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xiaomoxu · 3 years ago

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Lucien - Impression Date

🦋 SPOILER ALERT!! 🦋

💜 A date from CN server which hasn’t been released in EN server.

Phone Call here

Translations under the cuts~

A thin golden color appeared behind the dark cloud curtain, and it dyed the lower night clouds red, pushing them into the day.

I picked up the camera, put the viewfinder frame on the line where the light and dark meet in the middle of the clouds, and pressed the shutter. The time is exactly one quarter before sunrise, six forty.

A wind brushed the bangs on Lucien's forehead, he turned his head and smiled at me.

Lucien: Is this your impression of me?

I checked the photos I took - the night was still sinking in the lower layers, but the sky was full of broken stars, and in the quiet mid-air, day and night were changing.

MC: Well, sometimes you feel like this...The feeling before sunrise.

The reason for this is that two weeks ago, I signed up for a visual design class, and the teacher mentioned a tool called "mood board" in the class.

By continuously collecting various types of pictures and gathering them on the "mood board", we can convey our thoughts to the viewer in as much detail as possible.

--Break through the information limitation of language and express more elements, feelings and atmosphere.

The homework of the class is to describe a familiar person by taking pictures and collecting pictures. There is no standard answer to the homework, and it is all done by feeling.

I chose to describe Lucien without hesitation.

Out of curiosity about how I would complete this assignment, Lucien suggested to accompany me to take pictures.

I also thought that if I want to complete a high-quality homework, I really should be accompanied by the knowledgeable Professor Lucien, so I gladly agreed.

At this moment, Lucien and I are sitting on the bench on the rooftop, overlooking the center of the city.

Lucien: ... What does it feel like before sunrise?

Lucien quietly looked at the sunlight that was slowly rising from the horizon, allowing the brilliant colors to gild gold in his deep pupils.

I cast my eyes in the same direction as him, thinking about the answer.

MC: ...I can't tell you either, but whatever you feel at the moment is fine.

The vastness of light is surging upwards, they do not converge into a point or a line, they are huge and silent, slowly engulfing the night.

MC: In my eyes, this is a feeling that something is about to break through the darkness.

Lucien: ...

Lucien suddenly took my hand, he didn't speak, he didn't want to disturb the world's last-minute sleep.

Moments later, the sun showed the clouds.

MC: How? Isn't it interesting?

After watching the sunrise, I took Lucien off the rooftop and walked into the bustling street.

Before going to the next stop, Lucien bought some steamed buns at the breakfast stall along the street. We sat on the bench, ate breakfast, and discussed the assignment.

Lucien: Many abstract and complex concepts are really difficult to convey clearly if only described in words.

Lucien: That's why we need so many art forms.

Lucien: Whether it is literature, painting, photography or sculpture, when it comes to conveying information, it has its particularity in form.

MC: Well, our teacher also said that many communication problems are often caused by lack of information.

MC: For example, the proposition "lively streets", I'm thinking of a scene of a large crowd walking aroundㅡ

MC: But your understanding of "lively" is an endless stream of vehicles.

MC: In this way, there was a misunderstanding between us in communication.

Lucien looked at the driveway in front of him, and laughed leisurely.

Lucien: Indeed, in my understanding, the scene before me is very "lively"

The road in front of us suddenly became crowded, and I followed the traffic flow and it seemed that there was no accident.

Lucien: There is a school further ahead from this intersection. Now is the time when parents come to take their children to school, so there will be more traffic.

Lucien: But don't worry, they won't be blocking the road here.

Lucien: There is a hospital nearby, if it occupies the driveway, the ambulance will not be able to pass smoothly when it arrives, the parents know this.

MC: It turned out to be so.

Then, he pointed to the mall on our right.

Lucien: The "lively" people are here.

I looked in the direction of his fingers, and a group of aunties in tai chi suits were forming a formation at the entrance of the mall.

They held soft swords, and once they stood still, they danced dazzling sword moves, which made people applaud.

Lucien: When the mall opened at 8:30, they would leave, carry their long swords, and drop by the next door to buy some ingredients.

I was biting a hot steamed bun, and I was greeted by people coming and going in front of me. Every street scene is captivating.

I bite the hot steamed buns, and was impressed by every scene of the street scene where people came and went.

MC: Hmm, it's really lively...

After thinking for a while, I turned to look at Lucien again,

The reason why he knows this is probably because he always works all night until this time.

And after stepping out of the laboratory, he will not just head back in the car, but walk slowly down the street, paying attention to every lively corner.

Hearing the noisy voices of the world, passing by all kinds of people - all these times, he remembered all these moments in his heart.

Thinking about it, I raised the steamed bun in my hand and took a picture of the crowd and vehicles while it was still hot.

Lucien's gaze, hesitantly, fell on the sesame bun in my hand.

Lucien: Is that what you want to put on your "mood board" too?

I nodded and continued to bite into the sweet buns, unaware of Lucien's slightly raised lip line.

Lucien: So specifically, I give you the impression... white on the outside and black on the inside?

MC: ....

I stunned.

MC: Hahahaha

I couldn't help but leaned towards him, touched his arm lightly, and gave him half of the sesame bun in my hand.

MC: Early morning city, people living in it and steaming buns...

MC: These things contain the feeling you give me.

MC: I can't quite tell what it is. You also know that "mood board" can only be understood, not spoken.

Lucien took a bite of the steamed bun, smiled and looked at the noisy street, the sesame filling stuck to the corner of his lips, he gently wiped it with the pulp of his finger, and smiled slightly.

Lucien: ...I can understand the feeling you said.

Lucien seemed to know that my next stop was Loveland University, and he walked through the familiar streets without asking any questions.

The winter vacation has already come, and the school is so quiet that only a few fat little feral cats occasionally meowed twice.

I led Lucien to the reading room on the second floor of the library, crouched on the ground, and took out the camera.

Lucien: Are you shooting the corridors of the library?

MC: Hmm~ One time when you have nothing to do after the class, you just came here to sit for a while.

I adjusted the aperture and placed the entire corridor in the center of the frame.

MC: At that time, the sun was about to go down, and the ground was full of red clouds, I thought...

MC: If the sunset light is replaced by the clear morning light, it must also look good.

Lucien sat on the stairs a step away, holding his chin, watching the light pouring down from the window while waiting patiently for me to finish taking the photo.

The warm sun shines on Lucien's hair tips, neckline, and finger edges, drawing out delicate lines of his entire person's outline.

MC: Check it out.

I sat down next to Lucien and showed him the pictures I took.

MC: I think the library is also a place with a "Lucien" atmosphere, especially the corridors.

MC: Loud speaking is not allowed here, and it always gives a sense of silence under order.

MC: And the black marble floor, which is swept every day.

MC: The sound of stepping on it is also "tap", "tap", "tap", and it is very hard.

MC: There are countless documents, books, newspapers and magazines are collected behind the doors.

MC: As soon as you open the door, you will be greeted by the vast accumulation of human wisdom.

MC: To sum up, it is a very "quiet" feeling, but it is not only...

Lucien stared at the photos I took, and seemed to feel the information conveyed by the details in the photos.

Lucien: It was lively just now, now it's quiet...

Lucien: The picture you used to describe "Lucien" seems to be irregular at first glance?

Lucien: I'm not sure what kind of person I am in your heart.

I pondered this question carefully, thinking about how to express my intention in words.

MC: In fact, I took more than these three pictures.

MC: When I just got this proposition last night, I was taking pictures all the way back.

So I went through the previous photos with him.

MC: This one, is the mailbox I accidentally saw when I was passing the street corner.

MC: Thought it was always here, just... we didn't noticed.

MC: Somehow, I thought you might understand how it feels.

MC: Then, passing by a retro grocery store.

MC: Outside the window, I saw the discs on the projector in the store, which happened to reflect the color of the sunset, so I took the pictures.

Lucien patiently listened to my description of each photo, and from time to time guessed how I felt when I took the photo.

Lucien: Is this a construction site?

MC: Yes, right across from our office, every day I get up from my seat, I can see the crane.

Lucien nodded and took the camera closer.

Lucien: No wonder the angle of this photo is looking down from the top. It seems that their construction progress should have progressed to more than half.

MC: I look at them every once in a while, and I see that the building has built up a few more floors, and every two days, a few more floors have been built.

MC: It's amazing...humans can build buildings as high as the sky on the ground...

MC: There is also heating, Internet, and all kinds of convenient facilities!

I sighed for no reason, and Lucien couldn't help but laugh.

Lucien: If such a project reminds you of me, it's highly rated.

He flipped to the last photo.

Lucien: You also photographed the bedroom rug?

Not let him to think I was just taking a random photo, I quickly pointed out the difference between this photo and reality,

MC: Not just an ordinary rug, I deliberately moved the floor lamp in front of it to let the light fall before taking pictures.

MC: Although there are no rules for taking the material, these pictures are all the feelings you gave me.

Lucien's eyes fell on my face leisurely, as if he liked my expression very much, liked me very much at the moment, and thought carefully about what to use to describe his mood.

Lucien: These photos are really good--

Lucien: When you take pictures, it is very late, so most of these pictures are cold-toned, but each picture has a warm light.

He lowered his eyes slightly, a warm smile on his lips.

Lucien: Did you know that people can't really know themselves.

Lucien: All our perceptions of ourselves come from the environment around us and from others.

Lucien: The environment shapes our perceptions, evaluations of all people and things in the world, and even we can only see ourselves through a mirror.

Lucien: The more we do, the more we want to know what we look like in the eyes of others, and I am no exception.

Seeing me staring at him intently, he suddenly reached out and touched my hair.

Lucien: In fact, I have always been curious, what do you think of me.

Lucien: Now, it seems that there is an answer,.

At this moment, a gust of wind rustled through the window, and a few petals blown in the wind flashed past.

A thought suddenly entered my mind, and I hurriedly pulled Lucien to look in the direction where the petals were blowing.

---

The reading room in the deepest part of the corridor was quiet and empty. As soon as I opened the door, I saw the bright colors outside the window.

A touch of delicate color is dotted between the blue sky and white clouds. Under the shuttle patrol of the breeze, the peach blossoms on the branches are slowly blooming.

I picked up my camera and captured this scene.

MC: Okay, with this photo, the content of the "mood board" is enough!

Lucien stepped forward, put one hand on the windowsill and looked out.

Lucien: Peach blossoms?

I shook my head, pointed to the whole world outside.

MC: Not peach blossoms, but spring.

The nice fragrance of peach blossoms came in wisps, and across several teaching buildings, the lawn of the playground was already lush green.

MC: Spring has a feeling of blooming and reborn.

MC: Whatever is buried in the snow in winter will be covered with flowers and plants in spring.

As long as you stand in the spring sunshine, you can feel the freshness and splendor of it.

MC: I don't even know what to say... The word "spring" alone makes people feel very comfortable and warm.

MC: Whether it is quiet or lively, it is full of vitality and full of people yearning.

I opened my arms, trying to embrace the spring that lives in the sunshine.

MC: Do you know Lucien, you often make me feel like spring is coming.

Lucien: ....

Lucien's finger edge lightly rested on his chin, as if thinking.

Lucien: Don't you think... you describe me a little too nicely?

I took a half step forward, bent down and tilted my head to look into his eyes.

MC: But the person I care about is the best in the world, in my heart, and nothing can compare.

I stretched out my hand and grabbed Lucien's sleeve and lowered my voice.

MC: Although I've taken many, many pictures, trying to paint you many, many paintings...

MC: But the feeling you gave me....I can't describe it in any way.

A smile slowly appeared in Lucien's eyes.

In those dark pupils, the branches and leaves of peach blossoms are reflected, like a curved spring scene, which makes people involuntarily want to sink into it.

MC: If it had to be conveyed in words, I would call it romance.

After a brief pause, I affirmed my conclusion.

MC: Well, it's romance, although I still can't outline the connection....

MC: But the teacher said that the limitation of expression will not affect the conveyance of the atmosphere.

MC: Even if I can't say it, you will understand.

Lucien raised his head and smiled faintly. The spring breeze brushed the broken hair between his foreheads and seemed to blow his thoughts far away.

Lucien: Maybe you are the only one in this world who can describe me with these beautiful images.

Lucien: Even the most beautiful image in the world.

He suddenly seemed to have thought of something, hooked my hand, and pulled me towards the bookshelf in the reading room.

Lucien: MC, take a guess.. If I were to describe you, what kind of pictures would I take?

I was slightly startled, lost in thought. Lucien was silent for a while, then spoke slowly.

Lucien: Perhaps it was a cloud carrying the morning light, lying lazily in the air, looking at the lively crowd on the ground.

Lucien: Perhaps it was the heat steaming up from the steamer with the fragrance and sweetness, that couldn't help but floating upwards.

Lucien: Or maybe the wooden door of this reading room has been opened with a gap, and light and darkness meet on the ground and flow into the boundless sea of books...

He turned his eyes and took out a book from a shelf next to us and put it in my arms.

MC: Poems?

Lucien nodded with a smile, his fingertips still resting on the back cover of the poetry book

Lucien: If you describe me as romantic, then I will describe you as, romantic habitation.

His fingertips slowly climbed up from my lower jaw, stroking my cheeks and auricles along the way, leaving and taking away some heat.

Lucien: I would like to inhabit all the voices you hear.

Lucien: I would like to inhabit the colorful colors in your eyes.

Warm fingertips brushed from the corner of my eyes - he opened his hand, with a wide palm, close to my side face,

Lucien: I would like to inhabit your warm skin, the touch of your skin

Lucien: I would like to inhabit this soul that always regards me as a ray of warm light.

The soft whisper flowed through my ears, Lucien gently pulled me into his arms as he spoke. The warm wind blows from the window, brushing the cover and the pages of the book.

I embraced the collection of poems and looked at him quietly. When the eyes meet, there seems to be a silent dialogue, which is conveyed in each other's eyes.

The white drapery rose and fell in the corner of the eye, and the gently swaying shadow of the tree was cast on it, spreading a greenery.

With a smile on the corners of his lips and warm breathing, he was close to me, but he refused to put it on immediately.

So I leaned up against his slightly bent knees - reached out and took off his glasses and kissed him without thinking.

He hugged me tightly and let me pour my entire weight into his embrace.

I half-opened my eyes and saw his eyelashes for a bit. Between his lips and teeth, he seemed to have something to say, but he held back. All that left, was a breathless laugh.

I smelled the scent on his collar, heard the chirping of sparrows on the tree, and captured every moment of his breathing.

....I can't describe anything.

I just want to be immersed in it.

---END---

#mlqc cn #mlqc lucien #lucien #mlqc date #mr love lucien

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alrightberries · 4 years ago

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dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

If you want to be added to the tag list, click this link!

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan imagine #aot imagine #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin imagine #snk imagine #writing

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lucifers-daughterr · 2 years ago

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Modern | Aro & Sulpicia

artist : fabian perez [ i highly recommend checking out his works, they are honestly one of the most amazing pieces i’ve seen, truly incredible ]

a. ― m. sheen

s. ― m. belluci

disclaimer : it is the first time I write something like this. It's my headcanon for modern au of Sulpicia and Aro, but I also briefly touch the topic of Marcus and Didyme (which will be covered in a few days). I am aware that Aro is in fact, not Italian and that Sulpicia isn’t British. You might not agree with my portrayal of the characters, but I am asking to please be respectful. I am not a native English speaker so there might be grammar mistakes (sorry Aro please don’t unalive me). Enjoy! :)

Sulpicia comes from a very old, well-established family. From young age she has been privately tutored until she reached age when she could be sent to a boarding school. It has been a wonderful convenience for her parents, since it allowed them to travel for business reasons more often. She has received a Bachelors degree in Psychological and Behavioural Sciences from Cambridge followed by two Master degrees from London School of Economics — one in Economics and second in Public Relations. Since then she pursued a career as a lobbyist in the United Kingdom. Both her personal and her family’s connections combined with extreme determination and understanding of dynamics between politicians and private companies, made her one of the most successful women in the mostly male-dominated field. In her free time, Sulpicia enjoys fencing and opera. When someone invites her for a friendly golf play, she rarely refuses. For a long time she has wished for a dog. Unfortunately, her busy schedule and constant travelling make her unable to properly take care of one. Her guilty pleasure are sweet, romantic movies — she loves watching them with a glass of wine and always tears up when there is a happy ending. However, she also doesn’t mind listening to a good old fashioned crime podcast while getting ready.

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Aro, unlike Sulpicia, comes from a broken middle class Italian family. Constant juggling between his parents’ new homes made him mature quickly. He has learned to become his own friend, as well as a parent. Switching schools from young age didn’t exactly help him with maintaining meaningful long-term friendships. Since early childhood he was a very curious creature with insatiable appetite for knowledge. Constantly learning and researching fascinating things that he came across. He passed final high school exams with the highest marks, despite being mostly self-taught. Due to his poor health, he couldn’t attend school as regularly as his peers. After high school, he took a gap year to focus on learning English and Greek, all while working as a waiter and freelance writer on the side. Next year, he decided to study law for Bachelor and later ― Masters degree. He was always fascinated by origins of legal systems and especially the relation between a crime and a punishment. After receiving his Master’s degree he pursued a career in politics, becoming the youngest elected vice-president of the Italian High Council of the Judiciary (consiglio superiore della magistratura). He has strong interest in arts, especially architecture and theatre. His secretaries arrange invitations for auctions all over the world, so he can purchase another valuable art piece for his personal collection. Unfortunately, due to his high expectations and quite eccentric personality, secretaries tend to be replaced, sometimes a few times over the course of a year. As for personal life, he did have relationships with a few fashion designers and more meaningful one with a certain paediatric surgeon. Unfortunately the affair has ended shortly after the doctor got offered a job in one of Seattle’s teaching hospitals.

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

One day Aro has attended a fundraising event, hosted by Sulpicia’s family in one of their lavish mansions. She was in fact, the main speaker during the gala, also presenting items for the charity auction. At first he didn’t really pay attention to her, as his interest was mostly focused on the beautiful art piece the woman was presenting. It was a wonderful Rubens’ painting. He got discouraged when the price of the artwork reached a higher amount that he originally intended to spend. Eventually, he decided it was worth the price and right after the auctioneer’s fair warning he raised his paddle. At his convenience, no one increased the bidding.

As he stood up, being the winning bidder, his eyes met with the woman on stage. Instantly he was mesmerised by her presence. He was watching her the whole time, but he didn’t see her. When the auction ended he decided to approach her, striking a conversation about the gala. She knew, of course, it wasn’t the real reason he came up to her. Regardless, she decided to further engage in the conversation as her companion was quite knowledgable in the topics of her interest. As the night went on she grew rather fond of the dark haired man. They conversed about politics, arts and common friends. During his leisure hours, or “night time” as he referred to them, he sponsored many artists and happily observed their careers thriving. To her surprise, Aro’s sister was a teacher in elementary school close to her parents’ house in Florence. Apparently she was married to a history professor and they had three children together. By the end of the event Aro and Sulpicia got quite drunk, keeping each other’s company for the past few hours. The night eventually became a morning and alas, the gala has come to an end. Both Aro and Sulpicia weren’t fond of this fact, but they had their own responsibilities and work duties. After both arrived to their homes, they realised none on them has other’s contact information. It was very unfortunate, since they hoped to meet each other again.

As the months have passed, Sulpicia’s memory of an attractive stranger became foggy. To be fair, she always moved on quickly and had the ability to forget situations that didn’t exactly go as she planned. That was until one day she came home to find a bouquet of red roses, wrapped in dark ribbon. She picked them up, curious about the sender’s identity. There was a little white card attached to the velvet cloth. Her hazel eyes opened wide as she read:

“I was hoping to see you again”

― Night time patron of arts

+39 0393 7511779

#modern au #the volturi #twilight #aesthetic #aro volturi #sulpicia volturi #headcanon #fanfiction #oneshot #kinda lol #canon divergence #guess who the doctor is #hint #he is blonde

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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matryoshka doll

— Momo is a modern day princess, so it makes sense as to why every single person she’s asked if they wanted to have sex reject her because they felt unworthy. But she’s a girl with carnal needs and if that means having anonymous sex is the only way to have them met, so be it.

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pairing: yaoyorozu momo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, stuck in a wall, anal fisting (giving), fingering, marking, degradation, daddy kink!reader, princess!momo, praise, pwp, cursing, service top!reader, phat ass!momo

word count: 3,333

a/n: i stayed up until 4 am reading bkdk angst fanfic and im so, so tired...... momo has a phat ass that is full of stretch marks and cellulite and I drool at the thought of it. no I dont take any feedback on that.

kinktober day 9 main kink: anonymous sex | kinktober masterlist

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Momo has a secret.

A deep, dark, twisted secret.

It wasn’t so much that it was horrible, humiliating, or even a nuisance for all of humanity, but it definitely was a secret she was keen on keeping until she was six feet under.

Why was that?

Oh, well, you see, it involved one of the most taboo topics in the world: sex.

Yaoyorozu Momo lived a sheltered, elite life. At the tender age of four, she had managed to create an object by replicating a Matryoshka doll's exact molecular structure. She didn’t need to assume that most individuals couldn't compose the doll's molecular structure regardless of their intellect or education. Yet, with a determined gaze, her person and mind no much older than four years old, she succeeded in producing a single, lone, beautiful Matryoshka doll.

But, because of her natural-born intelligence and near-prodigious level thinking, the wealth that her parents held led her to a life where something such as a peck on the cheek was considered scandalous.

Kissing on the lips was considered a "marriage only" rule, and sex wasn’t even a word she knew.

Middle school for Yaoyorozu Momo consisted of her and her private tutors within her home. Her education was created just for her, and she had evening outings with her similar circles to ensure she had an appropriate social life. All in all, Momo didn’t know what sex was until she was sixteen, sitting in the common area of the dorm room with all her female friends who casually brought up the idea of what they could potentially be into, of who they would. Momo would quote: fuck, marry, or kill of three randomly generated boys within the class.

Of course, Momo’s eyes fluttered at the word fuck, having already known it as a curse word, and only as such as Bakugou always seemed to be yelling it. She had wrongfully spluttered when Mina had wiggled her eyebrows at Uraraka on why, oh why she had only chosen to ‘fuck Midoriya’ and not marry him. To Momo, who also at the time, was aware of her current blossoming feelings towards the smart but somewhat flutter tongued classmate of theirs, had been rather confused at the results Uraraka gave too.

“Kill… uh, Iida-kun,” Urakaka fidgeted, blushing harder under the intense stares of Mina and Hagakure (who had a mean glare despite not being able to see her). “Fuck Deku-kun, marry Todoroki-kun!”

Momo had assumed she would wish to marry her at the time crush, not choose the option to curse him out!

“Uraraka-san, you wish to cuss out Midoriya-san?” Momo had asked, saving the naturally rosy girl from their pink-skinned and invisible friend. “Why is that?”

“Hold on?” Jirou interrupted immediately, Momo’s undoubtedly closest friend rose from her slouched position next to her, her hand placed on her shoulder. “What was that?!”

“Well, isn’t the, ahem, please excuse my vulgar words, ‘fuck,’ option meaning to curse someone out? As Bakugou-san does to many people when he uses that word?” Momo had asked so innocently, so purely that the girls all almost felt horrible for popping the innocent bubble the modern-day princess was in -- keyword: almost.

For the first time in her life, Yaoyorozu Momo was not the most knowledgable in a subject; her cheeks stained red with embarrassing heat when Tsuyu took charge of explaining the alternate definition to what ‘fuck’ meant.

“You mean babies don’t come in storks?!” she had cried uncontrollably that night. She was utterly overwhelmed by this new level of information that would send her in a spiral of the need to acquire further details for the sake of education and, well, yes, the science of fucking.

From the moment she was sixteen until she was twenty, Momo’s knowledge of sex went from being the lowest in the class, to as it naturally should have been, the most knowledgable person on it. She knew of things, the different branches of sex, where to experience certain types of kinks, and theoretically, where the human body's best parts to touch when having sex. So, the moment she had turned of consenting legal age to have sex, Momo would be lying if she said she wasn’t ready to have sex.

But there was something in her way, something that not even years of studying could help her with, or could change the circumstances of which she found herself in. It seemed that though her friends enjoyed her sudden new-found genius towards the art and science behind sex, no one thought of her as a… sexual being.

“I c-can’t have sex with you!” Jirou had flushed red, her eyes scattering to every edge of the room, refusing to look at the wealthy heiress who had asked her best friend over during their last week of high school to do the deed. “You’re the modern-day royalty: Yaoyorozu Momo! I’m not… qualified enough!”

Momo frowned, “Oh?”

“Sex?” Todoroki had echoed, his eyes alarming wide despite his composed, neutral expression. Momo nodded her head, ignoring the small wisp of fire that emitted from his hair. “Oh, well, I don’t think I can do that for you, Yaoyorozu. It’s nothing against you, but I don’t think I’d like to have meaningless sex with you for the first time.”

Momo winced, “Oh, okay.”

“That sounded a lot meaner then intended, I apologize.”

…

And that’s how it seemed to go.

Aoyama hadn’t been interested in having sex at all with Momo. Mina said she was severely unworthy. Tsuyu simply rejected her because their relationship wasn’t one that had possibilities of sexual encounters. Iida said it would be irresponsible of him to take something of value of hers. Uraraka cried about how inferior scum like her had no right.

Ojiro apologized, having been in a relationship at the moment and wouldn’t. Kaminari said him sexually touching Momo would give the world every right to skin him where he lay. Kirishima had blushed brighter than his hair and stammered; he couldn’t without a proper relationship between the two of them. Kouda had run off crying. Sato had mumbled about how he enjoyed setting tea and pastries together but couldn’t imagine putting his tea in and on her pastry, or some weird allusion like that.

Shoji had bowed his head in apologies, saying she would regret sleeping with him. Sero had run away, crashing into a glass door explaining he wasn’t good enough. Tokoyami stated they weren’t a fated pair and rejected her kindly -- she thinks. Hagakure was in a relationship and politely declined her. Bakugou scoffed and told her to look elsewhere. Midoriya had stammered and suggested that he wasn’t the best option. Mineta just was never an option for her.

She had asked eighteen people who had all told her they would help her with anything, and the only thing that kept being thrown back into her face regarding something that she didn’t see to be anything that special was that she was royalty in their eyes. It was fine at first; honestly, it was! Momo had nodded her head, merely retreating to her home and creating an arrangement of sex toys most suited for her. And for a while, it had been enough.

But like the Matryoshka dolls, she was so fond of making, so good at making, she had several layers underneath that shouldn’t be ignored. And her sexual pleasures and gains had been a neglected part of her for too long.

From having the longest, thickest dildo she could make for herself, up her cunt, to the vibrator and fuck machines she should create (because she was not allowed anywhere near a sex shop), she had been blissful. Each orgasm ripping through her pleasantly, causing her sweaty chest to arch off her bed, her legs slamming closed as it burst from inside of her, causing her to bit harshly on her fist just in case. But just as even playing with your favorite game day after day, feeling alone, lonely, and unwanted, Momo found that even her toys weren’t enough.

She needed more.

No one would fuck her because of her status, because of her last name and the wealth that she brought, so she decided that if she was to do this, to gain the human touch she ever so desired and lusted over, she was going to have to erase her identity.

She had found a little place in the back alleys of Tokyo. They were hiring anyone who dared to visit and the only requirement to join was that you were willing to be fucked. Momo had shown up for the interview, face obscured by a hoodie she wore and was hired the moment she walked in with her spandex shorts hugging her tiny waist and fat ass. She had always seen places like this within her porn research but had never actually assumed fuck ho(l)es existed.

She certainly didn’t expect to be put in a wall where only her ass and cunt hanging out and the cold, wet tip of a sharpie marker to write against her clear virgin skin: FREE HOLE TO FUCK. VIRGIN LITTLE WHORE. She could feel that written on her skin, but she was unaware of the words that surrounded her placement on the wall: “put a tally and a review for every pump of cum you shove in me!”

There was no need for a picture by her whole because the people who frequented this place had no desires of that, and so, Momo found peace even as the starting alarm blared in her ear that customers were finally being let it.

To sum up the experience her first night at this joint, the first time experiencing a hot, living, throbbing cock in both her cunt and ass, Momo would have to blush. Her eyes shifting from yours onto the floor as she smiled. A chuckle on her face as she thought back to the end of that four hour fuck feast and remembered that there were nearly eighty-three tally marks on her bruised and blistered ass, of how her cum and all that cum continued to seep from her clenching holes for two days afterward… she loved it.

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You needed to blow off some steam.

Having just been entirely, horribly dumped by your ex and having precisely zero side pieces on the side to fuck, you went out of your way to secure a quick, easy fuck to get your mind off of things. There was no reason for you to simply not join Tinder and ask the first swipe to come over and fuck, but you didn’t want to see a face. You didn’t even want to know their face. As a matter of fact, you weren’t even so much as interested in your own orgasm at the moment than just making someone else cum. So when a pretty woman handed your glowering face a flyer as you were storming around the streets of Tokyo hoping for a sign from god, you almost cried at what the flyer informed you of.

A local... hole in the wall filled with glory holes and exposed asses, cunts, and cocks alike.

Was it destiny?

You sure believed so as you found yourself tailing to the obscure address, praying for the establishment to be open and, for the most part, empty because you had no plans on performing shit in front of watching eyes. Handing a thousand yen over to the admissions lady as your fee to the use of their prized cunts, cocks, and asses, you shoved the black ticket into your pocket and brisked in.

As you entered the back room, the tension in you back and pressure on your chest seemed to melt away immediately at the scent of sex, dried cum, and sweat. It was an altogether horrid stench, to be quite honest, but right now, it sent fire to your core, your lips licking at the walls and corners willed with awaiting to be attended to people. Twisted pleasure coursed through your veins as you walked around, your eyes taking note of the graffitied words around the individual holes, taking note of the black sharpie words on bruised and battered skin, and some cunts still dripping with someone else’s cum.

‘Loose cunt’ one person had.

‘Hasn’t been broken in yet,’ said another.

‘Loves it when you ‘accidentally’ fuck their ass,’ scrawled on another.

You couldn’t help but smile at the twisted humor, moving until finally, you saw one that exposed ass first to the world, eight tallies marked on her skin, and oh, the words painted on her smooth, perfect skin and the surrounding walls pulled you in.

‘Tightest fucking pussy.’ ‘100/10 recommended, been back multiple times for more.’ ‘Slip your fist up her ass, she LOVES it.’ ‘Favorite fucking whore here.’ ‘Would fuck again.’ ‘Slut likes it rough and mean.’ ‘Please fuck me!!!!’

You watched as the shiny slick of her cum slowly seep from her spread cheeks, not quite dripping, but definitely wet with her arousal. Something was calling you to her, your feet stumbling nearly tipsy with this outworld lust and drunkenness as you stopped behind her slapped pink ass. And without much need of thought to wonder where to stop, your hands found themselves grabbing her thick, supple ass and you moaned at the warmth emitting from her skin, of how her skin was so soft, so moveable, so bouncy. It was larger than your hands, your fingernails running against the cellulite, and stretch marks on her ass that made you want to kiss and run your tongue against even more. You couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t possibly know if she had liked the way your fingers dug into her ass, but her ass bounced, teetering with your grip as you could imagine a soft, juicy moan.

“I wonder if you can hear me?” you asked, most likely to no one, fingers spreading her ass, spanking the used whorish skin of hers so that small, tight, clenching pink asshole was on full display for you. “If you sit there for all these hours and listen to men fuck you with their ugly moaning and pathetic growling.”

Her ass rolled in your hands, and you smiled, taking that as a sign that yes, she heard everything, even you. Raising your hand to the bottle of lube, you saturated your fingers with the cold, transparent liquid, turning your fingers down over her still exposed, flush hole. You watched as the lube dripped down, splattering messily around her tight, rimmed muscle, watching her clench and unclench the muscle in alarming beauty.

“I must apologize, princess,” you sighed, looking at the names scrawled on the walls that this cunt and ass seemed to be most responsive to, and number one on that list was princess. “Your daddy isn’t feeling particularly rough today, so I hope you’ll behave with my softer movements.”

You're not quite sure where the reference to yourself as daddy had come from, but the way the ass muscles clenched between the lone hand that held her cheek made it worth it.

Your lube coated finger edged the pert opening of her ass, feeling the way the already used muscle expanded for your finger if a little stubbornly.

“Relax, princess, daddy sees you like being fisted, so I’m going to make sure you feel good.

You pressed your finger in until the knuckle disappeared beneath the muscle, your grin growing into a hazy, lustful gaze when you felt her ass bounce. This moan vibrated all the way to her anal cavity as you wasted no time in adding a second finger. Her ass was tight, the ribbed walls of the cavity bumping and gliding against your moving fingers, and you grinned when she loudly moaned. You didn’t need to be an expert to see that she had never been fucked softly or thoroughly before. She must have been used to the terrible, animalistic rage that the men here possessed when fucking these people behind the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that she lost her virginity here.

Your fingers curled, stroking and persuading her body to ripple and twitch with your commanding movements, and another finger added in, and another finger added in. Soon enough, you had four fingers in, all save your thumb. The stretch of her ass around your nearly formed ass was incredible; she took you so well, not a sound of agonizing pain was heard through the wall, although you swore you heard sounds of elation. The damn slut did enjoy it.

Your thumb pressed to her cunt, rubbing the slick folds of her pussy, softly fucking the outermost part of her inner walls, much against her approval if the way he ass bounced heavily in need had anything to say about it.

“Ah, does the princess, not like this?” you asked, your hand that was currently not four fingers into her ass stretching out her cheeks even further as finally you retracted your hand out, made a fist, and sunk back in. Now there was a scream. But the way that it shot curling ravenous fires into your core, you knew it wasn’t one of horror or pain. No. It was one of absolute, slutty pleasure. You moaned at the sound, your arm beginning to thrust into her ass slowly, intentionally, and with burning passion and desire to hear her wail again. She sounded so pretty, sounded so slutty.

Your now free hand moved to her cunt, your mind trying to stimulate her more, trying to ignore the way her ass was hot and deliciously tight around your forearm as your pinched and rolled at her clit. Your thumb stayed on her clit, but your fingers stretched to enter her clenching cunt that seemed to be in synch with her ass. YOu moaned in content at the feeling of her inner walls suctioning against your intruding finger, and you laughed upon feeling your moving arm within her ass against her cunt. And that beautiful, pitchy whine resonated deeply again, and your mind melted.

Your fingers and fist doubled in speed, the growing sharp moans through the walls fueling you to move faster, to be rougher, to make her see stars. No wonder why no one fucked her with love here, you thought as leaned down, teeth tearing against her ass cheek that read: mark me, please. Who could stay composed when this fucking slut was this goddamn loud.

“Such a good fucking princess, so slutty, so nice for your daddy,” you grunted, against her skin, your hips snapping at air as the heat and wetness in your pants made you uncomfortable -- the need for more biting through your clothes. “You like my fist up your ass? You like everyone’s fist up your ass, don’t do? Doesn’t fucking surprise me with those stupid loud moans you make.”

Your words were hissed, your fingernails scraping against her pulsating, throbbing inner walls, and then it happened.

Her ass and her cunt clenched against your fingers and fist. And your jaw dropped as a rippling effect ran across your arm that was buried in her ass.

Was that a?

Holy fucking shit?!

“Princess, did your ass just orgasm?!”

A confirming, pathetic moan sent your mind to the moon.

Suddenly feeling as if this was too much for you, and with no way to relive yourself in this type of fuck room, you removed your hand quickly from her ass, your dominant hand grabbing the hanging sharpie on the wall and added two more tally marks on the number of times she’s cum.

You race out of there, the fire in between your legs too much to handle. Well, at least not before adding one more, important piece of information on her ass and on the wall: ‘if you fuck my ass like daddy did, maybe my ass will orgasm for you too.”

#momo x reader #momo smut #yaoyorozu x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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writhingcreature · 3 years ago

Note

I LOVE the idea of jock/nerd Mericcup and cheerleader/jock Rapunstrid, do you have any more headcanons for that au?

I tried writing this and got distracted and now O have to start from the beginning so... let’s try this again

- Hiccup keeps trying to ask Merida out but his awkwardness and self Doubt keep tying his tongue and hands and feet and he fails again and again. Merida knows what he’s trying to say but she wants to give him the chance to do it since she knows it might hurt his pride if she asks him. Eventually she does anyway though and Hiccup is so relieved he’s been put out of his misery he kisses her right then and there and everyone’s like OoO

- Hiccup and Astrid are neighbors and they grew up right next door to each other. Like, saw each other through the window and climbed onto each other’s roofs and such. They did that thing where they opened their windows and just... talked if they were too lazy to climb up onto the roof. So they’re like actually really close friends. As kids Astrid always found Hiccup annoying and it was like “your mom is friend with my mom” but eventually he started tutoring her and she thought she was doing fine at school but suddenly she was acing everything and it all made sense and after that she thought Hiccup was cool

- Merida and Rapunzel live quite a bit from each other but Merida skateboards and Rapunzel goes on morning bike rides and walks and jogs and skates (on rollerblades) and really ANYTHING that gets her out in the morning. They end up meeting when Merida falls off her skateboard and busting her knee - Rapunzel took care of it with the med kit she always takes with her everywhere. After that they were best friends and upon hitting middle school, joined sports together to figure out what they liked. Rapunzel was good at cheerleading, being very petite and acrobatic, and Merida was better at the classic sports (soccer, hockey, baseball, football, etc.). They do figure skating together. When Merida had to fight to be on the guys’ team, or just. Create a girls’ sports team, Rapunzel was there to support her every step of the way.

- Astrid and Merida are on a team together. Astrid does either hockey or soccer (or maybe both Idk which seasons they are but it feels like they’d be in different ones) but eventually Merida talks her into joining every one that Merida is in too. They get each other SO much and eventually develop like a secret language. No one knows if that’s true for sure, but these two girls can communicate without moving their body or saying a single word and it’s so effortless and perfect a system that people thought they were dating for the longest time. When someone finally brought it up (it was Snotlout) the two laughed so hard and so long that he blushed, and they NEVER let him live it down. It was just so absurd to them....

- Astrid and Rapunzel actually happened pretty fast. Everyone thought Astrid would take charge, and normally she does. She’s confident and sure of herself and has fingers in SO many pies, and she doesn’t ever shrink from any competition. Everything seems very easy for her and she never falters off fumbles... that is until she tries to talk to Rapunzel. Because Astrid can affectionately bulky Hiccup and Merida already gets her so well that she doesn’t have to try to communicate with her. But Rapunzel is... her opposite in a lot of ways. She’s small and soft spoken and artistic. Her mind is creative and her hands are gentle and her eyes are huge and her smile is warm. Rapunzel is this golden stream in a fairytale and Astrid is.... probably a rock. Of some kind. Anyway, the point is Rapunzel approaches her with that pretty smile and those large eyes and very clearly asks her out and Astrid’s lucky that Merida’s there to say yes for her because her mouth forgets how to move

- Rapunzel cheers SO LOUD for Astrid every game, and they start to sit on the bench together if there’s any free time. During the half time show, Astrid cheers just as loud for Rapunzel and the phrase “THATS MY GIRLFRIEND” gets thrown around a. Lot. They get super competitive all the time and end up having so much fun. Rapunzel is a bit of a softie and let Astrid win a lot in the beginning until Astrid called her out and called her a loser (affectionate) and from then it was ON. No one thought anyone could beat Astrid at anything until Rapunzel came around.

- Hiccup tries to follow what’s happening in the games but he often gets really distracted and confused and ends up analyzing the plays and bombarding everyone with questions afterward. Astrid and Merida eventually directed him to Rapunzel, who actually listened to him and realized how genius his ideas and observations were. They started to talk with the coach about ways to make the team better, and Hiccup eventually starts to just. Help the coaches in general and no one even asks anymore.

- Hiccup has a cat named Toothless and he and Rapunzel are the BEST of friends. Astrid didn’t like him at first but softened upon seeing Rapunzel and Hiccup be so adorable with the little creature. Toothless HATED Merida for the longest time no matter what she tried and it made everyone laugh constantly. Eventually the little thing warmed up to her but for a while there Merida stayed by Astrid “where it’s safe” as she said.

- Rapunzel also has a pet chameleon and she DOTES on that thing. She knows everything about them and anytime anyone asks about Pascal she just wants and rants and rants about fun facts. It’s the only time Astrid will without complaint Listen to someone just talk facts and knowledge. Astrid usually finds it so boring but Rapunzel is so adorable when she goes off about this thing she’s so passionate about that Astrid doesn’t even mind.

- After watching Hiccup with Toothless for a while, Astrid gets her own cat named Stormfly and they are a DYNAMIC duo. Stormfly is almost as well trained as Toothless a lot sooner, and they just have this very clear understanding. Stormfly doesn’t hate Merida, so the red head prefers this cat, and Toothless often glares at her for hours for it. Rapunzel and Stormfly take to each other even faster than Rapunzel and Toothless did. Rapunzel smells like Astrid and Stormfly is HERE for it

- Rapunzel and Merida take riding lessons on the weekends. It was something they looked into when they were really young and when they finally convinced their parents to let them it was the single best thing to ever happen to either of them. Riding Maxmimus and Angus are the best parts of their week in most cases (unless something special happens) and the horses are considered as much their pets as the cats or chameleon. They end up buying them after they get out of college and securing a house for all four of them with a big enough back yard to keep the horses in. It’s a good time.

- Hiccup works as a mechanic, fixing mostly cars but also small stuff like bikes and the such in his free time. Toothless came to him missing a leg, so Hiccup comes up with a lot of really clever contraptions and systems to help Toothless move around the house without Hiccup’s help. He still prefers to be lifted into bed, but anywhere else is free game.

- Rapunzel gets a job at first at a diner, where she spends her highschool and college career working her butt off. It wasn’t the best experience but it achieved the goals Rapunzel needed to so she could go to college and become an art teacher instead. It wasn’t the best paying job, but it allowed her to show others why she valued painting so much, and left plenty time in the year to also go traveling if she wished. She’s very good at saving money so she makes it work.

- Astrid works a lot of fast food at first and even takes a stint at the diner with Rapunzel, but her short temper ends up getting her into a lot of situations where she hates her job and ends up leaving after six to eight months. Nowhere was very good for her until she finally got a job at a gym where she ended up learning a lot of really fun skills like self defense and axe throwing. She did it for so many years and got so good that she was hired on as the instructor, and she’s never been happier than in a position where if a man pushes the limits or a Karen tries her patience, all she has to do is sink an axe into a target and turn to them with a raised eyebrow and ask, “What was that again?” It works every time and unless someone has an actual problem they don’t bother her.

- Merida struggles with work. She gets every job under the sun, taking stints at the diner with Rapunzel and the mechanic’s shop with Hiccup and even eventually at the gym and fun enter with Astrid. She gets bored very easily and doesn’t keep a job more than like four or fives months at Max. Ever. She doesn’t think she’s good at anything and might have peaked in high school... until she discovers archery. In an attempt to help her out, Astrid pitches to the fun center to add archery as an activity, and Merida begins to come to it. Unfortunately they can’t really find a teacher who knows what they’re doing and Merida is the only one who shows up so for a while it’s threatening to shut down. But then Merida teaches herself via the internet and insane amounts of practice, and tries out for the job. They give her the position, but tell her that without customers it’s still going to go down.

- the four gather ALL of their friends and begin mass sharing any and all information they can get out there about the fun center and Merida’s growing skills and how helpful she’ll be as the teacher. They just spread the news and encourage people to at least try it out. Through sheer force of Will and hard work, they get enough people with interests peaked who end up coming. Merida’s classes are full of all kinds of people of all kinds of ages, and she loves it.

- none of them get paid a LOT, but Rapunzel and Hiccup are very good at saving money and slowly, Astrid learns as well and between the three of them they can get things figured out even if Merida doesn’t want to waste energy on budgeting and planning everything out and such. When the fun center is out for winter time, and school is out for Summer, they start taking temporary jobs that pay a lot more money. These jobs end up being labor intensive, but they always try and work together and combined, they can find the fun in even the most annoying jobs. Sometimes Hiccup will join them if he’s having a slow time at work, but he never lasts long and the girls tease him a lot about it.

- Yes the hall live together and yes they have “family nights” where they all go out and do something fun once every month, and they eat dinner and breakfast together as much as they can and they’re all very close and mean a lot to each other god I love them.

There are obviously a ton of other characters in this little world I’ve built so if you have any questions feel free to ask!

#Rapunzel #merida dunbroch #astrid hofferson #mericcup #Merida x hiccup #Hiccup x Merida #Rapunstrid #Rapunzel x Astrid #Astrid x Rapunzel #hiccup haddock #httyd #Brave #tangled #Disney #dreamworks #headcanons #how to train your dragon

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sehrish-munir · 3 years ago

Text

My True Story

I was born in a lower middle class family. My grandfather migrated from interior Sindh to Karachi in late seventy. He had some ancestral land, which he sold and bought a 3 room flat in the heart of the city.

Whereas, he started a mini cloth shop to run the bread and butter of the home.

Before he could establish his new business, just after a year of his migration, he got a cardiac arrest and could not succumb.

As my father was the only child of my grandfather. At that time he just completed his matriculation. He tried to take over o

my grandfather’s business. However, within two years he gave all the shop to borrowers. As he was a teenager, he had no experience in business. Now my father has had only the earnings of grandpa i.e one flat.

My father and my grandma were in tension over how to earn the bread and butter. In that time of hardship, my maternal uncle came forward and helped my father to get enrolled in the education department as a junior school teacher. My grandma thanked God that now they had some arrangements for daily meals.

The time was going on. After a few years of my father's job, grandma decided to marry my father. For this she selected her niece. My father accepted his mother’s decision and married my maternal uncle’s daughter.

The day nights were passing like a dream. After fifteen years of my parents' marriage, they have 5 daughters and 2 sons. My number is third in sisters. Whereas, my both brothers are little from us.

With the passage of time my father’s income decreased. Whereas, the expenses raised manifolds. As my mother was a typical housewife, he had no contribution to the household economy. On the other hand my father had only a 14 scale government teacher job, which was insufficient for 9 members of the family. Out of which all the children were school going.

As we were growing, we were becoming a source of worry for our parents. Because they had very few income resources. My two older sisters completed matriculation at the same time.

My parents decided to send only one girl to the college on a regular basis. Whereas the other one will do a private FA. Therefore, my oldest sister sat at home and the little one joined the government college for FSc in biology.

Now it was a worrying situation for me. At that time I was reading in ninth class. My dream was to become a software engineer. But my father's pocket was not permitting me to do that.

I decided to do something myself. So I can contribute not only to the bread and butter of my home but also to make my dream practical.

In this regard I started searching for some kind of work that I can do after school time. At the same time I was also consulting with my friends and classmates. One of my friends advised me to learn some beauty parlor work. She also told me that her aunty (Khala) has a nice beauty parlor in the Gulshan area. Which was a few km away from home, so I can easily manage the outback. I liked the idea and decided to get permission from my parents. But getting permission was not an easy task. So I involved my older sister Mehwish in the plan, and requested her to seek permission for me.

One day after the dinner, checking the mood of my parents, my sister Mehwish told my parents that Anmol wanted to join a parlor. On this my father showed a strict reaction and said there is no need for this, and went to the bedroom.

After a few days we requested again, and that day my mother also supported us. Finally my father agreed on one condition that I and Mehwish can both join the parlor. Initially Mehwish was not interested, but after my insistence she surrendered.

Now the day has come, my friend was at our home to take us to the sad parlor. After walking for half an hour, we reached the said parlor. My friend’s aunty was a quite aged woman. She offered us the chairs, and asked whether we had any ideas about parlor work. We both replied that we are unaware about this work like a plain paper. However, she didn't mind as we went their with our friend. After serving us tea, she asked us to check all the parlor work and select the job you have to do. After seeing the girls who were already working there I have decided to learn Mehndi design or Henna design work. As I had good grip on drawing work. Whereas, my sister Mehwish chose to learn hair cutting work, because she loves the hairs.

After choosing our jobs, the parlor owner asked us to learn these jobs for at least three months, for that she will never pay us a penny. We both agreed on the terms and came home.

Next day after school I came home, after finishing my lunch hurriedly, we both arrived at the parlor.

In the Henna design section Iqra was my teacher, from whom I had to learn stylish mehndi designs. On the first day my teacher taught me how to grip a Henna cone. It was quite interesting for me to draw rough mehandi lines on a plain paper.

On the next day she gave some kids mehndi design patterns, and asked me to rehearsal on these designs. I was putting my whole heart into learning these as soon as possible. So I can help out my father with my monthly income. On the other hand, my sister was also working hard to learn something.

Due to my hard work and passion I start making simple mehndi designs in just one month. The parlor owner appreciated me and asked me to draw kids mehndi designs on a regular basis.

Now I have become an associate henna artis besides my teacher Iqra. Whenever a kid comes to the parlor with mother, I start making beautiful mehndi designs on their hands free of cost. It was a passion and keen interest which was forcing me to do such things. Many mothers gives me some money as a tip while leaving. Now I was able to bear my monthly personal expenses.

After three months the parlor owner came to us and asked that now you both have ample knowledge about your work. So from now I will pay you rupees ten thousand per month each and besides this I will also give ten percent as commission to each customer you will serve. She also advised me to learn some advanced designs like Arabic Mehndi Design. I promised her that I will learn every advance of Henna Mehndi designs.

On the way back home we both sisters were very happy. When we told this news to our parents they became very happy. My mother was very happy, like flying in the sky. As she knows that the extra income will help her to bear the additional expenses of house. Whereas she will also be able to make some drowery for her girls.

Life was passing very fast, as our hard days went off. After one year my mother has ample money. So she decided to marry my sister with his nephew who was working in a microfinance bank as a loan officer. My sister also liked that guy. So reaching upon the agreement both families decided to keep the marriage ceremony just after Eid.

We all sisters and brothers were very happy as my sister was going to be married. On the eve of Eid we all had new clothes, on Chand Raat I made beautiful Eid mehndi designs on all my sister’s hands.

On the same day, my father and mother were busy preparing for my sisters wedding. As they had fixed the wedding ceremony on the third day of Eid. My father booked a lighting arrangements service for whole week. A day before the wedding I had drawn some amazing bridal mehndi designs on my sister's hand. That was the first time I had draw any Mehndi designs for a bride. By the grace of Allah the marriage passed well. All the arrangements were very good. Everybody on the wedding were admiring us, specially my Dulhan Mehndi designs was also being liked.

After Mehwish’s wedding I rejoined my work alone. Mehwish's husband stopped her from doing any work.

On the other hand I was continuing to learn the latest mehndi designs coming into the market. For this I was using many online platforms like instagram, facebook and youtube etc to know the new trends in the field of Henna designs. This thing helped me to learn new and modern styles like Indian Mehndi Designs, Western Henna Tattoos and Arabic Henna Designs and other kind of mehndi ke design famous in the field.

It was a hot summer day, I was in college's library, when our college watchman came their in search of me and told that the principal is calling for me. I went hurriedly in principal's office, as soon as I entered she told me that my father has met an accident while he was coming from his duty now he is in ICU of city's major hospital. It was thunder like news for me, I ran from the principal's office in hesitation. Picking an auto rickshaw from the gate and reaching the hospital. When I reached the ICU I saw my mother, my little sisters and brothers were crying. Yes my father was no more with us. This was a heavy shock for all family members. I was feeling like I lost everything.

After the funeral of my father, everyone was talking that how will we survive. My sister Mehwish and brother-in-law have their own expenses. So they could not bear any other expenditures. My father has only monthly pay as an income, so after his death it will have to stope. Whereas, his pension and gratuity case was taking long to finalize. I was earning almost 25K per month, which was not enough for a family whose 90 percent members were school going. So I requested my parlor owner to increase my salary so I can cover the house expenses, but she replied that it is not possible now.

After a few months I decided to set up my own business of Henna designs. But I had not have enough money to set up any new business in a city like Karachi. In this regard I sought help from my brother-in-law as he was serving in a microfinance bank. He helped me to take an ample loan for opening up my own Mehndi design parlor. I selected a location for the parlor, which was nearby to my house.

Finally the day came when I inaugurated my own business. To meet the future requirements I took my little sister with me so she can learn the Mehndi art. First day I received only one order for full mehndi design. I charge rupees 2000 for my first project. I was very happy about that, because now no one will take a big share of my hard work.

As I introduced so many new mehndi designs myself. Thus the demand of my parlor was raising day by day

In 2019 I earned a lot of money during the wedding season, as I received many orders for Dulhan Mehndi designs.

I was inventing new mehndi designs in the field of body art with every passing day. So I have been booking a wedding for many days, and here girls demand to print some beautiful hand & foot mehndi designs. Therefore, I repaid my bank loan within one year, which was quite an amazing experience for bank staff too.

I have also bought a beautiful house in a posh area, where I am living with my family, cool and calm. My little brothers and sisters are reading in good schools. I am also doing my graduation degree from a well known University.

To promote my mehndi art I have made my own website. Where I place beautiful back hand mehndi designs and front hand mehndi designs. I have also made my own social media accounts, so people can know more and more about my business.

So this is my own motivational story for those who want to become something in life. At the end I will suggest you do not lose hope when something hard comes in life. If our Allah close a door, definitely he opens many new doors for us.

#short story #motivacional #inspiration #storytelling #my story #true story #pakistan #india #karachi #blacklivesmatter #stop asian hate #dream smp

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dysphxtric · 3 years ago

Text

Mental Illness - My Mental Health Story

TW: Depression, Anxiety, Self harm, Suicide, Sexual Harassment

“You should smile more.”

“It could be worse.”

“Just don’t think about it.”

These were the phrases I heard throughout all of my elementary and high school years. There was never a time when my peers and teachers, would not mention some bizarre, ignorant statement revolving around mental health. Not to mention, my family also contributed heavily to the stigmatization of mental health issues. Essentially, my family approached the subject of mental health with extreme hesitation, they refused to talk about how it affects people of all age, gender, ethical background (etc.) Every time I would say “I’m feeling lost” my family would automatically dismiss my frantic worries and it was not any different when I went to school. My peers would continuously remind me that my pain was not valid and that I need to stop being so sensitive. My primary parental figures, my mother and brother did not have the adequate knowledge or tools to be able to hold space for me. I would frequently hear my mom say, “I could understand someone suffering from PTSD feeling upset or sad but you’re so young and healthy honey, you have nothing to worry about” or the old classic “Someone else has it worse than you”. Whether I was at home or at school, I heard the same ignorant statements spewing out from what felt like everyone. And I could never comprehend what was the point of these falsely “encouraging” statements and why profusely use them? These kinds of statements do not uplift, nor do they empower those struggling with mental health issues, if anything it makes it extremely debilitating when your emotions are not acknowledged nor validated. One cannot expect to simply brush away another person’s emotion, thought or feeling as though it means nothing.

With that being said, growing up, I lived in a dysfunctional household alongside my mother, my older brother, and my grandmother. My mother would always be juggling work, schooling, and her dating life. My brother was very reluctant about staying home so he would always vanish after school, hang out with friends, party hard and engage with various street substances. Now my grandmother? It was not long after she immigrated that she began to immerse herself within the Jehovah’s Witnesses ideology and “religiously” strayed away from us as my mother likes to say. My mother was never fond of religious practices that were not “orthodox”. My grandmother wanted to indoctrinate my mom, brother, and I into joining her religious little club but failed which resulted in countless fights, yelling matches, and multiple dents left in our walls. The back and forth with the yelling was what scared me most in my childhood even if it was over something as small as not closing the cabinet door. I think it was around this time period I experienced violence/ trauma at home and truth be told I was extremely stressed and anxious all the time as a kid. My mother would cover the punched indents by taking magazines and sticking pages onto the indent. Often times my stomach would turn as I looked at the pages covering the area where my brother punched the wall with brutal force. Moreover, I felt impending sadness because all I ever wanted was for everyone in my family to be able coexist and not argue. I was trying to keep the peace between everyone, yet I was always the one that got caught in the middle of everything whether I liked it or not. I would get blamed a lot for trying to mend things for everyone. Even though all I wanted was the best for all my family members.

Fast forward to my pre-teen/ teenage years. By this point, my brother and grandmother were no longer living under the same roof as my mother and I. My brother was living with his ex-girlfriend while working as a security guard meanwhile my grandmother was living in her own little subsidized apartment preaching the word of Jehovah. At that particular time, my mother and I lived in a marvellous urban semi-detached house in a peaceful neighbourhood. My mother’s boyfriend had moved in with us and for the most part I was really happy because at least it was not just me and her.

My mother’s boyfriend lived with us while I was going to school. He was a really nice, caring and warm-hearted individual although I could never understand why my mother argued with him so much. I once told him “You should propose to her, I can see you two together forever” to which he replied with a welcoming smile.

But eventually just like with all good things, there comes an end. The inevitable breakup my mom went through was very bitter and I had to be there for her. Afterall, I was technically the only child that was around to emotionally comfort her. Ironically, the breakup occurred during the time I was being bullied in school. And it was difficult to be fully present for my mother while dealing with a lot of negativity at school. I had been experiencing cyber bullying on MSN by a bunch of peers calling me “weird”, “ugly” and “different”. To make matters worse, the group of kids that bullied me online ended up following me everywhere I went for recess which posed as a big obstacle for my well being. I had to eat inside the portables when teachers weren’t around or inside the girl’s bathroom stall just to avoid being teased. I never felt like I had a safe space to myself where I could be vulnerable and open up. Not to mention, it was a difficult time and there was practically no one I could confide in. I didn’t have a social circle of supportive friends, after all I was an antisocial person. Fear washed over me as I worried about disclosing my unpleasant experience to my mother because she was already dealing with so much, the heartbreak, the bills, work problems (etc.), it was then and there that I decided to lie instead of telling the truth. Ultimately, lying became my cooping mechanism to deal with the ongoing pain.

I kept up the lying for a long time in order to make it seem like everything was okay. I lied to everyone from family members to school peers to the teaching staff to principals to counselors.

For the longest time, lying sheltered me from all sorts of unnecessary questions. No one could really tell whether I was truthful or disloyal because I was able to make it sound believable. When I was a teenager, I continued to go down the same destructive path by being dishonest with myself and others. Many times, the thought of suicide crossed my mind and when I started to think about it and plan/coordinate the intricate details it did not hit me that something was very wrong, and I needed urgent help. A big part of the problem was that I was so used to downplaying my pain, given my family circumstance and stigmatization I experienced growing up with. There is no denying that I would engage in negative self talk convincing myself that I deserved the pain and suffering for not being likeable enough or for not being smart enough.

Sometimes I think that is the thing… people do not understand that I lied because that was what I was required to do in order to survive my childhood. I, myself do not tolerate lying and I think it is a form of betrayal and if I were to be completely honest, I would have NEVER lied to my mom had it been safe for me to express myself authentically in my household.

I did not live in a household where it was safe to speak my mind freely and disagree with my mother. Disagreeing was always the last thing I wanted to do, disagreeing meant I got the belt, my devices would get confiscated or that I was going to get grounded. They say, “Honesty is the best policy” and I do not disagree however, it is not as black and white as one may think. In my situation, lying was not only an adaptive coping mechanism but it became a survival mechanism to keep me safe from harm/threat.

I did not have very much individuality growing up. I felt as though having an opinion of my own was bad. In order to perpetuate this fixated mindset that I had, my mother constantly deemed certain attributed behaviours or thoughts as “good” or “bad”. So, say you were upset about a recent breakup with your partner, my mother would scoff and say, “You know life isn’t just about love right?” and play it like it means nothing to the person affected by the situation.

The first time I ever felt depressed was when I was 13. At that age I did not understand why I was feeling what I was feeling. All I knew was that there was something wrong with me. It did not help when I was being picked on by my classmates telling me “Go die”, “You belong in a ditch ugly bitch.”

The moment when things started getting out of hand was when I was first started my Art and Family Studies class in the same semester. In both classes I was placed into groups amongst other students. In Family Studies I had to be in a collaborative group that would divide responsibilities and tasks accordingly. When it came to cooking, my group consisted of four snobby, rich yet immature peers who were unwilling to help and contribute in any shape or form, I had to become the bigger person and sure enough I took all the responsibilities on myself. Though, it was not a smart move. But I was super shy and felt anxious to do anything different least to say speak up and advocate for myself, so I did what I had to do which was prepare meals, clean, and wash the dishes. At the end of the day, none of my peers thanked me, the only thank you I got was getting groped while washing the dishes and getting laughed at.

After what happened I ran to my best friend in tears to tell her what happened just to find her say “It’s not that bad, you’ll be fine” I felt like my blood was going to boil and I was about to start fuming. I stood thinking “Huh, that is so weird, is this how you comfort a person after being sexually harassed?”

Not to sound all grim but that experience showed me that no one really cared about me. No one cared that I got groped or how I felt in that moment. Let alone not even my “best friend” who was supposed to fulfill her role and be there for me. All I wanted was comfort and to be heard out. I could not even tell my mother about this experience until I turned 21 because of how ashamed I felt carrying around that experience and not having the ability to open up and mourn what happened that day and to be able to heal that damaged part of myself. I carried that incident with me for 7 years in silence because I was scared of being honest.

That specific experience was very detrimental to my mental health. Everything began to spiral out of control, I sprawled into a dark depressive state. I began to have intense panic attacks, insomnia, forgetfulness (etc.) After a certain duration of time, I had thoughts of suicide lingering at the back of my head. I questioned my worth, my identity, my culture, my everything.

The bullying and name calling persisted and became so intense that I ended up missing weeks of school time. Some of the boys in my Art class found it funny to make fun of my last name and call me “Prostitute”.

One day in the early springtime, my Art teacher noticed the marks on my wrists as I was painting and had not said anything until I made it to my last period class. I was called down to the guidance counselors office and was interrogated with questions.

“It has come to our concern that one of the staff members noticed cuts on your arms.”

I sat in silence trying hard to contain my anxiety.

“Are you struggling with depression or low mood? Is everything okay at home?”

It came to the point when I got so tired of lying about my pain that I admitted “Yes, I am struggling, I need help”. I dived into the bullying occurrences, the cat calling, my low grades, my self-esteem, the groping, my home situation (etc). After that, I was told that my mother would have to be called down to the school for “safety” reasons even though my counselor promised not to disclose any personal information to my mother. My greatest fear was that I did not want my mom to know that something was wrong.

Of course, my mom came to my school. She was told everything that had happened. I met her at the counselor’s office just to find her wailing in distress “You are such an embarrassment” and “Your counselor told me what you did, how could you do this?”. When the counselor gave us resources for help, my mother grabbed the papers and shoved them into the trash, got up and yanked me out the office.

The next three days that followed, my mother withdrew into her room not saying a word to me. I felt really uneasy and upset. She had her right to be alone but locking herself away from me and avoiding communication altogether? Didn’t make much sense.

I felt extremely guilty for not opening up to my mother sooner. But instead of choosing to be compassionate and caring she chose to resort to anger. She furiously blamed me for being “quiet” and “not trustful” which all landed on my shoulders again. It was “my” fault I thought.

Bottling this up resulted in a full-blown mental breakdown. I could not focus or concentrate because of everything building up. It came to the point where my mom had to choose between living in a toxic community or starting fresh elsewhere.

And even though my mother kept subjecting me to her harmful stigmatizations, the transition from my old school to my new one helped me greatly. When we moved away, I gradually started to feel better emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Very quickly, I ended up adapting to my new high school where I finally made friends.

One thing I cannot deny is that there definitely was a silver lining to all of this. Although I went through severe bullying and torment at school and home, I managed to reclaim my power and through that I discovered my inner peace after being extracted from my toxic high school. The new school that I ended up attending completely changed me and inspired me to become a more authentic version of myself. It was almost as though I did a complete 180°

My new peers and teachers were enthusiastic, open-minded and caring. The new community I was surrounding myself in was a very positive one that broke down stigmas and encouraged deep understanding and acceptance. My mind was blown when I found that it was easier to conversate with girls and guys at my new school, I was gradually becoming confident and more vocal, and I liked the feeling of not hiding myself away from the world. It felt rejuvenating to finally be heard and seen by others.

Slowly but surely, I began to partake in various activities at my school. I joined the Poetry Club which I would have never considered joining had I stayed back in my old school due to fear of how I was perceived. Ultimately, I started caring and nurturing myself more. My new friends supported me, and teachers began to openly listen to my stories and encouraged me to write. When I started writing, I realized that I could use this medium to cope with my depression and anxiety. The acknowledgment made a major difference in my life like never before.

If it were not for the transition from my old high school, I would have not made progress in developing into the woman I am today. I know that I am not my pain, I am not my mistakes.

Do I still struggle and have bad days? Yes, of course. Just like any human being I have my days when I am not feeling the greatest however, I am more open to learning about how to engage with my mind, body and soul in order to soothe myself during turbulent times. I still have that inner critic however, I have been engaging with activities such as bike riding, painting, drawing, and reading to help occupy my mind which as a result has reduced the time that I spend ruminating. Occupying myself has worked magic, I am now able to reduce and control how much time I spend self-loathing, criticizing, and judging myself. Rather than judging every thought, I’ve learned to slow down and observe.

If you stuck along until the end of my story, I want to thank you for reading through my experience. My hope is that my story can shed some light on the myths and stigmas surrounding mental health, especially within the Eastern European community. I want you all to know that you are ALL valid and I wanted to be able to share my story so that my readers know that they are not alone.

#mental health #mental health awareness #depression #mdd #mood disorder #anxiety #gad #my story #hope #bullying #narcissistic parent #end the stigma #recovery #fyp

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hutchhitched · 4 years ago

Text

Walk Back

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 143: The girl of my dreams asked me if I needed a ride home from campus so I obviously let her drive me home then walked back to campus a couple of hours later to get my car. [submitted by anonymous]

Ratings/Warnings: G

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the sixth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. Only three more to go!

Peeta Mellark knows he’s got it good compared to a lot of people. He really does, but that doesn’t stop him from wallowing in pity every once in a while. He’s in college, the first in his family, on a hefty scholarship; his grades are good; he has a lot of friends and a good work study job that actually does give him some time to study. Those are all good things. They really are, and he doesn’t dispute it, but…

He’s also had a rough home life with a mom who’s never satisfied with anything he does and a father who loves him but can’t stand up to his wife long enough to protect his three sons from her emotional abuse. He’s a first-generation college student who’s excelling in courses for his major but isn’t doing so great in all his other general education courses. He has to work a lot more than he should for someone with his course load. Worst of all, though, he’s madly in love with a woman who likely doesn’t know his name. Well, that’s probably not true, but still. She’s certainly not crazy about him the way he is mad for her.

There’s just no way Katniss Everdeen, fellow Panem University student and the smartest girl in his biology lab, would ever give him the time of day. Not when she already has a boyfriend, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rugged, who’s about to graduate with a promising career. That’s unlike Peeta, an art major. He’ll never amount to anything, or so his mother likes to remind him every time he’s stupid enough to visit his family.

Besides, Katniss is beautiful and sassy and shy and so many other wonderful things. She has no idea the effect she has on him or any other male within a mile radius, including their biology professor who’s proclaimed her the most brilliant student he’s had in his twenty-two years of teaching. Peeta spends the better part of their class together watching her from across the room, which is probably why his lab partner hates him and his grade in that class absolutely sucks.

So, while Peeta knows he’s got some things going for him, it’s not surprising that he finds himself a little down in the dumps occasionally—especially on days when his crush shows up at his workplace. It’s even worse when his co-worker knows about his hopeless infatuation and has no shame. Johanna Mason may be his least favorite person on days like that. Today happens to be one of those days. He’s cursing his life when Jo comes up behind him and leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Oooooooooh ooooooh. Katniss is pretty, isn’t she? Look at her over there. So serious. What do you think she’s getting ready to check out, and is there any way to make it sexual when gets over here?”

“Shut up, Jo,” Peeta hisses as his cheeks flush, and he curls into himself, trying to hide behind the circulation desk so Katniss won’t see him.

The last thing he wants is for the girl he’s been crushing on for months to hear his co-worker tease him about his hopeless attraction. The problem is that he told Johanna in a fit of self-loathing, and she coached him through it, built him up so his ego was a little higher than the floor and prepared him some for what to say to a girl when he likes her. While it was very kind of Jo to offer, Peeta isn’t that hopeless. He’d had a number of girlfriends in high school, but none of them compare to Katniss Everdeen. She is a goddess.

“What time’s your shift done today, hot buns?”

“Don’t call me that! What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Why are you so terrible?”

“Terrible? I’m trying to get you laid, buddy. It’s certainly never going to happen if I leave you to your own devices, although I’m sure you’re taking care of yourself plenty. You’re a guy, after all.”

Peeta’s face floods with heat, and he wants to slide onto the floor and hide behind the counter. She’s not wrong—he is a healthy, twenty-one-year-old man who hasn’t dated in a while—but Peeta doesn’t want his co-worker to know that. She’ll probably tell the whole world if he confirms what she suspects. Or say something to Katniss, which would be horrifying.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, suspicious.

“Knowledge is power, my friend. Knowledge is power.”

Still not convinced, he welcomes a patron and scans the student ID he’s handed. “Exactly ten minutes,” he mutters as he types in the bar codes of the pile of library books in front of him before sliding them across the counter. It’s almost midterm, so everyone’s trying to finish projects and bibliographies for research papers before they leave for spring break. The library’s been slammed for days.

“She’s on her way over here,” Johanna nudges him.

He whips his head up, and his eyes widen as he realizes Jo’s right. Katniss pages through a book as she strides toward the circulation desk. Johanna turns to busy herself with a pile of returned books, and he squeezes his legs together under the desk. If he can just stop his hands from shaking, things will be great.

“Hi, Peeta,” she says with a guarded smile as she hands him her student ID. “How’s it going?”

“K-katniss! Hi!” His voice squeaks, and he cringes internally. He sounds like an idiot. “It’s good. I’m good. How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” She hands him her student ID, and he glances down at the book she set on the counter.

“History of Sculpture? That’s…”

She laughs wryly and nods. “Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how I managed to get myself into it, but I signed up for an art appreciation class. I have zero artistic ability, so it’s painful.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s…yeah.”

Johanna snorts behind him, and he tosses her a warning look. He should have known better. The woman doesn’t have a tactful bone in her body. Instead, she comes to stand behind Peeta and surveys Katniss.

“You know, Peeta here is an art major,” Jo announces with her hand on his shoulder. “I bet he could help you with your art appreciation class. He’s great at that kind of stuff.”

“Are you really?” Katniss asks, her eyes widening in pleased surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’m more of a painter than anything else, but I know quite a bit about all the different media. It’s kind of in the curriculum for my major.”

She looks impressed, but she shakes her head as she picks up her book and tucks her ID into her pocket. “I couldn’t ask you to help, but that’s cool. I thought you were a biology major like me.”

Johanna smacks him on the back, and he glares at her before wiping his expression clean and flashing a closed mouth grin at Katniss. When nobody says anything, Katniss turns to go.

“Nonsense!” Jo cries. “Peeta’d be happy to help. I’m sure there’s something you could do for him to repay his generosity.”

He swears under his breath and elbows Jo in the gut.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything I have that Peeta wants—”

“A ride home?” Jo interrupts. “Peeta’s car’s in the shop. He asked me for a ride, but his shift is over now, and I’ve got another two hours before I can leave. Poor guy. He’d really appreciate the lift.”

Relief colors her face, and she nods. “I’d be happy to do that. My car’s on the street. I snagged one of those metered ones that are always full. Must be my lucky day.”

“Oh, I’d say it certainly is,” Jo says, a wide self-satisfied smile plastered on her face. She practically shoves him out of his chair and adds, “Peeta, why don’t you go clock out. I’ll finish this up for you.”

“I can—”

“No, you can’t. You’re too close to hours. Besides, you wouldn’t want to keep Katniss waiting, now would you?”

“You really are the devil, aren’t you?” he hisses as he grabs his stuff. “My car’s in the parking garage, not the shop. What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting you some time alone with the girl of your dreams,” she explains with a withering look. “Now, let her give you a ride home so you can schmooze her.”

Still disgruntled, he shuffles to the door and meets Katniss on the steps. She shifts uncomfortably, tugging on her braid and hunching her shoulders. He wonders if she’s trying to hide or if she’s cold in the chill of the early spring day.

“I really appreciate this,” he says.

She nods and leads him to her car. “No problem. It’s the least I can do.”

“You don’t have to do anything at all.”

She’s silent as she starts her car. Hesitating, she glances over at him and asks, “Does that mean you don’t want to tutor me? I understand if you don’t. It’s asking a lot for someone you barely know, especially since I can’t really afford to pay you.”

“Except in rides.”

“Well, yeah. I can do that.” She smiles at him tremulously and shifts the car into gear. Glancing over her shoulder, she signals and pulls out of the parking spot and onto the street.

“You could help me in bio,” he blurts and his cheeks heat.

“Really?”

He cringes and shrugs. “Yeah. I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I think I’m one of those people that understands it in theory but not in practicality. I’m doing fine in the lecture, but lab is really confusing.” He doesn’t add that most of that is her fault, but not really, because he can’t stop mooning over her.

“I can do that.”

He glances at the pleased curve of her lips and wonders how he can make it happen again. The joy of seeing her happy sinks into his bones and gives him life. It’s ridiculous, but it’s true. He has no reason to think he should except common human decency matched with his overwhelming crush. He feels like a middle school boy who’s just figured out that girls and boys have different parts.

Katniss stops at the intersection and glances over at him. Bashful, she admits, “I don’t know where I’m going.”

Peeta’s eyebrows furrow and he motions out the windshield. “South?”

“No,” she answers with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I don’t know where you live.”

He’s an idiot. Of course she doesn’t know where he lives. “Sorry! Sorry. Turn left here. I wasn’t thinking.”

“If you want…”

“If I want?” he prods.

“Well, maybe, if you don’t mind, that is.” She clears her throat and then words burst from her in a torrent. “I know a coffee shop that no one else really goes to. It’s quiet and the coffee’s good. They know me there, and I have a table they kind of save just for me. If you wanted to go over some of this sculpture stuff today, that’d be a good place.”

“Oh. Okay,” he answers, fighting to keep his face clear of the glee he feels. Katniss Everdeen just asked him to go out with her. Well, she asked him to go somewhere with her, but that was more than he’d dreamed would happen any time he imagined actually speaking to her. Not only is he going to sit at the same table with her in a public place, but he’s at her mercy with transportation. She’s got him captive, and he approves.

“Maybe I can take a look over your lab notes with you, too. You know, if you want.”

Oh, he wants. That’s never been in question. He absolutely wants when it comes to Katniss Everdeen.

“That’d be great. Really great.”

The place itself is an independent coffee shop in an older area of town called The Seam. The properties tend to be more run-down than those closer to campus, but the café is cozy and humble and has great choices in both coffee and tea. He chooses a black peppermint he’s loved since his father made it for him when he was sick. His father had also snuck cookies to Peeta despite the disapproval of his mom. He adds sugar before taking a sip that transports him back to childhood. He breathes in as he swallows and blows out a heavy sigh.

Amused, Katniss asks, “That good?”

Nodding, he inhales the aroma and smiles softly. “Yeah. It’s that good. Thanks for bringing me here.”

Pleased, Katniss drops her head and shuffles in her bag for the book on sculpture and her class notes. They work together for over an hour before reviewing information from their biology lab. He finds she’s a good tutor, knowledgeable and skilled at breaking down the concepts into sizable chunks that seemed overwhelming previously. When he compliments her on it, she waves him off but returns the sentiment.

“I already feel like I appreciate art more.”

“Glad I could help.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though,” she teases. “I’ll still need you after break’s over, but I think I can pass the final now, anyway.”

He shivers at her claiming she’ll need him. It’s closer to genuine interest than anything he’s ever gotten from her, and it gives him a small thrill of hope.

Reluctantly, she packs up her bag and sighs. “I really need to get home, but this was fun.”

“Yeah, I should be getting back, too. Got a lot to do before bed.”

They’re quiet as they slide into the car. Contemplative, Peeta almost forgets to provide instructions so Katniss knows where to take him. As he guides her through unfamiliar streets that turn into those he sees every day, he sends silent thanks to Johanna for her brashness and refusal to let things go. He only hopes he doesn’t have a ticket on his car when he retrieves it—hopefully before it’s towed.

“This is it,” he says with a wave at his front door. None of his roommates are home, which means he’s stuck until they return. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, but she’s antsy, unsure what to do with her hands or where to look. “Thanks again for the ride. Come find me at the library after break, and we’ll do a repeat of tonight.”

“Sounds great,” she says warmly. ��Hope you get your car back soon.”

“Yeah, me too,” he grumbles.

He watches her leave, lifting his hand in farewell until her car turns the corner and heads back the way she came. Fishing his cell out of his pocket, he sends his roommates a group text asking when they’ll be home and if one of them can give him a ride back to campus. As each of them gives a reason for their absence, he realizes he’s on his own. He does stow his bag inside and grab a drink before heading back outside. Squaring his shoulders, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and begins the walk back.

It takes an hour, and he does have a parking ticket. Still, Peeta has no regrets. The afternoon with Katniss was the best of the year with the promise of more to come. She’s worth the inconvenience.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 143 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #walk back

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catxsnow · 4 years ago

Text

DRAW ME D.W.

Summary: Damian never knew his drawings could lead to something so great. Older!Damian

Warning: the cringiest reference but I couldn’t help it, fluff

A/N: I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again, Damian’s skills are not showcased enough

Gif not mine

Word Count: 2.3k

Everyone knew how amazing of an artist Damian Wayne is.

He would sketch whenever there was a pencil and paper in front of him no matter if he was supposed to be paying attention to something or not. He loved to draw, to paint, it was the easiest way for him to express himself since words and actions didn't come out as easily to him.

Damian would draw anything and everything. He drew his dog, batman, even the gargoyles that he would perch beside in the dark of night. Drawing was his escape and not to brag about it, but he was pretty damn good at it too. Bruce was always impressed by his son's skills.

He began to challenge himself more - drawing things that were more realistic. He had nearly perfect Titus and was almost there with his father. However, when it came to drawing you? Damian had dozens of sketches of you, each one not coming near to how perfect you really were.

You and Damian had been friends since he stepped foot in Gotham - at least you considered him a friend for that long. You met him at school, first day of class and bumped right into him. Damian yelled at you - calling you dumb names for being so careless. Lucky for him, you were on a good day.

Rather than some snarky response that surely would have gotten you a one way ticket to the principals office, you smiled at him. Damian was taken aback by your response, he wasn't used to this kindness. You had apologized to him, asking if you could make it up to him by buying him lunch that day.

For some godforsaken reason, he agreed.

The two of you had been best friends ever since. It had been years since that day, the two of you were older now - fresh out of high school and awaiting university that fall. You planned to spend as many hot summer days with Damian was you could. He did just the same.

Over the years that the two of you had been friends, Damian had gained these... feelings, for you. At first, he was unsure of what they meant but after a talk with his brother, Dick, he had confirmed them. Damian had a crush on you, and for the first time in his life, he was scared of something.

He didn't want to tell you that after all these years, he had fallen in love with you. There was no way that he was willing to risk your friendship, you were his closest friend besides Jon. Besides, with him being Robin, it was way to dangerous for you to be involved anymore in his life. It was easier for him without you knowing his secret.

So, he kept his feelings hidden. He hid his blush every time you would touch him or kiss his cheek. He hid his desire to hold you in his arms. He hid his endless drawings of you, each one trying to perfect the happiness that was in your eyes.

"Whatcha drawing?" It wasn't very often that someone could sneak up on Damian - rare, in fact. However, he was so engrossed on his sketchbook that he didn't even hear you walk into his room. Damian nearly jumped out of his chair at the warmth of your breath against his cheek.

You rested your chin on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his upper body from behind. Damian wanted to lean back into your touch, he wanted to turn his head just enough that your lips would touch. Instead, he stayed still, twirling his pencil between his fingers.

"My mother," Damian responded. He had the upper half of Talia drawn and was just starting on the details of her lower body. It was excellent work so far, especially being from memory. It was rare to ever see him talk about his mother, you never really asked about her in case it was a sensitive topic.

"She's beautiful," you commented. Damian nodded his head. He set his pencil down on his desk as you pulled away from him. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the art show with me this afternoon. They have some new pieces I've been dying to look at and you're the only one that's going to appreciate them."

"I'd love to," Damian agreed to your plans.

"Perfect, you didn't really have a choice," You grinned. "Now get dressed, it starts in less than an hour and I want to be the first ones there."

"Get dressed?" Damian raised an eyebrow. You chuckled and looked him up and down once before meeting his eyes again. He looked down at himself, just to realize that this whole time he had been in nothing but his boxers. A blush crept up his neck - he hadn't left his room all morning and had completely forgotten to put on clothes.

"I think you some how got more fit since the last time I've seen you half naked." You didn't think that it was possible for that to happen, but here you were. Damian was in impeccable shape, and you never could understand why. He never did it to impress woman and he wasn't narcissistic enough. Either way, you didn't complain about the view.

"I'll meet you down stairs," Damian avoided your compliment.

"I think I like the view too much to leave," you leaned against the doorway. Damian stood in the middle of his room, obviously feeling uncomfortable under your gazing eyes. After all this time, he still wasn't used to your flirting. You did it a lot, which had made him realize his feelings for you even more. It also made him a hell of a lot more confused about how you felt about him.

"(Y/N)."

"Okay, short-stack," you finally agreed. Upon first meeting Damian, you had been much taller than him. Now, he towered over you after a massive growth spurt. He hated the nickname even more than he did when you were in fact taller.

"I'm taller than you now!"

Damian had never felt his heart flutter more than he did at that art show.

You looked so effortlessly beautiful as you admired the paintings. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about a certain piece to him made his breath catch in his throat. He didn't even care about looking at the art, he was too distracted by you the whole time. You were the only art he ever needed to admire.

The whole time you nearly dragged Damian around by his hand. You wanted to see everything, to appreciate ever stroke of the paintbrush. It was incredible just how talented these people were. You never acknowledged art until meeting Damian, he had been the one to get you into the history of it all.

By the time that you left the show, you were nearly skipping down the street with excitement. The most beautiful smile wouldn't leave your face. Damian wanted to see you like this all the time. He wanted you to be happy and never to be tainted by the darkness that was in his life.

Damian had offered for you to join him back at his home. You agreed, of course. The number of hours in the day couldn't compare to the hours you wished to spend with him. Damian was the one person that you didn't think you could ever get tired of seeing. You just hoped that he felt the same way.

It was raining as you came back to his home. The short walk from the car to his front door had left you both soaked to the bone. You hair stuck to your skin and your clothes were nearly see through. It was pouring out, but that was nothing new for Gotham.

Damian offered you a set of his clothes, which you happily accepted. He left the room while you could change into his sweats and hoodie. They smelt like him - an intoxicating scent that always lingered on your body from being with him so much.

A cold gust from his window sent a chill down your spine. You closed his window and wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes to warm up.

The sketch book that he had been using that morning was still opened. However, instead of the drawing that he was doing of his mother, it was on a page of you. It was incredible how he had perfected this drawing of you. From every flaw on your face, to the mixed colors in your eyes. He had done an excellent job.

You carefully grabbed the book from his desk, flipping through the pages of everything that he had done in the past several weeks. Damian was never particularity excited to show you his work, but he didn't hide it from you either. As you turned the pages, you realized just how many times he had drawn you.

They were beautiful. Damian had come back into his room, assuming that you were dressed. His eyes immediately went to the book in your hand and his eyes widened. The last thing that he needed was for you to think of him as a creep for drawing you without your knowledge.

"Dames, this is incredible," you gawked at his work. "Like holy shit, this looks like you just took a picture of me, of everything in here! Why have you never showed me these before, I love them."

"You do?" Damian asked. He didn't realize how much your praise of his work would mean to him until hearing it.

"Yes!" You exclaimed. The smile that Damian loved grew and grew on your cheeks. You sat down on his bed, gesturing for him to sit next to you as you went through each page of the book. You complimented each of his drawings and expressed how good of an artist he was.

It wasn't until you reached one of the more recent drawings of yourself did you pause. You could feel Damian tense next to you as you stopped on the page. He had forgotten the drawing. It was of you - just like every other one in this book - however, around it were dozens of tiny little hearts. The corner of the page read 'my beloved' in the most beautiful calligraphy you had seen.

He had drawn it on a day that he found particularly difficult to hide his feelings for you. Drawing it out had been the only reason he hadn't blurted it out.

"I love this one," your finger tips outlined one of the larger hearts on the page. Damian let out a breath of air that he didn't realize he was holding. You looked up at him, trying to figure out what was going through his head in that moment. He was always a closed book and as much as you had gotten used to it, he still frustrated you.

"I love you," Damian blurted out. His eyes widened at his words and you could see the panic growing on his face. He didn't mean to say it out loud - it wasn't like him to just admit how he was feeling. "Fuck, I didn-"

You didn't let him finish whatever kind of bullshit excuse that he was going to come up with. No, Damian Wayne was a once in a life time kind of person and there was no way that you were going to let him talk himself out of whatever the hell was thinking. So, you did the first thing that came to mind.

You grabbed Damian by the collar of his jacket and pulled him in so you could kiss him. You kissed him with more passion than you ever had for art, with more love than you could have for yourself, and with more confidence than you had ever given off. You kissed him like you had been waiting for this moment since the first time you saw him.

It took Damian nearly too long to pull himself out of his shock and kiss you back. His hands went up to the side of your face with more tenderness than he thought he ever had. This was the kiss that he had been waiting for, for years. Just as he had imagined it, it was perfect - just like you.

"I love you, too, Damian," you confessed. It had been just under a year since you realized your feelings for him. The yearning for him never went away until the second your lips touched. "Fuck, do I love you."

"I should have shown you those drawings earlier," Damian chuckled. He brought you in for another kiss. Without pulling away, you set the book down on his desk once more so you could crawl up his bed. Damian didn't miss a beat and hovered over you. His legs trapped you below him and his arms caging you in even more.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging right at the roots to elicit a quiet groan from him. Damian trailed wet kisses down your neck as his hands slid up the sides of your shirt. He pulled it over your head, and took in even more of your beauty.

"I think I've got a new drawing project for you," You offered, playing with the hem of his shirt. You had just seen him without it that morning but the small taste of it wasn't enough. You needed more, you needed him. A coy grin threatened your smile as you continued your plan for him.

"Draw me like one of your french girls."

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne oneshot #damian wayne x reader #older!damian #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #batfam imagine #batfam one shot #batfam #fluff

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statelies · 3 years ago

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( * 💀 / jessie mei li, questioning, she/they ) — is that emmeline vance i just saw rushing down the corridor? i hear they’re a twenty year old hufflepuff, returning for their sixth school year, but their friends would tell you that they are industrious & compassionate as well as blunt & graceless. if you want to know more about them, i guess i could tell you that they’re muggleborn, and from what i hear, they’re currently allying with the order. when our divination professor looks into their crystal ball, they see: falling asleep studying over open books, split open pomegranates, working under flickering candlelight, casual intimacy between friends, a kitchen full of laughter.

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: Izzie Stevens (Grey’s Anatomy), Callie Torres (Grey’s Anatomy) (+ Sara Ramirez, the they/she icon we all deserve), Kara Danvers (Supergirl), Charles Boyle (Brooklyn 99), Alina Starkov (Shadow and Bone), Janet (Not a Girl) (The Good Place), Penelope Garcia (Criminal Minds).

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Implied Racism.

LINKS: Pinterest. Playlist (Coming Soon).

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

I N T R O

full name ➵ Emmeline Huan Vance

nicknames ➵ Emmy; Emma; Line; Em; Melly; Melsy; Vance; Hurricane

pronouns ➵ she/they/her/them

birthdate / age ➵ October 24th, 1959, 09:47 am / 20 years old

birthplace ➵ Brighton, East Sussex

childhood home ➵ Unknown home in Brighton, East Sussex — 162 Orchard Croft, Harlow, Essex

current residence ➵ Hogwarts, Scotland

religion ➵ agnostic; paternal grandparents were Methodist ( Protestant ) while maternal grandparents were also Christian

occupation ➵ full - time student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

P H Y S I C A L

height ➵ 5 feet, 2 inches / 157.5 cm

weight ➵ 48 kg / 106lb

body type ➵ hourglass shaped figure

hair ➵ dark brown, bordering on black; soft and wavy

eye color ➵ dark brown

dominant hand ➵ right

FC ➵ Jessie Mei Li

voice ➵ Jessie Mei Li

special characteristics ➵

small waist

has a birthmark on her right ankle that looks like an apple

pierced septum

smells of ➵

lavender hand lotion

pomegranate

cardamom, jasmine and orange blossom perfume

E M O T I O N A L

zodiac ➵ scorpio sun (x); sagittarius rising; cancer moon

MBTI ➵ ISFJ (“The Defender”)

positive traits ➵ industrious; compassionate; generous; warmhearted; benevolent; selfless; observant; honest; personable; kind.

negative traits ➵ blunt; graceless; meticulous; well-meaning; impatient; internalizes feelings; oversensitive; tactless; overbearing; clumsy.

likes ➵ Pumpkin pasties; duelling club; laughter; the rush of incoming patients; cooking for friends; Ballycastle Bats; Diagon Alley; being barefoot at the beach; roadtrips; apple juice; hugs from friends; nicknames; vanilla candles; the heat of a boiling cauldron; Sugar Quills; warm sweaters; pizza; pomegranate seeds; cheek kisses; taking photographs; finishing essays early; coffee with milk and two sugars; Queen; Aston Villa; cats

dislikes ➵ spam (the food); apparition; the Daily Prophet; starless nights; Kenmare Kestrels; karaoke; losing bets; skinned knees; snakes; pigeons; the colour fuschia (it’s too bright); ticking clocks; banana flavouring; funerals; Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans; Celestina Warbeck; mayonnaise; blue M&Ms; her lao ye; the word mudblood; leprechauns; fans of Kenmare Kestrels; losing football matches; witch Halloween costumes; rugby

amortentia ➵

birthday cake

fresh mint

old books

orange blossom

M A G I C

blood status ➵ muggleborn

wand ➵ Aspen, dragon heartstring core, 8 inches, hard

wand-quality aspen wood is white and fine-grained, and highly prized by all wand-makers for its stylish resemblance to ivory and its usually outstanding charmwork. The proper owner of the aspen wand is often an accomplished duellist, or destined to be so, for the aspen wand is one of those particularly suited to martial magic. An infamous and secretive eighteenth-century duelling club, which called itself The Silver Spears, was reputed to admit only those who owned aspen wands. In my experience, aspen wand owners are generally strong-minded and determined, more likely than most to be attracted by quests and new orders; this is a wand for revolutionaries.

patronus ➵ Hippo

E D U C A T I O N

Hogwarts class ➵ Hufflepuff, 1981

extracurriculars ➵

Hufflepuff Prefect / September 1979 - June 1981

Herbology Club & Greenhouse Keepers / September 1977 - June 1981

Toothill Duelling Club / September 1979 - June 1981

Wenlock Study Club / September 1979 - June 1981

courses & exams ➵

Ancient Runes - O

Astronomy - E

Charms - O

Defense Against the Dark Arts - O

Herbology - O

History of Magic - O

Muggle Studies - O

Potions - O

Transfiguration - O

Care of Magical Creatures - E

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

health ➵

walnut allergy

hayfever

pets ➵

Jíngyi; the long-eared owl

Shu; the white cat

handwriting ➵ Abuget

F A M I L Y

Deirdre (née Wilkinson) Vance ➵ paternal grandmother; retired nurse; deceased May. 1980

Edward Vance ➵ grandfather; retired soldier and miner; deceased Jan. 1980

Xiulan Wong ( Wong Xiulan ) ➵ maternal grandmother (lao lao); homeschooled; housewife; alive

Da Wong ( Wong Da ) ➵ maternal grandfather (lao ye); homeschooled; shop-owner; alive

Dr. Cillian Vance ➵ father; worked for/with the Red Cross UK (and the Hong Kong Red Cross); alive

Mei (née Wong) Vance ➵ mother; teaching assistant; alive

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌

emmeline had always known they were different. at first, it was because of her skin, the way she looked and spoke and could never find anyone to play with on the playground, her chinese middle name and her lao lao being the one to pick her up from school every morning. she would cry to her mother at night, cling to her arms like they were the port keeping her safe from the storm, and listen to her father sing, voice warm and tender as she drifted to sleep, but she never got the answers for why she was treated differently — never got answers for why she was the only non-white child in her school, never got answers for why they hated her so much, hated her existence. but she weathered through primary school, finding her footing in secondary school with her only friend, aisha, who never cared that she was different, that sometimes she could do things that nobody else seemed able to do, that she’d been encouraged to always tell the truth, nothing but the truth, that sometimes she’d say things that hurt, things that stung even though she never meant for them to.

for a while, the feeling of being wholly different faded, or at least, emmeline didn’t notice it quite so prominently anymore, and then suddenly it appeared again — but this time it had been because she didn’t know if she always felt like a girl. not a girl in the traditional sense, anyway, not some days. she liked dresses and fancy heeled shoes and tiaras, but found herself equally at home in plaid shirts and her father’s way-too-big suit jacket and kicking around a football, and for a half-asian barely a teenage… person (she’s still working on it), suspended constantly between two identities, it confused them (even though they’re perfectly aware now that those things are superficial, but the feeling still remains). the only person they ever talked to about it back then was aisha — their lifeline, their best friend, the one their parents reluctantly approved of because they had been so lonely for so long. while aisha was crushing on boys, sweaty and loud and just this side of too teasing, and starting to wear makeup and changing herself, emmeline was trying to find where she fit in, trying to understand who she was, who she is, why they feel so different.

in the midst of all that, emmeline’s letter to hogwarts came. just another difference for emmeline to feel, the knowledge that they have magic was unexpected and tore her family in two. the family she loved - her mother, her father, her lao lao and lao ye, and granny and pops - all had differing opinions on whether or not to accept it, whether or not to send them to school and deal with the fact, up front, that emmeline was, and always would be, special. in the end, emmeline’s pops snuck her out, following instructions from a professor mcgonagall, to find diagon alley, the place where emmeline suddenly felt she fit in. she could feel the magic in the air, could feel it almost crackling in the space around her, almost inviting her in. of course, it took some time — a little too much time, really — to buy everything she needed, and when she cried into her ice cream on the way home, overwhelmed and tired and feeling so many things, he was the one who held her all the way home.

he and their granny were the only ones there to send them off the hogwarts that first year, their parents reluctant to accept anything so unnatural about their child, but emmeline hardly cared at the time (even though it hit them later that night and they sobbed into their pillow), too excited to remember to even wave, too excited to remember to cry because she was leaving behind the only friend she’d ever truly known, and when they saw hogwarts, that castle appearing, they just knew. they were home. she knows, after years and years of being torn between two identities on so many different fronts, that people aren’y happy she’s here, happy she has magic, happy she calls this place her home away from home, that she laughs loud at the hufflepuff table and wears yellow and black face paint for quidditch matches and tried out for the muggle football team, but there’s nothing they can say to change who she is, her pride in the blood flowing through her veins, in the magic at her fingertips. emmeline’s always known they’re different, but having magic, being home at hogwarts, is the first time she’s ever felt proud to be so.

#revelio.intro #emmeline;#god this is actually a mess but i am way too tired to deal with it #SDFKJDSF #so! here's. something ig. i'll decide if i hate this after i pass out and wake up tomorrow lmfao #implied racism cw #racism cw #i guess????#it's mentioned so briefly.#but #better safe than sorry

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zeldasayer · 4 years ago

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I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser

Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.

It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.

Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.

Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.

PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.

GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?

PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.

GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?

PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.

GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?

PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.

GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?

PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.

GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?

PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

GQ: How were you received in California?

PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.

GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?

PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.

GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.

GQ: Was that your first performance?

PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?

PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.

GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.

PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.

GQ: Do you miss traveling?

PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.

GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?

PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.

GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?

PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.

GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?

PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.

GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?

PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.

GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?

PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.

GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?

PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.

GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?

PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.

GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?

PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.

GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?

PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.

GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?

PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.

#pedro pascal #THANK YOU MY LOVE!#submission

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yolkyeomie · 4 years ago

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Crescendo | Kang Yeosang

summary — The beating of a heart is like a crescendo, screaming louder and louder in one's chest until it's reached maximum capacity, and you’re about ready to burst.

word count — 8.6k words

pairing — yeosang x female!reader

genre —violinist + college au, band au there if you look around a little bit, fluff with like a hint of angst in the later parts

disclaimer — SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT,,, this is more of prologue than anything tbh. also I have almost zero knowledge on college and violins so if this is horrible I’m so sorry. also typos. lots of typos.

part I | part II | part III

There was just something about summer that you liked so much. You just couldn't exactly put your finger on what.

Maybe you liked the sunny days that it would bring? The giant ball of light in the sky beaming down at full power onto every human in sight. It would illuminate the world with a golden glow, bringing out the more natural and earthy colors hidden from the other seasons. The heat would call for unplanned trips to the cool waters and hot sand of the beaches or a quickly made dash to the nearest frozen ice cream shop. Perhaps it was because there was no more school, no more time needed to spend on slaving away for hours at a desk just to not retain any knowledge given.

Or maybe you liked it because it was the time you’d see children the happiest. Every time you biked along the sidewalk to and from your home you’d come across a playground almost always filled to the brim with the joyous sounds of laughter. Children scattered around the playgrounds like little ants to a picnic, grabbing whatever they found the most intriguing for the day. Some would be swinging, some would be sliding, some would even be chasing each other around without any of the equipment catching their attention at all.

However, there was a possibility that you enjoyed the summertime because of the theater your town held. It wasn't very big compared to the ones that could be found in the big cities of your country, but it was nice nonetheless.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

Every year your high school would hold recitals for their students in that theater. They would use these performances as a way to showcase their students' growing talents in the art of music or to spotlight their shyer students who never had gotten a chance to show everyone what they were made of. You weren’t in any sort of music group nor did you know how to play any instruments, so you never participated. But you did show up to every recital you could.

When you were in tour first year the only reason you had attended the performance was because your English teacher had promised to raise their overall grade for the year if they did. You were a decent student, overall you had average grades but wasn't the most outstanding person in your class. A few extra points to curve your grades were always appreciated so you had planned on attending the performance.

You had tried to grab a couple of friends to go with you, but all of them coward out when they got the chance. Some would say they were too busy, some would outright tell you they didn't want to sit through a performance they had no interest in. So you ended up simply going with your family, more begrudged than you originally were for the recital.

You had sat through choir members and members of the school's small orchestra and band repeating nearly the same song over and over again. Each song had a different tune, maybe a different style depending on how much creative liberty the singer or player gave themselves. One song was sung a bit louder than the others, another song was played by a small thrown together orchestra than simply a soloist, but they were all the same.

It was boring, and you were growing tired of listening to the same thing constantly. The only thing willing you to stay in your seat the entire time with the arm crushing strength of your mother and your need to get extra points on your grades for the year.

Near the end of the recital was when you had gotten hooked. Your family had finally decided they were going to pack it up for the night, her father had to work early in the morning and you were going to be thrown over towards your grandparents for summer. Just before you could have risen out of your chair to leave behind your parents, you heard it. A different melody than the ones that have been rocking your brain that night.

There was a boy walking on the stage, probably no taller than you was at the time. He was tiny for a first year boy, probably one of the shortest in his class as well. His hair was like a fluffy brown bunny's tail, bouncing and tousling itself around with every step he took. There was a string instrument in his hands, from what you could see was a red-tinged wood violin. You couldn't quite see the expression on his face either though, due to the distance you were from the theater stage.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he plucked one of the strings, letting the note resonate through the theater and bounce off the walls and into their ears. He had played a note, on a different key from the other performers. He was playing a song that his fellow violinists hadn't picked. He was different.

The sound was like a siren's song that grabbed the audience's attention and placed it to the stage. His melody started out soft and somber, almost as if the violin itself was conveying its unspoken emotions. The violinist was trying to use those emotions his instrument lent him to serenade the tears in the audience's eyes to fall and hit the ground simultaneously, creating their own beat to his song.

After a moment of enticing the audience to his performance, he sped up his pace. His quiet song suddenly grew in size until it overpowered every other sound in the room. He strummed each string with a quickness you didn't even believe was possible, his bow striking each note like it was powerful enough to create an earthquake. In a sense, it was like he and the violin had become one being, his string instrument becoming an extension of his arm as he played.

The audience whispered in wonder and amazement of the boy's talents, unable to take their eyes away from his figure. It was an enchanting sound so you couldn't blame them. The violinist had brought you into a world completely different from reality, where every object and plant in sight was made out of his musical chords.

How does a boy, barely over the age of fifteen, have this much power in his hands? You would be cursing yourself if you didn't grant him the title of prodigy right then and there.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn't listen to the rest of his alluring song. Your family had dragged you out of the theater to finally retreat to their humble abode for the night. After that night you had declared to yourself that you’d find the violinist who played that song, whether you had to search all summer for him or dig around your school for him. You’d attend every recital and every performance your school's small orchestra had just to get him to play for you again.

However, you lucked out each time you tried. Your school's orchestra didn't allow students outside of their instrumentalists into the classrooms. The violinist boy was too short for you to find in a crowd at their performances either. You even tried to find someone who might be close to him, but no one seemed to step up to the plate. This went on for the rest of your high school years. The only time you could see him where those days after the school year had ended, listening to him play those high energy tunes and somber melodies for his recital before he disappeared from existence once more.

That was, until now.

Plus you made a little bit of money on the side as well, and who didn't like money? Sure most of it was going to your tuition for college but there were times where you liked to splurged on your own interests every once and awhile.

"You seem tired," a feminine voice commented, making you turn around to face her. It was a girl, around your age, walking towards you, her long sleeves rolled up against her arms to mirror the way her shorts looked. She sat down on the pavement next to you, handing you a water bottle ice cold to the touch. "I would be too if I rode around in this crazy heat. I'm surprised you haven't melted at the mere light of the sun yet."

"I almost did," you responded, taking the water from her hands gratefully. "Today was unreasonably hot... I felt like I was sitting right in the middle of hell. And the fact that my bike is made out of metal, too? It's a miracle I didn't get third degree burns or something."

The girl went quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought before speaking again. "You know I can always do it for you? The delivering stuff. It's my family's business anyway, I should be helping them out, not relying on you to do all of the hard work for me."

"Are you serious?" you questioned, suppressing the unusually strong urge to laugh. "You can't even ride a bike or skate. Nor do you have a car either, it'll take you hours to get from one house to the next. And I like the money I earn from doing this for you, I can't get a job anywhere else so this is just perfect for me."

"But still!" She complained, a pouting donning her lips as you screwed open the bottle cap. "I feel bad seeing you bike along in this hot ass weather for my family! I gotta do something to give you... at least a little relief."

You laughed at her desperation, placing the water by your side to face her fully. "The relief you can give me is not playing your cello so loud in the morning. You play wonderfully, trust me, but it's so loud and I'm so tired." you clarified, reminiscing on every time she'd walk up to her house with the sound of a cello's notes wavering through the air.

The girl wasn't in their school's orchestra, she had picked up on the instrument as a hobby. She didn't have a desire to play it in a school setting or professionally no matter how much everyone would suggest otherwise. Yet she suddenly began to really start practicing more often when her next door neighbor had moved in two years ago. You remembered exactly how frustrated the girl was when she discovered that he played guitar at maximum volume in the middle of the night without any regard for anyone else.

To counteract his annoying behavior, she'd open up all the windows in her house and began to play her cello as loud as she physically could in the morning times. It became a war of the instrumentalists after that and neither of them seemed like they were going to stop any time soon.

"Oh you know I can't do that," She responded, glaring at the house to their left where the guitarist resided. "He'll take it as me surrendering to him. I don't even want to think about what he'll do in the middle of the night once I stop. Probably bass boost his guitar so that it's even louder than normal! Oh god, I won't ever get any sleep if he does that."

You found it funny really. The two had never even met each other face to face. "Right... and we don't want that happening do we?" The girl shook her head vigorously in response to your words, taking your sarcasm very seriously. "I still think you can at least tone it down a little bit... this is our last year, in a few months we'll be dragged off into a bigger city to attend colleges and universities for another four or more years. Are you really going to be playing your cello first thing in the morning in your dormitory?"

"Well..." the girl pauses, taking your words into consideration. "No... I won't really need to since I'm not bringing it with me."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands together and giving the girl a mocking smile. "Now I think you should at least go over to that boy's house and settle this raging war before you move onto better things. Make amends with him, he might even become a new friend of yours for the future. If not, you're not gonna see him again. There's a very high possibility that he's not going to the same college as you, or that he might not be going to college at all!"

She rolled her eyes at your suggestion, forcing herself off of the ground reluctantly. "Fine. I'll go make amends with him or whatever. But I'll only do it if you give up on the violinist boy from the recitals."

You stiffened at the mention of your high school goal, your very unsuccessful goal of finding him and making him play a song for you. "It's like you said, this is our last year here as teenagers. You've been trying to find him longer than I've been waging this musical war on my neighbor. It's about time to lay to rest, you. Seriously, it's more painful to watch than those terribly edited movies from my parents' watch for the "nostalgia"."

"Ouch there was no need to stoop that low," you mumbled, making the girl laugh in turn. "But I guess you're right. I've failed at finding him for this long, I might as well just give up now."

The girl nodded before patting your shoulders in reassurance. "If you really want to hear someone play music so bad for you, you can always ask me. I know a cello sounds nothing like a tiny violin but I can always try?"

"Actually that doesn't sound like a bad idea," you mumbled after a moment of thinking.

"Perfect!" The girl hummed, nearly jumping with excitement to show off her talents and pleasing your several years long urge to have someone play for you. "Usually I only play for my family but I'm very willing to show off what I've been working on. There's this one song I've using to annoy the guitarist boy in the morning and—"

"Go," you reminded her, your smile growing wider at her friend geeking out about her work. "Go get your cello and actually play it for me."

She nodded at your words, skipping on her feet as if she was as light as a feather towards her house. You knew it would be a bit of a struggle in moving her instrument from her room to the outdoors but if the girl was willingly and happily doing it, she had no reason to stop her.

It was a little funny though, how much you were surrounded by people who were gifted and talented in the form of music. Your school's orchestra knew you because of how you’d always try and snatch a peek into their classroom and attended their performances. Your closest friend was a cellist, but only played for hobby and the boy next door was a guitarist. All these connections started happening because a boy you had been chasing after for four years was a violinist.

You'd think you’d pick up some sort of instrument to attract them to you, and trust and believe you tried. You attempted to start playing many instruments after that summer night in your first year. Guitar, flute, piano, trumpet, you even tried to learn the violin yourself. You just weren't musical gifted, you didn't have the patience nor the ears to learn any sort of instrument that passed your way. The best you could do was play a sad tune on the kazoo or laugh into a harmonica.

It's even funnier when other’s learn that your mother used to sing and play the piano while your father played the clarinet when they were in high school. Go ahead and laugh, you knew you were a musical disappointment. Music was practically flowing strong in your blood and you sucked at it. Don't even get started on dancing either, it was a frightening sight to see. Those who could live to tell the tale never told the tale to anyone.

A melody began to float through the air once your friend disappeared into her house, catching you off guard. It wasn't the sound of an electric guitar, shocking the hair and making your skin prickle with its overbearing and booming sound. It was soft and sweet, vibrating through the air as if it was playing with the wind that blew by every few minutes. You could immediately identify the instrument as a violin, it's slightly strained notes from the bow connecting with the strings were all too familiar to you.

You turned towards the guitarist's house where the song was the loudest. To your knowledge, the boy didn't play any other instrument than the guitar. Yet the violin's sweet yet sorrowful song was coming from his house. Without even thinking you rose off the ground, following the song's notes like it was your guide. You had heard the door of your friend's house open again, signaling that the girl had successfully brought her cello from her room to the front of her house. Unfortunately for her, you were walking a little faster than she could drag her cello case.

"Y/N?" The girl called, trying to catch your attention. "Y/N, where are you going?"

You stood in front of the guitarist boy's house, right before where the balcony was hanging. The door to the balcony was ajar, letting the cool afternoon air into the room and releasing the melody of the violin out. "Is that the guitarist boy's room?" you called out to her friend, not taking your eyes off of the balcony. Just as you spoke the violin came to a screeching stop as if the mere sound of your voice was disrupting the flow of its song.

"No," the girl responded after abandoning her cello and running to your side. She pointed to the other side of the house where the window's blinds were closed yet light still shined through them. "His room is right across from mine, I should know I get the brunt of the blow every time he strums his stupid guitar."

Your voices dropped into pure silence when you saw something moving in their direction from the balcony. The door to the outside area slowly screeched open as the figure on the other side pulled on its door handle, stepping onto the wood floor of the balcony and letting the floorboards creak under their weight. Your eyes widened at the sight of a red-tinged violin, it's body scratched from its long term usage and its color dull from the lighting the setting sun had given them.

A boy stepped into view after the violin, the brown hair bouncing on his head like a bunny's tail. His resting face looked like you were staring at a statue, unable to catch any hint of movement in most of his features unless he blinked his eyes every few seconds. Right beside his eyes was some sort of mark, more of a rosy color than the rest of rather pale skin. He must not leave his house that much. After a few moments of silence, he leaned over the balcony's hand railing and spoke, "What do you want?"

The girl beside you glanced between the boy and you frantically, trying to piece two and two together. "you... is that the—"

"I want," you yelled up to him, interrupting your friend's question to respond to the boy above them. A smile began to play on your lips as you spoke, excitement festering up in your chest. You had found him. You had found the violinist from your first year. "I want you to play for me one of your best songs yet."

II.

There was just something about mornings you hated, no matter the day of the week. They'd always leave you more exhausted than you were the night before, whether you had gone to sleep late or not.

Maybe it's because of the dorm room you stayed in, assigned the room the moment you had gotten accepted into your university. It wasn't tiny, but it was definitely much smaller than your room at home. Your belongings barely had enough legroom with your roommate's whole entire area taking up more than half of the room. Despite being rather clean, to an extent, and cool during the day it was also incredibly hot at night.

A few months back the air conditioning unit for the floor you lived on broke down due to age. The university had reassured the students that they'd be looking into the broken unit and the technicians would be coming in and out of the building to fix it. However, they were rather slow with the process. Instead of just moving toward the third floor where the problem had started, they were moving from room to room on each floor the building had.

Apparently, they were just going to fix the problem in one go, however one go suddenly turned into a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks. And a few weeks turned into two months.

Thankfully they were on the edge of the summer season, the crisp breeze of the autumn air in October beginning to blow throughout the city. However that breeze simply abandoned them every time the night fell, the hallways and the common room being filled to the brim with students trying to escape the blazing heat. One would think it would be much cooler around the nighttime, so did they.

You weren't the heaviest of sleepers either, which meant you'd wake up at even the slightest vibration of a phone. One could only imagine your reaction when your alarm clock suddenly blared its ear piercing wake up call. The irritating buzzing of the built on alarm would always shock you out of bed like a cat. Yet even when you knew you were wide awake, you constantly struggled to force yourself up and out of your room. If time would allow it, you would lay in your very warm and comfortable spot in the bed for at least an hour or more.

What's even worse for you was that your dormitory was co-ed, which meant that next door to you was a group of boys who were sharing a room for the school year. They were loud, constantly moving around in the middle of the night, and screaming at random times of the day which usually ended up being the time that you used to study. There were always noise complaints about those students. No one on their floor, or the floor above and below, like them that much. Yet they never seemed to tone down the problem, they made them worse with every noise complaint that was filled to their resident assistance.

Every time they'd get a noise complaint, they'd go and find someone else who was just a little too loud one day and pin the blame on them. It was a way to show that everyone in the building made a commotion and that they shouldn't be the only ones punished for it. You didn't really care about what they were doing until you had suddenly become a target one day.

"I'm sorry, what?" you questioned them, leaning up against the door frame with your arms crossed. In front of you stood the two boys that lived in the dorm next to you, nearly towering over you like the buildings in the city thanks to the monstrous amount of height. They appeared to be up to no good when they had randomly shown up, and you were absolutely right.

"Are you the one who has been playing that music for the past three days? What was it... classical music?" He asked, tugging at his hair as he spoke. He glanced towards his roommate for confirmation, who nodded his head vigorously in response to his question. "Are you a music major or something? Maybe in the orchestra? If not it's been blasting really loudly lately and my roommate here has a majority of his classes at eight am. Right, Jaehyun?"

The boy didn't seem like he was on board with being used as an excuse at first, raising his eyebrow and staring at his roommate in confusion before turning to you. "Right, I have to get up so early for all my classes. I'd really appreciate it if you keep the violins and cymbals and triangles to like a minimum so that it doesn't bother me anymore."

"If not we'll take it to the RA," His roommate quickly added to put their threat in full effect. "And we'll file a noise complaint for disturbing us."

You scoffed at the thought, wanting to slam the door closed and forget about their petty revenge. "Aren't you the same duo that got a noise complaint filed to them last week because of an extremely loud yet unidentifiable thud..." you began before turning on your heels and correcting yourself. "Oh, my apologies. I meant boom, extremely loud yet unidentifiable boom that came from the laundry room. Only for one of the students on the lower floors to go down there and find that one of the washers and dryers had literally malfunctioned and exploded?"

"Listen," One of the boys tried to interject, his ears burning bright red as you kept talking. "That's not... listen, we—"

"Didn't they go on the security cameras to find out who had done the damage? Because a washer and dryer going suddenly haywire on its own is extremely worrisome and dangerous for the students who may have been around during that time. And weren't you two—"

"Classical music is such an amazing genre of music!" The roommate interrupted, yelling over your voice in a panic. There was a pained smile on his face as he hooked an arm around the other boy, punching his arm to follow along as he spoke. "I mean, it has such a clean and light texture to it, simplistic but a great melody nonetheless! God, it gives me nostalgia for a time I wasn't even alive in! Isn't that right, Jaehyun?"

"Oh," the boy spoke, his eyes darting in between his roommate and you. Slowly a smile began to grow on his face to mask his growing embarrassment as he gestured towards the other boy. "Of... of course! Johnny has such nice music taste! So you know when he says a genre is really good it really means something. Seriously love classical music, man. Lulls me right to sleep!"

Needless to say, they choose to not bother you as much as they used to. The strange and loud noises that would echo through the dormitory walls had gotten significantly lower since that day. They didn't stop completely yet but it was enough for you to keep your peace of mind before waking up every day.

Your mornings had gotten relatively calmer after that incident as well. Both of those boys were usually out of the dormitory by the time you were awake to attend classes or work, so you didn't run into them much during the week. You'd have calm enough mornings to where you didn't feel the need to nearly pass out on a car or bus ride to your campus and almost miss your stop. It felt like a dream come true when you would hop out of whatever vehicle you were in and would be right on time before your classes even started.

"Y/N!" A feminine voice screamed, catching you off guard when an arm suddenly slung around your neck. You clutched onto the bag hanging off your shoulder as you nearly tumbled to the ground at the sudden addition of weight, bringing the other girl down with you as you struggled to comprehend what was going on. They got a few stares from the other students who were arriving and leaving the campus but no one said a word to them. Thankfully everyone practiced the art of minding their business. "You'll never guess what I got!"

"Do I want to guess?" You questioned, shoving the girl's arm off of you so you could regain your balance. Once you were stable enough to stand up, you turned around to see who had stumbled into your path. The girl's eyes were wide with innocence and excitement as she stood in front of you, fidgeting in place as she tried to contain herself. Most of the energy she'd originally be exerting into jumping up and down was focused into the beaming and bright smile she couldn't wipe off of her face even if she tried. "Do I have to guess?"

"Yes, you have to," She demanded, holding her hands behind her back to hide whatever got her spirits high. The girl must have ordered some sort of object online again and simply couldn't wait till after your classes to show you. "It's so worth it, I promise! Just... just guess!"

A sigh escaped your mouth as you straighten your posture, reading deep into the girl's expression to try and figure out what it was. "I'm going to guess—"

"Two front row seats to our school's very own band performance!" The girl nearly squealed, shoving two flimsy pieces of paper in your face. You took a few steps back in order to align your sight with the tickets, taking them out of the girl's hands to inspect. Both tickets were for general admission, their names printed on it with the date they were expected to attend the performance. "Aren't you excited? I literally fought tooth and claw to get these before they sold out, and you know these sell out fast!"

"Band? Like the guys who play trumpets and bass drums during school games?" You questioned, glancing up from the tickets to face your friend. The tickets didn't have exactly who was performing written down on it, simply stating that it was a live music event. "Why would you go watch them play? I thought you were more of a... pop genre person?"

The girl rolled her eyes at your response, snatching the tickets from your hands and placing them back into your pockets. "No, not the band. Who goes out of their way to specifically watch our band team play?" She hissed. "I mean like rock bands. You know, the type of people who play the drums and guitars in one big band and perform on stage with a lead singer and everything. That type of band."

"My point with you being a pop genre person still stands," you mumbled in response.

"Yes I do like pop music, I understand that," The girl clarified. "But we're going to see Aurora. Our school's very own rock band! Do you seriously not know who they are? I know you listen to classical and orchestral music and all, but I thought you were at least in the loop with Aurora!"

You scoffed as you began to walk forward, shoving your hands into your pockets and you spoke. "Just because I don't listen to the popular music right now doesn't mean I'm out of the loop! I'll have you know that I am a very big fan of idol groups. I even participated in those farewell events when groups’ oldest members start enlisting in the military."

"Idol groups have absolutely nothing to do with Aurora and you know it," your friend grumbled. "Do you seriously not know who Aurora is? At all? Have I seriously been friends with a hermit crab this whole time?"

"Fine then," you shrugged. "Go ahead, tell me about this Aurora band since you're so obsessed and knowledgeable about this group I've never heard of."

Aurora is a much bigger thing than you had imagined. From your friend's knowledge, it was a group of boys who had gathered around the beginning of the year together, all of them having several different traits and personalities that simply meshed together all too well. They had created the band, Aurora, for fun at first as they were all instrumentalists with different crafts. They had started busking in order to make money as a side job and quickly grew in popularity with the audiences they performed to.

Their university had caught wind of their musical abilities and had asked them to perform during the annual club fairs to help attract more students. After that, they seemed to have skyrocketed in popularity within the college campus. Jung Wooyoung, the group's bassist, Song Mingi, the group's lead guitarist, Choi San, the group's drummer, and Jeong Yunho, the group's lead singer, had become some of the most well-known people on campus.

Everyone seemed to know them and wanted to listen to their music, which is why your friend was so excited to be getting front row tickets to their next performance. You thought it was funny though, Wooyoung was the guitarist boy that lived next door to the girl.

"The past is in the past!" She exclaimed, throwing up her hands as the two entered the university's building. The indoors wasn't very crowded, all the students attending were spread throughout the area either taking a break before their classes began or nearly booking it straight up the stairs in fear of being late. "Sure I wanted to murder him with my cello beforehand, but it's okay because we put our differences aside like you said we should have. And it's good that we did because we ended up going to the same university."

"So..." you began, thinking for a few moments before turning towards your friend. "Does this mean he's your favorite member? I mean you've got the background and chemistry for a nice little love story don't you think?"

"Oh absolutely not," she immediately responded. "We may have made up that summer but I have not spoken to him since. Plus my favorite member is their drummer so if anything I'd like to start a love story with him. Do you think I should plan out of my outfit for the music event? What if I actually start a love story with him like in those tv shows my parents used to watch? We catch each other's eyes during the performance and before we're about to leave I get asked backstage to meet him in person!"

You visibly cringed at your friend's fantasizing, putting four feet of space in between the two of you. "Gross. Go to class before you contaminant me with your fantasies."

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes, stopping in her tracks so that you were forced to wait for her. "Everyone likes to fantasize about their love life every once and awhile. It's natural to want something grander than reality to happen to you."

"You are the most cliche woman I have ever met," you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder to look at the girl. "You just told me you want to make eye contact with him and immediately fall in love just like that! Have a fun time dreaming about that while you stand in a crowd full of people in your general direction."

"You're so mean to me!" She yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at the sudden commotion. "You're just mad that the violinist boy from freshman year refused to play music for you even when you got on your knees! And you were looking for him your entire high school career!"

You sprinted towards the girl at full speed, clamping your hands over her mouth to silence her. She screamed into your hands as you dragged her away from the public eye and muffled her voice. "Heejin, are you out of your mind?" You growled, looking behind you to see if anyone had heard her. "I thought we had both agreed to pretend like that never happened?"

The girl pried your hands away from her mouth and smiled innocently up at you. "We did promise. I just never forgot."

You shoved the girl towards where her lecture hall was located, a frustrated frown growing on your face as a pinkish flush began to creep across your face. "Go to your stupid business math class. Go before I chase you all the way there!" you threatened through gritted teeth. Her friend laughed at the girl's response, skipping like a child to her class for the day.

You really did get rejected that day, it was too ingrained in your brain to forget. The boy had stood on the balcony staring down at the two with a bored and uninterested expression in his eyes, tilting his head like a dog's when you screamed your demands up at him. Honestly, you didn't know exactly what you were expecting. Did you really think that he was just going to pick up his violin and start playing whatever tune he knew just because you asked him to? You didn't even say please!

You had spent a good ten minutes arguing with the boy about how you had been searching for him for years just to make him play at least ten seconds of a song for you. Each time you'd explain your situation to him, he'd immediately give you a dry response of why he kept declining you. He didn't even say it politely! He stared at you straight in the eyes and told you," I don't want to play for you because you aren't worth it."

You swore if you could jump high enough, you would have bounced onto the balcony and strangled him for his rude behavior. It was truly a sight for sore eyes watching an angry and frustrated high school senior scream up at an innocent looking but totally uninterested boy on the balcony. The argument was always almost completely one-sided as well, which made it slightly embarrassing to watch from the sidelines.

You had forced your friend to promise you that she'd either forget the whole incident or pretend like it never happened. Either one was good with you since your friend was known to tell everyone's stories when you weren't paying attention. She had gone this far without saying anything so the urge to talk about it must have been truly bubbling up inside of her. It's been a few months since the incident occurred and the memory is still fresh in your minds.

"God, I'm never gonna live down that stupid incident am I?" you grumbled, practically stomping towards your end destination. "Just when I thought maybe I was finally growing past it, she has to go and bring it back up again. Doesn't she know I'm still healing from that embarrassment? It took a toll on pride and this is how she helps mend the wound? By opening up again?"

You stopped in place when a melody began to waver in the air, following along the cold breeze of the university's air condition. The music notes hopped from breeze to breeze as it traveled through your ears to the next. The sound continuously grabbed your attention as each note was struck no matter how many times you turned to keep walking. It was hitting you like a rock to the head as your brain immediately identified the music maker to a violin.

You slowly turned around to see a few students peering through a crack in some double doors, staring intently on what was on the other side. "They're at it again," one of the older students spoke, holding the door open for his friends to look through. "They're much earlier this time than usual, we'll only catch a little bit of the performance. Do you think something important is happening?"

"You think they're competing for first chair again?" One of the younger students asked, glancing up towards the boy who had spoken beforehand. He shrugged in response to their question, but he seemed to agree for the most part. "Whatever it is, I bet Hong is about to take the first chair again. He's always the first chair. No one can beat that boy when it comes to the violin."

"Kang is always right behind him though, don't forget that," another voice reminded, trying to get a better view of the inside. "Both of them are musical prodigies, and the conductor has always been fond of Kang's playing style. I think he'll get first chair this time."

You couldn't help but let curiosity take over, standing just a few feet away from the group of friends and trying to peer through the small windows of the door. It was rather dark near the entrance to the room, but farther back was lit up by lights that illuminated the wood floor stage where two performers stood. The doors seemed to have led towards an auditorium from the looks of it. You couldn't exactly see their faces from how far away you were, but you could make out a little bit of what was actually going on.

A boy stood in the middle of the stage, the music coming directly from him as he strummed the violin with his bow, grace and elegance oozing off of him. He seemed rather focused on playing his violin precisely, not missing a single note in the song as he allowed the rich and melodic song to ring through their ears. The opened door seemed to amplify his sound even more, ringing within your brain as if it was trying to engraved its sound into her ears. Hearing a violinist play in person was truly much different from hearing it through speakers.

In a chair behind the violinist sat another figure, holding what seemed to be a violin as well in his hands. You assumed that it was the competition who had played their song earlier before you had arrived on campus. His shoulders seemed to tense as the violinist held his final note, a plaintive sound echoing through the auditorium as he held his form to leave an everlasting effect on his listeners.

The students in front of you held their breath as he finished, staring intently at where you assumed the conductor was sitting for his reaction. There was a moment of silence after the note finally fizzled into nothingness, no longer bouncing off of the walls after finding a home in the audience's ears.

"It's Park," the younger student spoke, standing up from where they originally crouched down. "Park is the first chair once again. Honestly, was I expecting a change? No, not really. He's just that talented."

"I was really rooting for Kang this time," the other student spoke, huffing as they crossed their arms in disappointment. "I wonder what he did to not get picked again this time. Usually, Kang performs wonderfully but we weren't early enough to catch his turn."

"Whatever it is," the older student added, shutting the door to the auditorium and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure Kang will get over it. I mean that's always next time! But I guess I say that every time this happens..."

When the trio had disappeared from sight, you couldn't help but open the door to the auditorium and peek inside. You had been walking past this exact area how many times and you didn't even notice an event like this happening? Your either extremely stupid or completely oblivious, there's no in between.

You pulled on the heavy auditorium doors, peering in the room to take a look for yourself. The room was chilly, much colder than the breezes nature had been giving you so far. It was like you had stepped straight into the freezer, feeling the need to rub your arms for warm to make sure you didn't suddenly die from the cold. "How long has this place been here? I could have sworn this was an administration office or a classroom... literally anything but an auditorium..." you mumbled to mumbled, your eyes drifting towards the stage.

Only one violinist was at the stage, his instrument dangling in his hands as he sat in silence. The other violinist and conductor were nowhere to be seen, abandoning him to be alone with his thoughts. He must have been the one who wasn't picked by their conductor for first chair, reveling in his defeat by his peer. "Is it that serious?" you mumbled, going to close the door before you zoomed to your class, only just a few minutes late.

Though you saw the violinist rise from his seat in the corner of your eye, approaching the edge of the stage to leave the room. Of course, being the generally nice person you were, you pushed the door back open, holding it open for the violinist to pass through. "Hey, are you about to— Woah! Woah, woah, woah, don't do that!" You yelled at him.

The violinist had raised his instrument high above the ground, a bored and uninterested look in his eyes as he debated on whether he was going to let the violin drop from the height it was at and scar it. It definitely wasn't going to shatter and break, but an ugly dent would be achieved through the notion. Your yelling seemed to stop him in his tracks, preventing him from possibly making the worst decision in his life.

"Don't violins cost a lot of money?" You nagged, forgetting about the door you were holding open and marching towards him. "I know you might be frustrated over whatever just happened but is it really worth breaking your instrument? You should be satisfied with the fact that you even got the chance to be chosen as an option for, what was it, first chair? Whatever it is, I think breaking your violin might be a really bad..." you trailed off as you got closer, slowing down your pace as you got closer to the stage

The violinist stared at you through his long blonde bangs, his eyes gleaming in the dingy and dim stage lights. Despite the horrible lighting it seemed to illuminate him as if he was some sort of statue on display, every curve and sharp corner of his face being highlighted just perfectly. His impassive expression refused to let you in on any sort of emotion or thought in his head, locking you out with every chain known to man. His eyes glanced over you, reading you like an open book before he finally spoke. "Why... do you care?"

Your eyes dropped from his face to his violin, taking note of the bored expression and the red tinged violin in his hands. It seemed like it had been used frequently, it's the color worn from age and usage with scratches scattered throughout the instrument's body. "Oh...," you trailed, dropping your hands to your side in defeat.

How long had he been here? Hiding right under your nose in what seemed to be plain sight. How long were you going to go without realizing the violinist from your freshman year was attending the same university as you? "It's you again."

The boy titled his head curiously, a moment of silence expanding over them like a blanket. You felt like you were going to twitch and squirm under his gaze, the eerie silence of the auditorium and his almost blank stare making the atmosphere uncomfortable for you. All you could think about was the one sided argument you two had; how you had embarrassed yourself in front of your whole neighborhood just because you wanted him to play a song for you. The amount of humiliation that was crashing over you like angry waves could have washed you right of the auditorium if it wanted to.

The violinist crouched down on the stage to look down on you, resting his head on his hands as he began to speak. “Do I... know you?”

“Do you know me?” You repeated, disbelief prevalent in your tone of voice. “Did you really just ask that? Of course you know me! Remember from this summer? Just a few months back?”

The boy nodded his head as you spoke, absorbing all the information you were telling him and letting it process in his brain. He closed his eyes as he began to form his final thoughts, leaning back on his heels before opening them again and staring at you. “Ah... I remember now. You were Wooyoung’s fling for a couple weeks... right?”

“What?” You exclaimed, a rosy pink tint spreading across your face as you spoke. You’ve never even spoken to the guitarist boy when he lived near you, nevertheless have a fling with him. The mere thought of doing something so... dangerous like that made your skin crawl. “No... I don’t... listen, are you serious? You don’t remember who am I at all? Not a thing about me seems to trigger some sort of memory in you?”

“Not to be rude,” he responded, lifting himself out of his crouched position and beginning to walk across the stage to the stairs positioned at the side. “But you don’t look like the most memorable type. I mean if I don’t remember you are, would anyone else be able to?”

His blunt honestly was like a knife to the chest, only he was repeatedly sinking the weapon into your already open wound. Had he always been this straightforward with people? Of course he was, that’s why you never got him to play a song for you. You didn’t even know whether or not you liked the fact that he didn’t recognize who you were because he had formatted his words. You’d much rather be remembered for something embarrassing you did than be forgettable as a whole.

Though by the time you had clocked back into reality, a snarky and rude comment ready to hit the bullseye on the back of his head, he was gone. There was no sign of violinist boy anywhere in the room, as if he has quiet literally disappeared into thin air. “I should have just let him smash his violin to pieces,” you rumbled, now not only late to class but also filled with bitter rage that wasn’t even reciprocated.

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the-young-and-forgotten · 4 years ago

Text

A Glimpse Through The Years ~ Third Year

| Masterlist |

September 1st 1993 - Third Year

Your father shook out his notebook as you pulled your suitcase down the staircase, struggling. “Daaaad” you complained “HELP. PLEASE.” You head snapped towards him as he gasped, completely ignoring you. You drop the suitcase and walk towards him. “What could be more important than your daughter almost being crushed to death?” Your eyes fall on the front of the newspaper and your heart plummets. “Oh”

There was a picture of Sirius Black, grinning evilly, baring his teeth. Underneath was a caption reading “BLACK STILL AT LARGE”. Your dad notices the look on your face and puts the newspaper face down, standing up to go help with your suitcase. “Hogwarts will be well protected honey.” You roll your eyes “I know dad. I was shocked he could’ve gotten out of Azkaban.”

You could tell your dad was desperate to get off the subject as he tried to make a joke about how heavy your suitcase was. You laugh falsely, indulging him.

The drive to the station was quieter than it had ever been. Not that you minded much. It did give you time to think. How did Sirius Black break out? Why after 12 years did he pick now and What the hell does he want to do now that he’s out? All of these questions captivated your thoughts for the entire journey.

Your father beeped his horn to shake out of your thoughts “y/n, we’re here.” You lean over and give him a huge hug, promising him good grades and tons of Hogsmeade sweets. You collect your case from the trunk, running into Kings Cross Station. You wave to your dad for the last time running off to where the portal for Platform 9 & ¾ is located, a big grin on your face.

Another year at Hogwarts was starting. Sure, the school years so far have had its up and downs, but that's what you get for being in the same year as Harry Potter. You grab a spare trolley and quickly throw your belongings onto it, running full speed at the pillar between platforms 9 and 10.

You emerge onto platform 9 & ¾ a small smile gracing your face. You stand on your tiptoes, looking over the crowds of people and spotting Theo and Blaise talking with Draco. Your eyes light up as you push your trolley towards them. Over the summer break, you had been consistently conversing via letter with Blaise and Theo, making the three of you pretty close friends.

“Hey boys!” you say grinning. Theo gives you a hug as they both greet you. You look at Draco and smile sweetly at him “Hey Dray.” He blushes a little and moves to hug you as well. “Have you guys been doing okay?” Theo slung an arm around your shoulder “Yep! Mother was freaking out about big ol’ Black but I’m not fussed.” “I saw you with your mother Theo, you were scared shitless.” “Hush!” he said, placing a finger over your lips and glancing around. No one needs to know that!” Blaise laughs as the two of you start walking away, taking long steps to keep up with you. “Sounds like something he’d do..”

Draco runs to catch up, walking in silence beside you. Linking your arms through his, you shove Theo off, telling him to “Stop leeching off my trolley, I know what you’re doing Nott.” You and Draco walk ahead of your trolley (Theo somehow ended up pushing it), the bickering coming from Theo and Blaise acting like background music.

“What’s wrong Draco.” You say, breaking the silence between you two. He startled, blushing. “Oh! Nothing Y/n, I was just..” “Lost in your thoughts?” “Exactly.” “...” “You know you can tell me anything right?” “Yeah, I know.”

You take a deep breath, ready to interrogate him further. But before you could get a word out, he straightened up suddenly, standing on tiptoes to look over the heads of the crowd. “Hey look! I can see Crabbe and Goyle! I gotta go! See ya!” He runs off with his trunk, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Confused by his sudden disappearance you stand on tiptoes, searching for his friends as well. But you see nothing save a sea of new first years. Frowning, you walk back and join in on Blaise and Theos squabble, walking onto the train.

You fling open the door of your dorm, slumping down onto your bad, extremely tired. The train started to have malfunctions that turned out to be dementors that started feeding on your energy, making you weak with tiredness. Then, as per year, Dumbledore's speech had dragged on a little too long, making you almost fall asleep in your food.

And now you were back in your dorm, dead tired. Eyes heavy and brain-fried, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

The first week back, as always, was a pain. Long lectures, mountains of books and homework and one too many headaches. Now, because of the escape of Sirius Black, the school was even more on edge. Students talked in low voices about the dementors, pointing out to the black, barely visible creatures standing at the edge of the borders to their friends. Gryffindors kept freaking out the First years, laughing as they jumped with fright. Teachers scolded students more harshly than before, glancing nervously at the dementors. Hogwarts had become cold, filled with fear. Cold but not boring. You ran down the hallway with Theo and Blaise running for the Divination classroom, drastically late. You burst through the trapdoor just as Professor Trelawney was explaining the significance of cups. Sneaking along the back of the room, the three of you slumped down at Dracos desk as he raised an eyebrow. “Long story” Theo said “Don’t bother asking,” Blaise added. “We exploded part of the potions cupboard.” you blurt out. Theo and Blaise sigh, giving you looks. You shrug at them as Draco holds in his laughter “How did you manage that?” “Theo doesn’t know how to use his damn wand” you glare at the boy in question, who turns red and shakes his finger at you.

Professor Trelawnley suddenly approaches your table and picks up your cup, peering closely at it, her eyebrow rising. All conversation halts as you shift uncomfortably, wondering what she is seeing. “Ahh dear, you have a somewhat tragic future ahead of you.” She turns the cup and hums a little. “In the close future you are going to lose someone close to you, this will warrant discourse in your life, but be careful of cutting them out completely because you never know what they decide.” With that, she put down the cup and left your table bustling to the front of the room. You looked back at your friends disbelief and confusion written all over their faces.

You jumped down from the divination classroom, the last one to exit. “What's next?” You ask Blaise as he pulls out the timetable “We all have DADA together… that should be interesting.”

Draco pushes open the door of the classroom and you all file in. The desks were all pushed to the back of the room, leaving a big empty space with a sole cupboard in the middle of it as a scarred middle aged man leant against the side of it, reading a book.

He looked up at the sound of the door closing and snapped shut his book “Ah, the last stragglers! Right, let's get down to business.” He gestured for the class to stand in front of him as he moved to the front of the cupboard. “I'm Professor Lupin and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year. We’ll be learning all about the creatures in the magical world and today we are learning about the boggart! Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart is?”

As the class was entertained by the explanation of boggarts, you felt someone poking your shoulder. You follow the hand to its face and glance at Theo who wordlessly gestures to Draco.

Draco had a blank look on his face and seemed to be shaking? You share a concerned look with Theo and go to ask Draco what's wrong before Lupin tells the class to line up in front of the cupboard, separating you from him. Oh well, you can just ask him later.

You were halfway through the line watching as Ron defeated his fear. While everyone cheered for him, you watched from the corner of your eye as Draco walked up to the Professor and said something to him. Lupin nodded and Draco headed out of the room. You, Blaise and Theo all look at each other with concern before continuing on with the lesson. After watching Blaise beat the banshee and Theo defeat a severed head, it was finally your turn.

You nervously step towards the cupboard and hold up your wand defensively, ready for what the boggart was going to create. Slowly, a figure steps out. Quick as a flash, you point your wand at it, and scream “RIDDIKULUS!” at the top of your lungs before anyone could see what your worst fear was. The boggart starts spasming as Lupin steps in front of you, putting the boggart back into the cupboard.

He dismisses the class not before he scrutinises you for a second. You ignore this and run out of the class, barely having time to grab your bag in the hopes of finding Draco.

You ran through the corridors, but he was nowhere in sight.

One day, in DADA class, Snape took the lesson for Lupin. Your teachers mysterious illness was a monthly occurrence, something you were keen to know about. You sat there pondering on it as Snape argued with the Gryffindors. What could be so serious that he had to stay off for at least a couple of days? You snap back to reality at the mention of your books. You pull it out and puzzle over the chapter he had assigned you to read. Werewolves? You weren’t supposed to cover this yet…

You shrug and start to read through it, engrossed in the knowledge it was feeding you. The signs and facts of spotting a werewolf were vaguely familiar to you though you couldn’t think of why. You glanced up briefly seeing Snape gaze at the class with a smirk, who looked like he was plotting something. Now that you thought about it, why did he pick this chapter? He knows they weren’t up to it, what could be his real intentions? At that moment, Snape looks at you and you shift your gaze back to your book pretending to read even though you had already finished.

The lesson slowly crawls by and he finally dismisses you, everyone running for the door. You stepped over the threshold, still thinking about that chapter and how familiar it seemed. Your eyes widened as realisation struck you in the face and everything clicked. No wonder it was so familiar to you. Professor Lupin… was a werewolf.

Days later, the match arrived. Hufflepuff against Gryffindors. You hurried along the corridor, disastrously late for the game. You glance out the window, noticing the horrible weather ‘Ugh, glad I'm not on the quidditch team.’ you think, picking up the pace.

Your breath starts hitching, as your mind reels on the thought of the game. ‘All negative thoughts...’ you realise, eyes widening. ‘Oh no…’ you run to the window, grabbing onto the railing and gasping at the scene ahead of you.

You shivered as you watched several dementors move towards the quidditch pitch, frozen in shock. You shake yourself to snap out of it, taking a few steps back. “I gotta warn someone…” you mumble, thoughts wild “I gotta- DUMBLEDORE!” You take off down the corridor, running as fast as you could to the quidditch field.

You push through the teachers, tugging on Dumbledore’s sleeve. “De-dementors” You puff out, struggling to speak. He looks at you with a hard gaze before standing up and hurrying down to the court. You go to follow him, not knowing what else to do.

You feel a hand tug on your sleeve and turn to see Hagrid pulling you back, shaking his head slightly. You sink down onto the bench beside him, trying to calm down from the adrenaline still coursing through your body. “Dumbledore’ll take care o’ it, don't you worry” You jump at his voice, but nod along what he said. “I know… I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He looks down at you, smiling broadly “Dumbledore let a student be hurt? I wouldn’t spare it a second thought”

Several agonizing minutes go by before you hear any news. Without any insight as to what had happened, the school was sent back to the dorms. You could hear students all around you grumbling.

Amidst the voices you heard your name being called. Shoving through the crowd was Theo and Blaise “Finally! We were looking for you everywhere! What happened? Do ya know what's going on?” Theo pressured you.

“The dementors got into the school” you told them bluntly “probably lured in by the emotions coming from the stadium” They stare at you in shock, waiting for you to say you were joking. When none was forthcoming, they screamed “WHAT” together, busting the eardrums of everyone in a 20 meter radius.

As you walked back, you filled them in on what had happened to you during the game, making them stiff with shock and hardly believing it.

“So you saw a dementor up close?” Theo asked. You were back in the common room and playing a game of chess. You moved your pawn before nodding. He leant over the game and shocked you with his closeness “WHAT WAS IT LIKE?!”

You push him away, glaring “It wasn’t fun at all Theo” He sits back sighing “I know, sorry”

You stare off into space again before responding. “I looked out the window and felt like a shell. I couldn’t feel anything. Completely numb.” You curl in on yourself, replaying the scene in your head. You felt a hand place itself on your shoulder as a distinctive voice asked what was happening.

Looking up, you see Dracos concerned face. A smile stretches across your face at the sight of him. You hadn’t seen him in so long. He notices you staring at him and gives you a weak grin. You shuffle over and pat the spot you just created. He shakes his head and remains standing. “Uhh actually I was hoping we could take a walk?” You get up and follow him out of the common room, trying to ignore Blaise and Theo’s unsubtle sniggering.

“Whats up, Dray?” you say as soon as you step out. “Just wanted to talk. We haven’t been hanging out much lately..” the two of you walk in silence for a bit before he mumbles something you barely catch. You look at him curiously as his face becomes flustered under your gaze. He pretended to muss up his hair trying to hide his red face. “I missed you” he says, still mumbling “Like, a lot.” You smile at him and link your arms through his “I’ve missed you terribly as well you know?”

He trips over his shoelaces and laughs it off nervously eyes darting to you as you laugh with him. He clears his throat, and opens his mouth to say something. “Sorry I haven’t been around around lately-” You clap a hand over his mouth to shush him. He looks at you in surprise, noting your determined stance. “I have no care for your reasons as to why you stopped hanging out with me. Just long as you keep our old promise okay?” Draco nods and you remove your hand from his mouth.

He stares at you for a little too long for it to be accidental before turning away and jogging slightly ahead. You run after him, laughing as you catch up.

He watches you laugh as the sunlight from the windows you were passing reflect on your face, making you look angelic. He smiles and blushes again and re-links your arms. He pulls you along and starts talking aimlessly with you about anything and everything, wasting away the hours.

The next few weeks were perfect for you. It was nearly the end of this school year.

Even though the idolized “golden trio” were being as obnoxious as ever, Draco had started hanging out with you as well which made you forget about their behaviour.

The golden trio just kept getting more suspicious. From subtle glances and hushed whispers has your curiosity piqued. You could see it was affecting Draco too, but neither of you made a move on that.

A few days go by and you watch as Professor Lupin leaves the school, his secret now out. You were sad to see him go as he had easily been the best teacher you could ask for. As you waved him off, you saw Draco smirk out of the corner of your eye and you frown wondering if he was somehow connected to all of this. Days go by and Dracos snobby side comes out momentarily, shouting about how glad he was that Lupin was gone. You keep your distance, not wanting to be caught up in the strings of hate he was causing.

Finally it was the last day, the Great Feast was just in a few hours. You race down the staircase, still disappointed from the last match. You knew it was likely Gryffindor would win, but maybe, just maybe, Slytherin could snag it this year, you were, after all, in the lead right now.

But alas, that was not what fate had set out for you. You and Draco watched in disgust as the Gryffinddors celebrated and the room was clad in red and gold. They mussed up Potter's hair and almost broke his glasses. “Why are they winning again?” Draco asked “Because Potter fell off his broom and they all took pity” you snap back. Blaise rolls his eyes at your petty disgust “Pretty sure its ‘cause they won the damn Quidditch Cup” “Shut up Blaise” You and Draco chorus.

You sigh and pick some confetti off your plate, sitting down. “Well, I call it favouritism.” The Slytherins within earshot nod at your words, all silently cursing the Gryffindors. Minutes go by and you eat your food in silence before you speak up, glancing at Draco. “That petition is really starting to look tempting eh?” “You sure are right Y/n”

Waking up the next morning to Pansy’s obnoxious laughter was a pain, you rolled off your bed and lumbered around, gathering the stuff you had prepared last night. You stumble down to the Great Hall where Theo, Blaise and Draco were waiting for you. They laughed at your tired state, teasing you all the way to the train.

You slept for most of the ride, catching snippets of conversations that didn’t interest you at all.

Hours later, you were woken up by Draco gently shaking you, holding out your bag for you to take, you smile at him and grab it, racing off the train.

One foot off the train and you feel a pair of cold stares coming from across the platform. Looking up, you stare directly into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy who looked at you with disgust.

Rolling your eyes you turn to Draco, whose face had turned grave. “Well I guess this is goodbye Dray…” you say reluctantly “Yeah…” The two of you stand there awkwardly for a bit before you drop your bags and throw your arms around him, drawing him in close. You feel his face turn red and you chuckle softly. “I’m gonna miss you” He was quiet for a moment before responding “Not as much as I will” He lets go of you and keeps his face hidden as he walks off to his parents.

You feel Blaise and Theo creep up behind you, staring at his retreating figure. “You reckon he’s gonna be okay?” Theo asked “Yep. The Draco I know is stronger than you can guess.”

Blaise smiles at you and gives you a quick hug, signalling to his parents he was coming. “Well, I will take your word for it Y/n. You know him best” You hug him back before he runs off.

Theo looks at you for a second before scooping you up into a bear hug, laughing “Write me?” he says, letting you go. “As if I won’t” You retort, winking. He grins wildly, as he passes and salutes you. “Well i'm off! Take care Y/n!” You salute back shouting after him “see ya, you big oaf!”

Theo’s laughter rings in your ears as you run towards the pillar, knowing that the muggle world is waiting for you, just beyond the wall.

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