car, followed him through the underground garage, past security and into his penthouse. You had a point to prove with your hidden agenda, and you weren’t leaving here until you got what you came for.

Stepping through the threshold was like sinking into the warm comforting depths of the deep sunlit seawater. Warm, familiar, and comforting. Immediately you could tell that nothing had changed, relief washed over you with the realization that dramatically increased your advantage and success rate for your target. Just like the deep-sea waters though you knew there were dangers the deeper you sank into this familiarity. Shoving that thought to the side you slid off your shoes and began walking through the hall, hands grazing the walls observing pictures of him and his family. Passing one of you in a group shot together cleverly placed in the collage on the wall, slipping into the living room, passing the pictures of the old gang and snapshots of you studying with Sienna, and Kenma. Then seeing yourself standing in the rain in the background of a team group shot mocking Bokuto who was trying to duck out of the shot but failed to. Blushing wildly covering your best friend from the rain with his jacket and hiding his face that was covered in tinted lip balm. “Always the gentleman Bo.” You grinned at the shot, roaming over other pictures of his MSBY friends, the rival teams, some shots included new coaches, vice-captains, fellow higher-ups and the team medics. Then you saw the generous helping of pictures of your time together though, the two of you studying with Sienna and Bokuto, who was flustered looking at Sienna instead of the textbook. Shots of you riding on Kuroo’s shoulders, a cute one that you vividly remember Sienna taking of you covered in your own lipstick when Kuroo put it on and smothered you with kisses all over your face and arm, a flustered expression clearly focused on the camera. You remember the way he was focused on you, only looking to the camera to smirk before he continued his assault of kisses on you. Finally, the last picture was of you landing that ‘Oikawa serve’ in one of the final games before leaving college. Once again you closed your eyes, trying to soothe yourself from the melancholy trip down memory lane with his display.

Slipping open your lids you accepted the fact that the burning in your throat and prickling in your eyes would not cease, letting the cool tears flow freely. “you cruel bastard. You kept all of it. Why?”

“Because You’re always on my mind, you never left.”

“is that all?” you say turning to face him, hating the conflicting feelings swarming through you all at once, the nostalgia was warm, sweet, and welcoming. But the result was bitter, cold and lonely. Logically you should stick to the job, but your emotions were forcing you to focus your mind elsewhere.

“Nope, your here too.” He points to his heart. “Every time I close my eyes it’s you, I see. Wishing that it’s your voice calling out my name, your hair that fanned out on the pillow next to mine. Your arms wrapping around me. If I take them down. If I remove all the stuff. It would be leaving a void in the middle of my life. I can’t have that, I’d crumble.” He admits with his eyes locked in your gaze.

You answer him by bounding into his arms like old times and breathlessly kissed him. He deepened it, holding you tightly, cradling the back of your head gently letting his free hands travel down your back and firmly grabbing your ass pulling you close to his body and rolling his hips into you. Groaning as he feels your warm body. Relishing in the smooth suppleness of your skin under his hands.

"Your skin was always so smooth, so soft." He murmured into your neck. Trailing open mouth kisses down it. Leaning your head to the right, granting him more access to your throat. Fluttering your lashes enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin again. Your brought back down onto your feet, as he sinks to his knees, unzipping your skirt and letting it pool around your ankles. You grabbed his tie and pulled him flush against your pelvis, slipping one leg over his shoulder and angling your puffy lips to align with his mouth.

"Kiss me, show me how much you missed me." Winking and smiling at him sweetly. His face heats at your sudden boldness, a contrast to the usual blushing submissive side. Leaning forward he obliged and kissed you through the thin crotch of the lacy fabric separating his lips from yours. Flattening his tongue, he laved it down your wet slit. Biting your bottom lip to stifle moans threatening to echo through the apartment, you began rocking your hips back and forth, craving more friction. Sensing your eagerness Kuroo pulls at the material with his teeth and lets the elastic snap against you. Humming in pleasure when he hears the responding gasp melting into a soft muted moan. He missed the sounds you made, and he wanted to hear more of them. Slipping his index finger past the ruined panties he sinks his index finger knuckle deep, groaning at how eagerly your gummy walls wrapped around his digit. "God, your so tight Chibi-chan, did u miss me?"

Whining in response you wrapped your fingers around the strands of raven hair pulling harshly. "Mmmm more" you demanded, he smiled noting the lack of answer and obediently slipped the second digit in, pumping the fingers in and out, taking pleasure in the feeling of you clenching around him, the sweet taste of your slick and skin. But what really got him going was the sounds spilling from your lips when he swallowed your clit into his mouth hollowing out his cheeks and grinding his fingers against that spongey spot that had you bucking her hips and crying out. His breathing started to get obstructed when you yanked at his tie, tightening it around his throat. His vision getting blurry and the sound of his blood rushing through his veins filled his ears. Then on instinct you released the tie, fresh air flooded into his lungs, the rush of oxygen and the dopamine surging through his system delivered an indescribable high.

He freed his cock from his pants giving himself slow soothing pumps to his throbbing length. Its head swollen, pink and dripping pre that he used as a lube before grabbing your hips and easing you to sit on his face. He bucked into the empty air craning his neck and slipped his tongue into your quivering pussy. Your legs gave out as your orgasm surged through you like a flash fire, igniting every blood cell in our body with hot pleasure that clouded your mind and mad your eyes roll to the back of your head as you released a litany of curses and Kuroo’s name. He gripped your hips with a bruising force, drinking in your cum as it spilled into his mouth, embracing your trembling form.

As you caught your breath Kuroo brushed the stray strands of hair free from your face and immediately searched your face for signs of discomfort. His lips stretched into a smile when you started smoothing your hands through his hair. “I’m not a dog, you don’t need to pet me he nipped at your hand. Standing, and stripping off his shirt and shooting you a wink. “Well at least dogs are loyal.” Returning his wink as you get to your feet and watch him as he flings his shirt and tie over his shoulder, grasping his chest and looking down at you through his lashes. “Ouch, you aren’t here to play nice, are you?” he croons as he slips his hands on your waist and back steps toward his room.

“Not at all.” you answer while pointing over to his bed, “have a seat,” waiting for him to do so, your request before you slipped out of the top, revealing the strapless bralette and flinging it his way, grinning when he caught it in his mouth, shooting you a wink and growling. Releasing a playful “woof” before dropping it onto the floor to watch you close the space between you two. You slid your palms up his thigh bracing the other hand on his chest, coaxing him to lean back allowing you to slink up his long body letting your glistening pussy lips slide up his hardened shaft and muffled his groan when you pressed your plump lips over his pulling back to whisper, “shhh, don’t get too excited too soon” you tease trailing kisses down his neck, leaving blossoming bruises in your wake, kissing down his chest and finally sitting back up halting your hip to search his face. You could feel the way his heart was hammering in his chest against your palm. “Don’t be shy now Natsumi.” He bucks his hips and you sink your teeth into your lip to stifle the moan rising from you.

His hands fastened to your hips in a death grip, his fingers and knuckles white, his pupils blown, his chest heaving with anticipation. He nodded and bucked his hips, slipping his shaft through your delicate petals and being rewarded with a sweet soft moan. “Lean forward Chibi-chan, I got you,” he assured. Reluctant to trust him for much, you relented with a sigh and obeyed.

Feeling his swollen velvety tip breach your entrance, you couldn’t hold back from slamming your hips down, enveloping him in your warm, hungry pussy with a moan that made him growl low in his throat. “D-don’t move, ok?” you struggled through whimpers at how the stretch sent pleasure flooding your senses. Your body flushed with heat, goosebumps flashing across the surface, nipples pebbling before his eyes, and that plush bottom lip being tortured between your pearly teeth as you bit down on it to suppress moans threatening to spring free but still reaching Kuroo’s ears. Your hips bucked forward, working your waist in slow delicious circles that edged both of you just right. The friction your swollen clit got from grazing his hilt urged you to close your eyes and twerk your ass cheeks, the sudden movements caused his dick to grind against the walls of your tight core, which clenched him snuggly inside you. He gasped each time you jerked and rolled your waist, bouncing up and down his cock, building a punishing speed that drove him wild and bow his back up off the bed. “Chibi-chan that’s it, fuck yourself on my cock baby.” he moaned thrusting his hip up in time to crash into yours when you thrusted your hips down, making him moan out in bliss, lolling his tongue out as your hips jackhammered down onto him. “Kurooooo, I’m gonna cum.”

He eased the pressure on your hips, his breath stuttering and sweat collecting on his brow as he watched the way you raised your body up the length of his dick and dropped onto it. Your swollen lips swallowing him deeply, convulsing around him. “Mm cum on this cock Chibi-Chan!” he growled demanding your attention and compliance. “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long when you would finally come back and ride me and let me fuck you into this mattress. Ffffff fuck Natsumi.” You throw your head back as your pussy convulses and your orgasm ripples through your body. Radiating waves of intensity surging through your body sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He sits up to let you rest your forehead against his, both of you panting for breath. He laid slow soft kisses across your flushed cheeks, smoothing his hands up your back and down your sides slowly but gaining in pressure. You also feel his cock harden inside you as he starts brings his lips against your, kissing your deeply and letting your taste yourself on his tongue.

Rocking your hips in slow motions you let him take advantage and toss you into the mattress, sinking his incisors into your neck and his cock balls deep “you feel so good baby~ I wanna cum deep inside you, look at me Sumi. I want to see your face when I fill you.” He ruts into you setting the delicious pace of pulling out and pounding into your dripping cunt, the chorus of hips crashing into each other, the squelching of your wet pussy milking him, and wanton moans filled his ears. He forced his eyes closed trying to burn it all into memory. The beautiful pitch your voice took when he hit that perfect spot deep inside you, lacing his fingers with yours, he crowded your frame with his broad upper body. Balancing on his elbows he used every muscle in his thighs to push into you, bringing tears to your eyes as flashes of black and white cloud your vision, all the breath left your body as Kuroo sent you tumbling into a prolonged orgasm. A wild blissful ride rendering your body weightless, gravity no longer existed, lost in the incredible sensations coursing through your body and spasmed when Kuroo thrust almost painfully deep into you pumping you past your limit with hot ropes of cum pulsing into you. You felt warm everywhere, there was tingling under the surface of your skin, movements reduced to the speed of warm molasses. “I’ve got you Natsumi.” his voice sounded so far away but the sound was followed with gentle soothing strokes up your sides, slowly grounding you. Soon after the feeling of him caressing your cheek and feeling him planting a soft kiss on your lips brought your mind back to the present, just like he would back then. Bringing you back down to earth after fucking your soul out of your body filled him with pride knowing he still could do this to you. The bitter pangs of his heart told him that one day the person doing this wouldn’t be him. The gentle sound of your voice thanking him grasped his attention and gave him the chance to appreciate your raw beauty. The lipstick had long been kissed away revealing plump two-toned nude lips, the even tone of her golden chestnut skin and deep chocolate eyes made his sting with tears. “It’s been a long time, nostalgia’s hurting, isn’t it?” you teased reaching your arms out for him to pull himself into an embrace, sighed at the feeling of you nuzzling into him and kissing his jaw. “Seeing you like this hit hard. It’s like seeing my dreams and memories merge together and play out in front of me, yet the actual thing, still pales every single image, every thought, every memory in comparison.” Pulling back to see his face you arched an eyebrow. “oh?”

“Every time I have someone next to me, I wished it were your body warming that side of my bed instead, your curls fanned out across my pillow, your voice filling the room when you call my name, and your lips I taste when I kiss. I shouldn’t have hurt you the way I did Sumi, I’m sorry.” He breathed. You closed her eyes and hummed. This was supposed to hurt more. But it was just a dull ache of sympathy, the bond that you had with him had long frayed and snaped, well at least you hoped. You truly moved on. It was a relief and a pity. A relief that you felt nothing, a pity for him, that he was feeling everything.

“That connection had long since ended Roo, the love I feel for you now isn’t the same. That level of devotion was gone the moment you left me. Understand? I only give that out to those deserving. This was sweet, to an extent. But by no means is it a sign of any kind of romantic reconcile, ok?” his eyes swirled with remorse, and he numbly nodded. Finishing the water he gave you, you placed it on the side table as headed to the bathroom to clean yourself up in the hot shower, rinsing the feeling of him off your skin. Breathing the hot steam deep into your lungs to refocus your mind. Inwardly thanking him for not following you in there. After the shower you grab a town and dry of, return to the room finding him sitting on the bed. Looking up at you a smile flashed across his face along with a faint blush on his cheeks. “Your hair, it brings me back to when I would help you with drying it out, detangling and oiling your scalp.” You shook your head. And cast him a side glance. “And?”

“Well, it was my favourite, you know I always thought your hair was cute in those buns" he muses, she glared at him. "How childish. People grow Kuroo, I have long grown out of that. You know it was cute walking down memory lane with you, but it revealed one thing. You haven’t changed, your out here fucking girls that remind you of me, holding onto the past while I, and the rest of the world move forward. Grow up, you should try it sometime." You spat, spinning on your toes to invade his closet, boldly slamming the door and reef through the clothes for something to wear only to come up to another nostalgic discovery, with out uttering a word you grabbed the old uniform and put it on, gathering up his travel bag and rummaging through his drawers, eyes scanning every free surface. Noticing that he was not making a sound made you suspicious. “You alive?” tensing waiting for his reply.

“Yeah, just giving you space-” he was cut off when he saw the college uniform hug your curvy figure. He truly felt like if he blinked, you’d vanish, but when you realized what was going on you yanked the bundles of hair free, shaking the damp curls and sweeping them up into a messy bun letting stray strands frame your face. “I may be a vision from your memories, so take a good look. This is the last time you’ll see me like this. Once I leave this room you won’t have this chance again. So, I do hope that your ‘hoe phase’ was an enjoyable one.” you finished slipping on a pair of runners. “I really can’t believe you kept everything here, that isn’t healthy, and if you have other women wearing my things, that’s- disturbing.”

“What should I do with the clothes you came here with.”

“Burn it. Toss it, it’s of little consequence to me, my job is done.” You shrug on the travel bag on your shoulders.

“But I didn’t tell you anything, you never asked any questions. Did you even get what you needed?” Cupping his cheek to look into his eyes. “Thank you for being one of my greatest loves Kuroo, you really should stop putting yourself in danger trying to steal glances at me. Turning up in places where you think I will be or following my potential targets. You’ll end up putting a target on your back if you keep that up, I’m grown. I can handle myself.” you warned, “bye Sumi.” he closed his eyes and felt you kiss him, when he opened them again his heart sank to see the room empty, but then it sank into his belly realizing what exactly she did. Running into the walk-in closet he yanked open his draws in search of his files and the dossier. No surprise, they were all missing, the dossier, all the files including the first classified drive he had in there. Damn, He really paid her to rob him. He smiled bitterly to himself admiring the finesse. He attempted to buy time to plead his case, only to be out of luck with love, and now possibly his job.

#kuroo angst #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x oc #kuroo x reader oc #haikyuu smut #haikyū!!

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hains-mae · 4 years

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Flowers - Pt. 2

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (end)

(Damian x Reader) Soulmate AU

Rating: T

Ages: Damian and you are 16, everyone’s ages follow after.

Summary: Soulmate AU where the wounds on your soulmate turns into a flower tattoo on your skin, if it heals with no scars the tattoo goes away, if it heals with a scar then the tattoo stays. You know who your soulmate is. It’s Robin. The vigilante. The crime-fighter and protector of Gotham who runs along side the Dark Knight himself – Batman. And you’re still you. This couldn’t possibly work, could it?

Notes: I did not expect my last fic to gain as much popularity as it had, and I am so thankful. @grincheveryday said there had to be a part 2, and although I wasn’t planning on it – I relented. And now here we are, with part 2.

Anyway, thank you again so much for the lovely comments. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, I wouldn’t make it as confusing as it is now.

Metropolis. The convention was to be held in Metropolis. The city of Superman! I was more than excited when the school informed us, and it turned out that Lex Corp. was sponsoring our transport and accommodations.

Gotham Academy instructed us to pack a week’s worth. The actual event was going to run for a total of one week. 3 days to try and impress during the showcase. After that they scheduled a meeting for students and companies who were interested in internships and mentoring, which would last another 2 days. On the last day Wayne Ent. promised a gala to finish off with a bang.

“Oh, my baby is growing up.” Mom said as she helped me pack.

“It’ll only be a week, mom. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” I laughed.

It was a decent trip going to the big city of Metropolis. What I noticed first were the clean streets and bright colours. The sun was actually out of the clouds (something that only happened a handful of times during the year back at Gotham). There was a lot of excited chatter on the bus as soon as we entered.

“Alright children, you know the rules. Keep close and stay in sight.” Our science professor spoke up over the murmurs.

“Ah, Gotham Academy I’m presuming!” A boisterous voice caught our attention and successfully made us all quiet.

It was Mr. Lex Luthor.

“Mr. Luthor, it’s an honour. May I just say on behalf of our school we’d like to thank you for the generous hospitality.”

“The honour is mine.” He replied to our guide and professor as he shook her hand. “With such young and brilliant minds, how can I refuse?”

It felt surreal to be there. To be meeting with one of the most famous inventors and businessmen on the planet. I thought about pinching myself but if this was a dream, I didn’t want it to end.

We were ushered into the building that we were going to be staying at for the next week. It looked amazing on the inside just as it did on the outside. The receptionist smiled warmly at us when we entered. As the adults talked about where to place us, my schoolmates and I were left in a waiting area with large, soft sofas. I sighed in delight thinking this day couldn’t get any better.

The briefing was short, and we were sent to our rooms to freshen up before dinner. If I thought the lounge was awesome, the bedrooms were 5 times more. The walls were cream in colour, and the furniture’s light tan tint complimented the aesthetic. Two queen sized beds since were to stay in pairs. Bright yellow flowers on beautifully painted vases stood on each of our bedside tables.

I took the bed closest to the window, and placed my bags on the floor. My roommate didn’t mind as she unzipped her suitcase and began to make herself at home. As we shuffled around placing our belongings in their respective areas, I couldn’t help but wonder if Robin would be here. It was a million to one chance since many schools from Gotham were involved, but still, I hoped.

You don’t even who he is, or even how he looks like under that mask — my inner muse said pointedly. I sighed, knowing it was right.

That evening I opted to go to the dining hall a little earlier than expected. I didn’t have any friends around, since it was limited to one student per section. So I found myself alone sitting on a table with my name printed all fancy on a card. I sighed, pulling out my phone and going over the slides of my presentation for the invention.

“Good evening.” A presence alerted me and I fumbled as my phone slipped from my hands.

They caught it in one swoop.

I looked up and found myself face to face with a pair of clear forest green eyes.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Damian Wayne.” His tone was clipped as he handed me my phone, like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

I swallowed thickly, I’m sure I looked flustered, he seemed like he was in a bad mood. Quickly clearing my throat I took my phone from him and introduced myself as quickly as I could.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He said stiffly and sat down beside me.

There must’ve been a mistake on the placement of the name cards. Usually they would assign our seats in accordance to our sections. Mine should be at the last... and oh my god his name is next to mine?! How did I not notice this???

“The - the pleasure is mine.” I said nervously and tucked my phone back in my pocket.

I may not be part of any of his (or his brothers’) fan club, but I wasn’t living under a rock. Damian Wayne. Son of Bruce Wayne; the one who organised this entire endeavour. The son of a multi-billionaire business man. The prince of Gotham! What in the world was he doing here — next to me?!

There was a painfully thick awkward silence between us, or maybe it's just me — I bit my lip and looked everywhere else in the room but the boy who was sitting beside me.

Taking deep breaths to calm myself down, I noticed a pleasant aroma in the air. I must’ve missed it after our surprising introductions, but his perfume smelled good. It wasn’t a scent I would normally smell nowadays, but I immediately recognised it.

“Arabian oud.” I said out loud. Unintentionally mind you, to which I mentally facepalmed.

I quickly covered my mouth and apologised. Great, now he’ll think you’re a creep, way to go.

“Yeah.” Damian cocked a brow at me and narrowed his eyes. “It is, not many people know.”

“My dad. He liked those kinds of scents. Came a cross it one time during a case he was working on. I guess it grew on me too.”

Talking about my dad to a complete stranger, it was nerve wrecking but at the same time the memory calmed me, and the scent dancing between us only lulled me further into memory lane.

“It sticks better than regular perfume.” He said nonchalantly.

I had to giggle at that. “Well you get what you pay for.” He scoffed, and I reminded myself that this guy was probably rolling in money every day.

There was silence again, but this time a little less awkward. I still hoped everyone would be here soon though.

My wish was granted. Not five minutes later, the room started to get filled. Everyone took their respective places and made quick chatter. Damian and I stayed quiet though. Perhaps his friends weren’t able to come either, well we had that in common.

Damian was introduced to us before the waiters served our food. Apparently he wasn’t part of the convention but because Wayne Ent. was the one sponsoring, Mr. Wayne deemed it necessary for him to make an appearance.

I sighed to myself and looked around, this really was nothing like I expected it to be.

-x-x-x-

Dinner was delicious. Everyone was happily stuffed and ready for bed. Everyone but me. I couldn’t relax after sitting next to Damian the whole night. I felt his stares multiple times but every time I try to catch him I fail.

As soon as we were done an old man wearing formal attire came to pick him up. Didn’t know where to, but I heard “father” and “penthouse”. Rich kids...

Maybe it was just me who was getting a little paranoid. Maybe it was because of all the rumours I heard of how fan clubs treat other girls who even dared to talk to him other than a polite hi or wave. I shuddered at the thought. Our professor was droning on about the rules (again) and the importance of the buddy system. I briefly wondered if I could sneak out for a small walk around the block or something to release some energy.

And that was exactly where I found myself later that evening. I managed to pass the receptionist and walk a couple of minutes around the area. Not too far, the hotel was still in view. There were people around minding their own business, which was new for me since around this time in Gotham, everyone would be at home. The crisp air felt good, and I was finally able to relax. It was too stuffy being next to him. His smell, it reminded me too much of dad. The memory made a lump form in my throat.

I looked up at the starless sky and blinked back tears. Mom said he’d be proud, I wanted to believe it was true.

“Aw little girl. Why so upset?”

I whirled around and saw a man all dressed in baggy black clothes inch closer at me. “How about you come with me and I can make you feel all better.”

I took a step back as my heart started to race. This was probably not the best idea, even though this was Superman’s City, it didn’t mean crime didn’t exist.

A heavy hand gripped tightly at my shoulder and I realised with utter dread that I was surrounded. Only one way to run and it was through the alley. Every instinct in me shouted that it would be a really bad idea, first off I didn’t know the place, and if I just ran I could very well get lost.

But the grip on my shoulder was worse than anything I could’ve imagined at the moment.

“You’re a pretty little thing aren’t ya.” Another man came in and slid his hands across my cheek before covering my mouth.

His breath smelled of alcohol and smoke. It made me gag.

“I’ve got some great ideas on what I can do with you.” He snickered and dropped his other hand lower onto my chest. I gasped in fear.

No, this isn’t happening.

They pushed me further into the alley, away from prying eyes, and into to the shadows. The man started to grope my waist and hips.

This isn’t happening!

I wanted to fight back, wanted to bite his hand and shout, but my body was frozen. I was in shock. My inner voice was yelling at me to do something, to do anything! But fear clasped me tight and hard.

Then he forced his dirt calloused hand under my shirt and touched my breast.

That snapped me out of it.

With a sense of need to survive I dug my elbow into the man who was holding me and shoved the one in front with as much force as I could muster, exactly how dad taught me. They grunted in pain, and their hold on me lifted. I bolted down the dimly lit passage as soon as I was free.

But they didn’t stop. They called after me, swearing and cursing slurs as they ran. Their footsteps echoed along the tight alley. How many of them were there? 4?

They chanted along what they were planning on doing with me once they catch me. It was horrible. My throat tightening in disgust. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how their minds worked. The tears were beginning to fall as every turn I took only lead deeper into the maze.

I kept running, taking quick sharp turns in the hopes to loose them. I refused to go like this. But my heart plummeted as soon as I faced a dead end.

They were all laughing at my demise, taking their time to get to me so the fear really soaked in. They strolled and taunted. Taking out their ropes and knives from their coat pockets.

“This was a really stupid idea...” I whimpered to myself, wiping my wet cheeks furiously as I did.

“No shit.” I instantly recognised the voice. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”

A figure dropped in front of me, clad in familiar colours. I felt my knees go weak and a new wave of tears started to fall. I sobbed in relief.

Robin pulled out his katana and growled at the men.

“Do not touch her.” He spat at them.

“Robin? But isn’t he supposed to be with the Bat?” One of them questioned, but he was outright ignored.

Their leader, the one who groped me, laughed. A loud barking sort of laughter.

“Don’t touch her?” He mimicked. “But I already have. Must say, she’s quite soft.” He leered at me, I could feel him undressing me with his eyes and I instantly clutched my jacket tighter.

“Bastard!” Robin shouted and threw himself into battle.

They didn’t look worried though.

“You’re just a boy!” They yelled at him as they aimed to kill.

It didn’t phase him as he attacked with the same precision as he did before. Their bullets were evaded with his quick movements. I protected my head with my arms and dashed behind a corner full of crates.

“Excuse me.”

I turned to the person next to me.

He offered a smile, and I noticed his feet weren’t touching the ground. He was hovering over the air.

“Quit stalling Superboy!” Robin grunted. “Take her someplace safe!”

“You heard him.” He told me, and carried me bridal style before flying away.

I clutched on to him as the ground became further and further away.

“Wait — what about Robin?” My voice sounded weak but I didn’t want to just leave him behind.

Superboy looked at me and grinned. “He’ll be okay.”

He set me down on the roof of a building just above the fight.

“Can you wait here a moment? We’ll be right back.”

He looked a few years older, dressed in his father’s colors and symbol proudly plastered on the middle of his chest.

I managed a small nod before he zipped back down and joined the fight. With a bit more courage I peered down and watched as they bravely fought the men. Superboy withheld from using his lasers too much, I suppose since they were in such an enclosed space. Robin on the other hand looked like he was putting everything he had out there.

It ended quite fast, with the men tied up in a rope. Robin seemed to be talking to Superboy, the metahuman nodded once and pointed up where I was standing. I quickly looked away and walked back.

A grappling hook shot up before hooking itself to the side of the building. Robin swung forward and landed gracefully in front of me. He looked angry.

I tried not to look at him straight in the eye, hoping to make myself smaller.

“Did they hurt you?” He asked, his voice filled with concern but still laced with a little venom.

I bit my bottom lip to keep it from quivering, I felt so ashamed, and so used. I felt dirty.

“He touched me...” I chocked out, trying to keep the tears at bay and failing.

Robin clenched his fists.

“What were you doing outside at this hour?”

“I - I just wanted to take a walk. I didn’t - it wasn’t -“ I was shaking. All I wanted to do was go back home and hide under my covers.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. I heard him walk up to me and hold my chin, turning it towards him as he wiped the tears.

“Stop crying.” He said. “You’re safe now.”

Not being able to help it, I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. I wasn’t an overly physical type of person but I needed something solid, something safe, to clutch on to after what just happened. I wished my mom was here, but then I also didn’t since all this would do would only worry her more. I dreaded the fact that I needed to tell her what happened. But for now I just breathed in and out, trying to calm myself. Robins arms slowly encircled me, and he patted my shoulder awkwardly.

Wait — this smell…

Arabian oud.

I tensed, and pushed back. Robin looked a little confused at the suddenly change but loosened the hug.

My heart started to race as I looked up at his face. No way, there has to be hundreds with the same perfume, right? I couldn’t, or rather didn’t want to believe it. Was it really him under this mask? I wish I could give myself an answer but I was terrified of what I would find if I looked. I was both mad yet relieved that I didn’t look too closely at his face during dinner or else it might be too easy to pick apart his features. The mask only hid so much. I must’ve been eyeing him for too long because Robin gave me a questioning look.

“I -“ I quickly put a slight distance between us and cleared my throat, hoping the heat on my cheeks would cool down, and my head to stop spinning. “Sorry, and thank you! I... probably should get back.” I finished lamely.

The time it took us to get from where we were to the hotel was filled with silence. I made sure not to make eye contact for too long and when I had to I made sure to ignore everything else. I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to piece the puzzle together... It felt risky. I thanked him again, and asked him to thank Superboy.

Sneaking back into my room was a lot more difficult that sneaking out. Thankfully my roommate and I had separate keys so going in was a breeze. She was already asleep when I got there much to my relief. I headed straight to the shower, eager to scrub off the mans filthy hold on me. I grimaced as I caught my reflection in the mirror, my skin was bright red from all the scrubbing and my eyes were puffy. I sniffed and looked away.

I didn’t sleep that night, not well anyway, but that was to be expected.

...

... to be continued ...

#dc #dc comics #batman #son of batman #damian wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #fanfiction #my fanfiction #robin #superboy #superman #lex luthor #metropolis #Soulmate AU #My Fan Fiction

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oncexinxmyxdreams · 3 years

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OC Profile

Mercedes Reyes (Encanto.)

Bio

Name: Mercedes Yarisel Cordova Reyes. Nicknamed Mercie or Merce.

Age: Story would start when she's 10; majority when she's in her mid-late teens and she passes away at 35.

Ethnicity: Colombian.

Species: Human.

Height: Exactly 5 feet tall. She's 4 inches shorter than Bruno.

Weight: 122 pounds.

Hair color: Dark brown.

Hair style: Mid-back length and no bangs. Likes changing it day by day: a loose braid, a bun, two braids etc. She starts wearing her hair down and free more often when she turns 16.

Eye color: Jade green. (Maybe have a pic of what color I mean in a separate post.)

Birthday: October 20th, 1899. She's three days younger than the triplets.

Gender: Female.

Sexual Orientation: Straight.

Powers (if any): None.

Distinguishing features (if any): Round face, arched eyebrows, full lips and small narrow nose. Small hands, long legs, and petite hourglass figure. (Hips and bust size got a little bigger after her pregnancy.) Skin tone like Agustin.

Blood Type: A+

Clothing

Day to day outfit: Spring green tiered skirt with tiered lines in a slightly darker shade. Dark teal lacy petticoat. Short sleeve white top that has a ribbon laced through neckline that matches her skirt. Black alpargatas.

Pajamas/What they wear to bed: A white nightgown with some lace and olive-green ribbon.

Formal Clothes: Two of them. Her wedding dress which was her mother's. Her Quinceanera dress was champagne colored because she thought it looked romantic.

Work/School uniform: When working in the tavern she wears a reddish-pink skirt and blouse.

Other (glasses, jewelry, etc): Her wedding ring which is simple gold. Small hoop earrings that have a few light green beads. Sunhat with a minty blue ribbon. Wears a green hair ribbon(s) that match her skirt and later on Bruno's ruana.

Health

Physical Illnesses: Uneven menstrual cycle. Eventually dies from Malaria.

Mental Illnesses or disorders: Struggles with depression during her marriage.

Medications?: Different meds to help her with malaria, but they didn't work. If Julieta had been there Mercedes would've steadily recovered.

Addictions (Drugs, alcohol?): Nope.

General Health: Its mostly fine though she dies at 35 years old.

Life/Preferences:

Likes: Long walks, exploring, swimming, dancing, and reading romance novels. She likes listening to Bruno's ideas of telenovelas and sometimes napping with him under the trees after a bad day.

Dislikes: Arguing, being bored, her mother's dismissiveness and people mistreating others, especially Bruno.

Career: Dreamed of being an artist but ended working in a tavern with her in-laws.

Hobbies/Talents: Collecting rocks and painting.

Habits (good or bad): Chews pencils. Used to be a thumb sucker until she was 5.

Family: Her mother Maria Reyes and deceased father Vicente Cordova. Later on, she gains a stepfather, Armando Orozco and a half sister, Desideria. Mercedes calls her Desi. Reluctantly marries Pablo Salazar but has her beloved fraternal twin daughters Francisca and Alejandra.

Friends: Julieta and Pepa. Bruno is her best friend.

Romantic/Love Interest(s): A big crush on Enrique Beltran, a boy she and Pepa were both pining for at some point. Bruno sees a vision of him not treating either of them well.

Pets: Two donkeys: Diego (Bruno had a vision of him dying) and Eliana.

Social Status: Middle class.

Favorite Food: Arroz de Lisa (rice, vegetables and salted mullet which is a type of fish.) Favorite drink is Limonada de Coco (Lime juice, sugar and cream of coconut.)

Favorite Color: No particular favorite color. She loves soft shades, and it changes a lot as she grows. When she was little, she loved pink. Starts wearing spring green more often as a teen.

Favorite genre of music: Vallenato (A folk music genre of Colombia.)

Favorite movie genre: I don't think they have movies yet in Encanto. If there were, she'd love romantic dramas.

Favorite Animal: Coatis.

Degree of Education: Regular education. I think Jared Bush said there's a school in Encanto.

What language(s) can they speak?: Spanish and English.

Can they cook?: Yes. She's not as good as Julieta, but that's fine enough for her.

Personality

Positive Traits: Compassionate, loyal, idealistic, easygoing and romantic.

Negative Traits: Self-conscious, overly private and avoids conflict too much.

Archetype: The Lover.

Way they interact with others: Polite, but she's very private about herself. She won't open up to just anyone which makes people frustrated when they try to get to know her. When she's trustful of someone then she reveals more of herself. She prefers being alone/spend time with one person than a big group.

Way of speaking: Voice inspiration (like I usually do for ocs) is American-Colombian actress Zulay Henao.

Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert. Her MBTI is INFP.

Backstory

Mercedes was born in Bogotá to Maria Reyes and Vicente Cordova. Unfortunately, Vincente passed away when she was little. Maria spent her grieving by traveling and finally settled in the Encanto when Mercedes was 10. She became friends with the triplets, but especially was close to Bruno. When Mercedes was 19, she was in an arranged marriage to Pablo Salazar thanks to Maria making a deal years before with old friends. Though Pablo was kind, Mercedes only liked him. They had little in common and she didn't want 10 babies! She was crushed to leave Encanto and never saw Bruno again.

Life Goals

Mercedes desires her own adventures like in her novels. They're romantic and theatrical. Her adventure just turned out different than she expected. Yet just because she passed away, didn't mean her adventure was over. It's connected through her daughters, and they're adventures which led them to Encanto and her childhood best friend.

#mercedes reyes #encanto #oc #not sure what to title the fanfic for this but we'll see #fanfic #fanfiction #maybe have Alejandra next?#bruno madrigal #encanto oc

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cuculine-nelipot · 4 years

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Wish We Could

Chapter Three: All Aboard (The Hogwarts Express)

2nd June, 1996

“So how was your date?” George asked with a sing-song lilt as soon as Fred arrived back at the store, an impish grin splashed across his face.

“What date?” Fred feigned innocence, and rather poorly. He wound his way through a maze of boxes, putting his things behind the counter before setting about stocking shelves with his brother.

“You know, the one you were on all day with a certain curly haired, amber skinned, friend of the family.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” answered Fred, pursing his lips and shaking his head as though lost. He told his brother everything, usually. But this was different — felt different. For now at least, he wanted him and Hermione to be just him and Hermione, alone together and shinning.

“Oh you know, about yay high, half-Indian, half-Caribbean, muggle born, a fair bit posh, definitely too posh for the likes of—“

“Mate,” his demeanour darkened dramatically, “if you don’t stop it, I’m going to have to smack you.”

Considering however, that in doing so Fred would wind up hurting himself too, George persisted, confident that he wouldn’t. A nice bit of twin magic that. Or a curse, depending on where you stood. So he followed his brother around the store, pelting him with questions.

“Where’d you go? What’d you do? What’s Foyles? Are those books? Can I see? Did you get something for me? Fred did you get something for me? Did you kiss? Did you hold hands? Did you kiss her Fred? Fred did you kiss her? You know it’s funny, I always thought Hermione and Ron— OW!” His upper arm throbbed in pain, and he looked down to see a red patch on his arm roughly the size of Fred’s fist. Fred stalked upstairs, his trainers thumping loudly on the steps, rubbing the same spot on his own arm.

Late that night, George rolled over in bed, and Fred’s arm throbbed in pain. “Sorry,” Fred said from his own bed across the room, his voice meek.

“It’s fine,” was George’s sleep-gruff response. He meant it, and that only made Fred feel worse.

“It was a good day. If you were still wondering.”

“Good, I’m glad.” And he meant that too. Fred could hear the smile in his voice.

Minutes trickled by, then hours. George’s breathes came slower, and quieter as he fell asleep. Fred lay awake, his eyes fixed on the blackness above. Fred and Hermione he said to himself over and over, finding new empathy for 10-year-old Ginny devoutly drawing hearts around Harry’s name. He couldn’t believe his luck, was almost certain it wouldn’t last, couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on borrowed time somehow. He said their names like an incantation, like a mantra, like a prayer. Fred and Hermione. He would hold on to it as long as he could, as long as he was allowed. Fred and Hermione. He let the phrase well in his ears, warm, and light, and rosy. He let it percolate through his body, shinning from his head to his toes, until at last he fell asleep.

1st September, 1998

He couldn’t exactly not go to King’s Cross, it being Ginny and Ron’s last year at Hogwarts and all. Seeing Hermione was just a bonus, even if she wouldn’t talk to him, or look at him. Even if she had ignored every owl and phone call since they last saw each other. Even if he had to see Ron kiss her, even if his only small comfort was convincing himself that maybe he saw her pull away away. It was, he thought, enough just to see her from across the station.

And Hermione hadn’t doubted for a second that he would be there. Still, seeing him set her teeth on edge. The familiar, biting, Fred Weasley brand of annoyance shot through her from stomach to her jaw. Just look at him, standing there, his legs spread in a V, one arm crossing his chest, the fingers of his other hand touching his lips, laughing at something Ginny says. His ginger hair coiffed, and in brilliant contrast to a white t-shirt and navy bomber. What an arse.

Hermione’s thoughts, like his, turn inevitably, unerringly, unstoppably to the last time they were both on Platform 9 and 3/4.

1st September, 1996

The rest of the summer had been peppered with moments like this; Fred tenderly rubbing cream into bruised skin beneath her eye after she had fallen victim to a trick telescope, Fred showing up outside her window on his broom in the middle of the night, to take her anywhere, or to just stay and talk a while, Fred, Crookshanks-like, reaching out to stroke her face while she read, Fred flinging and arm around her while they walked, or playfully shoving into her and running away so that she had to chase after him to get her revenge. Fred pulling her in for a kiss before she could.

Snogging, — this time behind a pillar in a half hearted attempt to not be seen, at least not by anyone who would care. Her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, something pink glittering under her skin, his skin. Neither of them had felt anything like it before and both we sure they would never feel that way ever again, not with anyone else.

“Stop it you’re going to make me late,” she whined, but she was smiling and made no attempt to pull away. Maybe she could spare a few more seconds. It wasn’t like she had to say goodbye to anyone else anyway.

“It’s fine that was just the warning whistle.” His voice muffled against her lips.

“Come on Fred. “

“Can’t,“ he teased, “don’t go there anymore.”

“Frederick,” she’d said in her best warning tone. She was going to be late for the prefects’ meeting. He was going to make her late. Fred let out a deep sigh, rubbed his nose against her neck, kissed her quick once, twice, three times on the mouth before he dropped his arms and let her go.

“Granger,” he called. She hadn’t taken three steps. Half turning around, she fixed him with a quizzical look. “I miss you.”

Ridiculous, she thought. She rolled her eyes. She walked away before he could see the smile that cracked across her face, grateful that he couldn’t see her blush.

She felt a pang of sadness, boarding the train. She hadn’t had anyone else to say goodbye to. At her insistence, her parents hadn’t come. The Weasleys’ are always running late. There wouldn’t be time for a proper goodbye. Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you at Christmas. I promise. I love you too.

Of course, she would have preferred they be there, but it seemed much too dangerous, all things considered. Voldemort clearly wasn’t hiding anymore, and she didn’t want anyone remembering what her parents look like. In fact, when whatever was coming eventually came, she wanted her parents as far away from her as possible.

But such thoughts were cut short by the fluttering of paper on her cheek. She pulled a small folded aeroplane from the air, unfolded it on her way to the prefects carriage, observed the now familiar script, halfway between elegant and utterly illegible.

You’re perfect Granger.

And just like that she was smiling again.

1st September, 1998

He throws another fugitive glance in her direction, but this time he catches her looking too. She narrows her eyes at him before snapping her attention back to her parents.

“You have to write to us everyday, do you understand Hermione? Everyday. And we want pictures. Lots of them. Do you have the camera?”

“Yes dad,” she says, trying her best to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“And film?”

“Yes mama.”

“Okay. Good, good,” her father says. Both her parents are looking at her with the same, worried expressions that cross their faces whenever Hogwarts had come up recently. They don’t particularly understand why Hermione doesn’t just do her A Levels, go to a nice Muggle university, stay far away from the world that had put her in so much danger. She hadn’t ruled it out entirely — A Levels and uni, but she isn’t one to not finish something she started, and she definitely isn’t one to run scared, at the first sign of trouble. Or the hundredth for that matter. Besides, there is the burning desire to experience at least one semi-normal year at Hogwarts to take into account.

“Are you sure about this darling?” Her mother asks again, the same pained expression on her face.

Her parents had married young, and were only in their mid-30s the first time they sent her off to Hogwarts. The intervening years had been kind to them, no doubt, but there was no denying the crows feet carved into her father’s dark skin, the wisps of white hair falling like thin satin ribbons, framing her mother’s ashy brown face, the creases in their brows. They had plenty of time left, it was true, but none they wanted to spare, and Hermione had been so distant for so long. Still…

“Very,” she says, apologetically.

“You’ll write everyday, won’t you?”

“Everyday,” she confirms

“Well, okay then. You better go.” The train whistles in agreement. Mrs. Granger pulls Hermione into a bony hug, all collar bones and elbows, but warm and comfortable nonetheless.

Everyone boards, Hermione piling into a carriage with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville. She gives her parents final kisses on the cheeks, leaning out the window as the Hogwarts Express glides out of the station.

She stays that way, leaning on the windowpane, long after King’s Cross is out of sight. She watches farm and field roll past as the crisp autumn air whips at her face. The carriage is crowded and suitably noisy, everyone excited and nervous in equal measure at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts.

A small paper aeroplane flutters toward her, pausing in front of her nose. She plucks it from the air, and unfolds it with needlessly careful fingers.

I miss you Granger.

No one is looking so, perhaps for the first time in her life, Hermione acts without thinking too much, without giving herself the chance to lose courage. No one pays attention as she rummages in her rucksack for a quill, or when she hastily scrawls a reply, refolds it into a plane, and breathes on it to make it fly. There. Now it’s done. Now he’ll know. No turning back now.

She feels lighter suddenly, and pulls her body into the carriage to keep from being blown away. She listens to Luna tell one of her ridiculous stories, and to everyone’s surprise, she smiles good-naturedly instead of tearing the (lack of) reason apart, as she would have done once upon a time.

“Alright, Hermione?” She turns to find Ginny looking at her curiously, her pink, delicate face set with perhaps the faintest hint of concern.

“Yeah,” Hermione says smiling, a reckless joy bubbling in her chest, “I’m great.” She laughs and Ginny, though she’s not sure what’s so funny, laughs too, simply happy that her friend is.

Things go quiet the closer they get to Hogwarts, each person drawing increasingly inward, all trying to imagine what it will be like to walk those halls again — halls that they themselves helped rebuild just months ago. What it would be like to eat in the Great Hall as they had done so many times, to sit through History of Magic knowing that recently they had no small part in making it. They pull on their robes in silence, do their best to clean up the sweet wrappers and pasty crumb. Harry puts his arm around Ginny’s shoulder and she leans into his side. He brings his hand up to play with the hair next to her ear. It’s unclear who is comforting whom.

Hermione looks out the window, not wanting to miss the first sight of the castle. Ron, in his seat across from her, leans over and tries to take her hand but she jerks away from the unexpected touch. Turning to find a wounded look on his face, she takes one of his hands in both of hers. Then she sees it, the silhouette of its towers against the fast dusking sky, a thousand lights winking in a thousand windows, and she feels magic rush through her veins again.

“Harry,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He is the only one of her friends who really understood the wonder of discovering magic, and Hogwarts. He is the only one who knows how it felt, learning that it came at so perilous a price. Switching places with Ginny, he leans toward the window, a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. The moment he catches sight of the first place that ever felt like home to him, she feels a slight squeeze, hears his breath hitch. She turns back to look to him, and he gives her a nervous smile, a glint in his eyes approaching something like wonder.

Fred was halfway home by the time it found its way back to him. He hadn’t expected to see it, assumed that she would have burned his little note to a crisp. So he just stared at its floating form, mouth agape. The paper plane, growing impatient, began insistently banging into his forehead. He snatched it from the air then, as though afraid of startling it, as if it might still burst into flames if he was too eager, unfolded it with cautious fingers.

I miss you too.

Taglist: @solunars @lovedyouthreesummers @keoghans @aquaeryn @thelasttime

#Fremione #fred x hermione fanfinction #fremione fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #Fred Weasley #Hermione Granger #HP #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfic #hermione granger fanfic #re-posting this because I somehow copy and pasted it wrong last night

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gloves94 · 4 years

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To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 4

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bully!Draco

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

1 9 9 1, September 1st

Harry and Nel talked a little about Hogwarts, their owls, the magic world and what not. After dinner Nel suggested that they venture out into the alley and go and get some ice cream. Being so late and not wanting to oversleep in the morning Harry persuaded her to stay by offering to share a pumpkin pastry with her. She was never one to complain when it came to food, so she accepted.

The next morning both overslept and left in a hurry. Because they overslept, they didn't have breakfast, instead Nel used her paid breakfast to buy some lemon biscuits to go for the rest of the journey to Hogwarts. Both went dressed in their Muggle clothes packed their heavy trunks and made way to King's Cross taking the tube. It must've been odd for Muggles to see them both. Two eleven-year old's alone carrying two large trunks and their caged owls. On the way Nel offered her seat to a pregnant lady who turned out not to be expecting a child and was very upset by her comment. Harry couldn't tell if she had done it on purpose to irritate the woman or not.

They arrived to Platform 9 but there seemed no sight of the 3/4. Nel still looked around anxiously worrying that this whole thing was some type of extremely elaborate prank. She was still waiting for Ms. Wool to pop up and claim her vengeance for the many evils the girl had done to her in the past.

"It should be here," Nel said looking down at her ticket.

Both found themselves lost and attracting the unwanted peering eyes of Muggles. The owls were growing irritating hooting loudly in protest of being inside of their cages.

"What do we do?" Harry asked feeling lost.

"Train leaves in ten minutes," Nel clicked her tongue and looked at a large overheard clock nearby beginning to feel somewhat stressed.

"-packed with Muggles, same every year-"

Both whipped their heads around. Muggles. That was only a word that wizards and witches knew. They had to be magical. Probably heading to the same place.

They spotted and decided to follow a plump woman with wavy red hair and her four children with the same matching colorful hair around King's Cross. All carrying trunks, one had an owl balance on top of his trunk. Yeah. They were definitely going to the same place.

"You're not old enough Ginny, hush," the mother scolded one of her children. "Now, Percy, you first."

The boy who seemed to be the oldest took his cart and lined up with the divider between the two platforms. The two eleven-year old's watched the boy attentively as he pushed his cart forwards briskly.

"He's going to crash!" Nel shouted with her big mouth attracting the attention of Muggles and Non-Muggles nearby.

She was in shock when he instead seemed to magically phase through the wall.

"First time?" The plump woman turned to look at the two children with a soft expression. She guessed they were both probably Muggle-born children. "We don't know how to get to the train," Harry said to her. Not being one to ever ask for help and much less from an adult Nel kept her ears peered waiting for instruction.

She placed a hand on both of the children's arms and kindly turned them towards the wall where one of her kids had just vanished.

"Walk straight at the wall between the platforms. Don't stop, and don't be nervous, or you'll crash, that's key. Best do it at a bit of a run, if you're nervous. Watch Fred," she said addressing one of her twins.

The boy scowled. "I'm not Fred, I'm George! Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother!"

The woman looked flustered. "Sorry George." She waved him forwards dismissively.

The boy grinned cheekily. "Only joking, I am Fred."

His mother scowled, aiming a swat at his shoulder when he passed. His twin yelled at him to hurry up, and the next moment, George was gone too. "Go on," She ushered both of the children forward with care. "Before Ron," she said signaling to yet another one of her red-head children whom the others gathered to be Ron.

Harry stepped back allowing Nel to go ahead. Part of her mistrusting nature suspected that he wanted to see if she would slam towards the wall or not. Regardless she nodded and took in a deep breath, gripping her cart tight. She ran towards it elbowing a Muggle on the way. She braced herself for impact wincing at the expected pain. Instead she phased through the wall just like that woman's other children also had. Glancing back over her shoulder Nel could only see a wall. Yet ahead of her- This world was never going to cease to amaze her. Before her on the platform stood a regal scarlet colored engine train that was generously puffing out heaps of white vapor steam. She gaped at it in awe face breaking into a broad grin. It was then that she spotted a spot of white from the distance.

It was that same rude boy she had meet at the bookstore. His parents were bidding him goodbye as he got ready to board onto the train.

"Oi!" She said quickly approaching him blocking his path and forgetting all about Harry or the red heads. She stood on his way hauling her trunk and owl behind. "It's you," she glared at him.

"What do you want orphan?"

Really? That was the best insult he could come up with. How unoriginal. Even Aisha could probably come up with something better. She scoffed at his petty insult.

"About that-" She began starring him down. "Don't tell anyone… about - well, about my family. Please?" Her expression softened a bit.

"Embarrassed?" He taunted with no shame.

"Never," She narrowed her eyes, her expression hardening once again. It wasn't a complete lie. "Not that you'd understand, but I don't want to be known as the orphan girl in a new school. Know what I mean?" She attempted to get him to emphasize just a little.

"And why should I do as you say?" He shot back boarding the train challenging her. "After all, you're just a filthy little mudblood," He spat the vile world.

Nel had never heard such a slur. She had no idea what it meant. She brushed it off her thick skin with no concern having been called worse by others. She didn't have a single good reason why he should listen to her besides the one she had just given him. If he wasn't going to be reasonable, she left him no choice. She left him no choice. "Because if you don't - I'll make you regret it," she threatened.

He looked at her for a moment before laughing loudly in her face and retreating inside of the train.

She glared at him. He made her feel that same way Alf and those other bratty kids that were in her life made her feel. Powerless. And that word she had called her. Mudblood. She didn't know why it left such a filthy taste in her mouth.

Climbing in the train fuming. She carefully plotted her revenge. She kept a careful eye on the back of his gelled head as he entered a compartment. Nel looked for a place of her own and went inside of the first compartment she could find where three girls and a boy were sitting. Two of the girls were twins and introduced themselves as Padme and Parvati Patel. The other girl had large bushy hair and stuck out her hand formally introducing herself as Hermione Granger and lastly the boy she was to sit next to was dorky looking his name was Neville Longbottom. He was holding a large ugly toad in his hands and looked as if he wouldn't last a minute at Wool's. They made idle talk before the train began to move. The students in the compartment stood up and were pressed up against the glass waving their goodbyes to their families excitedly.

It was then that the lightbulb went off in her head. An evil smile carved her features as she snuck out of the compartment without another word.

It took her a minute to assemble the tools she would need to make her plan a complete success. Being most resourceful she had to improvise but it would work.

Nel walked a tea trolley down the corridor. The porcelain teacups and pot clinked as she advances. She discretely peered inside the windows of the several compartments looking for that shiny white head savoring the beginning of her petty vengeance.

It was then that she spotted him. He sat on a compartment with two hulking gorillas like looking boys who were laughing at something he said. A scowling girl with shoulder length black hair sat across from him. Nel walked inside unannounced without knocking and stuck in the trolley car. She had tried her best to set up the elaborate display of lemon biscuits she had gotten for her lunch as well as the simple tea party.

It seemed convincing enough.

"Lovely day, ain't it? Lads and lady," she addressed in the most cordial tone she could muster her dark eyes zeroing in on the blonde boy. The edge of his lips curved up in a vile smirk.

"This is the girl I was telling you all about," he said bitterly. "A mudblood orphan," he spat in a tone that seemed to suggest great disgust at her lesser status. There it was. That filthy word again. "And now it seems like she's the help!"

The girl before him laughed obnoxiously loud, the other two boys simply sniggered at his comment.

Alright, you lot of pricks. Nel was even more certain now that she had to do this. They were all officially going on her shit list. She would greatly enjoy what she was about to do.

"Haven't you ever heard of the student service club?" She arched an eyebrow and spoke in the most convincing matter of fact tone she could manage. "If you volunteer you get extra points. We run the Hospitality Trolley. It always passes by right as the train leaves. Everybodyknows that."

"Like house points?" The girl asked sounding terribly confused.

Nel had no idea what house points were. She meant like bonus points to a grade point average, but this could work. "Something like that," she shrugged casually and began pouring the tea into five of the teacups on the trolley.

"That's ridiculous," The blonde scoffed suspiciously. "We haven't even been assigned out houses."

"They count towards it. It's magic," she reasoned in a most convincing argument. "Cheers," She said lifting up the teacup and brining to her lips. Hesitantly at first, they followed suit each grabbing one of the lemon biscuits on the table.

"This tea is cold," The black-haired girl looked at the tea cup she was holding with degust. The water was tinted a yellowish shade of green.

"That's because its Norwegian tea," Nel lied through her teeth sounding as snobbish as possible. She couldn't even point out where Norway was in a map, but as long as she sounded convincing enough that would do the trick.

It was then that the four brought the teacups to their lips. "Why does it taste funny?" The round-faced boy asked grimacing at the taste of the cold tea.

"This is the most god-awful tea I've ever had!" The blonde said with his nose scrunched up in great disgust.

"It takes a while for your pallet to accustom to it. It's a very sophisticated taste," she tried her best not to laugh as she attempted to sound as snobbish as some of the people in cooking shows did.

"Disgusting. You said this was Norwegian?" The girl gagged sticking out her tongue.

She couldn't help it. A squeak escaped Nel's lips. She laughed a little. "You'd say it tastes kind of swampy right?" She said holding on to her tea cup yet not drinking it.

It was then that the four other students realized. They went mute for a second and a loud croak shattered the silence in the compartment. Their wide eyes all zoomed into the porcelain tea pot. Whatever was inside croaked once again before leaping out of the pot escaping. The blonde dropped the teacup making it shatter on the floor. He gagged reaching for his throat dramatically acting as if he'd been poisoned. The girl that was sitting across from him did the same and instead sprayed out a fountain of toad tea which wet the blonde boy in front of her. She looked horrified, turning a bright shade of scarlet. The other boys looked nauseous as if they were going to be sick.

Nel lost her cool bursting out in a loud laugh before running out of the room. She wasn't going to stick and find out just what they had planned for her. Her feet loudly stomped down the corridor as she successfully evaded capture. Thankfully the service cart being inside of the compartment slowed them down in their chase.

She ran inside of a compartment and pressed up against the blind spot next to the door's window heaving, her heart racing from the excitement of the chase. Turning to face the people in the compartment she noticed Harry and that red-headed boy they had met earlier. What was his name again, Ron?

"Oh, there you are Harry," she said in a casual airy tone.

She could hear the footsteps of those other kids stomping down the hallway as they looked for her.

"What did you do?" Harry asked with a shocked expression.

It was then that the compartment door slid open. Nel pressed so hard against the wall behind her she could've morphed into it. The girl that had been in the compartment with them stuck her head in and asked if they had seen the culprit. Both Ron and Harry's eyes glued themselves to the culprit who was holding a finger to her lips pleading for both of them to be silent.

The girl left fuming. Laughing loudly Nel plopped down on a seat next to Harry.

"What did you do?" He repeated.

"Somebody pissed me off. So, I went out of my way to make their day," she laughed evilly. "Who?" Asked Ron curious.

"Dunno," Nel shrugged without mind. It was then that she stretched out her hand across the compartment to Ron. "Nel Saintday," she smiled brightly. "Pleasure."

Ron's rat squeaked. The children looked down to see a fat, gray rat which was sitting on Ron's lap. "Mind Scabbers, he doesn't do anything and is practically useless. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff - I mean, I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears went pink in embarrassment.

Harry shrugged. "The Dursleys never gave me a proper present either." Harry smiled. "Same," Nel said sincerely. "Best gift I ever got was an ash tray, and I don't even smoke," she snorted jokingly making both Harry and Ron laugh.

Ron smiled feeling better already.

Moments later a woman complaining someone had stolen one of the trolleys from the front walked in making the girl turn red as she attempted to stiffen her laughter. The woman brought in a trolley filled with a lot full of candy which made the mouth of the children water. Suddenly the girl was regretting giving her lemon biscuits to those toad tea pricks. Ron and Nel would've never said it but both looked at the candy with longing. To their surprise Harry bought the whole thing.

Nel ate so much candy and without shame she felt like she had grown a second stomach. Ron was the same. Even Ron's rat seemed to eat. "He'd have died, and you wouldn't know the difference," Ron said looking at his rat with disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but it didn't work. Look..." He drew out a battered wand, the unicorn hair poking out of one end. "Anyway-" It was then that the compartment opened. Nel flinched getting ready to bounce behind the wall when she assumed it was one of those boys, she had made to drink the toad tea. It was instead the girl with frizzy curly hair from her compartment. She stepped in. "Ah, there you are Elowen. We were wondering where you went off to," she paused for a moment. "Has anyone seen a toad?" she didn't ask. She demanded to know. "A boy Neville's lost his."

Nel smirked and sniggered slightly. Both Ron and Harry looked at her perplexed before shaking their heads.

Ron continued to practice his spell at a poor attempt to make his wand turn Scabbers yellow which was a major fail. "Are you sure that's a real spell?" She said in a know-it-all tone. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" She spoke so fast that it made Nel's head spin. "Ron Weasley," Ron mumbled.

"Harry Potter." Her eyes widened with interest at Harry's name. For a moment Nel forgot that Harry Potter was a celebrity in the Wizarding World. Hermione rambled about Harry's accomplishments and bragged about all the books she had read. "Do you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, I better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon. Your trunk is still in our compartment Elowen."

With that she left. "Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," Ron said irritably. He tossed his wand aside annoyed that his spell failed. "Fred and George gave it to me; should have known it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" Harry asked curiously.

"Gryffindor, Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad but imagine if they put me in Slytherin." He wrinkled his nose.

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat. "What's wrong with Slytherin?" Nel asked. Not mentioning that she had met the head of said house the day before.

"There hasn't' been a single wizard that's gone to Slytherin that isn't a complete git!" Ron said bitterly. It sounded almost personal to him. "Hagrid said they have a reputation, that they've all 'gone bad.'" Harry explained.

Nel gave her house sorting some thought. She wasn't a bad person. She shrugged a little, whatever house she was in it for sure would not be that one. She felt she was too good for it.

Moments later the door opens again. By this point Nel had lowered her guard and had forgotten all about the frog tea she had made those kids drink.

It wasn't the sweets lady or the Granger girl this time. It was that blonde boy she had met at the bookstore. The two boys that resembled his own personal bodyguards standing closely behind. One of them cracking his knuckles ready to pummel her.

Uh-Oh.

"You," He growled out dangerously glaring at the girl.

He was about to say something horrible to her when he noticed the scarred boy that was sitting next to her.

"So, it's true. They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment. So, it's true? It's you, then?"

Harry starred at the three boys at the entrance. The boy flickered his hand at the boys behind him and absently introduced them. "This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ah, so that was his name. Ron gave a slight cough, not quite disguising his snicker. Malfoy stared down his nose at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He looked at Harry. "You'll soon find out that some families are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort." He looked at Ron and Nel with disgust. "I can help you there." Ron looked down in embarrassment. Nel leaned back on her seat with an irritated look on her face as she glared at Malfoy crossing her arms over her chest. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," Harry said cooly making the girl sitting next to him smirk in approval of his response. "Oooh," she laughed at the comment.

"Think that's funny?" He glowered at the girl his ears turning pink from the embarrassment. "I'd be careful if I were you," he warned Harry slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. You hang around riffraff like the Weasleys, Hagrid and this one here long enough, it'll rub off on you."

Ron and Harry leapt to their feet ready to fight.

"Say that again!" Ron demanded, going as red as his hair. "Oh, are you going to fight us now?" Malfoy sneered.

"If you don't get out now," Harry said boldly.

"Hardly seems fair," Nel stood up with a cocky smirk standing between the two parties. "Three against three? Do you not know how to count?" Malfoy sneered.

She could've sworn she saw one of the boys behind her raise his fingers and begin counting.

"Yeah," She huffed. "But they have me."

One thing Malfoy had underestimated was that you should never cross someone from the streets. Specially if they have nothing to lose. In that moment Nel felt she could've belonged with Nico Shafer's gang of troublemakers. Scrunching her face, she stepped forward and shoved Malfoy as hard as he could making him topple backwards between his friends who also stumbled back barely catching him before falling on his bum. The three staggering out of the compartment.

"Stay away and keep your gorillas away from me Malfoy! Unless you want to find something uglier than a toad next time, you're enjoying a cup of tea!"

He looked aghast at the fact that somebody had actually dared to lay a hand on him. "My father will be hearing about this!" He exclaimed. She rolled her eyes at him. His threat going in through one ear and exiting through the other. With that she slammed the door on their faces and turned around triumphantly.

"You better watch your back Saintday!" Draco leaned in and hissed at her through the window. In response Nel smiled smugly and lowered the blind so she didn't have to look at his pointy face. She heard them retreat with frustrated footsteps.

Harry and Ron starred at her with their eyes wide, mouths ajar in awe. "Some people just can't handle the tea," she smirked.

"Wait- that's who pissed you off?" Harry asked.

"What did you do to him?" Ron asked with his eyes wide.

"You know how that boy’s toad is missing?" She smiled wickedly before telling the boys of the success of her vile prank.

Ron was laughing so hard he was holding onto his stomach. It almost looked like he was about to cry. "That's bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed falling back on his seat with a broad grin on his face. It was almost as good as the type of prank his twin brothers would've pulled maybe even better. "Should've seen the look on his face. He could've just died! It was toad-atally awesome," she laughed obnoxiously.

That same night. The students arrived to Hogwarts for the first time. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and one of the twins that was in the compartment where Nel had left her trunk were all sorted into Gryffindor. The other twin went to Ravenclaw.

Nel was one of the last ones to be sorted.

The hat didn't even give her a second to participate in the decision-making process. Quickly defining the next seven years and probably the rest of her life.

xxxxx

STARRING THE ORIGINAL CAST OF THE HARRY POTTER SERIES with ELLE FANNING as DAPHNE GREENGRASS HARRY STYLES as THEODORE NOTT and AMANDLA STENBERG as TRACEY DAVIS

Xxxxx

AN: What House do you think Nel will be sorted into?

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

we might be hollow (but we're brave) [jan x jackie] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - hey! incase you hadn’t noticed i’m in love with this ship and I had these lyrics and timestamps in my google docs for months with branjie but it just wasn’t fully fitting. thanks to Alex for betaing and i hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think <3

we might be hollow (but we’re brave)

We’re never done with killing time

Can I kill it with you?

‘Til the veins run red and blue

1 7 0 7 - 0 3 - 1 5 - 2 0 0 9

The car hums, low and hoarse as Jackie waits in the school lot. She’d offhandedly promised to pick up her english partner and all of a sudden she’s regretting it, twenty minutes late and low on fuel. She switches it off, flicking the key, and then back on again, hoping not to burn out the fragile engine.

She runs out of the school sweaty and flustered, gym bag slung haphazardly over her shoulder and for a second Jackie is fixated on the way Jan’s baby hairs have plastered themselves across her forehead. The smaller girl slings her bag through the open back window, watching with a smirk as Jackie cringes - sending a warm smile in gratitude.

They play the music loud and keep the air con on low, just cool enough to dry Jan’s hair without the native New Jerseyan complaining about how it’s warmer in the arctic. Jackie’s from Canada, she doesn’t really care.

Jan gives vague directions to her home as and when she sees fit, often directing Jackie to take turns she didn’t even know existed when they’re already almost past them. It drives the brunette mad as she abuses the car’s delicate steering, all to navigate the New Jersey suburbs.

What she does notice is they end up barely two streets over from her own house. A standard three bed, two bath, decent garden house that looks just as identical as every other one in the neighbourhood.

It’s painted blue. Jackie thinks it fits.

They spend the early evening reading excerpts of Romeo and Juliet to each other on Jan’s porch. The blonde reads on the porch chair as it swings aimlessly in the warm early spring breeze. She’s still in her cheer uniform and Jackie doesn’t have a chance to ask how she manages both cheer and soccer. Jackie barely manages hockey.

They eat homemade ice cream sundaes and watch the sunset over the eerie glow of the street lamps until Jan complains she can’t see the pages anymore and Jackie has long since stopped making notes on prose and characters.

They don’t talk about school tomorrow because they won’t see each other. Jan asks if she will pick her up. Jackie says yes.

We come around here all the time

Got a lot to not do, let me kill it with you

0 7 3 2 - 0 4 - 0 2 - 2 0 0 9

Jackie gets a text at half past seven telling her quite emphatically that Jan is running late. There is no question posed that Jackie can discern on the Nokia n95 screen - the glare from the early morning screen compromising her vision anyway - but she grabs her rucksack and the keys to the car and swings round the corner anyway.

She rationalises it by telling herself that it’s on the way to school anyway. It is.

She pulls up and Jan is sat on the porch steps in a pastel pink denim miniskirt and a glittery letterman jacket. She skips to the car and slides onto the front seat with a telltale squeak of bare legs on leather, throwing her bag onto the backseat in a way that still makes Jackie cringe even after two weeks. She smells of lemongrass and vanilla.

The blonde giggles and Jackie catches her mouth curving up in the reverse mirror, so she lets Jan pick the music and just focuses on the gear stick and anything else in her control.

She watches as the blonde sways to Fifteen by Taylor Swift, belting out the lyrics like she can feel them in her soul. They’re sophomores but they were freshmen last year and to be honest, from what she knows of Jan, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was her life.

They pull into the school parking lot to the sounds of Fearless and even Jackie cracks a smile at the way Jan is beaming. They have five minutes before they need to be in school and Jackie averts her eyes as Jan twists awkwardly to grab her bag from where it ended up on the floor, skirt riding up so the brunette can see the plum lace of her panties. She gulps and pulls out her well worn copy of Little Women instead. Not watching as Jan quickly reviews her AP Biology textbook.

“Thanks Jackie! You’re the best,” Jan calls as she slams the rickety car door on the third attempt.

“Anytime Jan.” And Jackie finds she means it.

You pick me up and take me home again

Head out the window again

We’re hollow like the bottles that we drain

0 1 2 5 - 0 7 - 1 7 - 2 0 0 9

Jackie’s phone vibrates under her pillow at one in the morning on a friday. They’ve been on summer break for a month and Jackie hasn’t really done much but she’ll admit she’s missed Jan. Until she woke her up that is.

She answers it with a defeated sign, tugging on her oversized Van Halen t-shirt until it feels decent even though no one is going to look into her tiny bedroom. The light filters through the window in a way that makes it feel like she’s in a weird horror film and she remembers why this is called the witching hour.

“Come over Jack, I’m bored,” comes the whine from down the phone and Jackie has to stifle a laugh even though she knows how much trouble she could get in for this. She sighs. She can’t really argue - doesn’t want to. She’s always been called boring. She doesn’t want to be anymore.

“I’m coming Jan, gimme five.”

She tugs on an oversized jacket and pulls a pair of gym shorts under her shirt, grabbing the running trainers from the bottom of her closet and spritzing a couple of squirts of sandalwood and shea from her almost empty perfume bottle. When she’s pretty sure she looks okay, she pushes up her window and thanks the gods she’s over the porch. It’s well structured and surprisingly easy to climb both up and down (her brother proved it to her last week) and she slides the window shut behind her as she shimmies down stained wood into the crisp summer night.

It’s not cold and the summer moon means it’s not dark either so she manages the walk quite calmly, feeling a freedom she sometimes forgets she has.

Jan’s sat on her porch steps in a pair of grey joggers and a black sports bra, draped in a tartan blanket and with what is unmistakably a bottle of wine gripped between her thighs.

They don’t actually talk for a while, just pass the bottle between themselves taking swigs of it like it’s water until Jan is giggling at a sparrow - the moon making her blonde hair glow in a way Jackie deems completely unfair. She’s ethereal, godlike in this light and Jan wants to tuck some of the escaped strands back behind her ear so she can watch the shadow in the curve of her upper lip.

She wants them to talk about boys, or talk about girls - to delve into who they are because surely that’s how you should spend wine time at two a.m but the wine is all gone and Jan’s cheek is soft on Jackie’s padded shoulder and somehow their fingers intertwine.

She starts humming something under her breath, something old - a song her dad used to sing her to help her sleep and Jan tugs at her hand to make her sing it louder until Jackie is serenading the sleepy neighbourhood with Mama Cass.

She shakes Jan awake just after four as the sun rises down the wide street. Their knees are stiff but Jan stands up, tugging Jackie by the hands into a hug. She’s not sure what it’s for but it’s welcomed and when Jackie clambers back through her window she can smell vanilla.

You drape your wrists over the steering wheel

Pulses can drive from here

We might be hollow, but we’re brave

0 5 0 2 - 0 1 - 0 1 -2 0 1 0

She’s clad in a hoodie and leggings when she pulls up to the big house. The party she was at finished hours ago but she’s told Jan to text her if she needed her and apparently she needs her so she’d put the heating on full blast and grabbed a blanket out of the trunk to wrap the smaller girl in when she came out.

She watches as she walks carefully out of the house, feet bare and stiletto heels in her hands. Jan slides into the front seat quietly. She carefully drops the heels into the foot-well and puts an awful lot of effort into fastening her seat-belt just right until she looks up at Jackie and something snaps.

Her eyes are red and raw and her lipstick is smudged across her chin and she looks so tired Jackie wants to bundle her up, hold her close and never let her go. But she doesn’t.

She places one hand in her lap and drives calmly to an empty house down the road, pulling into the drive and turning the engine off.

Jan is gripping her hand like a lifeline, clammy fingers twisted around soft flesh. In the light of the streetlamp, there are scratched on Jan’s bare thighs and Jackie gulps on reflex - choking back something that could have been a retch if what she’s thinking is true.

She takes a second to compose herself, brushing through Jan’s hair with her free hand. “You okay baby?” She asks quiet and still - trying to keep the situation as tranquil as she can.

Jan takes a huge snotty inhale, broken by sobs, and shakes her head. She tries to speak but she isn’t breathing enough to form words and all that’s coming out is a choked whimper.

“Hey, Jan honey, you’re safe,” she murmurs, “look at me babe.” She repeats it until the blonde will look her in the eyes, her cerulean orbs pooling. “Can I touch you?” Jackie asks, her tone soothing, and Jan nods slowly.

Jackie places a cool hand on her shoulder and feels the sticky sweat against her dry skin. The smell of cheap vodka, beer and mens cologne is filling the car and it makes her feel sick. She’s not a partier or a massive drinker but by the smell alone she doesn’t understand the appeal. She moves quickly, whipping her head around as she remembers the water bottle she keeps in the door. She places it in Jan’s lap and gently coaxes her to take a sip.

After a little while longer Jan rolls her shoulders back and squeezes Jackie’s hand appreciatively. She nods to herself while trying to find her words and Jackie rubs slow circles on her back.

“It, it was twelve and everyone was cheering,“ she starts, slowly, methodically. "And he- he wanted a kiss, which was fine because everyone was kissing and I’d joked last week that I’d kiss him so it was okay,” She pauses, justifying things that don’t need justifying, setting off alarm bells in Jackie’s head to the point where she’s mentally screaming and the story hasn’t even begun.

“But then,” she continues after a sip of water, “at like three, he pulled me aside while Jaida and Gigi were dancing and asked me for a kiss and I said yes because it seemed like the right thing to do.” She’s got silent tears running down her face again and Jackie wants to tell her she doesn’t have to keep going but she’s frozen in place. “But then it, it took a while and he took my hand and he put it down his trousers and he started kissing down my neck.” The words aren’t given tone anymore. They’re cold hard statements of fact that are rattling through Jackie’s ribs, making her fight every urge she has to vomit because Jan’s become her best friend.

“And I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t like him like that and I just wanted a fun kiss. But he made me touch him and I didn’t want that at all.” Jan starts to shake so Jackie pulls the blanket back over her, Keeping one steadying hand on her knee - steadying for the both of them. “So I pulled away and he called me a whore and then I trapped myself in a bedroom and then I texted you and it was awful Jackie. It was terrible and the worst part was I just wanted you.” She sobs openly but the tears run clear now - the mascara washed off her face and she seems lighter and that’s all Jackie could ask for.

“You are so brave Jan,” Jackie says with as much confidence as she can muster. “You are so brave and that man is a coward and a dick if he thinks he can do that to a woman and you are the strongest person I know, don’t you forget that.” She leans her forehead on the side of the blonde’s head and sighs.

“I’m so sorry baby."

“Me too,” Jan murmurs. “Me too.”

I love these roads where the houses don’t change (and I like you)

2 2 5 6 - 0 5 - 2 2 - 2 0 1 0

“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,” mutters Jackie, knees bouncing, clammy palms on the leather seats.

They’re racing down the empty street, lamps flickering as they pass. If it was any lighter, neighbourhood watch would have caught them out by now because this is almost certainly not within legal speed limits for the suburbs. Jan passes house after house as they try frantically to make it for Jackie’s eleven pm curfew, the wind low and whistling as it cuts the car. They know the stakes.

Jackie’s face has turned a pale shade of white in fear of the reaction she will face, scraping in just under the time agreed. How her mother will react to Jan driving the family car back home, kissing her gently on the cheek and walking two streets to her own home.

They pull up at ten fifty-nine and Jan almost bursts into tears.

“See you tomorrow?” She asks softly, wistfully.

“Yeah,” Jackie exhales, tomorrow.

Where we can talk like there’s something to say (and I like you)

2 3 5 8 - 1 2 - 3 1 - 2 0 1 0

Jan makes Jackie pull over when she notices the time. They’re both too drunk to be driving and too sober to be alone and they’ve got the windows down as the sea breeze tunnels through the car. It smells of sunsets and saltwater and ice cream sundaes and Jackie’s hair and Jan is hooked.

The old car clock ticks quietly above the hum of the engine and the barely-there sound of the waves and Jackie finds pleasure in watching Jan’s eyes fixate on the hand. It swings around, red against the clock face.

Jan catches her staring and her eyes burn blue into Jackie’s deep brown. It’s a cold night but they’ve both pulled the blankets from the back seat and suddenly the blonde is aware of how small the vehicle is because there is not enough room between their faces and-

Their lips touch. Spark. Flicker. Ignite.

And then she’s warm and intoxicated and just a little bit in love but she thinks the dopey smile suits her - heads lolled back on the headrests, hands intertwined.

I’m glad that we stopped kissing the tar on the highway (and I like you)

1 6 2 4 - 0 2 - 1 4 - 2 0 1 1

Jackie drives them to the beach at sunset. They sit in the boot of the car on a picnic blanket in a parking spot that overlooks the crashing waves and it’s an illusion of stillness Jackie struggles to find anywhere else.

They hold hands because no one can see them - drink a bottle of champagne stolen from Jan’s Mom’s wine fridge. The blonde is bundled up in Jackie’s chunky knit cardigan and she looks warm and cosy and just a little bit like home.

“Hold me,” Jan asks, with eyes like saucers and a tone rolling in sugar. Jackie blinks slowly - capturing the image of her girlfriend in this moment before reaching to pull her into her arms. They don’t have much room but Jan somehow manages to straddle her - a hand on each cheek as Jackie grips her hips. The brunette bites her own lip softly and suddenly their mouths are pressed together and she’s not sure if it’s the sea air, the girl or a little bit of both but it tastes like magic and she doesn’t ever want to let it go.

“I love you,” she exhales into her hair - just above her ear.

“I love you more,” Jan whispers onto her collarbone.

“Sure Jan,” Jackie giggles, pulling Jan closer, burying her face into her hair. “Happy Valentine’s day baby.”

We move in the tree streets

0 8 3 5 - 0 8 - 2 8 - 2 0 1 1

“We’re only gonna be four hours away,” Jan mumbles, fingers finding Jackie’s with ease. “Why does that feel like the whole universe?”

They’re sat on Jan’s front steps - she has to leave in an hour if she’s going to make it to NYU for move-in but she’s not quite sure how to put one foot in front of another. Her life is packed up in boxes behind her but her world is holding her hand.

“Four hours baby. That’s all,” Jackie coaxes, “we can do it.” She says it with so much confidence but her bottom lip is trembling frantically. She got a place at Penn State and she’s happy. It’s what she wants - to be away from her family - to grow. Unfortunately that means being away from Jan too.

“Will we make it?” Jan asks - and it’s so earnest it breaks Jackie’s heart.

“Yes.” Jackie says. And this time her lip is still.

I’d like it if you stayed.

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #jan sport #jankie #lesbian au #coming of age #song fic #fluff #s12 #pinkgrapefruit #tw noncon with unnamed side character #tw mild panic attack #still fluffy though #jackie comes from a strict household #jan reads shakespeare #hi i hate trying to make sense of your fucking tags. -v

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thehomosapien7495 · 3 years

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Acne: Benefits, Treatment, and Cost

Acne, or in simpler terms, pimples, and zits, is an increasingly common skin disorder today. Affecting mostly the younger age group, the causes of acne include hormonal changes, diet, stress, a hot/ humid environment, or even certain oral medications. When the acne on one’s face becomes severe or progresses to the later stages, it causes extreme scarring. These scars are difficult to be rid of and can cause high emotional distress as well as impact self-esteem.

However, thanks to advanced science and technology today, acne treatment has become an actual possibility. Those suffering from acne can now choose to have their acne treated and their scars removed. In today’s article, we’ll be covering everything one needs to know about acne treatment in Mumbai, its benefits, costing, and more! Let’s get right into it, shall we?

What Causes Acne?

First and foremost, we need to know what causes acne. Acne occurs when the tiny holes in our skin aka the hair follicles get blocked. Here’s how: sebaceous glands are glands that lubricate the skin and prevent it from drying out by producing an oily substance called sebum. When acne occurs, these glands produce excess sebum which mixes with dead skin cells and as a result, clogs the follicles.

What Causes Acne Scars?

After the acne pimples subside, acne scars are a result of the fibrosis of the skin tissues healing. Acne scars are also caused by popping zits and pimples. Acne, if untreated, can leave behind dark marks and pits. Initially, the skin left behind by acne looks and feels different from the skin on your face. But, over time, the body replaces the area with skin that closely matches the rest of the skin on your face and body. Acne scars fade and heal depending on the size of acne, type of scar, depth, and other personal health factors.

Basic Treatments for Acne

The primary and basic treatments for acne include oral medications and topically applied creams. While some of these medications control sebum secretion and reduce bacterial inflammation, the others work towards controlling active acne. Some basic treatments help to fade out marks and scars as well. However, it is important to note that these medications and creams are prescribed based on an individual’s particular skin condition and medical history. If you’re looking for acne treatment in Mumbai, we recommend you consult with a dermatologist or skin specialist and only use the medications they prescribe after an examination.

Advanced Treatments for Acne

In some cases, acne can be advanced and chronic. In order to tackle the skin condition at its worst, doctors recommend certain modern techniques and procedures. Let’s take a look at them.

1. Medical Clean Up

Blackheads and whiteheads not only impact the aesthetic appearance of the face but if left untreated, can go on to form painful acne. The medical clean-up procedure, as the name suggests, refers to cleaning off blackheads, whiteheads, and comedones from the face. The process involves a combination of thorough cleaning, moisturization, chemical peeling, and extraction on the face. One can expect softer, smoother, and blemish-free skin after the process.

2. Medical or Chemical Peels

Medical or chemical peels are an age-old process that involves applying lactic acid to the skin. Lactic acid or the chemical peels help in removing dead skin cells allowing the production of new cells and collagen to be formed. The type of chemical peel is advised to you by your dermatologist as per your skin type and condition. The procedure entails causing a controlled injury on the skin which leads to wound healing, causing new smoother skin to grow. The process highly helps in improving skin texture, reducing scars, and ultimately, getting softer, beautiful-looking skin.

3. Laser Spot Reduction

Laser technique involves the use of Q-Switch NDYAG lasers to lighten the spots and marks left behind by acne. The laser beam is highly precise, targeting only the spots and marks, leaving out other areas of the skin unaffected. The laser-targeted areas are seen to be lighter in tone post-treatment with no evidence of any scars and marks. The procedure is entirely safe and it’s advised to undergo this treatment under the supervision of a qualified professional with efficient equipment.

4. Microneedling

Considered as one of the most effective treatments for reducing acne scars, micro-needling, or skin resurfacing involves the use of a derma pen. A dermapen is a small electric device with multiple pins on its head. These pins are pricked into the skin to create hundreds of tiny holes. The process causes controlled damage, resulting in collagen production and getting the desired results.

Cost of Treatment

Acne conditions can vary from individual to individual, and naturally, so will the treatments and their intensity. Below are some indicative prices of acne treatment in Powai available at our clinic InUrSkin:

1. Medical Face Cleanup - Rs. 1000/- onwards

2. Medical or Chemical Peels - Rs. 1300/- onwards

3. Laser Spot Reduction - Rs. 1000/- onwards

4. Microneedling Treatment - Rs. 2000/- onwards

You can prevent Acne breakouts by following simple steps of anti-acne regimen mentioned in my blog here - https://www.inurskn.in/be-spot-on-with-your-anti-acne-regimen/.

Acne is one such skin condition where the earlier you seek help, the better. Acne, if treated in time and at its early stages, can prevent you from a lot of worry in the long run. Be certain to consult with a dermatologist to work out how advanced your acne condition is and which treatment is best for your skin. Are you looking for a skin specialist to do acne treatment in Mumbai? Consult online with Dr. Sejal Saheta’s expertise and experience at The Personal Touch - our Online DoctorCare service. We’re a dermatology clinic with 15+ years of total experience offering the best services in cosmetology and dermatology. Dr. Sejal has extensive experience in conducting acne treatment in Powai and always offers appropriate solutions to her patients. You can be rest assured - we, at The Personal Touch, only advise and recommend what’s best for you and your skin.

About INURSKN:

Built on more than a decade of experience of Dr. Sejal Saheta, we are an honest and affordable skin & hair care clinic. Our goal is to make each patient comfortable and happy with their appearance with the least amount of intervention. InUrSkn is equipped with the latest technology, from lasers for skin rejuvenation and skin lightening to more traditional skin polishing machines. Located in Powai, Mumbai we are easily accessible from both central and western suburbs. In case we have been able to help you achieve your health and beauty goals, please do review us at:

On Practo: http://prac.to/vkpj

On Google: https://goo.gl/zHfACo

Disclaimer:

This article is one in a series of articles on skin conditions by Dr. Sejal Saheta – MD, DNB – Dermatology and Venereology. The objective of this series is to educate the reader and help them take precautions against various skin conditions they come across on an everyday basis. These articles are not meant to be used by patients for self-diagnosis or for avoiding proper medical treatment. The images used in the above blogs are just for the visual representation of the treatment results may vary from patient to patient.

#acne treatment in mumbai #acne treatment in powai #skin specialist #skin doctor

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years

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all roads lead - ch. 8

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,212 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

Chapter 8: PACK

They end up at the ice-cream shop.

Whilst its outside is nothing but peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that now only reads ' C R AM', the inside is a hidden gem of smooth pastel surfaces and large booths, paired with upbeat 80s music and the heady scent of melted chocolate and burnt sugar.

Going in, Stiles knew he was about to be submerged in enemy territory. Still, walking in to the scent of wolves heavy in the air brings back memories of the supernatural cafes and bars in New York, of the stink that had surrounded Peter when he came back from alpha meetings. He has the sudden urge to scrub his skin raw or spray perfume; he shifts closer to Malia.

The booth by the window is filled with what Stiles assumes is Scott's entire pack. There's Isaac, beside a girl with dark hair that Stiles recognises - Allison, who lives in his old house, who of course is connected to all of this, because everything in this fucking town is.

He can't help but frown at how close she sits with everyone, how easily she laughs with them, despite the stink of wolfsbane and iron that clings to her. They don't even seem bothered by it. Stiles has seen packs with humans in them before. But hunters?

The thought flees quickly as he notices the last two of the group. A girl with straight brown hair and an etched frown, and an older guy - maybe twenty-five. Both with Peter's jawline and bright blue eyes.

Stiles forgets how to breathe. Scott is talking, the others sliding into their seats, but the world is ringing, tunneled upon these two, so achingly strange yet familiar.

"Stiles?" The sound rushes back to the scene, and he looks down to see Scott has put a hand on his arm. He sees the tell-tale snake of black veins disappearing quickly up the other alpha's sleeve, so fast he could have imagined it. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. It's been a long day. What were you saying?"

"I was just introducing everyone."

"Cool, cool," Stiles slides into the booth at the edge beside Malia, facing Scott. His beta leans against him, her shock a far less visible force, but just as shaking.

Scott introduces everyone. Allison gives them a grin that is so sweet it almost hides the sharp edge behind it. Stiles barely registers that her surname is Argent, that he should probably be panicking at the fact that he has her family's blood clinging to his hands, but the information settles somewhere in the back of his mind for later, far less important than his current panic attack.

"And this is Derek," Scott says, confirming what Stiles is already acutely aware of. "And Cora. Hale."

Derek, for his part, appears distant. His mouth is permanently curled down, his eyes staring at a point on the wall opposite. He nods noncommittally in their direction. The table goes uneasily silent for a moment, and Stiles feels he must be missing some important context to this scene.

"Nice to meet you, I guess," the girl says, tone as biting as Stiles would expect-

What had Scott said? Cora Hale. Cora Hale, not Laura. Cora, who was listed as one of the casualties of the fire. Who had been in their year at school until she had vanished that night in a puff of smoke and flame.

"Guys," Scott breaks the silence, "this is Stiles Stilinski, and Malia Tate. They just got back into town and are living with me and Isaac."

Everyone leans in with interest at that. There's a question in their eyes he knows he's not supposed to see, a less-than-subtle shake of the head from Scott. No, this silent conversation says, they're human. Not a threat.

Not pack.

Thankfully, Stiles is saved from trying to bridge a conversation by the arrival of the waitress. Money isn't an issue for him or Malia, not with the exorbitant funds Peter left behind. Between the stress of the day and the ADHD in the back of his brain screaming for sugar, Stiles goes absolutely ham, and even Malia orders a few waffle cones without the ice cream- she still hasn't gotten used to being cold without her fur, let alone inflicting it upon herself on purpose.

He watches the other pack, feeling more than ever like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He can't help but study them as an enemy - just in case, he tells himself, ignoring the rational part of his brain that accuses him of paranoia. It's not paranoia if someone's out to get you, and Stiles is sure that between the mess they left behind in New York, and the mess they've discovered here in Beacon Hills, it's only a matter of time.

Eventually the blood will find them.

But for all he knows of the current situation, this pack does not seem like one in crisis. They laugh easily with each other. They lean towards each other, towards Scott, as if he is the sun, and they are just planets orbiting around him. Allison and Isaac trade comebacks across the table. Lydia inputs with sniping comments and imperious facts, switching it up with forceful compliments so genuine that the whiplash makes his head spin. Even Derek manages the occasional deadpan remark, and Cora tries, too, though she looks as awkward as Stiles feels - a new addition to the pack, he assumes.

He wouldn't guess, watching this family through the window of an ice-cream shop, that so much death and blood hangs over their heads.

Of course the peace can't last long. The conversation turns to him and Malia like an inevitable landslide Stiles can only watch rushing towards him. He feels how out of place they are in this scene, how Lydia in particular watches him as if she can see the death that weighs down his shoulders.

"So where did you say you spent the last seven years?" she asks, as if the question has been building momentum on her tongue all this time.

Uneasy, intensely curious silence drops like a weight over the table. Scott shoots nervous glances between the two of them, but everyone else watches with a hunger Stiles feels devouring him from afar.

"New York," he says, allowing a confident smile to settle on his features, as if this is all he needs to say. He has a suspicion that Lydia has conversations like chess matches, and tipping his hand with nerves is something he cannot afford.

"How'd you end up in New York?"

"I got a bus, how else would you get there?"

Lydia's eyes narrow. "Why did you end up there?"

"Getting lost in a city is easier than a town like this."

"So you left of your own accord."

"I didn't say that, and I don't think it's any of your business."

"How come you're back now, then?"

"Circumstances changed. There was nothing keeping us there anymore."

"You said you were here to pay your debts," Allison chimes in, pointing at him accusatorially with her ice-cream spoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Stiles curses silently, taking a moment to weigh his options. "I owe my dad for not being here," he says slowly. "I owe Scott for not being here. Whether it was my choice or not. Me and Malia just want a chance to live a normal life. To finish high school. To leave the past in the past where it belongs and where it should die. If that's okay with you?"

He spits the last question at the table, satisfied when he sees the ripple of uncomfortable guilt across their faces. Lydia's eyes remain narrowed, but he feels the tension ease somewhat. After all, for all intents and purposes he's just declared his allegiance to their pack - to Scott. That's really what this conversation is about, all other curiosities aside. Are you a threat to our alpha? Are you planning to hurt him more than you already have?

"Personally I fucking hate school," Malia says, crunching down on a waffle cone and snapping the remaining tension in an instant. "Stiles is the real nerd here. I just highlight everything in the textbook and hope for the best."

"You can just borrow my notes," Lydia sighs. "Everyone else does."

Malia grins at her, though Stiles can see the moment her thoughts wander back to Kira, to their study sessions together, and the enthusiasm turns sour.

"Maybe we could help you guys prepare for the aptitude test?" Scott asks. "Lydia's a certified genius, and I'm only failing French at the moment."

Stiles manages a smile. "I'd like that."

~~~

"Can't sleep?"

Stiles is sat on the roof that evening, staring up at the nearly full moon. It always pulls at him like this as it grows - he used to sleepwalk in the early days. Now, keeping his wolf under lock and key so often, he finds the urge, the gravity tugging him out into open sky, irresistible.

He nods silently, and Scott pulls himself up onto the roof to sit beside him. For a moment, they simply stare at the moon, transfixed.

"Nervous about going back to school?"

Stiles snorts. "School is the least of my concerns."

"I feel that," Scott nods. His voice is so heavy, so tired, that Stiles looks up immediately to examine the other alpha's face. In the moonlight, the sunshine that usuallt radiates from him seems diminished. There are deep purple bruises beneath his eyes. His shoulders slouch as if they hold the weight of worlds upon them.

For all that Stiles avoided questions during the day, now he finds his own bubbling up inside him. "What..." his voice hitches unexpectedly. "What happened when I was gone?"

Scott's heavy expression turns guarded for a second, before dropping, as if those walls are unnatural to erect, their weight too much to bear on top of everything else. He really is just a naturally open book, all too genuine.

"A lot, Stiles."

"Tell me." He knows anything he learns now will be a filtered truth filled with holes, but he wants desperately to know that he didn't ruin this boy's life by leaving. That the blood of another future isn't on his hands.

"You... you left. Theo left not much after."

"I was wandering where that guy got to."

"His sister died in the preserve; his family moved to start fresh, I think."

No death in the preserve comes without a half dozen red strings attached to it. Stiles files this information away for later.

"Your dad... Stiles, it was bad. Really bad. He got suspended from work. He went to rehab. Relapsed. Got put in the cells a couple times to sober up. Everyone tried to help him, but..."

"He'd lost everything," Stiles whispers. He doesn't want to hear this, the confirmation of his worst fears about his father. All of this is his fault.

"If you- if you ran away, Stiles, I wouldn't blame you. Your dad at his worst, he wasn't a great guy to be around. I can imagine how scary that must have been. I just wish you'd told me what it was like. I could've helped. You could've stayed with me. You didn't have to leave."

Stiles says nothing. Scott's hand inches towards his as if he wants to rest it on his arm like he often does with Isaac, to give that tactile support that pack relies on, but it falls short, resting unsure on the roof tiles.

"Anyway, my mom kinda staged an intervention, along with the old sheriff, and a couple of the deputies from work. She has experience with, y'know, after my dad. I don't really know what happened, but somehow he got back on his feet. Started going to AA meetings. Got promoted to sheriff. Started dating my mom. They've been married a year now. It was a really nice ceremony, actually. Low-key. You would've hated it."

Stiles lets out a soft laugh. "They seem good together."

"Mm," Scott replies, his mind a thousand miles away.

"Can't help but notice you're avoiding talking about yourself, though, Scotty."

"Says the guy."

"Touche."

They lapse into silence. Scott's heartbeat is steady but his scent is awash with a mixture of melancholy and regret that Stiles is intimately familiar with.

"You seem to be doing well, now, at least," Stiles says eventually, as the energy pent up in the quiet begins to itch at his skin.

Scott sighs and nods, both gestures at odds with each other. "Isaac and I became friends a bit after you and Theo left. Both the kids with no friends, y'know?" Stiles cringes. "He moved in in the spring after his dad died. And Allison moved here in January. She became friends with Lydia, who became friends with us."

The information in this story is so sparse Stiles can feel the tidal wave of details slipping in between. But how can he ask for more? How can he ask how did you become a werewolf and who did you kill to become an alpha and how long has it been, how are you so good at it, what am I doing so wrong?

"Derek and Cora aren't usually as rude as today. Well, they are - I think being a dick runs in their genes. But their sister was killed a couple weeks ago - animal attack - and it kinda fucked them up a lot. She was a really great- person."

A really great alpha, Stiles thinks, as another of the puzzle piece slots into place. He feels an unexpected pang at the thought that he will never meet Peter's older niece. He wanted to see what made the Hale pack so special. He wanted to look that woman in the eyes and ask her how she could sleep at night knowing she abandoned her pack.

"A lot of death in this town," Stiles notes as nonchalantly as he can. "Animal attacks. And my dad mentioned something about a serial killer. That's insane, man."

"It's a lot, yeah," Scott says, that heaviness returning to his shoulders like Atlas reclaiming the sky. "There was this guy. He fucked us all up in a lot of ways. But he's gone now, and somehow I think we're all better for it? I mean, we've been through so much shit. I've seen my own blood on my hands more times than I can count in the last year. But without him, I never would've become who I am. Never would've become friends with Lydia, or Derek and Cora, or..."

The names of ghosts linger on Scott's tongue before vanishing like smoke.

"Sounds like some guy," Stiles laughs, all-too aware that Scott has told him more than he probably should have. These are not the official stories, the normal stories of a teenager. And yet he doesn't seem surprised that Stiles isn't horrified.

"That's certainly one way to describe Peter."

Stiles' world shivers to a stop; shatters into a thousand diamonds all reflecting the stillness of this night, this moon.

"Peter?" he manages to choke out. His heart, he knows, is racing too fast, betraying his racing thoughts, but the world is turning to ice and dust before his eyes, and he can't bring himself to care.

"Peter Hale," Scott says slowly, eyes narrowed towards Stiles in concern. "He's Derek and Cora's uncle, but they're nothing like him. He came back to town to settle some old score with his family and got a bunch of us tangled up in the process."

There had been two months, at the beginning of the year, when Peter had vanished. Business trip, he'd claimed, as if he had a consistent job and didn't simply pull cash out of his family's obscene inheritance.

Stiles' curiosity had burned, but he'd been too busy nursing Malia back to health from the gaping hole in her head, the screaming nightmares she had to claw her way from drowning in, to care about much else.

The Peter who returned had been so quiet. His temper shorter, his remarks snider and crueler. Reckless. It had taken months for the tension, the weight, to ease from his body, and by that time the three of them had found themselves hunted for sport and chained up in their own apartment. The beginning of the end.

"Sounds rough," Stiles manages a half-strangled laugh.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I just-" The night has become cold enough to freeze his skin, and yet he feels heat rising like a fever in his chest. His thoughts are too fast, his lungs too small to contain the world. The moon above is little more than a haze of silver, glaring down at him in judgement. "Today's been a lot, I think. Seeing everything I've missed, everything that happened because I left-"

"Nothing is your fault, Stiles-"

"You don't know that, Scott. You don't know what might have been different." You don't know what I've done. That everything you've suffered might have been because of me. "And I'll have to live with that every day."

"You're back now," Scott says, a fierceness in his voice Stiles hasn't seen before. The other alpha finally reaches up and places his hand on Stiles' shoulder, the skin-on-skin contact like electricity grounding him to earth. "And I don't care about the past. You wanted a new start, this is it. Here, with us. You just have to let us in."

"I want that more than anything. I just... how do you ever stop looking over your shoulder? How, after all the blood you've seen, how are you so happy?"

Scott purses his lips, thinking about it. His eyes leave Stiles and find the moon above them. This thing they share, that tethers them together more than any past or rivalry might. They are both wolves in love with the stars.

"I'm not happy," Scott says quietly. "Some days the world feels so heavy I can barely stand. You should have seen me earlier this year, I was a total mess. But I put a lot of work in over the summer. I take every day as a new start. I talk to people when I can't carry the load alone. It helps, to have someone to share with. I'm sure you know that from Malia."

"I don't know if I have the energy for that work," Stiles admits. He refuses to acknowledge the burn of tears beginning in his eyes.

"So take it one day at a time. School. Social life. Life, in general. Each step is a good one, even if sometimes you feel like you're sliding backwards. It's all a journey, and it can't always be a race. Sometimes you just gotta rest."

"Wow. You should write a self-help book, Scotty, that's some motivational shit."

"I try."

They lapse into silence, staring at the sky, and somehow Stiles finds his head resting on Scott's shoulder. He hasn't been this physically close with anyone except pack, isn't sure how to feel, how to reconcile how his heart aches for touch and his skin crawls at the thought of it.

His wolf whines silently inside him at how good it feels, and how wrong it should.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #malia tate #scott mccall #fanfiction #lydia martin #own work

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mythicamagic · 5 years

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Ulquihime Week: Day 4

@ulquihimeweek

Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime (UlquiHime) fanfic. Chapter Two - here

Rated T

Summery: Orihime has an imaginary friend, who happens to be a terrifying creature living in the woods behind her summer home.

For Ulquihime Week 2019 Day 4: Haunting/Touch Starved.

AN: This one is a little...weird. Think of it like a fairy tale/ horror /friendship /eventual romance?

Eldritch

At six years old little girls still believe in many things: Magic, ghosts, monsters, Santa, unicorns, the tooth fairy. Yet their beliefs are usually rooted in what they've already been told is possible. Santa lives at the North Pole and visits on Christmas. Unicorns can be found in forests. Tooth fairies only visit if you lose a tooth. The evil spirits in bathrooms usually resided in the last cubical.

Orihime Inoue had the profound ability to believe in almost anything. To give imperfect things palpable form inside her mind as something new. If Sora held up a sock puppet because her parents couldn't afford to buy a doll, she'd willingly suspend her disbelief and see it as a fierce cupcake dragon. If she ate red-bean paste on bread because they were low on groceries, she'd taste honey on pancakes or strawberries and cream. Dust came from magic spiders who liked to throw salt shakers of grey specs everywhere. The gloomy, faded lights of their dingy neighbourhood weren't half dead lightbulbs, but winking fairies or playful spirits. Graffiti was a technicolour, ancient language she didn't understand. The rivers and skies was a playground for the Gods. Sora could be her Mama and Papa in place of their actual parents.

So it surprised absolutely no one when Orihime claimed one day that Batman was her best friend.

---

He had been born from nothingness.

The only indicators that he was even alive were from the sharp, broken twigs on the forest floor tickling his hard, pale skin, and the solid earth supporting his back. That and consciousness.

He had no visible features, lacking a mouth with which to eat, or eyes with which to see. No hearing with which to listen, fingernails to claw and pry, fur or hair with which to shelter, and no heart.

Essentially, he had been born to experience nothing. A worthless, meaningless birth. He felt the absences of what he lacked with a keen, visceral emptiness.

The creature lay in a pale heap, content to die.

But something disturbed the clear nothingness surrounding him. Raising a hand, long fingers flexed wide, searching for the thin sensation in the breeze. The slightest, barely-there touch had him snatching something out of the air. Pressing it instinctively to his face, his form shuddered and convulsed.

Twin slits cracked on the creature's face. Muscle started to move and fix itself together. Skin crumpled as paper-mache lids pried themselves open. Long black lashes grew forth and the creature blinked the dust from his newly formed grey eyes. Muddy colours and blurry forms assaulted him, until he looked directly into an orb of something harsh and bright. Shielding his eyes, he looked down. Focusing on the dirt felt safer as he took a moment to practice blinking, seeing an afterimage of that burning light.

His sight cleared, shapes coming into focus.

Lifting his head and glancing around at the forest, slit pupils shifted. Sunlight filtered through the leaves. Blue skies could be glimpsed further still above. Hundreds of countless trees surrounded him.

Green. So much green.

His grey eyes let the colour leak into the canvas of his irises, making them give way to lush emerald. Touching his black lashes gingerly, the creature instinctively pried out one that didn't fit quite right with the rest. A small, single sun-kissed orange eyelash lay in his palm.

He found the colour acceptable.

Muffled, quiet vibrations thudded on the ground not too away then, like footsteps. Somehow, he could feel it. Lifting his gaze upon seeing movement in his peripheral vision, the creature stilled.

A little girl stopped in unison with him, tilting her head. The hair spilling out from under her sunhat blazed the same bright, fiery colour.

Deaf to her words, he could only watch as her mouth moved. She then hesitantly shifted forward, silver eyes bright and filled with nebulous flecks of brown. Gesturing to the orange lash in his palm, her lips curved, and the girl beamed.

For some reason, he then heard her words clearly, blessed with sound. "Are you my new friend? You can keep that eyelash in exchange!"

He stared uncomprehendingly, seeing a reflection of his image in her eyes. Proof of his existence. Distant tweeting could be heard in the trees. The scampering of strange, tiny creatures raced up tree trunks.

Something ran down his face from his eyes. Her expression crumpled and became alarmed, taking out a tissue from her pocket. "Oh no, don't cry! I promise I'll be a good friend!"

Racing over, she knelt and pressed the soft white thing against his dry cheeks. No matter how much she fussed and rubbed, the teal lines that made him look like he was constantly in mourning remained.

---

The girl had spent a few hours with him every day from then on, jabbering. Now that he'd received both sight and sound, the creature drank in all the newness surrounding him. He did not understand why his form was grown, with longer limbs than the girl, or why she saw fit to blush and remove her coat, telling him to cover his lower half with it. He did not understand much about himself at all, but everything she talked about, his frayed knowledge pieced together. The more books she read to him, the more his mind caught on until he became impatient with her slowness to describe the words.

'Sora' was her older brother, she said. A brother was a sibling. Her parents were poor. Parents raised their young. Being poor meant having no money with which to buy things.

The girl was called 'Orihime Inoue.'

When he gestured to himself, she blinked at him. "Oh, you're Batman!"

'Batman' did not sound right. But he supposed she was his God, his maker, despite not having palpable proof of such a thing. It felt correct to assume she knew best.

When she returned into the woods that bordered her back garden again, this time Orihime chewed an apple. She took out another from her red frilly dress, handing it to him.

"Oh...can you eat without a mouth?" She frowned.

Mouth?

Eat?

She tilted her head, saddened. "You must be really hungry," her tiny hand patted her stomach.

Hungry.

His stomach felt empty then, twisting into knots. Perhaps that was what she meant.

Yes, hunger.

He supposed he was.

'Batman' did not expect much to come from it, but the next day, Orihime trotted out through the bushes, giving him a gap-toothed smile.

She presented her baby tooth to him with all the flourish of a magician. "For you! This way, you can have a mouth! I could have saved it for the tooth fairy, but I'm giving it to you instead. I wrote her a letter explaining that eating food is one of the best things in the world, and my friend needs to know what it's like more than I need yen," she nodded happily. Her exuberance faltered slightly then. "Um, I think this will work. I hope. When you got that eyelash you got eyes, right?"

The creature reached out and took it between bone-thin forefinger and thumb. Instinctively he pressed the tooth to the appropriate place on his face.

A natural slit curved open, spreading wider as he stared at her, mentally mapping the look of her mouth. Behind the lips that formed came other intricacies of the mouth, muscles and such- that allowed him to open his jaw, accepting the tooth inside. Others formed an upper and lower row of the same bone-white teeth, strengthening until they were adult molars, canines and the like.

When finished, he parted his lips, plucking out the baby tooth and handing it back to her, a new tooth instantly regenerating within his mouth.

Orihime blinked, not thrown by witnessing the somewhat gruesome creation. "Your upper lip is all dark," she patted her top lip.

He mimicked the action but obviously could not see. Without fear, she casually pried her thumb into his lips to flash his new teeth at her.

"Wow! So many!"

Batman did not like this so he shied away from her touch.

"I guess you still can't talk though," small shoulders fell. "You probably need a tongue for that."

Tongue?

She stuck out her own, grinning. "You can't have mine! But I will go fetch you some food. I hear that ice-cream and soup are good if you struggle to eat. Please stay here!" The little ball of sunshine turned, bounding away without another word.

Green eyes stared after her, before mismatched lips opened. Touching inside, he indeed felt an absence inside the wet, hot space. His finger traced over the bumps and edges of his new teeth with fascination.

When she eventually returned, Orihime fed him peanut butter ice-cream and soup. He couldn't taste it, so the texture was all he had to go on as he swallowed. It was fine. He opened his mouth for more, and she giggled, calling him a glutton. He frowned at her tone and took the spoon off her, feeding himself.

She told him about her abusive parents, a drunk of a father and prostitute mother whom her brother, Sora, had saved her from. Ulquiorra understood some of the intricacies of what she said without fathoming her sadness or happiness. He did want to learn specifically, what the term 'glutton,' 'drunk' and 'prostitute' meant, but could not ask. Gesturing to her summer holidays homework in her backpack, he was rewarded with her teaching him how to read at her level. He caught on quickly, adapting, thirsty for knowledge.

Orihime gripped his large hand in both of her small ones and his curled long, pale fingers around a pen. She then grinned and taught him how to write in large sprawling characters.

She left him with a strand of her hair, which looked as though it had been kissed by the sun. He'd dutifully touched it to his head, where long, flowing dark tresses grew and fell to his shoulders, sprawling unevenly and wild.

----

From one of her broken fingernails came his long sharp talons.

With them, the creature felt that he now had the right tools to hunt, which she explained was what he'd need to do in her absence.

It was just as well, because a week later, Orihime had to leave. She'd made him a house of twigs and branches, a poor attempt at shelter, while explaining that she'd been staying with Sora at a cheap 'holiday home' they visited every year and rented for two weeks. They were now leaving for their city home. Batman felt no emotion at her departure but frowned slightly when water leaked from her eyes, running down chubby cheeks.

It smelled sharp and strange.

She'd scrubbed at her eyes and waved, promising to see him next year. Ulquiorra had nodded. With all the caprice and carelessness of a child, she'd then left her creation in the woods alone.

Orihime wanted him to have a tongue and it felt imperative to get one immediately. Legs shook as he stood, and he glanced down at the new blanket he'd tied around his waist at her behest.

He set down the advanced dictionary in his hand and tried talking a few steps, mimicking her walk, but soon panted. Sweat dotted his brow from the effort of walking the expanse of his clearing. He'd need to build strength. Eventually he'd get the hang of it.

---

"That's horrible."

Orihime looked up from her doodles to glance at Sora in the driver's seat, who listened to the radio.

"This attack was random and unprecedented in this town. Kenta Yano remains in hospital and has been unable to communicate to authorities who exactly is responsible for viciously severing his tongue from his mou-" the dial was snapped to the side, turning it off. Sora glanced at Orihime in the rearview mirror and gave a smile.

"Who wants pancakes with broccoli when we get home?"

"Ohhh I do, I do!" Orihime raised her hand, the distraction working its magic as they left the woods and summer home behind them.

----

The creature found that without her, the days blurred into one. He kept himself busy by reading the books she'd left him but they were quickly committed to memory. Rain poured heavy and endless sometimes. It had forced him from the usual clearing where they talked, finding a small cave and clawing at the earth to carve a space deeper for himself. He then lay down, suspending any and all thought; sleeping.

A year later, when she came hurrying through the woods again, clad in a summer dress and skirts flitting about her knees, Orihime found him exactly where she'd left him, but he now stood upright on two legs. More books were stacked atop each other, carefully stored in the shelter of a tree. They appeared to have been stolen from the library, but since the collection wasn't out of control, it could only be assured that he'd been putting the books back after reading them. The trunk had been carved out into shelves, keeping them safe. Orihime felt kind of proud. She'd told him not to steal.

His form had changed. Black fur now coated his arms up to his elbows, feathers sprouting from his shoulder-blades, yet more dark fur on his legs and lower-half, ending at his waist. She supposed he must have gotten cold in the woods. It only occurred to her then that she could have given him a pair of Sora's pants, and felt a degree of guilt. Maybe she'd been a bad friend.

He glanced at her, eyes wilder than she remembered, but he spoke eloquently, in steady, clipped tones.

"You are late, Orihime Inoue."

She burst into a wide smile.

---

"Murciélago," he said one day on her 8th birthday.

"Hm?"

"My name."

Orihime scrunched up her nose with concentration. "Mercy-"

"Murciélago."

"Merci...lego."

Flat green eyes told her he was not amused.

She huffed, looking apologetic. "Can I not call you Batman?"

"If you want to be incorrect, yes."

Seeing her state of furrowed brows and continual struggle to say it, he bit back a sigh, glancing up at the branches. "...Ulquiorra, then."

"Ulqui...orra," she murmured, before brightening. "Ulquiorra! That's a nice name."

He did not need her opinion on the matter but nonetheless felt assured and proud.

---

"I think it would be fun if you could fly," she mused one day, wading through a stream at the bright young age of 9. She claimed to be searching for stardust, because gold didn't satisfy ogres, apparently.

Since he was used to her random outbursts, he took it in stride, watching her from the bank. "Do you want me to fly?" He asked, gaze gliding over the bruises on her arms. He did not ask what they were from.

Orihime laughed softly, "maybe. Sure!" She then tapped her bottom lip. "But my brother says it's good to have a tail if you want to fly."

He blinked as she gasped and clapped her hands, dropping the bucket of precious stones she'd found into the water. "Ohh! Imagine if you had a lion's tail!"

----

She heard about the local zoo's break-in and subsequent attack on its male Barbary lion. She didn't think much of it even as she hugged Ulquiorra's newfound tail, which was thin, black and long. She had a wonderful time playing skip-rope with it.

Her laughter always resounded- not in his ears- but in the hollow of his chest which lay hidden beneath a surface of skin and muscle. The sound echoed and bounced off the walls long after she'd left him alone. In those times, he resented her presence in his life. The echos left a pulsing, aching thing. When his chest was silent, there was no sensation. An absence. A nothing. Nothingness did not hurt, so Ulquiorra came to the conclusion that nothingness was happiness.

----

"Your hair is shorter."

That smile he always noticed wobbled and shrank, before finally disappearing altogether. She curled her arms tighter around her knees, "some...girls cut it at the playground."

"Without permission?"

"Mhm," she scrubbed at her cheek, shoulders shaking a little. "I didn't tell Sora. I just said I felt like a change," her voice became thin and fragile. Ulquiorra watched as she struggled with something, holding back tears. She blinked rapidly and raised her head, exhaling. Not one fell.

His slit pupils dilated slightly. Even at ten years old, she was a strong girl. Different from the brats he'd glimpsed sometimes playing in the woods.

"It's just that...they made me feel like I was nothing," Orihime scuffed her shoes on the forest floor, disturbing leaves. "Just trash to be discarded. Girls always do stuff like this at school, but I didn't think it would happen while I was here. I like coming to the summer house... to be happy for a little while."

Happy? He blinked. Was she not usually? She smiled so often, indicating happiness. "There isn't anything wrong with being nothing," his tail thumped and slid over the forest floor. "But you are not trash."

She turned to look at him, brows furrowing. "I'm not?"

Ulquiorra stared at her, face as expressionless as ever, but a firmness crept into his tone. "No."

----

The next day, Orihime wandered to the playground cautiously, only to blink at the sight of the girls there. They sat, hands curled in their short locks that ended above their shoulders.

Frowning slightly, she made to approach. They hadn't looked like that yesterday. Their hair had been long and lush. The girls immediately noticed her and squeaked, hurrying away with frightened wails. One of them, the girl who Orihime remembered holding her down as the others had snipped at her orange locks- tripped and fell.

Orihime wandered closer, "what happened to you all?"

"Stay back!" The girl cried, dragging herself backwards on the mud to try and scramble away. "Keep away from me! You're a witch! A-a witch who summons demons or something! You sliced off my hair! I know it was you!"

Flabbergasted, Orihime could only watch as she turned and clawed at the ground to pick herself up and bolt away.

Naturally she'd visited Ulquiorra soon after. "Did you cut their hair?"

Vivid green eyes slid away. A rare thing. He always stared, like he were burning the image of her into his retinas. "You'll have to be specific."

Small hands drew into fists, "those girls. Did you...hurt them?"

"They hurt you," he pointed out evenly. The creature shifted and blurred, appearing much closer than she'd anticipated and causing her to startle. Long, sharp talons slid into her hair, gliding nails through the locks briefly, before drawing away.

Orihime swallowed, experiencing a brief flash of wariness for the first time. She then shook it away, putting her small fingers over the sharp tips of his claws. "You can't do that again."

"Why not?"

She frowned, trying to explain. For once, she felt out of her depth, "because it's wrong. Sora says it's bad to get revenge...to be w-wrathful."

He considered this, having no use for her human concerns. "Are you ordering me?"

"U-um..." the girl faltered. "Will it stop you from doing it again?"

"Yes."

"Then don't hurt any humans again," Orihime nodded with satisfaction.

Ulquiorra bit back a sigh, inclining his head. The ensuing pensive, thoughtful silence was soon broken by him slowly verbalising what had bothered him all night. "They were frightened of me. Even before I did anything to them."

"I suppose that's normal," she mused. "You're not like them."

His usual melancholic expression didn't change, but a kind of weight settled into his next words. Like a soft demand to know. Ulquiorra had never demanded anything of her before. "Are you afraid of me?"

And as usual, honesty stared him right back in the face. She visibly gentled and smiled. "No, I'm not."

---

The next year, she did not come.

Orihime did not visit the year after that or the year following that either.

Ulquiorra eventually plucked a bat from a tree and ripped its wings clean off its squirming body. He then pressed them to his shoulder blades and forced the leathery appendages to lengthen and grow, attaching them into his body and weaving the muscles and bone together. They soon towered over him in height, enough to support his weight in the air.

Theoretically.

It took a few attempts, but soon it took jumping and freefalling from a tree to actually work the wings enough to glide. A few more days and he was leaping into the night sky, flying.

He did not find her right away. Actually it took two more years to track the girl down, as he moved only at night and kept to himself. Ulquiorra observed as he went, becoming used to crawling down alley walls to peer into windows and observe humans. He'd scared away a homeless man who'd been squatting in an attic of a warehouse, watching television. Ulquiorra had promptly seated himself before the square of moving images and bright lights, learning.

They were all so similar and yet different, humans. They all wanted things, be it money, relationships, security or fame. They spouted ridiculous things about emotions and 'the heart.' He found that his assessment of them kept changing. Their books had taught him so much- and yet not enough. Orihime had been something unnamed and yet he wanted to name it. Was she special to him only because she'd given him what every creature usually possessed? That of the five senses? That sounded logical.

And yet it felt incorrect. It was not just that.

Ulquiorra eventually tracked the girl down by closing his eyes and feeling for something invisible. That same pull in the air that had happened when they'd first met. Energy he couldn't name or find a word for it with the language she'd taught him.

He soon pushed a window to an apartment open, tail sliding into the dark room and feeling for the floor before the creature followed.

The light in the bedroom switched on, causing him to freeze, eyes widening.

"Ulquiorra?"

Bedcovers rustled and sounded like they were being pushed back. Ulquiorra shifted, turning slowly to look at the woman.

She blinked, sitting on her bed, eyes looking wet but cheeks remaining dry. "I-it's you..."

He stared, transfixed. Orihime had changed.

His mental image of her shifted; bones growing, hips curving, body filling out, hair lengthening. She was a woman now. The child that had taught him what 2+2 meant was dead and gone.

He didn't react to the change, merely updating his information on her appearance and assumed maturity.

She stood, walking toward him with vague confusion. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, sliding down in waves to end at her mid-back. Ulquiorra blinked, his foot drawing back slightly, instinctively. Something pooled in his stomach. Similar to hunger, but illogical, since he'd already eaten.

"I thought...I don't-" her voice wobbled, uncertain. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't return."

She bit her lip, tugging it between her teeth. The sensation in his stomach tightened into liquid heat. Ulquiorra shook it away.

Finally, her grey eyes slid away, like she were ashamed. "Sora died."

He processed this, picturing the brother he'd glimpsed beyond the treeline sometimes, waiting for her. A tall, dark-haired man. "I see. Do you expect me to comfort you?"

She flinched, holding her arms. Slowly, slim fingers glided over the tanned skin, nails biting in. "No," she murmured. "After he died, my aunt began giving me money so that I could keep myself afloat here. On my own," grey eyes slid to the window, guilty. "I wanted to see you but I didn't have enough to come-"

"You're poor. It's to be expected."

The words didn't upset her. Ulquiorra was always painfully blunt. She decided to be equally straightforward, looking at him.

"But...I'd like to give another order. If that's okay?"

Ulquiorra mulled it over, wondering if her teenage years and impending adulthood had rendered her as selfish and shallow as the other humans he'd glimpsed. Perhaps the qualities he'd admired in her had vanished.

Taking his silence as reluctance, Orihime stepped closer and lay gentle, warm hands on his arm. Ulquiorra tensed, breath hitching.

"Is there anything you'd like in exchange?" Her breath fanned over the exposed skin of his chest. The hollowness beneath the surface opened wider.

"I'm not sure as of right now," he quietly admitted. "I'll do as you ask, and then we can discuss what I want afterwards."

She nodded, firey hair bouncing with the motion. The heat from her body felt alluring, in a way no hearth had ever beckoned to him previously. "Alright, I want..." Orihime took a breath. "I wish you would bring Sora back."

Ulquiorra thought of the bat he'd killed. How its eyes had turned glassy and vacant. "I'm not certain that power is within my reach," he admitted, slit pupils dilating slightly at her tense, rigid expression. Like she straddled the line between a collected facade and despair. Strong as ever. "...But I will try," he added.

Her eyes lit up like they used to, lashes falling shut. Orihime's fingers brushed over the black fur of his arm.

"Thank you," she breathed, giggling slightly. Her arms wrapped around his middle then. The warmth and softness of her body pressed against his bare chest and torso, trapping him in a tight grip that he oddly didn't find restricting yet caused his eyes to widen anyway. The thudding coming from her chest resounded in his own. He set his hands on the curve of her hips, counting the thuds of her heartbeat. Without realising, he smelled her hair and brought her closer.

"You're the best imaginary friend I've ever had."

Tilting his head a touch caused black strands to dip and brush over her cheek. Did she mean that she'd initially assessed him as a friend but now felt that their bond had been imaginary? Or...

Orihime released him and turned towards the kitchen, asking whether he wanted something to eat or drink. He barely heard her.

She was incorrect. He'd left proof of his existence via that man, that bat, that lion, those girls in the park. Their tongues, wings, tails and hair had been cut by his talons. The things he'd assumed were his lungs constricted, sensations assaulting- spouting cold fire from the depths of his stomach and into his throat, burning.

His hand rose, digits pressing against the surface of his chest. The feeling of it being nothing but an empty container doubled. He was only vaguely alarmed when his fingers dipped inwards. The brittle surface of skin over his chest crumbled away where his heart should have been. A hollow hole was revealed in its place.

Ulquiorra realised then, he didn't care if he had actually interacted with the world. If he had actually scared that homeless man, harmed those creatures or cut those girls hair. What he desired, coveted, craved, needed lay in Orihime's tired eyes that seemed just a touch out of reality as she glanced at him and he found no sign of his reflection staring back at him.

He wanted to exist in her eyes again.

----

AN: TBC in chapter two

#ulquihime #uhweek2019 #Bleach #ulquiorra x orihime #orihime inoue #Ulquiorra

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

You Didn’t Let Me! - Part 2 (Jinyoung)

Summary: It took you three guys to realise you had been running from love all along. When you finally meet up again at a university reunion, you weren’t prepared to answer the question of who you wanted most.

Pairing: Yoo Kihyun x Park Jinyoung x Lee Seunggi x reader

Genre: romance / angst / self-growth au

Warnings: three hot guys and y/n’s an idiot lol none

A/N: This was initially meant to be a oneshot for the Trick, No It’s My Treat dares. However, the storyline suited being broken up and so I have made it into a mini-series. I hope you enjoy!

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“You, joining a gym?!” Raisa scoffed and you pouted in her direction. She gestured to the empty chocolate wrapper on your desk. “You couldn’t choose the healthy life even if you wanted to.”

“So I have a sweet tooth,” you agreed bitterly, picking up the wrapper and placing it in the trash bin beside the desk. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to tone up. Look at my arms! All these years of studying have done me no good! I need to get active again. We graduate in the spring, and I plan on looking the best I can for it.”

“But you in a gym?” she continued, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine it at all. You hate sweating.”

“I hate looking at myself in the mirror and seeing myself grow bigger too. I’ve cut back on my food intake, now it’s time to match that with some good old exercise.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Raisa muttered and you grinned, reaching out for her lower arm and gave it a shake. She eyed you dubiously, your thoughts soon connecting. “Oh no, Y/N, I’m not joining you.”

“How will you ever get the proof if you don’t come along?!”

And despite her lengthy list of excuses, Raisa was there at your side on your first day at the university gym. You had been through orientation already and knew how to use the machinery well enough that you didn’t have a personal trainer at your side for the first few sessions. You liked getting in there and doing your routine they had drafted up for you, the satisfaction of your after-workout buzz overpowering your major dislike for the sticky sweat you washed away in the shower each time.

Soon, you were dedicated to working out most days, much more committed than Raisa was. You grew confident to go to the gym alone, no longer worried about your appearance among the others who used the facilities at the same time as you. No one was judging you and you were too focused on your own results to care.

That was until you met your new trainer.

“So, I hear you want to tone up your arms? I’m Jinyoung, I’ve been assigned to help you with that,” he announced as he stopped at your side near the weights. Glancing up, you forgot to swallow, pretty sure you were about to start drooling instead.

If arms were the topic of the day, then Jinyoung’s were by far the best set you had ever laid eyes upon. You could sense he was proud of them, folding them across his chest as he smiled down at you. There was a hint of smugness curling up the corners of his lips, satisfied by your instant awe over them.

And then he became awkward, clearing his throat and it startled you enough to let go of the dumbbell you held in your hand, emitting a yelp of pain a moment after you recognised it hit your foot.

Yeah, those arms? They were right around you after he assessed the damage to your foot, scooping you up off the ground where you had somewhat crumpled upon from the pain. Jinyoung then carried you to the medical room so he could examine you further.

It wasn’t the most ideal start.

And yet you were determined to continue. This surprised Jinyoung and you could see he was impressed by your resolve. “Are you fully healed?”

“Of course, I’m not that fragile,” you remarked, even if you weren’t ready for any more mishaps the gym could potentially result in if you didn’t pay enough attention. You decided you were prepared to commit though and nothing would deter you.

Jinyoung wasn’t ready to let the first incident go, however.

It seemed he had made it his sole mission in life to remind you about the accident every time he was training you. “Tighter grip, Y/N. Your foot only bruised last time; these weights are heavier and will break it if you don’t pay attention.”

“I am gripping them,” you huffed in annoyance, heaving them up and down with your set, relieved when Jinyoung finally called to put them down. You placed them back on the stand before wiping the sweat off your face with your towel.

Your trainer grinned, reaching out affectionately to fix the loose hairs around your face. “We don’t need you looking dishevelled after a session with me, now do we?” he murmured, cupping your cheek in his hand for the briefest moment, eyes alive with amusement.

You couldn’t help the deep pink flush of colour that rushed to the surface, nor did you pay attention as you stepped forward, catching the toe of your shoe on the base of the bench you had just collected your towel from. Jinyoung caught you before you fell, eyes wide with the current predicament.

You wanted the ground to swallow you up whole.

“I think you have a thing for my arms, Y/N. You keep ending up in them too often,” he attempted to tease; though his tone held no jest and his skin had grown warm. Righting yourself, you nodded rapidly then shook your head to refute his statement, barely saying your farewell as you dashed off to the ladies locker room. You then slumped against the wall, heaving in a deep breath.

Had Jinyoung just flirted with you? Was he affected as much as you were about his presence? You had to admit your clumsy nature only increased whenever he was around. He was gorgeous, with his dark eyes and raven hair that fell into them as he worked out. His body was toned but not excessively and whenever he chuckled your legs turned to jelly.

It wasn’t safe anymore to be in this environment. Having a crush on him wasn’t the end of the world, but in a setting with heavy equipment, you were bound to end up in hospital if this continued.

“Here, let me spot you,” Jinyoung offered the next time you were in the gym, moving in behind you. Glancing over your shoulder as you swung the dumbbell back and forth, bracing yourself against the bench, you arched an eyebrow at the man. He chuckled. “Last time you were here you almost ended up in the medic room. I’m not prepared to have you hurt again.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Your swing is though, it’s meant to be straight like this,” he stated, reaching to take the slack out of your arm. Instinctively, his other hand went to your waist, pressing on it gently. You knew logically he was asking for you to find your centre and balance through the core. It wasn’t anything more than a technical approach, to ensure you were doing the movement correctly.

And yet it felt entirely intimate, his torso pressed into your back whilst his hands guided your movement. You felt his breath on your neck and it wasn’t long until a fantasy cropped up in your mind, throwing you off entirely.

His breath was now tickling against your ear. “Y/N, are you focusing because I don’t think you are.”

“I am,” you breathed, shaking away the sinful images and returning to mindfully exercising. But it was too late, your movement now stunted by Jinyoung’s hand reaching out to remove the weight from your hand. In doing so you lost your balance, tumbling backwards into him and sending you both sprawling onto the floor. You heard the weight drop on the ground and gasped when you saw how close it was to hitting him in the head.

“So, I think we need to come up with a new safety plan whilst working with weights now, huh?” he breathed, wide-eyed from assessing the proximity of the dumbbell.

You were too mortified about almost killing your trainer that you skipped your next session. Raisa came home from her study session to find you in the apartment spooning mouthfuls of ice-cream in as you watched the television. She frowned, wrestling the tub out of your grip. “Shouldn’t you be with Jinyoung right now?”

“Even you think we should be together,” you grumbled, reaching out to snatch your treat back. “I’m not in the mood.”

“That much I can tell,” she commented, gesturing to your state. Sitting down beside you, Raisa leaned in closer. “Are you feeling something towards him? I mean I don’t blame you, he’s gorgeous. I think I’d have more success in going to the gym if he had been assigned as my trainer.”

You sighed, letting the spoon fall into the tub. “He’s just my trainer, right?”

“Well, what do you mean?”

You explained the moments you had with him thus far to your best friend, trying to remain as factual and not emotionally attached as you had been with Kihyun. You knew it would be easy to construe feelings since you had done it in the past with your friend in the second year of university. You didn’t want to think Jinyoung’s proficient care meant anything more than him doing his job, if that was all there was to it.

Yet the little smiles, the commentary, the way he held you last time, well, your mind was definitely confused.

“I think there might be something there,” Raisa said afterwards, expression still thoughtful. “I mean, he’s very accommodating to your needs.”

“He’s paid to look out for his clients. It’s not his fault I’m clumsy.” You reached for the spoon again, Raisa taking the ice-cream away a second time and spooned some into her mouth instead. You didn’t even have the energy to whine at her.

“You’re friends with Kihyun so I can see where that got a little messy. But Jinyoung doesn’t have to do anything apart from be professional, Y/N. I think this time, your feelings are valid. Even if I still think Kihyun held feelings for you but you were too dumb to see them.”

“Let’s not,” you lamented, shooting her a look. However, you began to consider her advice over Jinyoung, your hope soon growing.

With Raisa’s pep-talk, you returned to the gym the following week. Smiling at the clerk on the front desk, you pushed through the gym doors and began heading towards the locker room to put your things away when you noticed Jinyoung with another woman over by the weights. You paused, watching on with interest. She was giggling and curling her hands around his as he showed her the appropriate way to hold the equipment. You could see from here that she was far too delighted to have such a handsome trainer. Had you looked like this when you first started working out with Jinyoung? You weren’t as bold as she was being about her attraction, at least.

Yet Jinyoung was smiling, laughing even at something she said a moment later. Jealousy reared in your stomach and you managed to tear your gaze away, stomping into the locker room. Once you were ready to head back out – and much more composed – you went over to the weights area, standing off to the side and waited.

It was your session time, after all.

Jinyoung glanced up at you, eyes flashing with multiple emotions and he stepped back from the client, brushing his hands on his pants. “Oh Y/N, I need to talk with you.”

“I can wait for you to wrap up here. I’ll just go work on the cardio equipment until you’re ready.”

Jinyoung shook his head, looking apologetic. “I won’t be taking your sessions anymore.”

You merely blinked, not quite understanding the change. “Is it because of the accident last time?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that Jackson will be taking over for me. He’s exceptional, so you’ll find his training a great benefit to you.”

“Do I not get a choice in who I train with?” you blurted out, uncaring how the girl waiting on Jinyoung looked at you. “I choose to be trained by you.”

“I can’t anymore, it’s a little complicated to discuss here but if you come into my office after your training with Jackson, I’ll explain more about why then. Okay Lisa, where were we?”

You stood there dumbfounded for a moment before you jarringly stepped back, turning around to go over to the treadmills across the room. You refused to look up into the mirrored wall that would reflect Jinyoung’s area. Instead, you ran, pushing harder than you usually did.

You felt stupid. Once again, you had gotten the wrong impression, assuming there was more to Jinyoung than just the training. You had made him uncomfortable and so he had chosen to move on. There was nothing more to it.

Even though it was no fault of his own, you told Jackson you weren’t ready to start training with him. And when you were done with your session, you didn’t stop as you walked to the exit, ignoring Jinyoung’s request for you to stop by afterwards. You didn’t need to hear what he had to say, your heart was already broken.

You soon decided to change to a different gym, wanting a new environment to refocus on your original goals. You had joined the gym to tone up and not to fall for your trainer in the process after all.

“You gave up, just like that?” Raisa asked and you shot her a look. “What if there was a reason for Jinyoung pulling away from you? I’m sorry, Y/N, I can’t keep training you because I like you. Let’s see each other outside of the gym. You didn’t even let him explain. See, this is your problem Y/N! You keep running away before getting all the facts.”

You laughed, shaking your head at your best friend. “Rai, this isn’t a fairytale. Things don’t work like that for me anyway. I think it’s best to just move onto the next chapter in my life. With graduation around the corner, I just want to focus on getting a job that I enjoy.”

_________________

Part 3

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minsyal · 5 years

Text

Stan83, [Sam x Reader]

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The life of a hunters assistant wasn’t easy, especially when two of them come knocking on your door posing as Agents investigating the recent deaths in the area.

Warnings: General SPN stuff, nothing crazy

This was the third time you had woken in the middle of the night. This was the third time you had jolted upward in bed only to find an empty room and unsettling feeling falling to the pit of your stomach. This was the third time you had searched your home in the dark of night with an old metal baseball bat that you kept beneath your bed. This was the third time you had found countless open windows with no recollection of leaving them so. This was the third time you had come to the conclusion that nobody was here. It was just you.

It was later than usual, or perhaps simply earlier in the morning. The clock on your bedside table blinked on and off in big red numbers “4:45 AM.” Your job wasn’t exactly a nine to five with a set lunch break and mandatory stopping points throughout the day. You were an on-call, entirely electronic, assistant to the vast grapevine of hunters that so chose to reach out. Who they were didn’t matter to you. For all you knew, you were telling vampires how to kill one another and witches where to find the ingredients they needed for an unsuspecting ghoul.

The tradition passed through generations of your family, from grandfather to father and now to you. Your father had decided he wanted more thrill in his life; he didn’t want to be tied down to his computer desk for the rest of eternity. That decision led to hunting, and within months he had passed. Your mother, on the other hand, was a runaway. She abandoned the family as soon as she learned of your father’s secret life.

Ice crept from the old, cracked tiles of your kitchen. Fall’s spiny fingers had wretched themselves from the ground and were now climbing your legs, sending chills up your spine. The tiles weren’t helping much. They hadn’t seen white in years and were now permanently stained what you preferred to call cream. Going bad to bed, while the best outcome of the night, was no use as your phone and computer lit up with five new notifications all from “Stan83.”

Hey, crazy story. Need your help.

Hunting – little to no details – marks on victims

You there?

It can wait if you’re busy.

Sorry if this wakes you up.

Stan83 had quickly become one of your favorite hunters to converse with. He, you assumed, was in his late twenties to early thirties based on the “83” in his name. He had told you little to no information about himself other than the fact that he hunted with his brother and moved all over the country. Your conversations were more casual: what did you have for lunch, what are you hunting today, what type of music do you like, what’s up. The simple things. A few conversations spiraled. It was rare for them to happen. Only when big things happened and Stan83 had no one else to talk to would he pick up the phone and send a text.

Picking your mug up from the counter, you flicked the kitchen light off and started for your room where you’d likely spend the rest of the day. Your desk was a mess. Books littered the surface opened to all sorts of weird information that anyone would have you locked in an institution for. Scribbled notes were pinned up on your wall that detailed the whereabouts of those you spoke with. If they didn’t contact you for about a month, you’d contact them.

You didn’t wake me up. You responded, waiting for only a moment before a small text bubble popped up indicating that the person on the other side was typing.

You sure? It’s 5:00am. Stan83 answered. It was easy to imagine the tone he used, a little sarcastic, a little smug.

That wasn’t you. It was the nightmares. It’s 5 for you too? Finally taking a spin in the BEST time zone, huh?

The best time zone that spans about 600 miles?

Ok, sass me then. What’s up?

Weird hunt. Women in this town are dying at a pretty fast rate. Their children are acting strange. Weird marks on their necks are making fathers think they’re cheating.

I’ll take a look through what I have and get back to you.

Thank you Sav!

Sav, your own nick. It was the easiest to think of on the spot when your old system had gone kaput and you needed to as quickly as possible set up a new database and communication network. It’s short for saver, or savior, or whatever the hell these hunters wanted to believe. Maybe it meant savvy but given the state of your home and wardrobe you wouldn’t put money on that.

The rest of the morning consisted of research. Each lore book and journal your father left behind was thoroughly scanned through with big yellow sticky notes marking the pages that held possible leads. With your luck, you’d be able to message Stan83 back by noon with possibilities. That is, you would have been able to message Stan83 back if your doorbell hadn’t rung 13 times in a row at an alarming rate.

You passed by the entry hall warily. Nobody in this town really knew you, and you didn’t care to know them either. The only people who dared step foot on your property were usually city officials complaining of the broken window on your small garage or political campaigners who were being paid to pester and harp on people for votes.

The figures beyond were large, looming even. Two dark shadows were cast over your frosted-glass door and you watched as the shorter of the two raised his hand once more to ring the bell another five times. “I’m coming!” You finally yelled back, turning quickly to the mirror in your hall that held no particular purpose, but it was supposedly your mothers. You looked awful. If the garage hadn’t scared off whoever stood beyond your home’s threshold, your physical appearance definitely would.

Loose hairs fell from the messy, slept-in ponytail that hung lazily and lopsided at the back of your head. Your skin was flushed from the lack of breakfast, and now lunch as you had lost track of time attempting to help one of your favorite hunters. The shirt you wore was luckily clean, but the sweatpants had small holes from where they had caught on the kitchen counter and torn.

“What can I do for you?” You asked without bothering to look at the two men standing on your front porch. Nobody knew of your “hunting” life, so there was a slim to no possibility of any real threat coming to your door. Unless, of course, these were tax collectors coming to repossess something for another unpaid credit card.

The shorter of the two men spoke “Agent Stark,” he quickly flashed an ID, “Banner,” he motioned to the taller man beside him, “we’re here to investigate the deaths of a few of your neighbors. Do you mind if we come in?”

You took a moment, Stark and Banner, really? “Let me get a look at that ID.” You nodded your head in the direction of his coat pocket where he had neatly tucked the leather protected card. Agent Banner acted faster. “Here.”

Banner, or whoever this was, was far taller than the man who self-identified himself as Tony Stark. He had the classic triangle shape to his body, broad shoulders, slim waist. His hair was formally tucked back from his face, but strands kept falling from his ears as he shifted from foot to foot waiting for your determination. Mr. Stark was shorter, but still a giant none-the-less. He had a finely set jaw, green eyes, and a short business-cut style to his hair.

“Mr. Banner.” You pressed your lips together. The ID was awful. The leather was fake, scratched and worn from what you guessed to be a few uses. “Where’d you get this ID?” Twisting it in your hand, you offered it back to him.

“The Federal Bureau of Investigation, ma’m.” He replied smoothly, not showing how his heart rate picked up at your questioning of their identities.

“In some back alley?” You shrugged. “At least choose realistic names next time.”

“Look.” Agent Stark stiffened as he crossed his arms over his chest. Agent Banner immediately went wide-eyed and motioned for him to stop whatever he was about to do. “We’re here to investigate your neighbor’s deaths. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

Waiting a moment, you held your grip on the door, willing it to close any second. “You got guns on you?” An eyebrow raise from Agent Stark confirmed your suspicions.

“Leave them in your little muscle car over there.” You peered between them at the black Impala parked on the road. It was pristine, well taken care of, clearly waxed recently. “Then come back and we can talk.”

Hunters, while difficult to talk to online, are insufferable in person. These big meat heads always want to get their way. They never relent and admit they’re wrong or they’ve been caught. So, when the two nodded and began off your doorstep toward the car, you were taken aback.

Both unloaded two guns from their waistbands. “Other weapons too!” You yelled from the step. Agent Stark grumbled something inaudible as Agent Banner seemed to soothe him.

Why are all you hunters so horrible? You typed into your phone, smiling as you pressed send and immediately saw Stan83 typing back.

What happened this time?

Real hunters interrupting my work! I think I got you guys some leads though. Will tell you later. Gotta deal with these bozos.

Bozos? Really?

Guess I inherited my father’s vocabulary too.

“Alright, Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk.” You were perched upon the arm of one of your recliners, arms crossed over your chest as you eyed the two men looking out of place in your small living room. “You’re hunters, I know. Real names?”

“I’m Sam.” The taller of the two said, being stopped with an arm over his chest from the shorter one. “What?” He shook his head. “She obviously knows…”

“Too much.” The shorter one said. “Who are you?”

“Nobody important.”

“Important enough to know what hunting is.”

“[Y/N.]” You replied, shifting in your seat. “Ok, your turn.”

“Dean.”

“Last names?”

“Confidential.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, really uncaring of their last names but trying to pry anyway. Sam tilted his head, looking around the house. “What do you think you’re hunting?”

“Aren’t sure yet.” Sam piped up, snapping his attention back to you. “Have you been keeping up with the news here lately?”

“I rarely leave this place. I don’t even know my neighbors.”

“We can tell.” Dean chimed in earning himself a heavy elbow to the gut. Sam shot him a dirty look before turning back to you. “A couple of women have died. Their husbands think they’re cheating on them, but after they pass their children disappear too.”

“Sounds like a changeling.”

“Told you.” Dean commented, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the couch.

“Grab some matches and go crazy.” You pushed yourself up from your chair. “Wait here a second.” Escaping to the back hall, you returned to your desk and began to gather a few things about changelings that you had read this morning.

I think we figured it out. A message stopped you from returning to Sam and Dean. It was Stan83.

No, wait I figured it out first.

Why didn’t you tell me, then?

Because I like keeping secrets from you.

“Hurry up back there, will you?” Dean’s voice called from the living room.

“Hold your horses.”

“My what?” You heard Dean whisper to Sam who either didn’t respond or responded quietly. “Dude would you get off your phone?”

“Here. A couple pages in this should help. I’d loan them to you, but I’m not sure I’d get them back.” The books landed on the coffee table in front of the two. Dean began palming through the contents while Sam sat glued to his phone, typing something quickly.

“Did you not listen to me a second ago?” Dean bickered. “Phone, off. Hunt, now.”

Sam pressed something speedily, closing his phone before pocketing it out of sight. Your phone in your own pocket buzzed, causing you and Sam to stop. Dean hadn’t noticed, he was enthralled in the journal you had presented to him. “Where’d you get this?” He asked, not looking away from the page.

“Grandfather had it.” You began to pull your phone out of your pocket. “He passed it down from one of his hunting buddies to my father and now to me.”

Secrets are supposed to be for crushes and broken plates, not things that are killing people.

Oops! You typed back slowly, eyeing Sam who was doing the same. When you hit send a notification rang from his pocket causing Dean to groan.

“Stan83?” The words scrambled from your lips before your tongue had time to catch them. Dean snorted as he shook his head and flipped the journal’s page.

“Sav?” Sam replied as Dean gave yet another snort, this time accompanied by a head shake. “Are we still bozos?”

“You called us bozos?” Dean chuckled.

~~*~~

Sam is Stan83. You’re Sav. That much you can say for sure. After the initial shock of it all, you quickly mellowed out and fled to the back room to gather the materials you were saving to message Stan83 with. Turns out, you had just saved yourself an hour of typing.

Stan83 was far different from Sam. Stan83 presented himself as a somewhat sarcastic, confident, flirtatious man while Sam sat much smaller despite his frame. He was clumsy and nervous, stumbling over a few of his words before catching himself as he went full speed down a hill. When he had attempted to describe what he looked like, he was being modest. He said he was tall, had an average build, brown hair, and liked to run. You had assumed he was skinnier and less muscle.

Sam blushed at each comment you made concerning your conversations online; you could never imagine Stan83 to be a blusher. He was so different, yet so similar. In a way, it was endearing.

“So, it’s targeting women on this block?” You frowned; your hand outstretched to Dean as he accepted the coffee you had just made. “Good thing I’ve got no kids.” You joked.

“That’s the thing, though.” Sam had long since discarded his blazer and was now sitting in the armchair you had initially been sitting on. “It’s targeting all women. We think there may be more than one.”

“Well, yeah. Changelings have kids.”

“No, he means more than one adult changeling.” Dean added.

“They don’t typically work together like that, though.”

“Which is why we think it’s weird.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

The two brothers waited a moment before seemingly conversing without a single audible word. Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes moving back and forth between you and Sam. Sam immediately went on the defense. “Dean, no.”

“Come on! You don’t even know what I’m thinking.” Dean pouted. He brought his now-chilled coffee up to his lips, a frown laced upon his lips as the cold bitter liquid spilled over his tongue. “Gah.” He crinkled his face up and bit his lip. “It’s a good plan.”

“What is he talking about?”

“[Y/N],” Dean began, “me and Sam, big dudes. We aren’t exactly this things cup-of-tea. It’s going after women… and you happen to be a woman…”

“You guys want to use me as bait?”

“Correction. He wants to use you as bait.” Sam added.

“I’m not really a hunter though.” You shifted in your seat. “I can’t even shoot a gun.”

“Just think about it.” Dean said. He leant over and grabbed his blazer. Throwing it over his shoulder, he motioned for Sam to do the same. “We’re staying at the motel on highway 62. If you’re up for it, feel free to uh…” he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket – a fake business card, “call us.”

“I have Sam’s number, you know?”

“Right.” Dean withdrew the card and returned it to its rightful home, tucked away in his pocket.

~~*~~

The next day came and went with no contact to either Sam or Dean. You had relented and finally turned on the local news channel. Four women in your neighborhood had passed away with their children all going missing afterward. The fathers were sending out heartfelt pleas for their children’s safe returns. One woman was considered missing and immediately seen as a suspect in the eyes of the law.

You, along with two other women, were the only ones left on the block. One was a daughter living with her single father as she finished up her college degree. The other, a widowed elderly woman living alone with her two dogs.

~~*~~

“She’s not a hunter, Dean. We can’t just expect her to drop everything she knows and jump straight into action.” Sam groaned, throwing his blazer down on the old worn couch. The motel room was as they left it. The desk’s chair was pushed out slightly, an open laptop sitting upon the cracked oak wood. Each bed was still neatly made, the two brothers hadn’t had the chance to sleep yet as they only arrived in the morning.

“All she has to do is wait around at her home while we keep an eye on the other two. Something bad happens and we run 50 feet.”

“What if 50 feet is too much? She could get hurt.”

Dean pulled his shirt over his head, adjusting the neck before accessorizing with a blue button-up. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiping the excess gel on his jeans. Sam sat on the edge of one of the beds, already changed and working away on his computer.

“Fine. Then we have to figure out something else.”

~~*~~

Changelings are awful creatures. Not just awful looking, but awful in general. They act so quietly that it’s hard to detect them before they get their first few kills. Your eyes scanned the screen before you, days since you’d spoken to the brothers. It had been two days of waiting, watching, and hoping they’d finish this hunt.

4:45AM. The clock blinked. On and off, on and off, the red numbers illuminated the room. Your routine stood, wake, check the home, and return to assisting hunters. The window was open. It had been rather nice outside lately. Fall was setting in after a grueling humid summer and you were excited to have a good excuse to stay indoors.

Sorry about the other day. The message popped up around 6, and it took you til 7 to answer.

It’s okay. Typical hunter jazz. No big deal. You responded.

Do you mind if I stop by?

With your brother? This early in the morning?

Just me. Dean’s still sleeping.

You pondered for a moment. Sure, you had been talking to Sam for years at this point, but the Sam you had come to know was so vastly different from the Sam that knocked on your door impersonating the Incredible Hulk. It had been years since you actively attempted to converse with others in person. Your social life had mostly been contained to the world of technology.

Sure, give me 30. You regretted it the moment you hit send. What were you supposed to talk to him about? “No, I don’t want to be bait, but I also don’t want to come across as an asshole who doesn’t care?”

~~*~~

Sam sat, looking comically large, in the small armchair he had taken to the last time he visited. A fresh cup of coffee was warming the palms of his hands, fighting off the cold that spilled in from the windows. You sat on the couch, across from him, mirroring his position.

“So,” you started, breaking the strained silence that fell between you, “have you guys found anything on the changelings?”

“Nothing more than what you told us, and we already knew.” Sam sipped the coffee. “Hey, I uh, do you remember what we talked about a few years ago? That promise?”

Promises were touchy subjects in hunting. Often, they were meaningless. “You mean when I promised I’d quit drinking?”

He laughed, “Close, but no.”

“When I promised I’d never get into hunting?” He nodded. “Don’t worry, Sam. Not planning on…” You closed your eyes and began to speak, but upon opening them found him with a rather pensive look. He almost looked guilty. “You want me to bait the damn thing out, huh?”

“We’re out of leads. Dean and I have been watching the block for the past few days and we have nothing.”

“You’re asking me to break my promise?”

“Just for a night.”

“What happens when I die?”

“You’ll go to heaven.” He said as if there was no question to it. “But that’s not going to happen anytime soon. When it’s over, you’re going to be okay.”

“You promise?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I promise.” He brought the mug to his mouth, “and I won’t break mine like you break yours.”

“Hey!”

~~*~~

That’s how you ended up with all your doors unlocked, most of your windows parked, and a Black Impala parked a few doors down in front of an empty lot. You paced in the living room, nervous for whatever this night would hold. Sam promised you’d be okay, and you’d be damned if you didn’t hold him to that. Sam said if anything went haywire, he’d be on your doorstep in no time flat. Dean was happy to hear you had “come around” and briefed you on what you needed to do which was mostly “stay put, act normal.”

It was 12:00am when you finally moved to ready yourself for bed. Flicking off the lights, your eyes flitted from the curtains blowing slightly in the night to the computer screen that had long since gone dark. Sam and Dean were just outside, there was nothing to be nervous about. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Settling into bed, you felt the exhaustion of the day rush through your body. Everything felt heavy. Your eyelids attempted to will themselves closed, but you pushed yourself to remain awake. Just as darkness seeped into the corners of your vision, an incessant knocking pulled you back to reality.

“[Y/N]!” It was Sam. He continued knocking incessantly, with each collision of his knuckles to the door the knock got harder. A cold wave rushed over your body as you ran to the door, a sense of dread caused your arms and legs to go limp. Had something gone wrong already? “Come on!” He called. “Change of plan. We need to get out of here.”

The door opened loudly, the handle knocking against the wall shook the thin walls of the home. Sam’s eyes were wild, he looked scared. “Sam? What the hell is going on? Did you guys catch it?”

“It got away, come on. We have to get you somewhere safe.”

You followed him through the house to the back door but stopped dead in your tracks as you passed the hall. The mirror, the one you dreaded keeping around, caught your eye. Sam gripped tightly to your hand, tugging you forward. “Come on, [Y/N]. We need to go.” He insisted, pulling you harder now.

It was like nothing you could put to words. His eyes were hollowed, where hazel once looked back at you were now pools of black. His mouth had become round with hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny pointed teeth layering downward. Its skin was tanned and discolored. It looked dry but was slimy to the touch. The face that looked back at you was not Sam’s.

Tearing your hand from its, you cringed at the tiny lacerations left from its grip. “Sam” turned to you; his face was still human. He looked confused, slowly approaching you as you moved backward.

“Sam?” You yelled, hoping the real Sam was just outside.

“[Y/N]? Are you crazy? It’s me.” The changeling said, holding its hands up in a non-threatening way.

“Like hell! Sam!” You screamed now, continually taking steps backward. “Dean?”

“Hey!” The front door, which had been closed by the changeling, burst open with more force than before. It was Dean, but like Sam something was off. He wasn’t wearing the same red button-up that he had briefed you in. His hair looked longer, his posture was different, and his eyes were hollow.

There was no time to react as the world fell dark.

~~*~~

The crack of a door closing is what finally shook you awake. The room around you was your own, an unexpected sight. What happened last night was beyond you and whether this was real or not was as well.

“[Y/N]?” Footsteps echoed down the hallway, falling closer and closer with each step. “You awake?” It was Sam’s voice. He sounded more sound, solid even. There was a slight hesitation lacing his tone, something delicate, as if he was walking around broken glass. “Hey.” He let out a breathy huff of air, hazel eyes meeting yours.

Retracting in your bed, you moved against the wall to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your hand quickly found the base of your neck where a rim of scabbed-over skin protruded in a circular shape. Your chest constricted; your heart felt as if it was crumpling up attempting to make itself as small as possible. Sam watched as your eyes widened and he felt a pang in his chest as you retreated away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he kept his body low, attempting to make himself as small as he could, “it’s me.” He mentally scolded himself for not taking precautions. “Hold on.” His held-out hand did nothing to ease your nerves. Sam returned a moment later with the mirror from the hall. It was cracked now, two large fractures split it down the middle. He positioned it against the wall opposite you and sat in front of it.

You expected the face from the night before. You expected those haunted hollow eyes, the dry scaly skin, the rounded-out mouth of razor-sharp teeth. Instead, you only saw Sam. His gaze was soft, brows drawn together. His lips parted slightly as he debated whether he should say something or not. He decided against it; you needed to be the first to act.

“It’s you.” You said, more to yourself as opposed to him. “What happened last night?”

His eyes flitted from your returning gaze in the mirror to the mark that now scarred your neck. “There were two. One was dragging you back in the woods while the other was fighting Dean. It’s dead. Dean knocked it out, took it out back, and burnt it.” Hesitantly, he moved from his position on the floor to a kneeling one in front of your bed.

“What about the other one?”

A crooked smile moved across his features. “You may need a new living room floor.”

“Is it bad?”

“If you’ve ever wanted new hard-woods, now’s the time.” He chuckled. “We’re going to stay in town another day, just to make sure everything is gone.”

~~*~~

You didn’t wake that night. The rising sun woke you along with the ding of a phone notification. It was one of your other hunters, requesting assistance on a hunt in Nevada. You stretched, feeling a dull ache in your muscles and a pop where one shouldn’t be. Slipping your phone from your nightstand, you promptly sent out a message to the other hunters in that area and discarded the technology in favor of the idea of finally sleeping in.

It was 11:00AM when you woke again. The bed was warm, a strong arm was slung over your side resting snugly against your stomach. Sounds of steady breathing filled the room; a heavy heartbeat played a calming melody in your ears.

It had been a long time since you shared a bed with anyone, but after the antics of the night before it was well-deserved. Sam didn’t offer, rather you did. You didn’t want to be alone.

“Morning.” His sleep-filled voice was smoother than his typical one. Groggily, Sam tugged you backward into his chest as he buried his face in your neck.

“Morning.” You replied, relishing in the moment you wished could last forever.

The day passed with ease. Dean had taken to the couch, insisting that the hole in the floor didn’t bother him and that he’d go out and purchase some planks to at least patch it up. Sam spent the day at your side. Most of it was spent lazily dozing, the rest was doing mundane tasks that seemed so little in comparison to what you experienced the day prior.

Sam had insisted that the effect would wear off soon. It was just some shock and trauma, he told you. It would all get better as time passed.

When the night returned along with Dean who had gone out to pick up dinner, you expected them to tell you they were heading out. But they didn’t. They chatted about nothing and everything at the same time, acting as if you had been part of the team for years. You had a lot in common with Dean, and just as much if not more with Sam. He was an intellectual, smart, kind, caring, and the softer-around-the-edges of the two.

“Hey,” Sam popped his head into your room as you readied yourself for bed, “Dean will be out on the couch. I’m going to set up on the floor out there. We’ll be here if you need anything.”

You felt something. Something sad. Your heart ached at his proclamation of staying down the hall from you. Nodding, you decided it was best. There was no reason to get attached to the boys, it’s not like they’d be coming back any time soon. You and Sam would eventually fall back into your routine of texting at all hours of the day and night and you’d become a distant memory of one of the hundreds of hunts they went on.

“Good night.”

With darkness came distortion. The pile of unlaundered clothing cast shadows across your room where shadows weren’t supposed to be. Despite the curtains being pulled taught over your window, red glowing eyes permeated the fabric and watched you for hours. It wasn’t real, you continually told yourself. It was just your mind playing tricks on you. But the tricks were cruel and holding you back from sleep.

You weren’t sure when you did finally slip into unconsciousness, but you were sure it didn’t last long. Strong hands shook you awake along with the soft coos of someone telling you it’s okay and that it’s all over now. You felt something, someone, in your bed. You laid in someone’s lap as they held your body close, rocking slowly back and forth.

“It’s just a dream.” It was Sam.

“Sam?” You felt meek, your voice mimicking that sentiment. “What happened?”

“You were screaming in your sleep.”

Feeling your face flush red, you wanted nothing more than to bury it along with the changeling in the forest beyond your yard. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sam felt his heart drop at the sound you made before the tears fell. “You’re okay. You’ve been through a lot.”

“A lot?” The gates held no match to the tears that shook and clambered their rusted metal bars. Your vision blurred as you closed your eyes, willing away the oncoming storm. “I hardly saw anything!”

Sam didn’t respond, only held you tighter as he pressed wordless kisses to the top of your head. “Sam, how can I even call myself a hunter if I can’t even face something as weak as a changeling?” A heavy breath fell upon your lips as you inhaled deeply. “Useless.”

“You’re not useless.”

Hushed voices woke you, arguing about something incoherent as one voice raised over the other. Sam was no longer with you, but the bed was still warm where he had spent the night.

“We’re leaving today, Sam. Nothing’s around anymore.” A muted whisper danced down the hall.

“We can’t just leave her alone now.”

“She’s safe. Changelings gone, wiped out the entire family tree. I’ll be out in the car; we’ve got another case. Bobby called this morning.”

The front door shut, and footsteps fell down the hall toward your room. Sam peeked his head in, a smile immediately spreading across his face. “Hey.”

“You’re leaving?”

He sighed, wiping a hand down his face, dragging slightly at his chin. “Dean wants to get to the next case.”

“Oh.” You shifted in bed, propping yourself up on your arm. “Well, thank you.”

“I wish we could stay longer.” Sam moved to the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat on the corner, the weight willed you forward. He laid a hand on your shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Seeing Sam out was one of the first times you had taken a hard look at the hole in your floor. Dean had done a make-shift job in patching it up. Thin sheets of plywood were nailed together haphazardly with different sized nails hammered in here and there. The wood wobbled as you walked over it. Maybe it was time to skip town.

Dean stood on the curb with a disposable cup, with what you presumed to be filled with coffee, sipping away as he relished in the morning sun. Perking up, he waved a big hand to you. “Stay safe, kiddo!”

“Will do, Mr. Stark!” You hollered back, eliciting a laugh from Sam.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah.” You turned back to the living room. “I’ll probably have to move. I don’t need the cops on my tail for the missing people burnt in my backyard.”

Sam waited a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. He bit the inside of his mouth and glanced back to Dean who was now climbing into the driver’s side front seat. “You could come with us.”

“Sam.”

“I’m serious. We have a friend you could stay with. He does the same stuff you do. Lots of land, if you hate him you would never have to see him. He’s an older guy, a little rough-around-the-edges but has a good heart. It’s our home-base.” He grasped at your hand. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll consider it.”

~~*~~

“We’re home!” The front door slammed shut as two sets of footsteps fell down the front hall into the kitchen.

“Hunt go well?” You wiped your hands and moved to greet the hunter. Sam smiled, slipping his arm around you as he planted a kiss on your cheek. “Mhm.” He replied.

“What?” Bobby had hardly looked up from his desk as he tapped away on his phone. “No kiss for me?”

“Good to see you too, Bobby.”

Dean slid into the kitchen, making a disgusted face as he took in the scene before him. “Couples.” He grumbled, tugging the fridge door open and grabbing a beer. “No kiss for me either?” He grinned smugly, making quick time as he found a bottle opener and lost himself in the cold liquid.

It hadn’t taken long for you to accept Sam’s offer. After an entire five minutes of deliberation, you agreed. The important things fit perfectly into the back seat of the Impala, mostly books and electronics. Dean grumbled at the slight delay in events as he directed himself back home as opposed to the case. Your relationship with Sam had blossomed from there.

A ding rung out from the study. “That’s me!” You slipped out of Sam’s grasp. “Got work to do.”

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester oneshot #sam imagine #sam oneshot #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural fic #spn fic

93 notes · View notes

dylinski · 5 years

Note

do 1-100, coward

I AM NO COWARD

anyone who actually reads through all this, god bless you. you can blame leigh @thessaia, i give you full authority.

1. Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?

of those three, pandora. although, i prefer apple music.

2. is your room messy or clean?

LMFAO. CLEAN? I DON’T KNOW HER

3. what color are your eyes?

brown, but they’re lighter than that in the right light. almost a caramel with a dark chocolate ring on the outside.

4. do you like your name? why?

yeah, i don’t mind it. its always been there. lol i mean i used to have different nicknames or pretend to be other people. idk i told my parents when i was like five i was going to change my name to Felicia Franchesca Sarahmichelle Lynn. don’t ask. in fifth grade (before dylan o’brien was even famous) i begged my parents to call me dylan and refused to respond to any other name for like a year. also, don’t ask.

5. what is your relationship status?

single as dingle

6. describe your personality in 3 words or less

CHAOTIC, SMARTASS, STABBY

7. what color hair do you have?

answered

8. what kind of car do you drive? color?

kia forte, although my dad calls it an orte since the “f” is missing. funny story, i got pulled over and gave the dude my license and registration and shit but apparently, he didn’t look at it cause he put on the warning “orte” which i promptly laughed my ass off to. if he had given me a ticket i could have absolutely fought that bitch in court in won. SIR I DO NOT DRIVE AN ORTE. IS THAT ITALIAN? DO I LOOK LIKE I CAN AFFORD AN ITALIAN CAR? I DRIVE A FORTE SIR.

9. where do you shop?

ONLINE

10. how would you describe your style?

very idgaf

11. favorite social media account

tumblr

12. what size bed do you have?

full, it takes up my entire room so i couldn’t go bigger if i wanted to

13. any siblings?

answered

14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

uk, always wanted to live there idk

15. favorite snapchat filter?

idk what its called but it has this higher temperature tone to it and gives me cute little freckles

16. favorite makeup brand(s)

i don’t wear make up, i used to use stilla (i think that’s how its spelled)

17. how many times a week do you shower?

i usually shower like every other day unless its hotter than a pair of saggy tits

18. favorite tv show?

that changes with the weather tbh. i can’t say i really have one. for a really long time it was supernatural though.

19. shoe size?

womans 11.5 (us) i think its a men’s 9?

20. how tall are you?

5′ 3″ or 160cm

21. sandals or sneakers?

sneakers. god i hate sandals.

22. do you go to the gym?

uh, no.

23. describe your dream date

answered

24. how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

thats funny cause normally i don’t carry cash but i actually have $20 atm

25. what color socks are you wearing?

im not wearing any atm

26. how many pillows do you sleep with?

answered x2

27. do you have a job? what do you do?

not technically? i’m an hourly temp but i hardly get any hours since i cover for the full-time employee.

28. how many friends do you have?

irl: 0 online: too many to count

29. whats the worst thing you have ever done?

oh god, i honest to god have no fucking clue. i don’t think about this stuff. i’ve done some stupid ass shit but my short term and long term memory are both shot to tits.

30. whats your favorite candle scent?

i think i answered this one for a different ask game. i hate most fragrances and artificial smells, even non-artifical ones. i got a sensitive sniffer. im chill with like vanilla though if its not too intense.

31. 3 favorite boy names

Dylan (not even cause dylan i’ve just always liked the name idk why), Jeremy, Jacob (the other two are random)

32. 3 favorite girl names

i know these are random as fuck, but i’ve always liked them so shoot me.

Andromeda, Persephone, Franchesca

33. favorite actor?

i like a lot of actors, way too many to fucking name and remember off the top of my noggin. for sanity’s sake, we’ll say dylan.

34. favorite actress?

god, again way too many to count. i can’t even think of any right now even though i know i have some. lets say Emily Hampshire

35. who is your celebrity crush?

answered36. favorite movie?

answered37. do you read a lot? whats your favorite book?

i would love to read but my adhd makes it really hard to concentrate. i’ll have periods of time where i’ll read a bunch its insane and then i’ll just kind of stop for a while idk. i always loved because of win-dixie or a wrinkle in time, bridge to terabithia, and american assassin.

38. money or brains?

brains, then you can work for the money and you know shit

39. do you have a nickname? what is it?

sawahbwear, sassafras, whiskey, sar

40. how many times have you been to the hospital?

good lord, i don’t even know. way too many. definitely more than ten.

41. top 10 favorite songs

answered42. do you take any medications daily?

not anymore, i kept forgetting to take them so it fucked me up not being on a regular dosage so i just stopped taking all of them.

43. what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

see, im weird af. cause like my skin is oily af, but also fucking dry and i have shitty eczema 44. what is your biggest fear?

answered45. how many kids do you want?

idfk. i mean for as long as i can remember i always wanted them, but tbh idk if im the type of person to have any…

46. whats your go to hair style?

messy bun

47. what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc)

small, row house

48. who is your role model?

dont have one.

49. what was the last compliment you received?

probably from michelle i think, or alaina. idk i don’t keep track. unless you consider kiana calling me insane a compliment. 🤷‍♀️

50. what was the last text you sent?

“thankies”

51. how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

tbh, i don’t think i ever thought he was real…pretty sure i could put in time out in preschool for making a kid cry cause i told them leprechauns weren’t real either.

52. what is your dream car?

mustang or challenger

53. opinion on smoking?

conflicted

54. do you go to college?

disappointingly

55. what is your dream job?

no clue

56. would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?

rural, but still close enough to shit it doesn’t take me an hour to go places.

57. do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?

haven't been to a hotel in a long ass time. i do but i never use them.. FREE SHIT

58. do you have freckles?

yeah, but you can’t see them unless i’ve been outside in the sun all day for hours.

59. do you smile for pictures?

relatively

60. how many pictures do you have on your phone?

5604

61. have you ever peed in the woods?

yup, and in a parking lot, and in public.🤙

62. do you still watch cartoons?

i hardly watch tv anymore, but if i did, fuCK YEAH

63. do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

WNEDYS ALL DAY ERRY DAY THE RED HEADED BITCH IS MY HOE OKAY

64. Favorite dipping sauce?

ew, no.

65. what do you wear to bed?

tshirt

66. have you ever won a spelling bee?

answered

67. what are your hobbies?

writing, coding, listening to music??, reading

68. can you draw?

NOPE

69. do you play an instrument?

also no

70. what was the last concert you saw?

like two years ago, circa survive with thrice and a third band idr

71. tea or coffee?

neither

72. Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

neither

73. do you want to get married?

idk

74. what is your crush’s first and last initial?

75. are you going to change your last name when you get married?

idk, part of me wants to but most of me doesnt want to

76. what color looks best on you?

i look good in all colors except white.

77. do you miss anyone right now?

yeah

78. do you sleep with your door open or closed?

closed cause i still live at home 😖 but if i didnt probably open so my cat could come and go as he pleased

79. do you believe in ghosts?

ghosts, no. spirits, yes.

80. what is your biggest pet peeve?

answered

81. last person you called

my dad

82. favorite ice cream flavor?

mint choco chip

83. regular oreos or golden oreos?

damn, regular.

84. chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

RAINBOW BITCHES

85. what shirt are you wearing?

supernatural. dean and sam with baby

86. what is your phone background?

mitch rapp

87. are you outgoing or shy?

im an ambivert

88. do you like it when people play with your hair?

FUCKING YES

89. do you like your neighbors?

the ones on the right are bearable and the ones on the left can fuck off with their insane semen demons

90. do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

neither, but i should.

91. have you ever been high?

nope

92. have you ever been drunk?

answered

93. last thing you ate?

hot dog

94. favorite lyrics right now

answered

95. summer or winter?

fall

96. day or night?

night

97. dark, milk, or white chocolate?

dark

98. favorite month?

umm, august? idk

99. what is your zodiac sign

aquarius

100. who was the last person you cried in front of?

i don’t remember, it’s been a really long time since i cried in front of someone.

#thessaia #ask games #BET YOU THOUGHT I WOULDNT #HA #BITE ME #YOUR BITCH ASS BETTER READ EVERY DAMN ONE CAUSE THIS SHIT TOOK ME LIKE A GODDAMN HOUR

22 notes · View notes

strawberrysunrisewitches · 4 years

Text

Amara Profile

template made by @hogwartsmysterystory

Identity

Name: Amara Jade Caplan-Shields

Gender:Female

Birth Date:4 January 1999

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: Bisexual

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Ethnicity: Vietnamese African-American

Nationality: British-American

Residence: North Yorkshire, England?

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENFP-A / Campaigner

The Mage

Wand: Black Walnut 11” ¾ Swedish Short-Snout horn

Animagus: Maine Coon cat with a dragon mark on the stomach (was made an animagus by Chaotic Official Aunty Lucia)

Misc Magical Abilities: N/A

Boggart Form: Her sisters dead surrounded by thestrals

Riddikulus Form: Her parents in clown suits

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Cherries, bbq smoke, morning dew,

Amortentia: (What do they smell?):Honey, Lavender, Roses, chocolate, cinnamon on whipped cream

Patronus: Swedish Short-Snout

Patronus Memory: Getting to hold Layla for the first time

Mirror of Erised: Her adult self as the CoMC professor

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Reducio(Because carrying a giant blanket is no fun)

Draconifors (Cause she likes dragons)

Accio (Don’t want to lose a shrunken blanket)

Incendio (Good way to get warm and roast marshmallows)

Diffindo (Cut a blood supremacist time is always with this spell)

Appearance

Faceclaim: Hailee Steinfeld

Height: 4’6(Year 1), 5’9(Year 7)

Weight: 156 lbs(by year 7)

Physique: Well muscled (thanks Quidditch) but quite curvy

Eye Colour: Hazel

Hair Colour: Very Dark Brown

Skin Tone: Light Tan

Body Modifications: Two studs on both ears, when she is 15 she gets the tips of her hair dyed green to match her Mama

she gets multiple tattoos when she is older;

Going down her right side from just below her chest to her thigh is a dragon with wisps of red fire placed around various parts of it(16)

Between her shoulder blades is a tattoo of two wyverns one red and one blue forming a heart with their bodies with the name of her significant other in it whoever that may be (17)

Wrapping around her left arm are four pink flowers with blue magic swirling down their stalks from a blue butterfly(17)

On her stomach. She has a tattoo of a white and blue snowy owl with six blue and purple flowers on the wings, three on each one.(18)

Scarring:Scar going vertically down the middle of her right eye

Inventory: (what do they carry on them?) Wand, hair ribbon, stetson, magical creatures books, butterfly book, five person blanket, a hot water bottle in a butterfly cover

Fashion: Amara is always wearing at least two layers of clothing, preferring warmth over fashion; merino wool clothing is her immediate go to for anything; hoodies, sweatshirts you name it if there is a version made of merino wool she will like it. If there’s no merino wool then she will settle for polyprop clothes but never wears skirts or dresses, she is also never seen without her green hair ribbon given by her Mumma or stetson from her Mama

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Affiliations/Organizations:

Hogwarts

Slytherin

Prefects

Professions: CoMC Professor(Future)

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: D

Charms: O

DADA: E

Flying: O

Herbology:A

History of Magic:O

Potions: A

Transfiguration: O

Electives:

CoMC O

Magical Theory E

Music E

Quidditch: Beater

Extra Curricular: Magical Creatures Club

Favourite Professors: Hagrid

This should be obvious why she likes Hagrid but it’s solely because of his teaching style allowing the students to get up close and personal with the creatures to understand them better and learn how they act in an environment they are comfortable in.

Least Favourite Professors:Professor Sinistra

Amara dislikes Professor SInistra due to the fact that Astronomy requires them to stay up past midnight when its cold and Amara hates the cold due to its effect on her and how she isn’t allowed to wrap herself in her big blanket in class

Relationships

Sisters:

Reyna Andrea Caplan-Shields(Rara) @cursed-ice-spirits

Halfblood

Hufflepuff

Two years older

Brown hair, tan skin, hazel eyes

Amara looks up to Reyna and will seek her guidance for problems that she believes her parents cannot help with but does wish Reyna will take a break from everything she does every day for her sanity’s sake. Amara would do anything for Reyna if it meant she’s safe and healthy even take a curse for her.

Layla Ida Caplan-Shields

Halfblood

Hufflepuff

Two years younger

Brown hair, tan skin, and blue eyes

Amara is very protective of Layla and would prefer she let her fight her battles for her but will relent if Amara can see it’s something Layla truly believes in and wants to fight for it, despite this protectiveness Amara knows Layla is a better dueler than her but it’s hard to remember that when Layla is in a situation where she could get hurt.

Mother 1:Lauren Karina Caplan-Shields(Mama)

Half-Blood

Gryffindor

Brown hair, dark tan skin, and hazel eyes

Out of all of her parents, Amara is closest to Lauren and is the first one she will confide in when it comes to any problems that she has. It is because of Lauren that Amara first wanted to become the CoMC professor of Hogwarts. Lauren is always willing to tell Amara about the new species of creatures that aren’t in books and of course the obsession with butterflies came from Lauren.

Mother 2: Rebecca Vivian Caplan-Shields(Mumma) @cursed-ice-spirits

Pureblood

Hufflepuff

Black hair, light tan skin, and hazel eyes

Rebecca loves Amara as much as she loves the rest of her daughters although they might not be as close as Rebecca and Reyna. She likes showing her how to care for creatures since she knows that Amara wants to be the COMC Professor when she’s older

Father: Diego Caplan-Shields(Papa)

Halfblood

Hufflepuff

Brown hair, tan skin, and dark hazel eyes

Despite not actually being biologically related, Diego and Amara are very close, he taught her to stand up for her friends and what she believes in no matter whoever or whatever she is facing. Diego also instilled a love of music in her that she will never lose.

Love Interest: *shrug*

Best Friends: Grace Winger

Rival: *Shrug*

Enemy: ALL BLOOD SUPREMACISTS

Dormmates:

Grace Winger

Roxanna Firahel

Pets:

Nieve, her snowy owl, big fan of sitting on heads and not a fan of bird cages at all. Very bitey if you try to put her in one

Cici, a wolf that lives in the Forbidden Forest that Amara nursed back to health when it was injured which eventually is adopted by Amara when she graduates

Closest Canon Friends: TBD

Closest MC Friends:

Alaire Whitecross @hogwartsmysterystory

Alissa Firahel

Amaranth Winger @thecursedvaultchild

Grace Winger @thecursedvaultchild

Hannah FIrahel

Penelope Auraine

Rebecca Firahel

Rhett Winger @thecursedvaultchild

Roxanna Firahel

Selene Firahel

Background/History

When Amara was about 9 years old, she escaped her parents watch and wandered around a nearby forest where she came upon a couple called Henry and Michelle Auraine who were attacked by some wolves which they were able to kill but not before Michelle died and Henry close to it, Amara was able to comfort Henry in his final moments assuring he will see his wife again. This event gave her the ability to see thestrals which unfortunately instilled in her a fear of thestrals

In her first year Amara befriended Penelope Auraine, the daughter of Henry and Michelle. the two became quick friends despite being in different houses

In her third year, Penelope fell into the Black Lake and didn’t know how to swim, only problem was it was winter so if Amara went to rescue her she would very quickly get hypothermia. Amara didn’t even hesitate and jumped in hoping to be quick enough to rescue her. She was able to do so thanks to quidditch but just barely before she fainted from hypothermia, she was of course saved but it was very close

It was also in her third year that Reyna collapsed from the demon afflicting her which increased Amara’s worry for Reyna and desire to ensure Reyna relaxes for once in her life.

In her fifth year, Amara became prefect and started trying to get rid of any and all traces of blood supremacy she can find

In her seventh year is when Amara comes upon Cici and nurses her back to health

After Hogwarts Amara became the professor of CoMC once Hagrid retired but before he did, she worked at Lauren’s magical creatures zoo for awhile

Personality

Amara is the complete opposite of the stereotypical Slytherin, she's emotional, very empathetic, loyal to a fault and very smart but at the same time she uses everything she has at her disposal to accomplish her goals whether that be schoolwork or shutting up pureblood supremacists it matters not to her. She is also a absolute 100% mess when it comes to romance and it's very obvious to everyone including herself when she has a crush on someone

Misc

Her scar was from when she fell while holding scissors with the blade facing upwards when she was young

She’s very susceptible to the cold to the point that she can get hypothermic much more faster than normal people hence her carrying the big blanket and hot water bottle with her most of the time

Is VERY cuddly to her friends and family and will very quickly doze off when doing so, and you are not allowed to move because it's the law

She wakes up early to watch the sunrise with Lauren along with some hot chocolate and her blanket to keep warm in the morning air

Her first name means Everlasting and Her middle name is from her late grandmother, Eliza Jade Shields

She is fluent in English and Spanish

Her side tattoo looks like this, her dragon heart tattoo looks like this, her arm tattoo looks like this and her stomach is this

Generally puts her hair up in the same way as Lauren

Is a bit obsessed with butterflies

Knows how to play the guitar and drums

#Harry Potter Hogwarts mystery #harry potter magic awakened #Harry Potter #harry potter magic awaken #harry potter magic awakens #amara caplan-shields #hpma #hphm #caplan-shields #took me long enough to make this #character profile

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thesanguinerose · 4 years

Text

Week One Apprentice April Asks

I wanted to post the remaining asks for my boys, so here you go!

Questions already answered are linked. Also RIP to mobile users. I’m so sorry.

For Rory:

1. The Basics. What is your character’s name? How old are they? How tall are they? Skin color? Eye color? Hair color? Gender identification?

Riordan “Rory” Enda Tanner is 26 years old at the start of the game. He was born April 11 (Aries), and is trans (he/him only, please). He does identify as gay, though he has been known to have some wiggle room - rare as said wiggle room is. He stands at a towering 5’2” (though he wears heeled boots 99% of the time so really everyone sees him at….5’5”), is incredibly pale and rosy and freckled, has green eyes, and brown hair that’s usually pulled back into a ponytail or braid. Sometimes he leaves it down, though, and it is close to waist length. He likes to wear silver earrings (cuffed up to his cartilage), and his colors are Navy, Cream, and Silver. He made his own binder by developing a modified stay, though his build is slight enough that he doesn’t require it all the time. His general outfit is a white undershirt, with the sleeves rolled up, his modified stay, a navy vest/jerkin, and brown trousers and boots. Fairly simple and standard. Doesn’t garner much attention. He also cannot see very well and has circular spectacles. However, due to his clumsiness, Rory keeps them on a chain in case they fall from his face. Which they do. Frequently. (Further outfit info can be provided on request for pre-death/masquerade/etc purposes if interested!)

2. Love Interest. Who does your character love? What attracted them to that particular LI?

Answered here

3. Familiar. Does your character have a familiar? How did they meet?

Answered here

4. Hobbies. What kinds of things does your character like to do for fun?

He likes to sew. One of his passions is designing and sewing together outfits or finding fun ways to design practical clothing items. He makes all of his own clothing and post-game experiments with many different kinds and colors of fabrics. He also enjoys writing - mostly journal entries as he doesn’t want to forget any other aspect of his life from now on. Also enjoys horseback riding and general tomfoolery!

5. Hidden talents. Is there something neat that your character can do? Tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue? Say any word backwards perfectly?

SFW - He’s a very good dancer, though usually just when others aren’t looking. He is also a fan of sleight of hand tricks, using magic or just by being slippery.

…..he has some NSFW ones, but those are available upon request ^_^

6. Magical talents. Is there a specific type of magic that your character excels at? Any magic they aren’t so great at? Or do they actually shy away from magic altogether?

Rory has some natural talent and some learned. Naturally, he is adept with fire based magic, and prophetic divination, most of which is involuntary. He is also prone to emotional outbursts that result in items being broken/people being hurt. Learned, he excelled at alchemy, illusion, and magical theory. He likes the balance and physicality of alchemy, versus the creativity and freedom of illusion, and how they play into one another. Most of his learned magic was lost, but Asra retaught him a bit of it :)

7. Interaction. How does your character typically interact with people?

Answered here

8. Romance. What is something that your character and their LI love to do together? How do they show affection?

With Julian, they like to go on adventures. The more places they can go, the better. They are also both very good at surprising each other with events, gifts, vacations. Sometimes, just the simple things like making breakfast in the morning, or a comforting hug after a bad day. Rory primarily shows his affection with words and actions - he is very much a fan of telling people that he loves them and why, and wants to hug and touch as much as he can. He requires the same, though usually the words are the important part, especially as his insecurities show up. He just needs reassurance that he is loved, and he is glad to provide the same as is needed.

9. Travel. Does your character like to travel outside of Vesuvia? How often? For how long? What kinds of things do they do away from home?

Now he does. He was raised on a farm in a small village about a week’s travel southwest of Vesuvia. He ran away from home at 18, stayed briefly with his aunt in Vesuvia, went to school in Prakra for magic, then returned to Vesuvia to help his aunt with her shop. Up until his death, however, he stayed within the general city limits. Once he is brought back, he stays at home up through end-game. At that point, he and Julian travel all over the world, for months at a time, especially once they get Julian his own ship. They regularly travel to Nevivon and galavant across Prakra, but always return home to Vesuvia. Every trip means a new place that Rory hasn’t seen, and if Julian hasn’t been there, either, all the better!

10. WTF. Has anything just…weird ever happened to your character? Something that made them stop and go “What just happened?!”

Answered here

11. Crime. Has your character ever been arrested? If so, what did they do? Have they ever helped stop a crime?

He’s never been caught ;) See Question 10 for stopping crimes, though that hardly counts, doesn’t it?

12. Secrets. What is a secret that your character has? Are they in line for the throne in a far off land? Was there this one time at band camp…? Are they secretly involved in an assassin’s guild?

Answered here

13. Overcompensation. Is there something that your character just HAS to do better than anyone else? Or are they just that dang good without trying? If they see someone else showing off, what is their kneejerk reaction?

Answered here

14. Fight Club. Is your character a good fighter? What kind of skills do they have?

Answered here

15. The Arts. Is your character a creative type? What kinds of things can they create? Can they act? Street perform?

He can sketch! Not well, and not people, but he likes to sketch out landscapes and plants. Professional Doodler ;) He also does stage magic and sleight of hand for fun, and has been known to do some work down at the community theater. He can sing, but he’s a better dancer, preferring to let his body do the talking for him. Wishes he could play an instrument, but for everyone’s sake...best not to let him near one!

16. Goofy. Is your character a clown? Do they like to make people laugh?

Answered here

17. Language. Is your character multilingual? How many languages do they speak? Do they have an accent? Is it sexy? Is it silly? Do they have a multilingual lisp?

Answered here

18. Embarrassment. What is something really embarrassing that your character has done/said?

Honestly, when he first went to Prakra, he was a bit of a bumpkin. So just his overall reactions to being in a metropolis, plus his shy demeanor, led him to act in some embarrassing ways around people he wanted to befriend. In game, Rory is notoriously clumsy, not quite used to his limbs, like a young colt. He laughs off his embarrassment, now, at least!

19. Memory. Has your character gotten any of their memory back? If so, what? Did it change them?

Not properly. When he became strong enough, Asra gave Rory back his old journal, which documented Rory’s life from the ages of 16 to 22, when he died. Rory can’t read it for too long or, yes, the headaches start. So instead of getting his memories back, he just sort of re-reads what his life was from the point of view of someone that he...quite simply doesn’t relate to anymore. But it’s good for him to know, he thinks. To see what he was like, and to avoid making similar mistakes. It does inspire him to make his own journal, and to keep track of his days so he never loses another moment again.

20. Family. Talk about your character’s family. Who were they?

Answered here

For Riley

1. The Basics. What is your character’s name? How old are they? How tall are they? Skin color? Eye color? Hair color? Gender identification?

Riley Aeron Tanner is 24 years old at the start of the game. He’s a Virgo, born September 17th, and is cis, using he/him pronouns. Highkey a bisexual disaster who doesn’t quite know what to do with all the feelings he has, and also pretty oblivious to people liking him! He’s 6’2” and built like a brick shithouse, warm skin-toned, easy to tan, but still very clearly pale. He has brown eyes and dark brown hair, which he tries to keep short, but he’s not very good at cutting it, so it sometimes hits near chin length. He can be found wearing very practical clothing that makes it easy to move as he does a lot of stocking/lifting/errand running for the shop, as well as odd jobs around town. Also very earthy in his tones - lots of greens and browns and oranges! He’s also not incredibly hairy, but he does have a fair amount of body hair - including a full beard, which he tries to keep neatly trimmed. Unlike his brother, he can see without glasses, so any accessories would be practical - a bag, tools, and the like.

2. Love Interest. Who does your character love? What attracted them to that particular LI?

Answered here

3. Familiar. Does your character have a familiar? How did they meet?

Answered here

4. Hobbies. What kinds of things does your character like to do for fun?

He likes to play the lute, go for walks outside the city, and people watch. He’s definitely a people person and his favorite is going into the marketplace and just complimenting people on their wares, or drawing the animals he sees running around. And just being an all around good guy...Those are hobbies, right?

5. Hidden talents. Is there something neat that your character can do? Tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue? Say any word backwards perfectly?

Answered here

6. Magical talents. Is there a specific type of magic that your character excels at? Any magic they aren’t so great at? Or do they actually shy away from magic altogether?

Honestly, Riley isn’t good at magic at all. He’s never shown an affinity for it, and it’s never been that big a deal to him. In his canon, Rory dies when Riley is 15, and so he pursues magic as a way to honor him, even if it’s hard. He gains an affinity for Green Magic and enjoys tarot, but he still isn’t particularly good at either of them. After he is brought back, of course, this changes, and his magical powers develop very quickly.

7. Interaction. How does your character typically interact with people?

He. Loves. People. He’s like a big puppy - loud and excited, kind and helpful, constantly the life of the party. He tries to help people in need whenever he can, and if he ends a conversation with the other person grinning, then he has succeeded! Generally well liked, but not smug or rude about it. He’s just a good dude!

8. Romance. What is something that your character and their LI love to do together? How do they show affection?

With Portia, they like to go on adventures together either in real life, or in their books. He likes it when she reads to him, and he likes to read to her. He likes to surprise her with events and little shows of physical affection - neck kisses, spinning her around, humming into her ear, massages after a long day. He likes to doodle her - though he is so upset that he can’t catch her likeness in his stick figures, not properly. Riley also serenades her - out in public or in the privacy of their home - doesn’t matter!

9. Travel. Does your character like to travel outside of Vesuvia? How often? For how long? What kinds of things do they do away from home?

He doesn’t travel very often. He’s stayed in Vesuvia since he moved there at 15, so I guess you could say he’s a bit of a homebody. He will travel occasionally, especially if Portia wants to, and is open to adventure, but it doesn’t occur to him to leave unless someone else suggests it.

10. WTF. Has anything just…weird ever happened to your character? Something that made them stop and go “What just happened?!”

Answered here

11. Crime. Has your character ever been arrested? If so, what did they do? Have they ever helped stop a crime?

Riley is generally pretty lawful good, though in both Rory and Riley’s canons, he does take up with a small militia to fight some of Lucio’s men. I suppose that was a crime, though I would argue the validity of that claim. He’s stopped a robbery or two in the past, but he generally tries to stay out of trouble.

12. Secrets. What is a secret that your character has? Are they in line for the throne in a far off land? Was there this one time at band camp…? Are they secretly involved in an assassin’s guild?

Answered here

14. Fight Club. Is your character a good fighter? What kind of skills do they have?

Yes. He can punch, he can throw, he can swordfight - He’s just very good at fighting. In canon, he is a practiced fighter, and in most AUs, he has done boxing or wrestling in addition to weightlifting. Boy can Fight!

15. The Arts. Is your character a creative type? What kinds of things can they create? Can they act? Street perform?

Answered here

16. Goofy. Is your character a clown? Do they like to make people laugh?

Answered here

17. Language. Is your character multilingual? How many languages do they speak? Do they have an accent? Is it sexy? Is it silly? Do they have a multilingual lisp?

Answered here

18. Embarrassment. What is something really embarrassing that your character has done/said?

Asra tried to tell Riley he loved him once before Riley’s death, and Riley just said, “Oh, wow, buddy! I love you too!” because he didn’t realize what Asra meant. Once he did realize, it was deeply embarrassing for both of them and Riley felt really bad about it.

19. Memory. Has your character gotten any of their memory back? If so, what? Did it change them?

He hasn’t. But maybe it’s better to forget, y’know? He can move forward instead of looking back on what he lost.

20. Family. Talk about your character’s family. Who were they?

See Rory’s answer for most of this. The only difference is the dynamic. Riley was raised as the “perfect” child in contrast to the abuse Rory faced, and so developed a weird complex around being “perfect”. He was spoiled, though did not want to be, and was uncomfortable with it. He also looked up to his older brother like he was made of everything good in this world - Riley wanted so much to be like Rory.

#apprenticeapril #long post #rory redacted #riley redacted #i'm so sorry this is so long #and the formatting probably got messed up #al;skjflajd #the arcana game #uhhhh #have fun with these

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goodlucktai · 6 years

Text

go on and wonder

sorcerer’s stone au word count: 5k characters: harry, ron, hermione, neville, remus read on ao3 part of the steady feet series x

When he’s two years old, Harry follows a fluttering paper bird away from Aunt Petunia’s side.

It’s bright green and flaps its wings just like the real thing-- doubling back towards him when he reaches for it and flipping its beak through his hair in a way that tickles. Harry laughs and toddles after it, all the way down the street and around the corner, to a little cafe tucked out of sight.

The windows are all warmly lit, there’s pleasant music pouring from the open door, and a man is sitting at one of the tables outside. His amber eyes are as warm as the windows, and the paper bird is perched on his knee.

“Hello, little one,” the man says. All the scars on his face are softened by his smile. Harry isn’t afraid of him for even a moment. “I’ve found you at last.”

It’s the earliest memory Harry has of kindness.

Growing up, Harry will assume it’s Mr. Moony’s shabbiness that Aunt Petunia can’t stand. The man’s clothes are worn and threadbare, same as Harry’s, but he’s nowhere near as easily cowed as Harry is by the big, loud, mean Dursleys. He invites himself into Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry on his hip and distracted by the paper bird Mr. Moony gave him, while Petunia is still at the market in town.

“Where’s your room, Harry?” the man asks in his gentle voice. “Where do you sleep and play?”

Harry looks up from his bird and points at the cupboard under the stairs. It’s small and dusty and full of spiders, but it’s all he knows. He’s too young to understand why Mr. Moony goes still and silent, but he understands when the man’s other arm wraps around him that it’s a hug and it’s good and it’s what Auntie Petunia does to Dudley when she says “I love you.” Harry almost crushes his bird in his hurry to hug back.

Quiet Mr. Moony sits him at the table and makes him a tuna sandwich, cut into triangles, and is still peeling an apple for him when the Dursleys come home. He puts a hand in Harry’s hair as he gets up from the table, ruffling his fringe into his eyes. When Harry can see again, laughing, there are three more paper birds next to his slightly crumpled one on the table, flitting around his empty plate as though they’re picking up crumbs from his sandwich.

There’s an argument happening in the next room, explosive and violent, but he’s distracted and there’s a silencing charm between the sitting room and the kitchen, anyway. Harry wouldn’t have understood it even if he could hear-- what the kind stranger meant when he told Petunia “this isn’t what she wanted for him. I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry says goodbye to his cupboard that day, but he never says goodbye to Mr. Moony. He never has to.

“Harry,” Moony says in dismay, “what happened to you?”

Harry looks down at himself. He hadn’t thought Piers pushed him down hard enough to break any skin, but the knees of his secondhand jeans are torn and bloody. The palms of his hands are no better. Harry tucks them behind his back.

“Nothing,” he says. It’s the right thing to say, because nothing ever comes of telling. Moony is nice, and he would fight for Harry more than his teachers ever did, but he doesn’t want Uncle Vernon to shout at Moony just because of Harry’s skinned knees.

Moony closes the book and gets out of his chair. Harry blinks in surprise when the man kneels in front of him, so they’re nearly eye-to-eye. Moony says, “Do you remember the paper birds?”

Of course he does! Harry still has them tucked away in his bedroom. He likes to run his fingers along their folds and imagine them flying again. Sometimes they do, sweeping around his room in little tornadoes of color. Sometimes they feel like something impossible he pulled out of a dream, but they came from Moony and he’s as real as anything else. Petunia always scowls and Vernon always blusters when he comes for a visit, so he’s definitely not someone Harry made up.

Harry says, “I remember! Are you going to make me another one?”

Smiling, Moony says, “Remind me before you go home and I’ll make as many as you can carry. But before that-- “

He takes Harry’s hand in his much larger one, holding it open so the scuffed skin on Harry’s palms face them. In Moony’s other hand is a long, thin piece of wood.

It looks like the switch Aunt Petunia threatened to use on him just the other day, when he ripped up a flower bulb instead of a weed. Harry’s immediate, knee-jerk reaction is to flinch away when Moony lifts it.

Moony’s whole face fills with pain, like rain puddling in the potholes in the road that Uncle Vernon roars about. Harry is six years old and old enough to know pain when he sees it. He’s abruptly, incredibly sorry that he hurt this person who has always been nice to him, and ashamed of himself, but he can’t help the way his eyes dart back to the stick.

“Watch,” Moony says, and then he says, “Episkey.”

The broken skin on Harry’s hands and knees close, and the ache fades, and Harry stares in open-mouthed wonder.

“You’re magic!” he blurts. It only takes him a moment to catch up to his surprise, and when he does, there’s only delight left. “I knew you were!”

Moony touches Harry’s messy hair, as though he loves it as much as Aunt Petunia hates it. His eyes are bright amber and sad but his smile is as kind as it’s ever been.

He tells Harry it is magic, but it must be kept a secret. He gravely accepts Harry’s solemn promise not to tell. He sweeps his wand and fills the room with all manner of paper animals that fly and run and swim through the air and something comes alive in Harry that must have been sleeping before.

By the time he’s eleven years old, Harry has heard all about Hogwarts. He knows about the Houses and the castle and the secret passage to Honeydukes, and all the mischief and trouble his family got into there. He aches for it, and asks Moony for story after story after story.

Remus, in his soft, rasping voice, tells Harry anything he wants to hear. He tells him that his father was a bit of a prat before his mother knocked some sense into him, he tells him that his godfather was as wild and loyal as they come, he tells him about a map they made together and the pranks they came up with to get out of homework and all the points they lost and gained for Gryffindor.

It sounds like a dream. Harry wants to go to school there, he wants to see the Giant Squid and compete in Quidditch matches and meet the talking portraits. Remus promises him he will. He says, “If you’re anything like your parents, you’ll turn Hogwarts on its head.”

Hesitantly, Harry says, “What if I’m not like them? What if I’m not even a Gryffindor?”

It makes Remus pause. It’s near the end of the month and he looks very tired, but he’s never sent Harry away.

“It’s not fair that I got to know them and you didn’t,” he says softly, “but James and Lily were two of my best friends, and I hope you’ll trust me enough to believe me about this.” He crouches, the way he always does so Harry doesn’t have to crane his neck to look up at him. Eye to eye, Remus tells him, “They loved you more than I have words for. They would have loved you no matter what House colors you wore, no matter how good you were in your classes, whether or not you played Quidditch. I promise you, no matter what else you might hear, you are their greatest pride.”

Harry believes him, because of course he does. Because it’s Moony, who does magic for him and takes him for ice cream on his birthdays and is the first thing that comes to mind when Harry thinks of his family.

The morning Harry’s acceptance letter arrives, Dudley snatches it away at the breakfast table. Uncle Vernon tries to rip it up, but Harry silently begs the paper not to tear and it stubbornly stays whole in his uncle’s meaty hands.

Harry shouts, “I’ll tell Remus!” and Aunt Petunia’s face goes ashen. Uncle Vernon’s face is turning purple, he’s near-apoplectic with rage, but he shoves the letter back across the table. Harry takes it back and runs upstairs to ask one of the colorful birds to fly to his wizard friend.

Remus comes right over, alight with joy and pride, and they sit together on his bed and comb through the letter and the supplies list. Harry asks when they can go to Diagon Alley, and Remus’ expression changes.

“I can’t go with you, I’m afraid,” he says lightly. “Your new headmaster will send someone else to do your shopping with you.”

Harry is eleven and stubborn and bright for his age. He scowls thunderously and digs in his heels, because he isn’t afraid of Remus the way he is of his aunt and uncle. And Remus sees too much of Lily in him. It takes all of about three minutes to wear him down, and then he explains:

There was a Dark wizard who hurt a lot of people, and there was a war. Harry’s parents went into hiding and they were betrayed and that’s how they died. Because of tricky and ancient blood magic, the Dursleys were the best of a limited number of options for where Harry could grow up safely.

Remus’ face twists a little when he tells the story, something angry and animal surfacing in his eyes. He’s not supposed to be here, he explains to Harry. He’s not allowed to be. But Harry imagines, for one fleeting moment, what his life would have been like without Moony in it-- and his mind shies away from the terrible idea, like a bird startled into flight. He flings himself against the man hard enough to knock the breath out of them both.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Harry blurts, “so don’t go, okay?”

Arms settle around him, secure and safe, and Remus says, “You know better than that, Harry. They’ll have to drag me away in chains.”

He doesn’t say and they might. Harry doesn’t hear it in his tone. He just leans back and grins, the child of prodigies and Marauders, eyes as bright as his mother’s when she leaned over a frothing cauldron, as his father’s when he soared fifty feet above the ground.

Secrets are his birthright. He knows how to keep them, knows the thrill of them, and someday he’ll know the danger of them, too.

When September 1st comes around, Remus takes him as far as King’s Cross. Harry gets onto the platform with no trouble, and there’s plenty of time to pick an empty compartment and stow his trunk away. He has a stack of books for the long ride and a pocket full of spending money for the trolley and a snowy owl on his knee.

Instead of a gaggle of redheads, Harry meets a tearful boy looking for a toad.

“Gran will be furious if I’ve lost him,” the boy says in a near-whisper.

Harry shuts his book with a snap and says, “Let’s find him, then.”

When Ron comes looking for a place to sit, he finds the two of them pouring over a paperback Muggle novel. Hedwig is keeping an eye on Trevor, in case he tries another escape attempt. Harry looks up, and his eyes are as bright as lightning and his scar is stark and pale against his brown skin and Ron knows exactly who he is. Neville knows, too.

But he introduces himself as, “Just Harry,” and gets up to help Ron wrestle his trunk away, and when the trolley comes around he buys enough sweets to share, and by then there’s more important things to talk about than the Boy Who Lived.

Draco Malfoy extends the hand of friendship, but Harry hates the way he looks at Neville. It’s the same way Dudley and Piers used to look at him. Then he makes fun of Ron’s secondhand robes, and Harry’s had just about enough.

“I know a jinx that will turn your hair purple,” he informs Malfoy bluntly, eyeing his pale blond head and imagining how easily the bright color would stick to it. It worked on Remus well enough and his hair is tawny, closer to brown. “Should I give it a try?”

Malfoy’s hands fly up to his hair defensively, a look of horror crossing his face, and Professor McGonagall appears before any spells have a chance to fly. She pauses to take in the scene, Ron at Harry’s shoulder and Neville cowering just a step behind and Malfoy pink with rage. Harry looks up at her, thinking of the stories Remus told him of his strict and caring Head of House, and offers a smile when her eyes finally settle on him.

Something in her stern expression softens. The twitch of her mouth is not quite a smile, but it’s enough of a tell. Harry knows he’s not in trouble, and nudges Neville to look up so they don’t trip when they follow her into the Great Hall.

Ron’s properly terrified, because his big brother told him some tall tale about wrestling a troll, and Harry stifles a laugh. He knows it’s just a silly hat, but he also knows better than to pass the secret along.

Besides, it’s not a secret for long. The aged hat sings a song about the Houses, and by the end of it Harry is vibrating with excitement. The cunning Slytherins sound like they’d know the most about getting away with pranks, and Remus told him never to cross a Puff because they’re the most loyal people in the world and they’ll hold grudges forever. He isn’t sure he’s bright enough for Ravenclaw, but he likes the look of the students pouring over books and largely ignoring the Sorting going on at the front of the hall. Any of those Houses would probably be amazing.

But his eyes catch on the scarlet and gold of the Gryffindor table, and he yearns for it. He wants to sit at the table his parents sat at. He wants to see the Hogwarts Moony got to see.

He cheers the loudest for Neville’s Sorting, and Ron gives him an encouraging shoulder pat when it’s his turn, and the hat slips low over his eyes and hums in his ear.

It scolds Harry for thinking himself not good enough for Rowena’s House, laughingly agrees with his summation of the Hufflepuffs, and then feels around the corners of his mind; for his open-mindedness, his eagerness to belong, his inherited trickster’s streak, his general disregard for rules, his one-track mind when it comes to bullies and the people who unwillingly attract them.

Difficult, very difficult, says the hat, who said the same thing for Neville and Hermione Granger, who will say the same thing for Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley, but I think I know where you’ll do best.

And it shouts aloud, “Gryffindor!”

Harry writes to Remus about his two new friends, about the view from the First Year’s room in the tower, about Snape and how right Remus was when he predicted the Potions professor’s grudge, about that first flying lesson and Malfoy stealing Neville’s Remembrall and McGonagall’s decision to scout Harry for the Gryffindor House Quidditch team. Given that it’s only been a few days since his last letter, it feels like there’s still a lot to tell him. He scrawls through three feet of parchment before he runs out of words.

He always sends Hedwig on her way with stern instructions to give Remus her particular brand of owly affection, because he thinks Remus might be lonely with Harry gone. She always looks at him gravely before she nips his nose and wings away, so Harry thinks she understands.

Ron struggles through Charms, and Hermione Granger is kind of bossy, but Harry doesn’t laugh with the other boys when Ron makes fun. Lily’s eyes are bright with disapproval, and when he runs after Hermione, Neville is only a step behind him.

It’s a little awkward, sitting in the girls’ loo while a classmate he doesn’t know very well sobs on his shoulder, but Harry puts his arm around her anyway. Neville fishes a Chocolate Frog out of his bag and presses it into her hand. It’s slightly squashed, but Tilly Toke winks at her from the card underneath, and it works a little smile out of Hermione.

The Halloween Feast must have just started upstairs, but Ron shuffles into the loo not even twenty minutes after Harry and Neville arrived. He’s staring at his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and manages to look Hermione in the eye to say he’s sorry.

“I was a prat,” he adds. “All my brothers are better than me at everything, and they always rub it in my face, and it-- I dunno. It felt like that’s what you were doing. But I shouldn’t’ve made fun.”

Hermione’s face is tear-stained and her eyes are all puffy and her hair is a mess, there’s chocolate melting in her hands and the bottoms of her robes are damp from where there’s water puddled on the tile floor, but she’s still the sharpest thing in the room. She looks at Ron like she’s looking right through him.

And then she says, “I was a prat, too.”

There’s a troll in the dungeons, but by the time it lumbers into the girls’ bathroom, the four Gryffindors aren’t there. They were in the basement anyway, and Harry knew where the kitchen was. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the pear, so Ron tickled it for him, and the house-elves were surprised to see them and delighted to feed them and the danger passed them safely by.

Neville is late to lunch, and Harry goes looking for him. Naturally, Hermione and Ron push their plates away and come along. They find him in a corridor just off the entrance hall, cornered by a pack of Slytherins headed by Malfoy, and Ron groans low.

“Mate, don’t start anything,” he says, knowing it’s hopeless. He likes Malfoy about as much as he likes Potions, but his dislike has to go on the shelf because Harry’s is big enough for them both and keeping him from picking fights is a full-time job. Harry takes every instance of bullying so personally, whether it’s Neville or someone they don’t know or even a snooty Ravenclaw they don’t get along with. It’s just extra personal when it’s Neville.

Sure enough, Harry doesn’t hesitate, eyes locked on his frightened friend. “Malfoy already started it.”

They all get detentions, except Hermione and Neville. Until Hermione says, “Excuse me, Professor? I was involved as well,” and Sprout looks like she doesn’t know what to say to that.

“You keep getting in trouble for me,” Neville says glumly, picking with disinterest at his lunch. “Seamus says I should stick up for myself.”

“Then tell Seamus he can do his own Herbology homework from now on,” Harry says promptly. His eyes stray down the table, to where their guilty-looking yearmate is pretending not to listen in, and the green of them seems to glow under the rain clouds enchanted across the ceiling. He doesn’t say anything to him, though, turning back to Neville with a friendly grin. “Drink your juice, Nev. We’re still practicing flying during free period, and you’re not using low blood sugar as excuse to get out of it.”

Where did you come from? Ron wants to ask Harry sometimes. He doesn’t, though, because Harry would probably just look at him blankly and say something irritating like, “I’m from Surrey.”

Hermione catches Ron’s eye from across the table and gives him a commiserating smile. They’ll play chess while their friends practice drills and dives in the air, and Ron loves how challenging a game with Hermione always is. She keeps him on his toes, her mind bright and twisting and tactical.

She may be a know-it-all, but she’s Harry’s know-it-all, and that means she’s Ron’s and Nev’s, too. Besides, she's not as bad as Ron used to think.

Harry wants to go home for Christmas, because it’ll be worth seeing the Dursleys if he gets to see Remus. But Remus writes him that he’s ill and Harry would have a much better time at the Castle for the holidays. Harry frowns, but he folds the letter and puts it with all the others, safe in the bottom of his trunk next to the green paper bird that came to Hogwarts with him.

Ron and his brothers are staying, too, so it won’t be too lonely. Harry owl-ordered presents for all his friends and for Remus, and there’s a pile of presents waiting for him, too.

The only one that takes him by surprise is the Invisibility Cloak, more because of the note attached that says use it well than the cloak itself. Remus said he didn’t know where James’ cloak ended up. Harry wonders how it ended up here at Hogwarts to be bundled up and left under a tree.

But as Ron admires it with wide eyes, Harry runs his fingers against the textured fabric and thinks only of his father, and his mischief and misdeeds, and what fun and amazing and stupid things this cloak must have done with him.

The Mirror of Erised shows Ron standing apart from his brothers, and it shows Neville walking with his head held high, and it shows Hermione a sprawling library and an endless day to explore it, and it shows Harry standing with two people who must be his parents and people behind them who must be his family. Remus is there and so is a dark-haired man with a crooked grin, and so are Neville and Hermione and Ron, exactly as if it’s a normal mirror he’s looking into with his friends. They’re all smiling at him.

It might show the future, like Ron said, and it might show things we want, like Neville said. But Harry doesn’t know for sure, and he doesn’t know how he feels about it. He only goes back one time, with Hermione, who wants to copy the runes written along the edges of the mirror and study them. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest and watches from the side where he won’t be able to look into his reflection.

Whatever the mirror is supposed to do, it showed him people who are dead, and people who are here. The only thing they have in common is that they care about Harry, and Harry cares about them, so maybe the mirror shows you what’s inside your heart.

Hermione looks annoyed when he tells her his guess. She shuts her book and shuffles her papers together and says, “Why do I bother with research when you always guess it right?”

Harry grins, not fooled by her cross act for a moment. “You love research, ‘mione. You can still tell me what you found, I’ll listen to the whole thing.”

She eyes him for a moment, as though her principle is at war with her reason, and then she primly opens her book again and Harry settles in happily to listen.

I hope you’re staying out of trouble, Remus writes, but maybe I should know better.

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, because Remus really should know better. Between the baby dragon at Hagrid’s, the subsequent trip into the Forbidden Forest and the hooded figure drinking unicorn blood, the creature lurking behind a locked door on third floor corridor, the staggering number of detentions he’s earned so far with Snape, the mystery of Nicolas Flamel, and the frustrating puzzle involving a package and an empty vault and a break-in at Gringotts, Harry barely has time to do his homework.

But there’s Quidditch. There’s the roaring hearth in the common room, and games of Exploding Snap, and taking a dare from the Weasley twins to wade into the lake and tickle the Giant Squid while Ron roared with laughter and Neville hid his eyes and Hermione yelled at him to Get Out Of That Water This Instant. There’s the warmth in McGonagall’s eyes when his transfigurations go exactly right, and Hagrid’s awful rock cakes, and breakfasts in the Great Hall with all of his friends, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired and reaching around each other for their favorite foods.

He’s definitely not staying out of trouble, but he’s having such a good time that maybe Remus wouldn’t mind all that other stuff.

Neville doesn’t try to stop them when they go after Snape, because he goes with them instead. He recognizes the Devil’s Snare before Harry has caught his breath from the fall through the trapdoor, and says, “Hermione, cast a light!”

The four of them kick up on broomsticks to chase a winged key, and Ron murmurs to Hermione, “Why were there four brooms?” It’s a good question, but one they have to save for later, because there’s an enchanted chessboard in the next room.

Hermione is frowning widely now, and so is Ron again, and it does seem a little strange that these challenges were so on the nose. Everyone knows how well Neville does in Herbology, and Harry is the youngest Seeker in a century, and it’s widely known that Ron beats even sixth years in games of chess.

When Ron is thrown down and the game is over, Neville stays beside him with a tremulously determined expression and tells Hermione and Harry to go ahead. Hermione solves the riddle of the poisons, but she’s shaking by the time she points out the vial Harry needs to swallow, and they both know by that point that they’ve been guided here. Someone arranged it all. She hugs him hard before he steps through the fire, and it’s almost like her hands left an imprint on his arms and shoulders that Harry can still feel when he’s alone.

Quirrel is there, and Voldemort is there, and the Mirror of Erised is there. Harry finds the stone, Lily’s love burns Voldemort’s hands away from Harry the way Hermione’s light burned the Devil’s Snare away from her friends, and Harry wakes up in the hospital wing with Neville asleep at the side of his bed, and Hermione reading a book next to Ron’s.

She looks up as though she can feel his eyes on her, and smiles. Her hair is all over the place and her robes are all wrinkled and she’s absolutely the prettiest girl in the world. “It’s okay,” she says. “Go back to sleep.”

Harry believes her, because it wouldn’t make sense not to. He gropes for Neville’s hand and squeezes it before he sinks back through velvet waves of darkness.

At the leaving feast, the four of them are awarded points for their stupid adventuring and they win Gryffindor the House Cup at the very last second. Harry thinks it’s a little unfair of Dumbledore to change the green and silver banners the way he did-- he wasn’t too worried about the point system or the cup, but he knows a lot of the other kids were, and not all the Slytherins are gits like Malfoy. There must have been a fairer way to do it.

Professor Dumbledore is kindly and grandfatherly, with his long beard and his twinkling eyes and his colorful wizard hats, but Harry is pretty convinced that the man set everything up. The trials and the Stone and the mirror. He wants to talk to Remus as soon as he can, and packs eagerly for the train ride back to King’s Cross.

“I have a lot to think about,” Harry confesses to the others, once their compartment door is locked and warded. “Hermione, can I write you?”

“You have to ask? I’m going to owl you every single day, Harry, and if you don’t reply I’ll hex your robes yellow the minute I see you next year!”

Her eyes are suspiciously bright. Ron pats her knee, and says, “I’m gonna ask mum about inviting you lot over for the summer. You won’t have to wait till next year to hex him, ‘mione.”

Neville is quiet, shoulders slumped and toad clutched in his lap, and Harry nudges their shoulders together.

“Okay, Nev?”

A smile darts across Neville’s face, bright for all that it’s brief, and he says, “Don’t worry about me, Harry. I just-- I’ll miss you.”

Hermione and Ron jump in to say it’s okay! And we’ll see you soon! And we’ll still be friends no matter what! But Harry knows Neville knows all that already. He knows you just can’t help being sad sometimes.

So Harry pulls out his wand and gives it a wave, murmuring his favorite charm. His friends stop talking to watch in wonder as their compartment bursts into color in the form of a flock of paper birds, swooping and spiraling and soaring. Hedwig hoots indignantly, and Ron yelps when one of them gets into his hair, but it only takes a few seconds for Neville to start laughing.

And once he starts, he doesn’t stop, and the rest of them laugh right along.

#harry potter #remus lupin #hermione granger #ron weasley #neville longbottom #sorcerer's stone #hp fic #my writing #steady feet

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