#he got expelled in third year which means he only finished up to second year. his knowledge only goes up to the equivalent of a magic year 8

[nakamurareia]

dumbledore is a silly little old man who should be in jail

[bringbackthebastard]

Bring Back the Bastard Daily Prompts

Hello, folks! I'm posting these two weeks before we begin our fest, on September 1st, to give folks some inspiration on what to write each day as we celebrate Severus Snape's pettiest, most dastardly moments. I specifically picked out moments Snaters always harp on, that Snapedom personally enjoys--from any moment with Trevor to bitching at Lupin at Sirius, to the moments that Lily turns away and Dumbledore's face flashes with disgust--sure, he's a bastard, but he's our bastard, and that's what we like about him. You don't want him? Good. We'll keep him. Here are 30 scene prompts for 30 days--it's a long list, pulled chronologically from all seven books, but I found that it reminded me of everything I love about this character. The moments where he's called deranged, the moments where he slips into all-caps, the ugliest moments of the soul. Hope yall enjoy. Excited to kick off the fest starting September 1st, and absolutely excited to see what Snapedom will do. Let's Bring Back the Bastard! The prompts are below the readmore.

Day 1: The Scar Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacheer with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes--and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead. "Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head. "What is it?" asked Percy. "N-nothing." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look--a felling that he didn't like Harry at all. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy. "Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to--everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Day 2: Bad Impressions Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new--celebrity."

Day 3: Potions Class "Potter!" said Snape suddenly "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand shot into the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut--fame clearly isn't everything."

Day 4: A Horrible Sight Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages. "Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but-- "POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back." "GET OUT! OUT!"

Day 5: Maybe He's Ill "Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table...Where's Snape?" Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions. "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!" "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him--" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Day 6: Slytherin Takes the Field "But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "But I booked it!" "Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"

Day 7: No Quidditch For You! "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest." "Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong." Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. Snape looked furious.

Day 8: Expelliarmus! "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry--you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear. Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at *him* like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them. "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our fist spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course." "I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. "One--two--three--" Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Day 9: Only Bite Him A Little Bit, Please "Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it..."

Day 10: Poisoning Trevor The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. "Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small op, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. "Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

Day 11: Insufferable Know-It-All Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. "Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between--" "We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on--" "Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are..." "Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf--" "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Fire more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Day 12: Your Saintly Father "I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," he said, a terrible grin twisting his face. "Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you--your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't gotten cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts." Snape's uneven, yellowish teeth were bared.

Day 13: Don't Talk About What You Don't Understand "KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end o his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent. "Vengeance is very sweet," Snape breathed at Black. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you..." "The joke's on you again, Severus," Black snarled. "As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" --he jerked his head at Ron-- "I'll come quietly...." "Up to the castle?" said Snape silkily. "I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay...."

Day 14: A Great Disappointment "He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have let somebody in the room with him. When this gets out--" "HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape roared, now very close at hand. "YOU CAN'T APPARATE *OR* DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS--HAS--SOMETHING--TO--DO--WITH--POTTER!" "Severus--be reasonable--Harry has been locked up--" BAM. The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Professor Snape!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey. "Control yourself!" "See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's been locked, we just saw--" "THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth. "Calm down, man!" Fudge barked. "You're talking nonsense!" "YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER!" shrieked Snape. "HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT--" "That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the war ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?" "Of course not!" said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. "I would have heard them!" "Well, there you have it, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any point in troubling them further." Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward. "Fellow seems quite unbalanced," said Fudge, staring after him. "I'd watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore." "Oh, he's not unbalanced," said Dumbledore quietly. "He's just suffered a severe disappointment."

Day 15: Haven't You Heard? "Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er--Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'....Thought everyone'd know by now...Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night...He's packin' now, o' course."

Day 16: I See No Difference "And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain." "Potter attacked me, sir--" "We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted. "--and he hit Goyle--look--" Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. "Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly. "Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!" He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth--she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Day 17: The Dark Mark Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He struck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled. "There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eater to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Day 18: If You Are Ready...If You Are Prepared... "Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..." "I am," said Snape. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. "Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

Day 19: Obviously "Now...how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard. "Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. His eyes on Snape, Harry added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. "You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape. "Yes," said Snape quietly. "But you were unsuccessful?" Snape's lip curled. "Obviously." Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?" "Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry. "Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge. "I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily. "Oh I shall," said Professor Umbridge with a sweet smile. "I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed. "Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers'--er--backgrounds...." She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson, and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber. "No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

Day 20: Very Like His Father "How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?" Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius' wand-tip to his face. "Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him. "I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better." "Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?" "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?" "Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform...gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand. "NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't--" "Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge. "Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

Day 21: Wormtail's Whine "We...we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly. "Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?" He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen. "As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests," said Snape lazily. The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove. "Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming--" "Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom." Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him. "I am not your servant!" he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me." "To assist, yes--but not to make you drinks and--clean your house!" "I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments," said Snape silkily. "This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord--" "I can speak to him if I want to!" "Of course you can," said Snape, sneering. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."

Day 22: A Loving Caress Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? "Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" --he indicated a few of them as he swept past-- "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" --he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony-- "feel the Dementor's Kiss" --a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall-- "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" --a bloody mass upon the ground.

Day 23: Better People "What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defense Against the Dark Arts--it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like an of us need protecting against the Dark Arts--" "It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle--" "They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!" "Then why not confide in me, and I can--" "I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!" There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but--"

Day 24: Revulsion and Hatred Etched on His Face "Severus..." The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. Snape said nothing, but walked forward and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The three Death Eaters fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face. "Severus...please..." Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. "Avada Kedavra!"

Day 25: Don't Call Me Coward Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi-- "No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenseless as Dumbledore had been. Snape's pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore. "You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them--I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, woudl you? I don't think so...no!" Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight. "Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward--" "DON'T--" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly deranged, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them-- "CALL ME COWARD!"

Day 26: The Guest Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowing revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds. "Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as thought they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!" "Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

Day 27: I Regret It "All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner...and I think I have the answer." Snape did not speak. "Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen." "My Lord--" "The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine." "My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand. "It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last." And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue. "Kill." There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape's face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. "I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

Day 28: You Hurt Her! "Tuney!" said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet. "Who's spying now?" he shouted. "What d'you want?" Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say. "What is that you're wearing, anyway?" she said, pointing at Snape's chest. "Your mum's blouse?" There was a *crack*. A branch over Petunia's head had fallen. Lily screamed: The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears. "Tuney!" But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape. "Did you make it happen?" "No." He looked both defiant and scared. "You did!" She was backing away from him. "You *did*! You hurt her!" "No--no I didn't!" But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused....

Day 29: Save Your Breath "I'm sorry." "I'm not interested." "I'm sorry!" "Save your breath." It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here." "I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just--" "Slipped out?" There was no pity in Lily's voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends--you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?" He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking. "I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine." "No--listen, I didn't mean--" "--to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I any different?" He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole....

Day 30: Anything "If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for the mother, in exchange for the son?" "I have--I have asked him--" "You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to drink a little. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?" Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore. "Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her--them--safe. Please." "And what will you give me in return, Severus?" "In--in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

[yn-dreamlife]

Don't Think Anymore

A/N: School can get stressful and I know that, so have a short little comfort blurb I made, hopefully it'll help even just a little. Tbh this was going to be a bunch of filth but... idk.

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x reader

Description: your boyfriend can see how stressed you are so he wants to comfort you

Warnings: fluff, hints at a bdsm relationship, reader bites there fingers, more fluff

Your eyes stared ahead blankly, the thoughts no longer truly processing as you stared at your thesis. Your dissertation paper, one of the most important things you’ll write your whole college career. And you were dreading every moment of it.

Today was one of your longer days, starting at 5 a.m and only ending at 7 p.m. Not that you had class all day. But you had been working all day. Doing class work, trying to finish up homework, and then going back to this stupid paper.

And once you had gotten back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend you hadn’t gotten up from your desk. You had planned on spending only 15 minutes to write down a few thoughts, but when Shota walked in three hours later you hadn’t moved. Not. One. Inch.

“Babe? I’m home!” He had called placing his shoes on the rack by the door and hanging up his coat, he had dropped his briefcase prepared to have you jump into his arms and greet him like you always did but he was left disappointed.

“Y/n/n?” He called. He checked the kitchen and the bedroom, it looked like you weren’t even home.

“Y/n?!” He called again, worry growing in the seasoned pro until he stopped, he noticed the light peeking out from the door to his office. He walked over silently and slowly inched the door open.

He knew you studied in his office sometimes, often leaving sticky-notes with little notes to him in your wake that he would take with him to put on his computer at work and in drawers, threatening to expel students who mentioned it. When he looked into his office he saw you sitting there one knee draw to your chest as the other was placed normally. Your chin rested on your knee as you stared ahead.

You didn’t even acknowledge him when he stood beside you even going as far as spinning your chair to face him as he crouched down but you just continued to stare blankly.

“Y/n?” He whispered his hand cupping your cheek as he pulled your hand away from your mouth grimacing at the raw skin around your fingers making a mental note to place band-aids and lotion on your hands.

Your eyes flickered just barely but he knew you were coming back “hey there kitty,” he whispered as he felt you lean into his palm heavily.

“Sho…” you whispered now registering that your boyfriend was in front on you. “You home e’rly” you spoke words slurring slightly.

He frowned slightly, shaking his head “I’m home when I always get home, how long have you been sitting here pretty girl?”

You turn your head to the clock slowly, your body feeling like lead. “Um…” a heat flared to

your cheeks as your eyes widened. “Uh well… th-three hours….”

He raised one eyebrow with an unimpressed look. “I-I’m sorry sho I didn’t mean to! I was… I was just gonna write down… a few… a few thoughts and then… I don’t know what happened… this paper is just… so… so hard.”

By the end you could barely speak as you broke into hiccuped sobs. His look immediately softened, he was just upset you had overworked yourself again nothing more.

“Shhhh shhhh” he soothed softly “it’s okay kitty m’not mad. Jus’ worried ‘s all.” He murmured softly into your hair as he pulled you into his arms switching spots so he was now sitting in the chair and held you in his lap. He rubbed one hand up and down your back as he allowed you to hold the other and play with his fingers like you always did when you got nervous.

He found it endearing, even feeling a little prideful that it was him you latched onto whenever you got overwhelmed or stressed. He remembers the first time you had done so and how his heart raced, you two hadn't gotten together yet and frankly he himself wasn’t feeling all too great about Midnight's gala. You had been standing beside him seeing as you were his plus-one, you were young… younger than he thought he should be with, but thankfully Mic smacked… or screamed some sense into him saying how it was perfectly fine for there to be an age gap.

So he had asked you to be his plus one to the hero gala, it was the summer of your third year at the college Mic teaches at, he hadn't even known you were a student until he walked into Mics second classroom, because for some crazy reason this man was a pro hero and decided to teach at two separate colleges for multiple classes and still have a radio show. He first saw you while you were sitting and speaking with Mic assumingly about grades. And that was yet another thing Mic had to convince him was okay, after all Aizawa wouldn't be teaching you, you two weren’t even on the same campus, so it was perfectly fine for you to be a student and him a teacher.

When he showed up to pick you up for the hero gala- which would be your fifth date- his jaw had dropped. You were wearing a black dress that fit you perfectly both in body and personality. Mic teased him endlessly when you two first arrived because after all… black is Shotas color, something you had thought of when picking out the dress.

As you stood next to him he could tell something was wrong and just as he was about to ask he felt a warmth in his hand only to look down and see it was your hand, or rather your fingers. You were asking, silently if it was alright. Not that you hadn’t held hands before but he could tell you were just anxious, so he moved his hand closer to yours and you quickly latched onto him. Interlocking your fingers and hugging his arm to your chest. And a few moments later you found yourself absentmindedly playing with his fingers. From then on it was something you found yourself doing more and more as your relationship progressed, he just made you feel so safe.

You whined softly cuddling into him, “shhh it's alright pretty girl I'm gonna take care of you okay?” You nodded into his neck enjoying the soothing feeling that washed over you as he spoke. He walked you into the bedroom gently placing you on the bed removing your socks and shoes before swiftly heading to the bathroom to start a bath, putting in your favorite soaps providing a little bit of bubbles hoping they would make you happy.

When he returned he found you sitting up looking for him, “where’d y’go” you said softly standing and wrapping your arms around him, he pet your head softly.

“Jus’ went to start up a bath for you beautiful” He murmured as he placed a kiss to the crown of your head, “how about we get you in there, yeah?” you nodded, allowing him to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom as you mumbled something about closing your eyes for one second and suddenly he was gone, he simply just chuckled as he gently placed you on the sink and began removing your clothes.

After he removed your shirt he gently peppered your neck and shoulders with kisses, not lingering in any one spot just simply showing his appreciation for you. He removed your pants allowing his hands to map the expanse of your things but not going any further knowing you were tiered.

Once you were finally freed of all clothing he placed you in the bath before quickly and unceremoniously stripping himself to get in behind you. You leaned into his embrace quickly and melted into him. His firm chest being a place that had become your safe haven, as long as he was near you knew everything was okay.

Slowly as Shotas hands ran through your hair cleaning it gently you found yourself relaxing, thoughts of the stressful classes, and ridiculously hard paper drifting away. His hands worked wonders on the knots that had formed throughout your muscles essentially leaving you in a puddle between his legs.

Every gasp and moan of content was carefully evaluated to see how he should adjust his massage- if he should lessen up or go farther into one spot and you never even had to tell him because he was always right. By the end of it you were both pleasantly sedated and calm, you more so than him.

“You ready to get out?” He murmured as he gently ran his nose along the column of your neck.

You were quiet for a moment before you spoke, “I guess so…. But can we still cuddle?” Your words were slow and hazy sounding even to your own ears.

“Course we can, can’t leave my best girl all alone.” He says as he gently stands and urges you to do the same.

“I better be your only girl,” You mumble as he begins to drain the bathtub and dry you off.

He chuckles “you know you are.” he says with an eye roll but no part of him was truly annoyed as he saw the small smile adorning your features. He leaned down softly kissing each of the corners of your mouth.

As he moved to pull away you stopped him by wrapping an arm around his neck and properly pushing your lips against his own, it was short but the passion was there. “Ya’missed.” you mumbled against his lip and he chuckled once again.

You found yourself falling into giggles as he carried you to the bedroom. That was something you could always count on, whether it be after a scene or even just you overworking yourself Shota wouldn't allow you to lift a finger, doting on you the way he always says you deserve.

Gently placing you on the bed he moved into the closet to find you both some clothes and soon after he emerged from the closet with a pair of sweatpants slung on his hips and a t-shirt in his hands. Once he had slipped on a pair of comfortable panties and the t-shirt onto your body you allowed him to carefully place band-aids and lotion onto your fingers making sure to be gentle around the raw skin. After he was finished he carefully slipped both of you under the covers.

The silence was comfortable only filled with your breathing and the gentle pitter-patter of rain that had begun sometime during your bath. And although the bath had helped you found some of your previous anxiety seeping back into your body.

As if reading your thoughts, Shota spoke up, “Y’know, I’m really proud of you and all the work you’re doing. I know sometimes schooling isn’t the easiest thing, and I know keeping motivation when it gets hard can be even harder. But with that said I don’t want you to keep pushing yourself so hard. Don't let school take away what makes you you, that spark. And… I can try my best to help you, I know you like being independent and don't like asking for help but… we all need to ask for it sometimes.”

You turned your head up looking at him with tears shimmering in your eyes, “thank you Shota.”

He smiled at you fondly, “Of course, you're my precious girl after all.” He paused cupping your cheek and gently brushing a tear away, “I love you kitty.”

“I love you too Sho…. so much.”

[pretty-face-breaker]

Maybe Not Now

During Pavel’s daily torment of him, Emir sees something in him that he hadn’t seen before.

c.w. military whump, sadistic whumper, forced exercise as punishment, insults, degrading language, captivity, alluding to death as an alternative to torture

 —

“That’s all for now, soldaty. Back to your dorms and make it neat,” General Levkin called. 

With a raise of his palm, collective relief could be heard above the fading grunts. Men rose from the field and dusted their palms on their trousers, snatching up their rifles. Twenty of them clicked sharply as they swung over various shoulders. Some grabbed a drink of water they had been meaning to get for hours as clouds swept over the barren training grounds. 

The drills of the day were over. 

As the soldiers filed after one another, murmuring too fast and foreign to be kept up with, Emir followed behind with a dry throat. His arms ached. He could hardly remember making that many mistakes in his basic training or what were supposedly called mistakes by Stanislav Levkin’s eye. He always seemed to catch him doing something wrong. Inaccurate aim. Sloppy position. Poor posture. 

But he had taken the admonitions, the hits and laps, nodded obediently, straightened his back or concentrated harder on his aim. He didn’t feel like fighting the corrections in front of fifty others and with the amount of sleep hardly managed each night, he didn’t doubt some were his fault. That, and for other reasons. Emir winced as a now clear head focussed on the burning in his bicep. 

The place Pavel had rubbed the salt earlier that week. 

Maybe yes, sir-ing his way through the drills had been also to spare his throat from overexerting itself more than he had torn in, wailing wordlessly among laughter and pleading in broken Russian to a man who likely hadn’t heard the word in his life. Emir grimaced and, feeling a bump of a body behind him, sped up to climb the stairs. Until he felt a hand pulling him aside. 

“Not so fast. Hey, you.” Pavel grinned as he pulled him from formation and back down the steps.

Emir froze and his hand shot to his collar, trying to keep his balance. “Podozhdite—” But Pavel wasn’t one to wait and pulled him fiercely until he tripped on the rocks, barely catching himself on the stone railing. Humiliated, he straightened up glaring. Pavel’s leer was ever present with that same colour of resentment, his eyes cold and devising. 

The taller man chuckled. “Did you even complete your recruit training? With how today went, I thought Stas was going to pin you to that target.”

Emir swallowed, trying not to dignify that with a response. 

Pavel’s face darkened in silence. “Follow me then get on the fucking ground. I’m not done with you.” 

His heart slammed in his throat as he followed without a word, feeling his fingertips grow cold as the group’s noises faded. With each moment, he pushed his feet further to the edges of the terrain where voices ended and the forest began and each step felt harder to take, the closer those trees got. He sucked in a quiet breath when Pavel stopped. 

“Drop. Feet together.” 

Emir obeyed, falling tense to the pushup form, and dug his nails into the earth for a brief moment, just to feel the cool of the grass, to ground himself. Once, he let his lungs expand with a breath and plunged. Pavel didn’t have to say a word for him to begin and he figured he could save him the trouble. Save it for himself too so he wouldn’t have to pay for it later again. 

He bent his elbows, breathing evenly and keeping them tracking alongside his body, until his chest dipped just below the angle of each elbow, then pushed back up, expelling the air. Slow, controlled so his throat wouldn’t burn like it had last time. His eyes were fixed on the trees across from him, the endless stretch of wood and darkness that he watched from his bed sometimes. 

It reminded him of the trip he had taken years ago, camping with his cousins after having convinced his mother that he would bring a gun and that everything would go well. Even now, he remembered the distaste in her head shake and the veiled worry in her tone as she had thrown up a hand in defeat. 

Fine, abni, but if you get mauled by a bear, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A smile graced his mouth. It was like he was hardly there anymore. Though a few reps more and he felt a shift in breathing as Pavel sunk down onto the log next to him. 

“Feel like this has gotten easier for you. A hundred and fifty reps, nothing, eh?” He chuckled and patted him on the shoulder with enough force that Emir briefly swayed. “Fast learner. You don’t piss me off as much.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me?” Emir asked coolly. His jaw tightened a bit, hearing the huff. As if the question was a challenge. 

“Because you’re fun to hurt. You make fun noises, give me—all of us—a good time.” 

Pavel’s eye caught a nearby stone and he tapped on his knee thoughtfully as Emir plunged into another graceful pushup. The leer he wore quickly grew crooked and he revelled in the tiny spark of fear that stuttered Emir’s breathing. Hearing it was always wonderful because it meant the little shit was listening to him and on his toes more often than he had been. 

“I noticed your back was all fucked up,” Pavel admitted, reaching for the rock which could have easily been five pounds, “when we changed.” 

Emir’s eyes stayed frozen on the hollow of a nearby tree. His chest was beginning to burn with the onset of faint panic but he was surprised as it wasn’t his fiftieth repetition yet where the burning usually started. “Is that new?” 

The pressure of the rock came fully and at once into the small of his back and he jerked and tightened into a plank. He couldn’t move for a few seconds, realizing Pavel’s intention. 

“You haven’t finished. Keep going or the next one goes into your head.” 

Admittedly, the next few repetitions of the pushup were only slightly less comfortable, just a tinge less familiar with the weight on his spine and he felt his elbows wobble only the slightest amount. Still, Emir persisted. He had gone no more than ten before the next rock, larger this time, sat in front of the first. Hearing Pavel’s snicker, a silent rage caved in his chest. 

“You just had to fall into my hands, huh?” he laughed, patting the ground for another. “Unlucky bastard.” 

Emir was beginning to feel the onset of exhaustion seeping into an already worn body. He knew if he collapsed, Pavel would have something to say about it, presumably with his shoe. He winced and exhaled on the wrong motion, had to pause for a moment and focus his breathing before the next plunge and all while ignoring the wry laughter of the man next to him. 

“At least I’m not dead,” he muttered. 

Pavel stirred before he was about to lay the third rock on the next few ridges of his spine. At first, he scoffed off the response but didn’t resume the motion. He stayed silent for a few moments, letting Emir dip into the next less-than-graceful pushup and watched a bead of sweat roll down his dark temple. Something akin to cynical admiration passed across his eyes.

“You’d rather be alive, here?”  

This time, Emir stopped too. He kept his eyes forward, trained as usual, but too long had passed for it to feel like Pavel’s routine. His gaze gradually flickered over to the green eyes and tan skin beside him that so typically fixed him like prey, now staring at him in annoyed curiosity. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

The trees rustled softly in the background, dampening the mechanics from the camp as if they were unpleasant, fading memories. 

“You’re an idiot.” Pavel let the stone go and smirked to himself at the wince but it was less self-satisfied. “For getting caught and for thinking this is going to be better.”

“My pilot got shot and we crashed directly in front of you,” Emir grumbled, feeling a pulling need to defend his honour and that of his late pilot’s. “Didn’t get caught.” He glanced at Pavel warily and breathed out, seeing no brimming violence under his expression. “Besides, I-I have a family at home to think about.” 

The green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not going home.” 

He swallowed, not quite yielding. “Maybe not now.” 

“Maybe not ever.” 

Emir waited in silence for a minute more, saying little besides the soft, stuttering breaths that whistled in unison with the pines, gull calls, and the dirt twisting under Pavel’s shoe. He sensed it was an exercise to relieve boredom with how often he did it. He didn’t want to think about what Pavel had just said.

He thought about it too often, already. 

Slowly, he exhaled and pushed down again under the weight of three rocks, elbows bending alongside his body, and inhaled like it would be his last breath on his—shit, he had lost count. He mechanically continued, hoping that at a certain point, Pavel would stop him and let him go when he had fulfilled the day’s quota of entertainment but then, froze completely upon realizing that it had always been his responsibility to count. 

Pavel noticed his uncertainness. “What? You lost count or something?” 

Emir did nothing for a minute before lapsing into silent despair and nodding. What was the worst he could do, really? Kick him in the ribs? Big fucking whoop. He waited for the blow anyways, feeling that it would be a welcome relief to the incessant burning in his arms that threatened to have his entire body give out at that moment and crash to the ground onto that asshole’s boot. 

But in the meantime, Pavel had been quiet and uncharacteristically thoughtful. 

“Get up,” he ordered. “That’s enough.” He pushed himself up from the log and stretched to the clouds, wincing himself at the unwise angle he had been slouching in since Emir had begun the exercise. “Go back to your dorm and don’t let me see you again today.” 

Too stunned to move, Emir fixed him with a fearful look until he realized it was a serious order. He could have let himself fall to the ground and really, it was tempting. To lay there and let the exhaustion seep into the dirt but Pavel’s patience already seemed stick-thin and he didn’t want to push today’s generosity. He rolled to let the rocks fall off and bolted to standing, starting his journey back to the camp. When he turned for Pavel’s approval, the man wasn’t moving. 

His eyebrows pricked up. “Maybe not now,” he muttered. “Idiot.”  

Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville

 Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

[aprilsrant]

Start Over | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) has anger issues and a bad reputation that follows. Oliver seems to be the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts and there might be a hidden reason for it.

WORD COUNT: 2,3k.

WARNINGS: Marcus Flint being an idiot and a missoginy brat, it’s kind of angsty towards the end. Maybe a curse word or two. There is a fight and a duel too. (If I miss any, let me know!)

REQUEST: can’t find it, but yes, this was requested.

A/N: This took me so long and I’m so sorry, but for some reason I couldn’t get this finished. Hope you enjoy it! Like, reblog or leave comment if you like, feedback is always appreciated!!

Also, I made the reader have a holly wand because details are important sometimes.

English is not my first language, there could be mistakes!

Gif is not mine!!

MASTERLIST.

For whatever stupid, possibly misogynist, reason, Marcus Flint never allowed girls to tryout for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, not even when he, and everyone else present, knew of their talent and how much it would benefit them. Now more than ever, with that Harry Potter kid catching every single Snitch flying round him, Flint’s team needed new members. And members that actually knew how to play and not those who would pay their way in. 

Once again, (Y/N) was waiting in the stands for the Slytherin Captain and the whole group attempting to grab themselves a spot. Arriving before them gave her an “advantage” and that was not being completely disregarded the minute Flint saw her in the midst of the line up following him like some kind of lost puppys. 

With nothing else to do than just stand round the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, (Y/N) looked up and watched as a few Gryffindors threw the Quaffle towards one of the three hoops. She didn’t even know why people kept trying out to be a Chaser in Wood’s team when the current three were the best they had. And they were all women. Who would have thought that girls could play that well, right? 

(Y/N) didn’t know why she continued to insist when she was aware that Flint would never let her be on the team. Maybe because it was her last year, or because she had a tiny spark of hope inside of her that something, pretty much a miracle, would happen and the boy’d change his mind, finally acknowledging that (Y/N) was better than the two Slytherin beaters together. 

“What are you doing here, (Y/L/N)?,” the voice of the Slytherin Captain brought her back from the train of thoughts. Glancing towards the Pitch, she realised that it was empty, the only Gryffindor there was Oliver Wood, seating in the opposite set of stands with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. Upon seeing Flint and the trail of Slytherins behind him, he rolled his eyes and quickly left his spot, steps faltering after hearing Marcus’s irritated tone. “I told you, multiple times may I remind you, that I don’t want girls in my team, and especially not those who want to be beaters.”

This was something she saw coming, of course, and she’d tried to assume it for the last couple of days every time the image of being rejected, again, would pop into her head, replaying the times were she had actually been rejected as if her own mind was trying to torture her.

She had also seen the other part coming, and she had tried to stop it. But in her defense, when Professor Snape interrogated her an hour later, Marcus Flint kind of deserved it. 

“Why not, Flint? I’ve been trying to get in the team ever since you became Captain and decided I wasn’t good enough after our fourth year,” (Y/N) had said, voice raising after more words left her mouth. With her broomstick in hand, she stepped down the stands and marched towards him. 

“You said it yourself, (Y/N), you weren’t, and still aren’t, good enough,” Marcus responded while shrugging his shoulders arrogantly and walking past her. 

“I was good enough, you prick, I was better than just good enough and you fucking know it.” All of the group that had gathered to try out turned their heads in her direction when she started to scream, whispers and shared glances expectant of the outcome of the argument. Pushing a third year in front of her out of her way, she kept walking, stopping only after she was face to face with Marcus. “And how can you be so sure I’m not adequate? You haven’t even let me fly around the Pitch for the last two years.”

Ignoring her, Flint commanded the two boys carrying the box full of equipment to leave it on the floor and start to warm up. 

“Can you… Can you, please, let me try this one time?,” (Y/N) whispered, burying her pride and dignity in the same coffin after the word please escaped from her mouth. 

“Now you’re begging, you are pathetic, (Y/L/N), and they say you’re supposed to be dangerous” the boy exclaimed, clearly enjoying seeing her so desperate. He walked towards her, his taller figure towering over the girl. “Let me tell you something. Both of us were on the team, right now one is the Captain and the other one… Well, I’m pretty sure you know your exact position in this whole thing. And that’s why you are not in my place, because you are not good enough.”

Her teeth, jaw and fists clenched at the same time, the rest of her body shaking slightly, lighting up on fire with every sentence Marcus sneered at her. 

From a young age she had people question her, her interests and her decisions, even her place in the House of ambition, many believing the girl to be “too soft” at first. That had changed after the start of her second year. If they wanted her to be violent, rash and reckless, that’s what they got. Now, every time her name was mentioned around Hogwarts, whispers and rumours would be shortly behind. Most of the things people said about her were incorrect, not even close to the truth, but she accepted them anyways. She took each one of the rumours and turned them into her truth.

For some (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was on the right path to become a Dark Witch, a pureblood longing to take on Lord Voldemort’s place and rule over the Wizarding World, torturing muggleborns and blood traitors. To others, she was the Devil’s offspring in the flesh, waiting for the right moment to raise the forces of hell upon Hogwarts. And they were the ones speaking of her mental state while coming up with ridiculous theories. Nonetheless, she had to admit it was a new kind of entertainment seeing the first years getting warned about her, bombarding them with false information and stupid allegations. But the laughs she would have from it on her own company didn’t erase the loneliness and the solemn feeling of having no one. 

Like the symbol of her house, (Y/N) was a creature of instinct. And like what people murmured about her, (Y/N) was also a creature of violence.

As only one can imagine, no one was shocked from the response Marcus Flint got. Not in words, or insults, which were regular, but in the form of a fist connecting with his cheek (although she had intended to hit the nose). 

One would think anger makes people a better fighter, all that pent up rage coming from nowhere and lashing out against your opponent it’s more damaging to you than the person you are fighting. Now, this was not (Y/N)’s first fist fight but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Every time she had punched someone it had happened in the midst of uncontrollable wrath growing, attaching itself to the girl’s body, controlling her limbs, numbing her mind.

For a moment she closes her eyes, one thought in her mind, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, — I did it. Again —. When (Y/N) opens them, she notices the change of scenario, or positions. She is no longer standing on her feet, she is several metres away from her housemate, the back of her body on the receiving end of the harsh floor; the loud beating of her heart thundering in her ears, almost giving her a headache, swallowing the spell Flint had used on her. 

After rising from the grass, (Y/N) marches towards him, holly wand in her hand shooting hexes, barely missing its target. She’s about to whisper the Stunning Spell when someone from behind grabs her wrist, holding her back from trying to curse Marcus, whose responses are getting slower and scarcely protecting him. An arm sneaks around (Y/N)’s figure, distancing her from the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. 

Her elbow moves almost instinctively and hits the person behind her in the stomach, the arm around her waist retreating fast enough for (Y/N) to cast a protection charm and petrify Marcus Flint. 

Turning around, she sees none other than Oliver Wood, bending over his stomach with a hand clenching his right knee and gasping for air.

“What the bloody hell was that, Wood?”

“I was trying to help you!,” he manages to say while looking up at her.

“Help me? You were trying to stop me, you twat.”

“Exactly!,” Oliver shouts, making her move backwards, “Do you want to get yourself expelled, (Y/L/N)? Because if that’s what you want, you are doing an excellent job.”

She should have hexed him right there, no one else was on the Quidditch Pitch with them, except the handful of Slytherins and those weren’t the snitching types, but she didn't, surprising herself and everyone else watching them.

||| 

Later that night, after finishing the horrendous detention Snape had put her in —reorganizing his entire cabinet claimed by suspicious ingredients and potions with terrible smells, making the small space smell like rotten eggs and the Gryffindor Quidditch robes after a rough match—, looking at the moon and the landscape surrounding Hogwarts from the Astronomy Tower, she thought about the reasons to why she hadn’t raised her wand, or fist, to face Oliver. 

He wasn’t special. Yes, he was a great wizard, with problems in Potions and History of Magic, still quite good at Defensive spells but not that good to beat her if she was fully focused, he would be easy to defeat especially after Quidditch tryouts. So, why? Why did she just walk away?

“I knew I could find you here.”

(Y/N) turned around, quickly taking hold of her holly wand and raising it towards the tower’s entrance. The thundering in her chest calming, her breathing going back to its normal pace when she realised it wasn’t Sirius Black, the murderer that had escaped Azkaban and was said to have roamed through the castle. 

“What are you doing here, Oliver?”, she addressed him once the moonlight illuminated his tall figure.

“I wanted to apologise,” the boy admitted, his voice faltered just like his approach, as if he was trying to make peace with a beast; as if he was telling a snake that his feet would not come close to its head, “for what I said earlier. It wasn’t fair because I know how you…”

“How I what? How I tend to react when I’m angry?,” (Y/N) interrupted, the hand holding her wand still facing Oliver, “don’t try to act like you know me.”

“But I used to,” he murmured.

Neither of them said anything, both of their minds desperately trying to find the right words, one to plead for forgiveness once again and the other to accept it if the plea ever escaped his mouth.

The distant sound of creatures soaring through the night sky and the flip of their wings was all they heard for minutes, minutes that had felt like hours; she would dare to say days if the sky wasn’t still dark, filled with bright stars circling a full moon. 

“Why don’t we get to know each other all over again? We can start over, please.”

There it was.

And then it came.

“That’s such a great idea, Oliver!,” (Y/N) answered with a big smile on her face, the quick change of demeanour unsettling Oliver. They hadn’t talked in years but he was still amazed at how much he remembered of her, and how this didn’t mean any good. “We can get to know each other like all those years ago and then, you can abandon me like all those years ago”. The grin on her lips transforming into a scowl right after she pronounced the last part of her sentence.

“Why are you even here, Wood? You felt guilty and now you’re trying to make it go away? Or is it charity?,” the Slytherin kept ranting,” or better yet, someone challenged you to do this? I’m putting all my money on the Weasley Twins. 

“N-No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Oliver explained while moving his hands and walking the final steps leading him to (Y/N),“ I just- I never- I, I never wanted this, I never expected it but everyone was talking about you and-and they were saying horrible things and…”

“And you believed them,” (Y/N) stated, turning around to stop facing him and his hurt expression,” I don’t blame you for doing it. It’s quite funny if you think about it.”

“What’s quite funny?,” his gaze still on her when he asked.

“Most of the things you and the rest of the school heard were invented by me, so people would just stop bothering me,” she pretended to confess only to the stars, for if she didn’t, she would never admit it to him,” you can say I planned my entire doom. And it’s quite funny because, in the end, you still believed me.”

“You could have told me, (Y/N). Why didn’t you?”

“You believed the rumours, I’m sure not the craziest ones though, but that tells me that you thought I was capable of actually doing all the terrible things I said about myself.”

“I’m sorry, I am, (Y/N), truly.”

“Sorry doesn’t mend it,” she murmured, now forcing herself to look him in the eyes and act as if the pain never happened; as if she hadn’t missed his company and his random, permanently out of place Quidditch facts.

“I know, but it’s everything I have right now and I hope you can forgive me one day.”

“I have already forgiven you, Oliver, but I was too proud to reach you.”

“Typical you, (Y/N). I should have expected it.”

A small smile formed in her lips and for a moment she forgot their broken friendship, the reputation that had become her shadow and the future awaiting after Hogwarts. It was only them, (Y/N) and Oliver, with the moon glowing down on their faces and the feeling of being eleven year olds settling over their minds.

taglist: @gcdric​ @lilac-wrists​ @cappsikle​ @aesthetically-hailey​ @shadowsinger11​ @slytherinsunrise​ @theweasleysredhair​ 

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[mcwerewolfblack]

Yule Ball: Part III - Professor Snape x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You and Professor Snape sort out a poorly written examination in his classroom, but somebody sees. With your reputations at stake, only magic can save you now... and a little of something else too, at a time most inopportune. 

Notes: Sorry this is three days late, but I wanted to edit it to perfection, since it’s been a year since the last part! Enjoy, I love all of you so much. Happy holidays x

@fandom-puff​ (sorry I know there are so many more ppl who asked to be tagged but I lost track!) 

Part One

Part Two 

Part Four

The soft bubbling in his classroom late at night was comforting to Severus. He found it helped him think... and grade test scores, as per what he was currently preoccupied with. The moon is full outside, shining through what little window Snape had left uncovered. He ignores the squawk of Hagrid's distant Hippogriff (that thing takes pleasure in ensuring he never got any peace and quiet as of ten o clock at night) and gets back to the paper. He scowls.  

"What is it with these twits?" he murmurs to himself, using his wand to mark a large "fail" on Ron Weasley's test, flopping it onto the pile of Fred and George's equally dismal efforts. Just then, he flips to one with your neat, flowery handwriting on it, and stops.

Well, what's the problem? Just mark it as you would any other student. Besides, this will be nice and quick. (y/n) always gets a perfect score on my examinations.

Beginning to read though, he finds himself beginning to frown. Wrong... another one wrong... He looks up at the ceiling, and clenches his jaw. Of course. Why should he expect any less, when you'd been all over him for the past month?

----

The next afternoon, you’re wiling away potions by watching your quill spin in its inkwell. Wandless magic, along with perfecting the art of apparition, is something you’d been trying your hand at for years, and the fruits of your labor are just starting to manifest now.

“Miss (y/l/n).”

Your attention moves up to Professor Snape, at the head of the potions room.

This your last class of the day, before a much needed weekend rest. You're supposed to get the test grades back this afternoon, and you have to say you're excited-- you studied long and hard for it, attempting to make Snape proud of a little more than your talents of bewitchment.

"Miss (y/l/n). May I see you after class?"

You smile to yourself. "Of course, sir." You expect he'll reward you, calling you his good girl, telling you all about how much you deserve him tonight. Snape was rarely pleased with anything, but you're sure he'd find exception in your astounding work.

After class had finished on the note of homework and groaning, you stay in your seat, assuring your friends you’d catch up later. Once the rest of the unassuming students had filed out, you move to get up and join him by his desk, but he strides over before you can, thwacking the test down in front of you.

"What… is this?"

You look down at it, and give him a charming smile. "The best damn exam you'll ever grade."

Snape makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan, sarcasm dripping as he says, "I insist you take a second look."

You frown, and look down at your work, flipping through. As you do, you become more and more frustrated. "But-- but I knew this one! This is... this was clearly draught of the living death..."

"Was it?" Snape asks patiently, staring at you with his arms folded, "I pray you never need to brew it, then."

You huff, glaring up at him. "Do you know, I studied for hours for this--"

"Don't lie to me," he hisses, "I know what you're doing. Fail the exam, get called up to see me when everyone else is safely in their dormitories and get the punishment of a lifetime.” He leans in, glowering. “I know how your mind works."

You balk. "You actually think I'd sacrifice my grades in potions to have sex with you?! You have more of an ego than I thought, professor!"

Snape sputters. It does sound quite far fetched the way you put it, but...

"Perhaps your exams are a little too hard," you raise your eyebrows, and push the test away from you.

"Perhaps. Perhaps I was mistaken as well..." He holds his frown. "I want a perfect grade next time, do you understand me?"

"Oh, perfectly. It's just I've been so preoccupied with extra activities, like the frog choir, that whole tri-wizard competition-- I mean the tournaments are bloody thrilling! They'll be leaving soon, anyway, with all the visitors. Also McGonagall's lessons..."

"There's nothing Professor McGonagall can do that I can't do twice as ruthlessly."

"Yes. I know," you smirk.

“Do not let it happen again. My class takes precedence… you should know that by now.” Snape waits, and when you don't get up to leave, sighs. "That will be all, Miss (y/l/n)."

“Will it?”

He turns back at your teasing tone, and already feels a headache coming on. He fell right into your trap… which wasn’t even a trap in the first place. He brought this on himself, truly. Perhaps he should just forget how to feel guilty. After all, how many times had this happened?

"I'm not wearing anything beneath my robes."

Snape gives a tight lipped smile. "I was never foolish enough to believe you were."

"Proved it a bit difficult in class..." you begin to shrug the robes off, "Malfoy was hanging over my shoulder the whole time, it's a bloody miracle he didn't get an eyeful.”

"Perhaps he did," Snape muses, "We'll never know." You watch him closely, parting your legs. He still looks hesitant, even after all these times.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," you bite your lip, starting to undo the robe, "But Professor… I want to."

He puts a hand on yours to stop you, and you look up in surprise. Maybe this is really where he would take a stand... you were wondering when he would.

But he smacks your hand away, giving you that look. "Don't touch." He turns you around, and slots himself behind you, dark hair falling against your cheek. "That's. My. Job."

You grin, and he slowly opens your robes, admiring how your tie falls between your breasts, perfectly centered.

"This will have to come off," he murmurs, taking the tie with the tip of his fingers, then stops. "Unless..."

"What?" you breathe.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps I ought to make sure you receive what you deserve. It was an abysmal examination score, after all..."

A thrill runs through you. "What do you mean?"

"This is the third time we've done this, and somehow I doubt it will be the last. You believe I'd let you get off without a punishment for your dangerous behavior?"

"I believe you'd let me get off.”

"Silence." Though he maintains most of his stern expression, you can sense his impulse to smirk. He takes the tie off, and ties it around your wrists behind your back, laying your back on his desk. He then begins to slowly tug the robes off, and groans when he sees your breasts bare to him in full. You moan, stretching your arms, and bite your lip, blinking up at him.

"You don't deserve what you have in mind," he whispers, "You deserve my lips on you, teasing you, bringing you close until I deny you what you need. That is what you get when you don't take my class seriously."

You whimper, rubbing your thighs together. "But Professor... please, I haven't touched myself all week."

He narrows his eyes. "Why? Preparing for something, were we?"

You avert eye contact, blushing. "I..."

"Go on."

"I expected a good grade. I thought you would reward me, daddy."

Snape inhales sharply at the name, and you see his hips start to slightly shift to rub against the desk. "Well, we both saw how that turned out. Knickers, off."

Just as you're reaching down, you both hear someone mutter an 'alohamora.' The door swings open on you and Snape. There, a boy your age stands, eyes a fraction wider.

"Krum," you breathe. He seems caught, and slowly backs away. Snape's eyes widen slightly, and you pull your robes back on. Before you can run after the visiting student though, your professor grabs your arm, tugging you back.

"He'll tell Karkarov," you protest desperately.

"He will," Snape nods, "Let him. There is little he can prove. It will just seem like dirty sportsmanship for the Durmstrang visitors to try and smear the reputation of one of Hogwarts' best teachers.”

Still... it was unnerving.

---

The next day, you're far more on edge than usual. A meeting had been called, as Snape had relayed to you, and you’re both so sure it’s about… that.

You lay on your bed, flicking your wand about as a feather dances atop you. It floats up, down, with each unspoken leviosa of your wand, and finally, you let it fall against your chest. You would much rather be practicing your apparating—it was a little harder, and would take your mind off the possibility of your getting expelled.

You try and push the thoughts of Snape out of your head, and replace them with where you want to apparate. Focus… focus…

In Dumbledore’s office, Snape takes his seat alongside McGonagall, Dumbledore, Sprout, Flitwick, Karkaroff, and Maxime. Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, he doesn’t say a word.

“Well. Let us bring to attention why this meeting has been called,” McGonagall begins, and Dumbledore nods.

“Quite right, Minerva. There has been an incident.”

In your dorm, you concentrate hard on apparating to the library. If you could only… focus…

“A special thank you to Karkaroff, for one his boys, Victor Krum, bringing this situation to our attention,” Dumbledore goes on. “It is a matter we here at Hogwarts, take very seriously.”

Snape is about to open his mouth, when he feels something under the table, directly in front of his legs.

You glance around, confused. Where had you ended up?

“A matter, I might say, that could even have serious repercussions if not looked into further.”

“Mon Dieu,” Maxime tuts, “What has happened, Albus?”

Oh, shit. Oh, shit! Your subconscious had won out. You had been thinking of Severus too much when trying to apparate, and had apparated to the meeting.

Snape could not, for the life of him, figure out what had just materialized between his legs. Pretending to drop a vial from his sleeve, he reached down to check… and the two of you came face to face.

Snape’s eyes widen, then he narrows them into slits. The glare is threatening in every way it could be, and you cower back a little.

I didn’t mean to, you try to mouth, but he’s already sat up again. His boot comes up, and lays to rest on your stomach, keeping you far away from him, yet close enough so the others can’t feel you. If anyone else was to check under the table, it’s not like you have an invisibility cloak—you’d both be dead meat.

“What, might I inquire, would this matter be?” Severus asks, in the most level voice he can manage. He was absolutely furious that you were where you were. Had you no shame? He was about to lose his job over this! You were simply taunting fate, at this point.

“I’m very glad you asked, Severus,” Karkaroff interjected with sinister glint in his eyes, “For this matter concerns you.”

Between his legs under the table, you try to apparate back. Only… you didn’t apparate with your wand on you. Damn wandless magic! Now you couldn’t get back.

“What have I got to do with anything, pray tell, Igor?” Snape is doing a rather good job of sounding unimpressed, bored even. You start to squirm, listening to his deep voice. It still does things to you, even in a situation like this. Especially in a situation like this.

“It is a matter of something Krum saw, Severus,” Dumbledore says slowly, “Something troubling indeed.”

Under the table, desire starts to creep up on you. You had been given a very rare, very exciting opportunity here. You could get back at Snape for grading your test badly, and have a little fun along the way… two can play at that game.

“You see, we have learned that it involves one of our students here at Hogwarts,” Minerva says sternly, “Namely, Miss (y/l/n) of (y/house) house.” You hesitate, then take the chance to unlatch him.

“Miss (y/l/n)?” Snape quirks a brow, “A model student.”

“Seems like such a lovely girl. Tres jolie,” Maxime comments.

Snape begins to frown, feeling your hands on his breeches. You weren’t. You wouldn’t…

“Yes, well there’s no doubt about that,” Flitwick says, “But the news we have heard of her is nothing short of shocking! Nothing we would expect from a young lady of her stature.” You take Snape out of his pants, half hard, and close your mouth softly around his tip. He tries to swat you off, but you dodge him.

“No doubt,” Minerva agrees.

“Surely…” Snape swallows, shifting his hips, “Whatever she has done… can be forgiven?” Oh….

“Why would you be so quick to forgive her, Severus?” Minerva asks, “We haven’t even learned of the situation.”

“I only wish to reprimand students when reprimandation is wholeheartedly deserved,” Snape clenches his jaw, giving you a good whack with his knee, “Otherwise, such punishment would subsequently lose its value.”

“Well. With that I agree,” Sprout speaks up, “But this, from what we’ve been led to believe, is a very serious issue!”

“Out with it, then,” Snape annunciates in that menacing tone, “What exactly has she done, and how exactly… does it involve me?” His hand grabs you by the hair under the table, and tightens. If you’re going to play with him like this, then he will remain in control.

“Why don’t we simply ask the boy himself?” Karkaroff smirks, and with a whisk of his wand and the utterance of Dumbledore’s secret password, the doors open. Victor Krum comes in, rigid as if he had been trained for battle. He gives a swift bow, and stands before them.

“Tell us what you saw, Victor,” Minerva encourages. Krum looks to everyone, brow furrowed. Snape guides your head, gritting his teeth. He’s already close, and he can faintly hear you moaning like a whore.

“Wait for a moment,” Filius says, holding up a finger, “I hear something strange.”

Snape coughs, trying to overpower the sounds of him getting his dick sucked by a slutty little student. “Must be Hagrid’s Hippogrif,” he grumbles, “The infernal thing does not know how to quiet down.”

“Buckbeak only caws at night,” Filius frowns, “This sounds much closer.”

Snape begins to sweat. This was it. If you didn’t quiet down your sounds of pleasure from under the table, you would both be found out, and that would be that. Disgraced, humiliated, cast out--

Igor clears his throat in irritation, and attention is once again collectively returned to Krum. Snape relaxes a little bit, this being the only time he’s ever praised his old death eater friend for interrupting something.

You smirk under the table, quieting your moaning down a little as Snape slams you back into him, your lips sliding down even further over his cock with each thrust into your mouth. It feels so good to be used, especially in such a dangerous situation—you’d never been so wet in your life, and you start to rub yourself, gasping softly and gagging on his large cock.

Snape curses you out in his mind. You’re a troublemaker, more than a troublemaker, and absolutely disobedient little girl. What he wouldn’t do to slam you down over a desk right at this very moment and teach you a real lesson.

“Go on,” Minerva encourages Krum gently, “What you say will never leave this room.”

“Unless required,” Flitwick sniffs, straightening his tie.

“Oh, Merlin,” Snape grunts, crumpling forward a little. He’s on the edge, he’s about to come… Everyone turns to him, their stares burning.

“Something to say, Severus?” Karkaroff jabs, sneering.

Snape’s eyelids flutter, and he white knuckles the table as his orgasm hits him. You moan under the table, feeling it on your tongue, and you come as well, biting back a whine. Fuck, you’re hit little whore… oh, yeah…

“Severus?” Minerva prods, frowning. Snape clenches his jaw, regaining his foothold on the conversation.

“Only a reminder that I am very busy and do not have all day. Consider this an encouragement, Mr. Krum, to spit it out,” he growls, then his lips tug up ever so slightly. “Though not everyone present in this room must take that advice.”

You hold back a giggle, and swallow dutifully.

Through the confused stares of the heads of houses, Krum finally speaks. Snape holds his breath, and you listen carefully, nerves buzzing. At least you went out with a bang.

“I was walking past Professor Snape’s classroom,” Krum begins, staring at the dark Slytherin head of house, “And…” Everyone seems to lean forward. “And spotted (y/n)…”

“Yes?” Sprout murmurs. Snape worries the inside of his lip. This was it. Perhaps he could apparate as smoothly as you had, out of this room. Though he could never match your impeccable timing, surely.

“—I spotted (y/n) stealing lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s personal storage.”

Snape nearly drops his jaw. Everyone at the table looks terribly scandalized, and he counts his blessings that it is not for the reason they should.

“Allow me… to explain,” he says, fixing himself discreetly under the table. “I had given (y/n) an assignment outside of class protocol, brewing a specially modified batch of polyjuice potion for extra credit. I have been tutoring her as somewhat of an apprentice.” He looks up at Krum with a curious sort of respect. “I… appreciate your diligence in reporting what would typically be an unforgivable offense against my private collection of ingredients, Mr. Krum. However, in this particular case… no further action is required, at the bidding, of course, of Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore opens his hands. “Your explanation is quite sufficient, Severus. I see no further need to pursue any consequence toward Miss (y/l/n), if her intentions were warranted and academic.”

You sigh in relief under the table, and Snape smirks. Karkaroff is fuming, thinking the matter would absolutely ruin him. The potions master lifts his chin.

“Will that be all, then?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he growls, and rises. He gets out a small vial, and hands it to you under the table, as the others talk amongst themselves.

“Drink,” he mutters, and you do. Before your eyes, you begin to turn invisible. His potion-brewing abilities never fail to astound you. Flitwick and Sprout spot the slight elevation in the tablecloth as you get out and follow Snape. They frown at one another, and check for an open window anywhere in the office.

You follow Snape to his classroom, and this time, he locks the door.

“You are lucky he said what he did, you little harlot.”

You smirk, the small vial already wearing off. “He knows Hermione. Hermione knows me. It’s only natural he’d cover for me.”

“And what you did back under the table?!” he continues, cape billowing as he paces. You grimace a little, waiting for that. He just sighs, glancing at you. “Will be the reason for my nightly shut-ins.”

You saunter over, kissing his cheek. “I knew you’d thank me.” He doesn’t look up.

“Hardly. Detention for the remainder of the school year.”

“But sir!” You slowly start to realize what that means. “Ah. Yes, sir.”

He can’t help but smile to himself as you leave for your dormitory, admiring your uniform on the way out. Perhaps he hadn’t taken such leave of his senses when he had found you that night at the Yule Ball, as he had so forced himself to believe. Perhaps, instead, he had come to them.

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 2: Lola

Summary: High school AU, 1984, Winter. It’s hard to make friends when you’re the new kid starting halfway through Junior year, but slowly Lola seems to be making a few. It’s much easier to have a rumour started about you, especially when you tend to make questionable choices at parties, but that’s much less fun.

A/N: 8173 words. Lola’s dad is the MVP, trust me. i meant to put this out a week ago whoops!! also im allowed to reference my own Queen oc as a treat. @bluehourmotel, @misscharlottelee and again, interludes are A Softer World quotes.

[ m a s t e r p o s t ]

the best revenge is living well. the second best revenge is fire ants.

The fact that after being in town for a total of two weeks, Lola’s closest friend is the gas station attendant a full fifteen minute drive away from her house is kind of sad. Not that she’s disappointed to be Mick’s friend, he’s got a dry sense of humor but a good heart and he’s refreshing honesty, but she’s been at this new school for about a week and a half, has already made out with at least one person, has possibly convinced said-person’s cousin that she’s trying to corrupt him, and started to make a name for herself - whether it’s good or bad is yet to be seen -, and yet Mick Mars, nineteen-year-old gas station attendant, apprentice electrician, and aspiring guitar player is her closest friend. 

But she’s always been kind of terrible at making friends her own age.

“You have lost all respect from me,” Mick told her on Monday morning after the party, over the counter of the gas station as he’s ringing her up for her smokes and iced coffee before she went to school, “you could have picked anyone to mack on at that party, and you chose Tommy fuckin’ Lee?”

“He was nice to me, what was I meant to do?” Lola declared, realizing too late that that statement revealed absolutely too much about herself to a near stranger. Mick, however, just gives her a flat look.

“You need higher standards.” He doesn’t seem too phased by her. Lola takes this in stride, and nods, agreeing with a sigh. 

“What time do you finish work?” She asks, changing the subjects quickly as she’s pulling out a bill from her back pocket, “dad said he’s happy to let you have a look at that weird light switch that doesn’t do anything that I was telling you about.” 

“I finish at ten tonight, I’m working a double,” he groans at the very thought of it. Lola gives him a sympathetic look, and tells him to only come around if he’s up to it, otherwise leaving it for another day.

That’s the day that Lola realises the whole school knows about her and Tommy at the party, that she has Art with Charlotte before lunch, and also that Charlotte can’t look her in the eye.

Tuesday the school realises that she’s not just Lola Who Gives It Up For Free At Parties, but that she’s Lola The New Girl and that they don’t know anything about her beyond that. There’s a guy in her wood working class with long black hair and a dangerous smile that winks at her; she flips him off, knowing all he cared about was knowing if the rumours were true. She’s got AP French last period with that ginger from the party who wouldn’t stop laughing, Eileen; she’s a lot more serious, sober. The cheerleader, Heather, won’t stop giving her these weird, calculating looks.

Wednesday there’s a new rumour, that she was expelled from her last school. The population of the school hasn’t decided what exactly they think she was expelled for yet. Turns out she has English with that guy from her woodworking class, he just hadn’t turned up for their lesson on Monday; he sits at the back like Lola, in the other corner, and the teacher calls him Nikki in a tone like she’s already disappointed. Lola can see why, he fell asleep at his desk. Art last period with Charlotte; she still barely looks at Lola. 

Thursday. Heather asks in AP French if Lola’s heard what everyone’s saying about her; her tone is sweet and dangerous in equal measure and Lola doesn’t trust what’s about to come out of her mouth. The new rumour is that Lola was expelled for sleeping with a teacher; something about the glint in Heather’s eye is cruel, and Lola asks her sweetly if she’s more jealous of Lola or the teacher. That shuts Heather up fast, and Eileen’s cough behind them sounds more like she’s trying to hide a laugh. But it still gets to her; Lola focuses so hard on ignoring the girls gossiping loudly about her at their station behind her in Home Economics that she burns the apple danishes she was attempting, and she throws the burnt pastries, and the tray they’d been cooking on, into the bin until she realises her mistake and sulkily fishes the tray out again. Thankfully, the teacher didn’t notice.

Friday, and Lola hasn’t paid much attention to Vince, whose house she’s been to but who she hadn’t properly met until their classes had P.E at the same time; he’s in the year below her, but still manages to sidle up to her while they’re both waiting for their teachers to prepare the field for whatever torture they’re masquerading as physical exercise today. She tells him to fuck off; there’s something about the way he conducts himself that she doesn’t like, like he’s putting on a show of being shallow and vain and the life of the party. Instead, Vince’s voice goes quiet and he tells her that Tommy’s a good kid with a good heart -

“You give this speech to everyone you caught making out at your parties, or just me, ‘cos you think I’m a bitch and I’m gonna hurt one of ‘your bros’?” She snapped, lip curling, and Vince’s brow creases into a frown, “I’m not his fucking girlfriend, we made out a little, you don’t have to act like I’m going to break his heart, so piss off.”

A moment passes, and he appears to don his shallow, playboy mask when he asks her slyly if the rumours are true. She shoves him hard enough that he skitters back a few feet, and Lola earns her first after school detention.

The thing is, she and Tommy are already on the same page about this, it was a what happens while drunk at a party stays at that party. Or at least, it’s meant to. Either way, Charlotte’s protectiveness, and Vince’s... attempt at protectiveness was unwarranted. Maybe it’s because Tommy, for whatever reason, has started hanging around Lola at lunch.

She doesn’t sit in the cafeteria like the rest of them, or even on that little section of the roof the intimidating pack of punks, rockers, and smokers have found a way to get to. Lola sits against the fence near the science building, close to the carpark that’s always open for some stupid reason, as though she’s contemplating bolting.

“Don’t you have friends?” Lola’s tone is kind of hard, and perhaps her words are on the nose, and a little cruel, but it’s Wednesday, and this is the third day in a row he’s found her and spent the entirety of lunch with her. They don’t speak much, Lola smokes and picks apart whatever her dad’s latest cooking experiment is before she eats it, and Tommy practices twirling his drumsticks. 

“I have friends, do you?” Tommy responds, more than a little defensive, rubbing at his brow where he’d just managed to hit himself mid-drumstick-twirl, taken aback by her question. Lola gives him a flat look. “Someone told me you were expelled from your last school,” Tommy’s gaze shifts to the carpark, to the last car and it’s telltale rocking and fogged up windows.

“They say why?”

“Nah,” Tommy shakes his head, scowl softening as he gets back to practicing, “it true?” Lola’s picking out and eating the apple chunks from the slice of pie her father had packed for the day, still watching the car with the mildest of interest. She shakes her head. Tommy hums noncommittally. They spend the rest of lunch in silence.

“He keeps hanging out with me!” The following afternoon, Lola gripes to Mick on his smoke break after she gets out of school for the afternoon.

“You keep hanging out with me,” Mick points out, peeling the label off of a bottle of soda.

“And?”

“I don’t tell you to fuck off.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Because,” and Mick heaves a heavy sigh, like it pains him to admit, “we’re friends, Lola,” but he pauses and amends, “God knows why.”

“Fuck you, I’m a delight,” Lola huffs, and pulls her oversized denim jacket tighter around herself to ward off the chill of the afternoon breeze. If this were pretty much any other state, they’d be knee-deep in snow; thank God for LA, snow’s pretty for five minutes before it’s a pain.

“Do you tell him to fuck off?” Mick asks pointedly, as if exhausted that he has to spell it out for her. Lola’s quiet, but her answer’s clear. Mick clears his throat with a cough. Lola’s scowl deepens. 

She brings it up to her father that night. 

“Do you reckon Tommy’s trying to be my friend?” She asked, gaze intense as she focuses on slicing apples into little cubes. Leo, her father, who was kneeding a blend of spices into a ball of dough that would end up being a pie crust, paused.

“The kid who has been hanging out with you at lunch?” He thought for a moment, “the one from the party?”

“I told him it was nothing serious-” Lola tried, exasperatedly cutting the apples a little rougher, but her father’s warm, gentle laugh cut her off.

“Yes, I think he’s trying to be your friend,” he told her, which Lola hadn’t exactly wanted to hear, but the information was easier to digest coming from him than it was coming from Mick, “he obviously likes you -”

“But I told him -”

“I know, you told him it wasn’t serious, but dear, that doesn’t mean he likes you less as a person - you’re a very cool cat, I can see why he’d want to be your friend,” he gives her finger guns, and Lola can’t help but laugh softly at his attempt to be hip. 

“Christ, dad,” Lola huffs, smiling fondly, but he’d managed to cheer her spirits considerably. 

“I burnt my danishes today,” Lola’s voice goes quiet as she goes back to focusing on her task, and her dad makes a noise of intrigue, “got distracted and crisped the whole tray.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time; just fifteen minutes, remember?”

“Fifteen minutes, no distractions,” Lola agreed, almost by rote, thankful that he doesn’t ask about what had distracted her. She can still hear the whispered gossip and giggles that had come from the cooking station behind her in Home Economics.

Her dad knows that her peers think she was expelled from her last school, but she keeps her mouth shut about the fact that today they’d decided it was because she had relations with a teacher; he knows almost everything about her, but he didn’t need to know about a whole school calling her a slut. He’d blow it out of proportion, and it isn’t getting to her since she knew for a fact it wasn’t true. 

They finish the apple pie with it’s rosemary and lemongrass crust in good spirits. The flavours don’t go together as well as Leo had hoped, but it’s another step closer to the perfect apple pie he’d been trying for. Leo packs her two of the leftover slices for lunch, as a not-so-subtle hint. 

On Friday, Lola hands Tommy a plastic container with a piece of apple pie, with a rosemary and lemongrass crust in it.

“Is it poison?” He asks. Lola doesn’t look at him, picking the individual apple pieces out and eating them one at a time.

“The crust tastes weird if you eat it with the filling,” Lola’s voice is flat as she explains instead of answering, “but the apples are sweet.” She eats another cube of apple, then breaks off a corner of the golden, perfectly cooked crust, now cold and stiff from spending the night in the refrigerator. 

“Why are you giving me this?” 

“Eat it or don’t, I don’t care,” Lola tells him, hunching further in on herself; like this, she can’t see the way Tommy’s expression has broken out into a smile.

“Thanks Lola,” but the smile is evident in his voice, confirming all of her suspicions at once. Tommy took her at her word when she said the rumours weren’t true, even if the rest of the school believed them, so Lola supposes she’s actually okay with the fact that her second ever friend in the entirety of California is the marching band geek in the year below her who she made out with at a party once. 

Also maybe she’s just kind of terrible at making friends.

you and me baby! we are the future! and the future is bleak.

“Wait, you’ve never met Nikki Sixx?” Tommy asked, sitting patiently with his back against the fence, his hand resting on her knee as she fills in the the nails of his left hand with black sharpie, “didn’t you go to his gig the other week?”

“I didn’t know anyone,” Lola pointed out, and Tommy makes a thoughtful noise.

“You’d love him, he’s so fucking cool,” he assured her, which made Lola give pause; Tommy also thinks Vince is fucking cool, and she wants to throw Vince out a window, “he was the one on bass.” 

“The one in the leather pants?” Lola couldn’t help but smile at the memory; she’d appreciated it at the time, and could appreciate it now. Tommy, however, rolled his eyes.

“The girls love the leather pants,” he gave a quiet sigh, before adding, almost to himself, “wish I had leather pants.” 

“Leather pants would look good on you,” Lola pinches at his thigh for a moment, and goes back to filling in his nails. missing Tommy’s pleased, flustered little smile. 

“You know Freddie paints his nails like this,” Tommy says instead, changing the topic of conversation.

“Freddie?”

“Mercury. From Queen; you know Queen, right?” And he sounds kind of skeptical, like if she doesn’t know them, they can’t be friends anymore. Lola pauses again, her hand soft on Tommy’s where she’s filling in around his ring finger’s cuticle.

“I wanna climb John Deacon like a fucking tree,” she mutters, which startles a laugh out of Tommy, his hand jerking up to cover his mouth, making Lola leave a black line against his knee, through the rip in his jeans. When she looks up at him, however, her eyes are shining with mirth, “come on, man, you must have seen the video of them performing in Montreal last year!” And she licks her lips, watching Tommy’s blush grow steadily darker. After a beat, Lola bursts out laughing, shattering the tension and shifting to sit beside him, idly doodling on her own hand with the marker as Tommy shakes his head with amusement.

Lola starts humming Back Chat to herself, and Tommy leans his head back against the wire of the fence, listening for a moment.

“You and Charlie would get along great too,” he considers, and Lola doesn’t stop humming, nor does she look to him, “she likes Roger, but probably just because she thinks he’s pretty.” Lola can hear his eyeroll without even seeing it, and she’s not sure why, but she files that information away in the back of her mind; she’d never gotten an especially shallow vibe from Charlotte, but there was a uncertain undeniable appeal to Roger Taylor’s pretty-boy charm.

“Didn’t his girlfriend leave him for Bowie?” Lola asks mildly, barely pausing to speak between humming notes.

“Rocket Mercury?”

“Her name’s Rocket?” Lola snorts, finally looking at him, and Tommy’s lips twisted into an amused grin. 

“Her name’s Ash, but everyone calls her Rocket,” he says, like he’s in the know, and Lola stays quiet, nodding and trying not to laugh, “and yeah, I think so, she’s been with a few people since him I think; Bowie, this girl from this English band Hawkwind, Elton John maybe? Or someone around him I think.” Tommy nods, and Lola’s kind of intrigued as to why he knows so much about Queen’s drummer’s partner, but something else has caught her attention.

“A girl from Hawkwind?” Tommy doesn’t seem to notice the way Lola’s voice has softened, or how her expression has dropped to something carefully neutral. She’s drawing a little flower on the knuckle of her thumb.

“One of their dancers, Stacy, maybe?” Tommy’s own tone is light, like he doesn’t even realise Lola’s hanging onto his every word regarding this one little detail about a woman she doesn’t even know, “was kind of a scandal, but it was years ago; she’s Freddie’s sister after all, maybe it’s genetic.”

“Genetic?”

“Liking girls and guys, you know?” And he pauses. Lola’s frozen beside him, the marker pressed hard against her skin, breath caught in her throat. He throws it out so casually, so easily. Her hands are shaking. The words so kind when he says them, so unlike what she’s used to hearing. Tommy’s already moved on to the next thought. “actually, I’m not sure if Freddie’s like, legit her brother, but anyways, she and Roger are back together; I’m glad.” As if a sixteen-year-old’s opinion on a rock legend’s love life mattered, “he seems happier with her, all his best live shows were when they were together.”

“I’d kill to play half as well as him,” it’s almost wistful when Tommy says it, interrupting Lola’s thoughts, his gaze trained on the sky, as if imagining he’s on stage himself. Lola lets out a long, quiet breath, recentering herself as she looks to him.

“You wanna play drums?” 

“I can play drums,” Tommy tells her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but not nearly as good as Roger Fucking Taylor, can you imagine?” But Lola’s more focused on the -

“I thought you just played in the marching band, can you play, like, full -” and she sits forward, gesturing like she’s tapping on a full drumkit, eyes shinning. Suddenly, in the face of her rare, unrestrained smile, Tommy feels himself growing nervous, like he’ll let her down if he’s not actually as good as he thinks he is.

“I’ve got a kit in my garage,” he admits, and Lola pauses, letting her excitement simmer, as though realising it had gotten the best of her, breaking her cool and aloof facade.

“That’s cool as hell,” she does add, however, and Tommy beams.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, all flustered at even the slightest praise, “man, you’d really like Charlie, I know she looks all fancy and intimidating, but she’s a real softie inside.”

“You are really pushing hard for me to be friends with your cousin,” Lola notes, giving him a sidelong glance, and Tommy’s nose scrunches up, caught out.

“She thinks you’re trying to corrupt me,” he grumbles, “but if you guys met she’d know you’re not.”

“I am corrupting you,” Lola smirks, “next week I plan on peer pressuring you into smoking.”

“I’ve smoked before!” Tommy’s up in arms, like the implication that he hasn’t done something as low-level cool as smoking offends him.

“Dude I was kidding, I gave you half my cigarette yesterday,” Lola reminds him, and the bell rings.

While Lola was more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie, it appeared that Charlotte was not, and less than two days after her conversation with Tommy, Lola finds herself sitting by Charlotte’s side in their shared art class.

It’s the last class of the day, and Charlotte’s the one who sits by Lola. There’s no preamble, barely acknowledging the decision, just opening her notebook and focusing on the theory the teacher had already started to jot down on the whiteboard.

When they’re given free time, however, to work on personal projects, Charlotte opens her sketchbook and sharpens her pencil, and without looking at Lola, begins speaking quietly.

“Tommy thinks we’d get along,” Charlotte sounds completely innocent and perfectly harmless, but Lola remember how Charlotte had looked at her, part deer-in-the-headlights startled at the realisation, and knee-jerk protective fury, at Vince’s party when she realised who Lola had been kissing. 

“So I’ve heard,” Lola doesn’t look up, but Charlotte’s pencil stills on her paper. After a beat, Lola turns to see Charlotte giving her a curious look. Propping her head up on her hand, Lola gives a thin, amused smile, “he also thinks I’d be good friends with Nikki Sixx; was he the one you yelled at, at the gig?”

Instead of being flustered or going red at the mention of the moment, Charlotte’s expression lights up, as if the idea somehow delights her, and slowly she’s nodding. All her earlier reservations and hostility was quickly leaving her.

“Yeah, actually I told Nikki you reminded me of him, actually -”

“I remind you of Nikki?” Lola’s grin widened, and she shifted to face Charlotte further. 

“He’s kind of a tool -” Charlotte blurted after a moment of contemplation, and Lola’s eyebrows raised in amused surprise. Charlotte’s quick to backtrack, “I mean, I’m not saying you are- well, I don’t know you, but I mean, Tommy -” Charlotte frowns at that, expression falling as she considered quietly, “actually, I mean, I love him, but he’s not the greatest judge of character; he thinks Nikki hangs the stars, despite never really speaking to him,” she pauses and heaves a sigh of realisation, “that probably why he thinks so highly of him -”

“I thought they were friends,” Lola’s genuinely surprised, given how kindly Tommy had spoken of him.

“Half the school is terrified of Nikki, half seems to be in love with him; Tommy’s in the second half.”

“And which half are you?”

“I’m the only person who seems to think he’s just kind of a pest,” Charlotte’s response is surprisingly mild, as if she doesn’t quite believe what she’s saying.

“He’s talented, though,” Lola offers, and Charlotte looks back to her, as if brought from her own thoughts. There’s a pause, a lull. Lola puts down her pen, and turns more fully to Charlotte, stretching her arm out over the desk, and resting her head fully on it, like a particularly smug cat stretching out in the sun. Charlotte is slower to put down her pencil, but does so after another moment, pristine fingernails drumming against her sketchbook for a moment. 

“He was talented,” Charlotte agreed, thought it sounds like she doesn’t quite want to, “my ex actually got me into his kind of music, he was a fan of Nikki’s too; I’d tell Nikki I enjoy his music but it’d go straight to his ego,” and she casts Lola a sidelong look, lips stretched into a smirk, which Lola returns. 

“I am a little bit of a tool,” Lola finally admits with a self deprecating grin, and Charlotte shakes her head.

“You’d fucking love him,” Charlotte tells her, with a strained, sort of resigned huff of laughter, like the concept of them meeting was a little bit horrifying, and already exhausting.

“You like his kind of music,” Lola circled back around to quickly, “never pictured you as a hard rocker, you’re very...” and she trails down, looking at Charlotte’s pristine cheerleading uniform, and thick, black tights, the only thing protecting her legs from the Winter air. The blonde shifts a little uncomfortably under the scrutiny, brow furrowing.

“I know,” Charlotte says flatly, crossing her ankles, far too self aware in the moment, “you expect me to just be listening to nothing but Abba and Madonna all day?” She sneers, suddenly haughty again, and Lola licks her lips, intrigued; she can tell she’s pushed a button, and debates for a moment if she wants to press it further. 

“Not all the time,” Lola said, sitting back up slowly, “but I mean, I’m kind of partial to Does Your Mother Know, there’s no shame in loving Abba,” she shrugs, and Charlotte lets herself visibly relax. 

“Never pictured you as an Abba fan,” Charlotte actually grins.

There’s a distinct lack of hostility in the air between the two girls by the time the class ends, after spending the entire class gushing over various bands across a surprising range of genres, and Lola quickly finds she appreciates how wrong her initial impression of Charlotte had been.

As they’re leaving for the day, or well, Lola’s leaving, and Charlotte’s heading to cheer practice, the conversation lulls as Charlotte grows thoughtful.

“Hey, just... Tommy’s kind of a hopeless romantic,” and even as she speaks, she knows Lola’s growing irate at Charlotte’s hesitant tone, “and honestly, the girls he goes for usually don’t... they don’t usually give him the time of day, and he obviously thinks the world of you, I just don’t want you to -”

“I’ve told him that I don’t want to date him; he’s the one who keeps hanging around me,” Lola’s own tone appears to surprise Charlotte, now that she understands the root of the other girl’s protectiveness, “we’re...” and the word catches in Lola’s throat for a moment, knowing that speaking it makes it true, “friends.” 

Lola glances at Charlotte out the corner of her eye, and sees the way Charlotte’s lips twist into a pleased little smirk.

“I was just making sure.”

love is stupid. happiness is admitting we aren’t better than stupid.

Leo Fields, thirty-nine years old, owner of soon-to-be-named Leo Diner’s in suburban LA, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, who worked in the luxurious Parker House restaurant in Boston and quit after ten years there, including three years as Sous Chef and one year as Head Chef, only to open his own 50s style diner a mere ten minutes away in Salem, has and will always claim his favourite food is Easy Cheese.

Once, a long time ago, Lola had asked him why.

She’s asked him a lot of things, why he’d left his high-end restaurant to essentially flip burgers, why he kept his hair long, what his tattoos meant -

Lola’s eight, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs while Leo was crushing garlic to add to their dinner, his hair tied back into a large bun atop his head.

“People will try and tell you that just because something is expensive, fancy, or higher class,” Leo had rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at that, putting on a voice to make his daughter laugh, “that it’s better; they are wrong. If something brings you joy, it is better than all things that do not bring you joy, no matter how fancy the things you don’t like are,” he’d told her very seriously, “better is not real, better is what you believe; better for you means healthier, and that’s real, but when people use better to mean good, they mean that it’s good in their mind, and maybe you agree, but maybe you won’t.” And he scrapes the garlic into the pan and oil cooking on low as he then began dicing onions.

“I use all my fancy training and knowledge to make foods I think are better, but now I get to also serve them with a smile, and I get to talk to the people I’m giving the food to, get to know them, let them know they’re welcome here,” he tries to smile while his eyes are watering from the onions, almost finished cutting them. “People in my old fancy restaurant didn’t want that, they wanted you to think they were better than you, and if you thought their food wasn’t good, that’s because you’re not fancy enough, and you’re not welcome here.” 

“But that’s wrong,” Lola said with a slight frown, looking to her father for confirmation, and after he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, he beamed.

“Exactly,” he nodded and scraped the diced onions into the pan too, moving easily about the kitchen to pull mince from the refrigerator, “people liking something different to you is actually great; if everyone in the world liked Easy Cheese, we’d never be able to buy it!” And Lola laughed at that, the example making it easy for her to understand his point, “but making them feel bad for liking those things, that’s bad; that’s why I have my hair long, why I have my tattoos, they’re part of who I am, they’re part of my family’s history and where I come from, and I like them. If someone else is rude to me because of them, then I know right away that’s not someone I want in my life. People like to think they’re better than other people for stupid reasons sometimes.”

“Like if they’re fancy or not?” Lola asks, and Leo gives her a fond smile and nod.

“Like if they’re fancy or not.”

Leo’s not sure if Lola even remembers this, but he does. So when Lola, seventeen years old, standing in the kitchen, eating a ham and Easy Cheese sandwich after school, tells him that Charlotte, the girl in her art class, Tommy-from-the-party’s cousin, complimented her jacket, the pin-and-patch-covered, black, denim, proto-crust-punk, heirloom he’d loaned to her since she’d asked to wear it when starting a new school, and had barely gone a day without it, he can read into her smile even when it’s hidden behind her sandwich.

“Sounds like she has good taste,” Leo leans his hip against the counter top, legs feeling the warmth of the oven where he’s got a loaf of herb and garlic bread baking away. 

Lola spends a full twenty minutes enthusing about Charlotte’s taste in music, eyes bright and tone animated. He only interrupts her to hand her a packet of prosciutto and a bundle of asparagus, so she could help him prepare for dinner, but it doesn’t slow her down, hands working quickly, while Leo boiled potatoes and simmered some garlic in butter on a low heat. 

Both Lola and Leo know why Lola’s been so hesitant to make friends since moving, and she knows he’d never push her into friendship, but Lola also knows it hurts him to see her lonely.

“Hey dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lola says after a long pause, finally taking a breath after she’s finished recounting her day to him, “you know Queen, right?”

“Do I know Queen?” Leo jokingly scoffed, “Lola, I’m the one who introduced you to Queen.” He reminded, and Lola gave a small smile, but her heart wasn’t in it; she wasn’t usually nervous, but talking about this sort of thing still made her heart race a little. Seeing her hesitant expression, Leo’s own softens, and he turns down the potatoes to turn his full attention to her, “what about Queen?”

“I didn’t know Freddie’s sister was with the drummer,” Lola starts, fiddling with the final piece of asparagus. She’s quick to follow it up before she can chicken out, “and I didn’t know... she’s like Bowie, and Fred, and... and me, you know?” Lola finally wraps up the final vegetable and places it on the glass baking tray with the rest, before she looks to her father who was watching her pensively, hoping he understands what she’s trying to say.

“That’s little Rocket Mercury you’re talking about, isn’t it?” He asked as a smile stretched across his lips, “I heard that about her, I always thought she was so cool, she worked on Spinal Tap, you remember I took you to see Spinal Tap a few months ago?” 

Lola’s heart eases in her chest at his words, his warmth, the way he seems to reflect positively on the news. While Lola knew she didn’t have anything to worry about, since the whole reason Leo had taken her and moved across the country was her mother’s less-than-kind reaction to the news of Lola dating a girl, the memory of it all still made her nervous.

Leo’s entire face lights up, and he makes a loud exclamation, like suddenly remembering some vital information, snapping Lola out of her dwelling.

“How have I never played you any Dusty Springfield?” He announces, picking up the glass tray from the table and placing it to the side, “I’ve got some of her records in my collection,” the oven timer goes off and he asks Lola to watch the potatoes so they don’t overboil while he takes out the bread and puts the asparagus in, “Dusty’s like you too; she’s a pop-star from the sixties, lovely voice, told the Evening Standard she liked girls and boys all the way back in nineteen-seventy.” He says as he sets the timer for the asparagus, and Lola wraps her arms around him from behind, if only to hide how wide she’s smiling.

“She pretty?” Lola asked, grinning against his soft, woolen sweater. Leo gently pet her hands where they were wrapped around his middle, giving a warm laugh.

“Very; it’s no wonder girls and boys liked her too.”

Lola had never seen her father flinch in the face of change, and for that she would always be grateful for him. The only time she’d ever seen him lose his cool was when he’d come to her defense against her mother’s bigotted views; apart from that, she’d never known anyone more willing to go with the flow.

Take last week, for instance, Mick had taken Saturday off from the gas station to go look at the fixture Lola had mentioned not seemingly connected to anything. Leo had finally had the red and white, checkered floor installed earlier that week, and the booths had been reupholstered over Thursday and Friday in a shiny, inviting, deep peach, to compliment the warm aesthetic completed by the pleasantly sunny walls. 

One of the many things about Lola is that she know when people look at her father, they never expect him to be the embodiment of sunshine; six-foot-something, built like a tank from doing a majority of the manual labor around his diners on his own. His traditional, Hawaiian tattoos were on full display today, across his chest, arms, and legs, wearing a singlet and shorts despite it being the middle of winter, after spending all morning hauling an industrial freezer into the kitchen, with what little help Lola could offer. He wears his long, wavy black hair in a ponytail down his back; the only thing that ever betrayed the warmth of his personality was the crows feet by his eyes, the laugh lines around his mouth, and the kindness in his eyes themselves.

Leo Fields, teddy-bear in the body of a GI Joe, took one look at Mick Mars, the weary, rather scrawny teenager with barely any face visible for his long, shaggy, dyed black hair, and gave him a bright smile, ushering him inside. He introduces himself, and immediate asks what kind of music Mick listened to.

“I fucking hate Kiss,” Mick had said immediately, knee-jerk hostility, the way he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other being the only giveaway to how intimidated he felt.

“They can be a lot some times,” Leo had shrugged, gesturing to the jukebox, “I’ve already put a few of my favourites in, you wanna see if anything catches your eye?” Mick moves quietly, as if afraid to make a noise, even stepping in combat boots he barely makes a sound, and Leo makes mention that he’s going to freshen up, and that Lola knows what switch needs to be looked at. 

“Hendrix?” Mick says with a hint of pleased surprise, right before Leo leaves, and Lola’s father gives a nod.

“Put it on, man, turn it up loud; it’s Electric Ladyland in there, right?” And at Leo’s question, Mick nods. Leo gives a delighted thumbs up, and heads upstairs to the flat above the diner.

“That’s your dad?” Mick asks, voice low after Leo’s disappeared, hitting play on the Jimi Hendrix record. Lola’s sitting on the counter, swinging her legs; she knows looks like him, same face, same long, dark hair, same copper complexion, it’s usually the staggering difference in their respective physicalities that seemed to trip people up, so his confusion wasn’t a surprise.

“That’s my dad,” Lola agrees, with a slight nod, looking around the warm and inviting diner that still smelled like new vinyl from the seats. She’d light a candle or two later. 

Lola knows the rumours going around town about the diner, about how it’s owner was a chef, about how it’s hopefully going to serve better food than the last owners, but also how everyone knew very little about the new owner beyond that. It made her giddy, like she had a secret, to know that her father was capable of blowing their expectations out of the water with his food alone. Back in Salem, Leo’s was known for restaurant-quality food at, well, diner prices. All the fries were hand cut, there was always home made pie or slice or cookies on sale, the beef patties were made with real mince and mixed with Leo’s special blend of herbs and spices, and fish was delivered fresh, daily. 

Lola knew her father knew what it was like to be discriminated against based on his looks, and how hard he’d fought to prove his skills as a chef, so in turn, he hired based on attitude and experience, and trying to give those who may not have had a fair shot an opportunity. Leo had always paid well, treated his workers with kindness, and tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. The diner had only ever made a modest profit, despite it’s popularity, but it had never been about the money for her father.

Back at Lola’s old high school, if you were popular, you looked for a job at the mall, but if you were an outcast, a loner, or a stoner, you applied for Leo’s; her dad had the ability to bring out the best in people, no-one wanted to disappoint Leo.

Her dad would never go anything as gauche as brag, but he has always prided himself on the quality of his diner and his food, glad to be putting his years of training and experience to use for people who’s appreciate it. 

Mick clears his throat, snapping Lola out of her thoughts.

“Light switch?”

Mick thinks the switch probably connected to an exhaust fan the previous owner had removed, which baffled both Lola and Leo, seeing as how they’d had several exhaust fans installed, and the idea that this place had it’s one removed is unthinkable; how had they ever gotten the smell out?

After, Leo invites Mick up to have a look through his record collection, to recommend some for the jukebox, while he attempted a maple and walnut soufflé. 

The moment Mick mentions he wants to join a band, Leo lights up, peppers him with questions, what type of music he likes to play, his influences, what type of band he’d like to form. Seemingly unused to the overwhelming interest and positivity regarding his aspirations, Mick is almost startled into being forthcoming, and quickly warms to Lola’s dad.

While the soufflé’s in the oven, the three of them sit on the roof and smoke, while Leo reminisces about seeing Cream live, a few months after Lola was born, and how he’d swaddled her in his concert shirt, only for her to take a liking to it, and had used it as a blanket up until she started daycare. At hearing this, Lola ducks her head to hide her smile, knowing she still had that shirt, though it was more hole than shirt at this point, hanging in her cupboard. 

Occasionally, when she looks to him, Lola sees Mick regarding her with confusion, and okay, maybe she can understand why; he knows her to be reserved and dry, but with Leo, she’s outgoing and talkative and smiles so wide he can see her teeth. There’s barely a hint of her aloof façade around her father, and as Mick spends more time with him, it’s clear he can see why.

“Mick’s cool,” Leo announces with a grin when Mick himself has left, putting foil over the leftover soufflé for later, while Lola washes the few dishes and is more than happy to agree with him.

They spend Sunday decorating the diner, making it look less sparse with photos and hanging and various bits of music and pop culture memorabilia, while the jukebox blared rock and roll. A few people pass by in time to see Lola and Leo in an air guitar competition, but neither of them really care. Leo’s looks more like home by the time the sun goes down. 

there will always be someone better than you. but on the bright side, who cares?

Eileen sits next to her in AP French during the entire last week of school for the semester. Everything she does seems so perfectly calculated, this change in seating included, but she refuses to acknowledge it. Heather clicks her tongue, clearly annoyed that Eileen had taken the seat she had previously vacated the day Lola staked her own next to it, and judging by Eileen’s innocent little smile, that alone made it worth it.

Lola tries not to pay too much attention to Heather, pretty, mean, and popular, almost the exact stereotype Lola had assumed Charlotte to be before she’d actually befriended her. They only have French together, but Heather keeps watching her, Lola sees it out of the corner of her eye, but her glare has become more speculative, more thoughtful as the weeks have passed, and Lola’s not quite sure what to make of it. Whatever scathing personal attack Heather’s probably working on is her business, she doesn’t know shit about Lola, so Lola tries not to care.

Once Eileen sits next to Lola, the glare comes back in full force anyhow.

On Thursday, the last AP French lesson for the semester, Eileen offers Lola a stick of spearmint gum, and it feels kind of like a test. Lola takes the gum anyways, and Eileen smiles at her, surprisingly genuine. 

“You’re Charlotte’s friend,” Lola says, and Eileen’s smile widens.

“You’re the girl who kissed her cousin,” she says. Lola’s whole expression falls, mouth flattening into a thin, unamused line, ready to go on the defensive. 

“And?”

Eileen shrugs, says nothing more on the subject, instead, glancing at Lola’s hands.

“My mom would kill me for wearing black nail polish, but it looks so cool on you,” She says, and Lola bites back a jaded response about her own mother, looking to her own hands, and the fresh and shiny coat of polished she’d applied the night before. 

“Your mom kind of sounds like an asshole, if black nail polish is enough to get her riled up,” Lola says, without even thinking about how harsh the words sounded, but once the words are out, she adds, “and I know from asshole moms,” for good measure. Internally, she’s berating herself; if she talks about her mom, she’s terrified that she’s eventually going to answer questions about her mom, like where she was, and why Lola hates her.

“She’s just a perfectionist, and I don’t think black would suit me anyhow, so it’s not really an issue,” Eileen responds, as if she barely cares that Lola implied her mother was an asshole, and Lola lets herself relax a little, “I’m partial to a french tip,” Eileen holds out her hands to show her own manicure, the pale pink and white practically gleaming, obviously salon done. 

“I coloured Tommy’s nails with sharpie,” Lola says while looking at Eileen’s elegant fingers, and Eileen actually huffs a laugh at that.

“I saw; he’s very proud of them.” 

Something in Lola’s chest tightens at that; Charlotte seemed to be a good enough judge of character, and she liked Eileen well enough, so that, for now, was good enough for Lola.

Perhaps that’s why Lola had taken so long to actually speak to Nikki Sixx, despite both Charlotte and Tommy being adamant they’d get along, Charlotte’s proclamation that Nikki was kind of a tool held her back.

It’s not that she doesn’t know who he is; she’s figured out the guy who sleeps through her English classes, is trying to make an acoustic guitar in shop, and who is part of her music classes - once she’d decided to show up to those - is the same person she’d seen on stage in leather pants back at the pub. The guy who Charlotte had yelled at. A tool. Apart from the week the rumours had started circulating about her, he never paid her much attention, so she never felt the need to introduce herself. If he was a tool, she could leave him well enough alone.

Until the first day of the Winter break, apparently. Though for the record, he was the one who spoke to her.

There were technically two music shops in the local mall, a ten minute walk from Lola’s flat above the diner; she’s glad to be close to the CBD, but it also means she can’t justify asking her dad for a ride when it would take her less time to walk than it would for him to find parking. 

But Monday, December 27th, was absolutely fucking freezing. 

The mall itself is teeming with people looking to spend the money they’d gotten over the holiday period, and the workers had already taken down the gaudy Christmas Tree that had sat in the middle of the food court. 

Lola was there at her father’s behest, sticking up and handing out flyers announcing New Year’s Day as Leo’s grand opening, and that they were hiring. She gives everyone at the food court a flyer, sticks up several in various locations, and thinks about heading back to the food court for a second round, to catch any newcomers, or anyone she may have missed, when she spots the music shops.

Bass and Treble were owned by the same people, however Treble seemed to be geared towards more classical music, with pianos and violins and flutes and all manor of orchestra-esque instruments available, while Bass seemed to be committed to rock and roll. 

Nikki Sixx finds Lola crouched in front of the display of sheet music on sale in Bass. 

“Lola, right?”

Lola stands so fast at his voice that her head spins, but she tries not to let it show. She’s on alert when she looks at him, tense, already scowling, which only deepens when she sees who it is.

“Nikki Sixx,” his name is not a question when it leaves her lips, but he seems pleased rather than concerned, that his reputation apparently preceded him. He nods, and looks over at what she’d been examining. 

“Anything good?” He asked, and Lola looks over her shoulder at the display. She’d been seriously considering a book of Elton John’s hits for piano before he’d come along. 

“Still deciding; why?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, taking his time to look nonchalantly at the various amps nearby, “you look like you’d be into this sort of thing,” he notes, acting all smug and coy and weird; Lola rolled her eyes, but didn’t answer.

“You were at my gig, we’re you? Hanging out with that guy from the gas station, right? Mick?” Something about his tone had Lola on edge and defensive.

“You guys were okay,” she says flatly, making it clear as she can that that’s barely a compliment; Nikki, however, smile widely.

“Glowing review, I’ll add it to our poster,” he smirks, before he finally looks her over, gaze zeroing in on the flyers in her hands, “speaking of -” and he snatches one, not that she’s protesting, that’s another one she doesn’t have to get rid of. Nikki’s reading the flyer and frowning, while Lola lets her attention wander to the various keyboards they have on display.

“Where’s this?” Nikki pipes up, sounding genuinely interested, while Lola’s idly playing scales with one hand on the closest, off keyboard.

“A few blocks away,” Lola still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the town’s geography, “across the road from The Kings Hotel, where I saw you play -”

“The old MacCready place?”

“It’s Leo’s now,” Lola says, arms crossed, sitting low in her hips as she regards Nikki, and the way he’s going over every little detail of the poster, “Charlotte says you’re a tool.”

“Charlotte just hates that she likes me so much,” Nikki doesn’t even miss a beat before answering, and when he looks up to catch Lola’s reaction, his grin is all teeth. Lola can’t help the slight smile she wears as she takes in his response.

“I can see why,” Lola’s not quite sure what she’s going for with her own response, but it comes out more teasing than cutting, and there’s something in Nikki’s eye, or in his smile, or maybe it’s in his easy laughter, that has her heart beating weird in her chest.

A moment passes between them, a shift in the tone, the energy of the interaction as Lola drops her immediate hostility; she’s been doing that a lot lately, but she tries not to dwell on it. It’s now she gets a proper look at him, at his ripped jeans and all black, leather jacket, hair sprayed to high heavens like he’s about to join Poison; he looks unkempt and mean, and Lola’s kind of really into it.

They’re checking each other out, sizing each other up, and they both seem to find something in the other they like, because Nikki’s grinning at Lola when gaze meets hers again, and she’s smirking right back.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she tells him, hip cocked for a moment before she saunters past him, knocking into him with her shoulder purposefully. When Nikki stumbles back, he huffs a laugh, and Lola calls over her shoulder, “Leo’s is hiring by the way, Leo himself would probably love a fucker like you.”

[milkybunbuns]

i. new beginnings → perfection masterlist → next

w/c: 3.3k

warnings: bnha spoilers ahead (season 1 episode 5 mainly)

a/n: this series will follow closely with the anime although I might be missing parts of it since it’s been a while since I watched BNHA. also i went overboard with this aishhh, though I don’t think future chapters will be so long oh and I couldn’t be original so I stole the quirk idea from one of my old fics on wattpad and added more abilities to it haha

“Aww comee onn you really can’t be sending me to UA, you know how much I like being at home with you!”, you whined at Keigo, grabbing tightly onto his arm and digging the soles of your feet into the carpet of the living room.

 The said man sighed, facepalming, “Look nuggie, I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable but you’re gonna have to interact with people if you’re going to become a popular pro hero in the future like me!!”

“But can’t you just keep home schooling and training me?”

“I would, but I have hero work to do as well at the agency and I wouldn’t have enough time to help you out”, you pouted and kept your ground in the living room. It had already been a fussy morning with Keigo chasing you everywhere to get you to put on your uniform. With a final rub of his temples he spoke up again, “I’ll let you buy anything at the grocery store tonight?”

You looked up at him and stuck a pinky out, “Pinky promise?”

“Yup!!” and before you could even respond he scooped you up, already flying out of the building and flying towards what you assumed was the direction of UA.

“Please warn me next time!”, you yelled over the wind as you held on tightly, you would use your quirk but you still didn’t have a licence and you were still learning how to fly through narrow spaces. Crashing into a building didn’t sound very appetising at the moment. It wasn’t too long before you spotted the easily recognisable glass building of UA, Keigo slowing down for a landing and allowing you to get off.

“Alright I’ll see you later nuggie!”, he waved cheerily, already getting ready to take off.

You just nervously responded with an “uh-huh”, while examining the surroundings, students bustling everywhere. Alright 1-A it was, I should probably ask someone, maybe someone who looks nice. Hmm, how about that purple-haired boy, yeah, he looks like a senior and doesn’t look too bad. You briskly walked up to the purple haired male with elf ears, “Err, hii-”

He looked up at you with shock and you could see bullets of sweat dripping off his forehead, “u-uh h-h-hi”, he meekly responded, looking like he was going to die any second. 

Just as you were about to ask for directions to 1-A, too cherry voices called out to the boy in front of you, “Woah, you’re socialising Tamaki! Great job!”, a blonde boy with blue eyes strolled up to his friend, grinning brightly and giving him two thumbs up.”

“Hey Mirio! Wait up!!”, you turned around, immediately spotting a light blue haired girl rushing towards her friends waving happily. She must’ve noticed you standing there awkwardly and quickly came to your rescue, “Hi!! I’m Nejire and that’s Tamaki and Mirio! You must be a first year here!”, she smiled at you gently, pointing to the respective people as she introduced you to them.

“Nice to meet you Nejire-senpai, I’m L/n Y/n. Also do you know where 1-A is, I’m kinda lost”, you had enrolled as L/n Y/n instead of Takami Y/n as to not reveal the last name of Hawks since it was meant to be kept secret for some reason he didn’t tell you about.

“Speak no more, we’ll guide you there since we’re the big 3 after all!”

“Huh, what’s the big 3?”

“Oh, it’s basically 3 students in their third years who are talented and I guess you could say that’s us. Come on Mirio and Tamaki, let’s help bring this student to her class.”

Mirio took your right side, while Nejire led on in front, pointing out different buildings and Tamaki in the back.

“I’m Mirio! Great to meet you!”, he reached a hand to shake with you which you quickly did, “Same here Mirio-senpai, I’m L/n Y/n.”

“You’ll be seeing us around the school plenty, so if you ever have any questions, feel free to ask us or any of the teaching staff, they’re always happy to help! Well, I guess I can’t really say the same about Mr. Aizawa..”

“Oh, isn’t Mr. Aizawa, Eraserhead?”

“Yeah, he is and as a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure he’s going to be your teacher this year.”

“That’s uhh wonderful, he sounds like a great guy!”, you replied awkwardly trying to sound cheery.

“Don’t worry too much, you’ll do fine”, he patted you on the back reassuringly and at the same moment, Nejire announced that you had arrived at 1A.

“Thank you Nejire, Mirio and Tamaki-senpai”, you bowed to them, before they sought you off, heading for their own classes. Pushing the door open, the room was already bustling with students and you scanned your eyes over the room finding a seat between a spiky red hair boy and a green haired girl who looked a bit like a frog. Honestly, the random desk at the back seemed wonderful at first, but you remembered how Keigo had encouraged you to sit around more social people and they seemed social enough. It was probably the least you could do after he went through all the convincing with Nezu and some other things to get you to UA without having to take any tests.

You were really relieved when neither of them didn’t bother to talk to you, or notice you maybe, and continued on chatting to their friends. It seemed like you were just on time, the bell ringing and yet not any sight of any teacher. Frowning slightly, you were about to get up and go to the staff room which Nejire had pointed out earlier to search for Aizawa-sensei.

 Luckily, he arrived in some sort of yellow sleeping bag which slightly resembled a cocoon, announcing in a sorta lazy and flat tone, “Go somewhere else if you want to play at being friends. This is the hero course.”

The room quickly quieted down and became silent as everyone averted their attention to Aizawa, “It took 8 seconds before you quieted down. You kids aren’t rational enough. I’m your homeroom teacher Shota Aizawa. Nice to meet you. This is sudden, but put this on”, he presented a UA PE uniform out of thin air, or maybe he had it hidden inside his sleeping bag that whole time? “And meet me at the field after.”

Without any hesitation, everyone got up and grabbed their PE uniform from the desk which had their names on the packaging, likely to have been pre-ordered and filed out of the classroom towards the lockers. You grabbed yours, grimacing as a blond spiky haired boy shoved past you, resisting the temptation to yell at him and give him a piece of your mind. Like what, how can someone be so rude!

Upon arrival at the locker rooms, you didn’t really try to socialise with anyone, nor did they, I mean, your locker was in the back corner so they probably wouldn’t notice you anyways which was fine to you. To draw the least attention towards yourself, you waited until all the other girls had headed out happily chatting among themselves, then followed closely behind them and out onto the field where pretty much everyone was already assembled. 

“We’ll be having a quirk assessment test”, well there came the flat recognisable tone of Aizawa, he would definitely be an interesting teacher, that’s all you could say for him. Everyone either goraned or shrieked in horrification at this announcement, quirk assessment on the first day? Well damn, okay, thought first day would be a bit more chill. Kinda ironic for someone who seems like he can’t be bothered to do much himself.

“But what about the entrance ceremony or orientation?”, some girl piped up, yup definitely a bubbly one, she should be pretty easy to make friends with.

Okay at this point Aizawa was just getting a bit too blunt, “If you’re going to become a hero you don’t have time for such leisurely events. UA’s selling points is that it’s ways aren’t traditional, which is the same as how the teachers teach.” You watched him carefully as he skimmed over the class, landing on the rude blond spiky kid from earlier, “Bakugo, you finished top of the practical test, didn’t you? What was your furthest throw in middle school?” So Bakugo is his name, I’ll just stay away from him.

The said boy looked up cockily, a shit eating grin on his face, “67 meters.”

“Okay, then try throw this ball, but you can use your quirk.”

“Sure”, he grabbed the ball, leaning back on one foot in the circle and yelling “DIE!” as the ball flew off. It wasn’t took long before a beep came from a device that Aizawa was holding, showing 705.2 meters.

“Know your maximum first, that’s the most rational way to forming the foundations of a hero”, he seriously seemed to have something with things being done rationally...

A chorus of woah’s were heard throughout the class, well that sure did blow up that Bakugo’s ego. His ego must’ve been too big for his own good.

“This is going to be fun!”, an alien looking girl exclaimed punching her fist in the air.

Followed by a black haired boy excitedly looking on, “So we get to use our quirks as much as we want!”

And yet again, the mood came crashing down as Aizawa spoke up again, “It looks fun, huh? You have three years to become a hero, you think it’ll be all fun and games? Sure, then whoever comes last in the 8 tests will be expelled. Welcome to UA’s hero course!”, earning another screech form the class including yourself. Alright Y/n, you are NOT wasting this change Keigo gave you and you better do well in this!

“Let’s begin shall we? Starting with the 50m dash.”

The first two up were blue haired boy and the frog looking girl who sat next to you in class and before you could even blink, the blue haired boy was already off, speeding past the finish line. His quirk must’ve something to do with speed, so don’t panic Y/n, there’s only so much you can do with speed, you encouraged yourself determinedly looking on. And maybe you were a bit tooo busy encouraging yourself when you noticed the same bubbly brown haired girl patted you on the back.

“Hey, it’s your turn. Also, I’m Ochaco Uraraka, nice to meet you!”

“Thanks Ochaco-san, I’m L/n Y/n. We can continue to chat after these tests, sorry”, you apologetically looked at her before rushing towards the starting line. Beside you, was a white and red haired male with a red scar over his left eye. Okay that’s edgy, time to focus! You activated your quirk allowing wings to grow on your back through the use of light energy which was absorbed through two horns on your head.

Ready

Set

Go!

You flapped your wings as fast as you could making it in 4 seconds which wasn’t too much faster than the guy behind you gliding along with ice. Your brain quickly put together what his quirk was, white represents ice and red must represent fire. Wonder why he didn’t use his fire like the explosions of that Bakugo boy, it would’ve been much faster than skating.

Then came the grip test which you absolutely flunked, only coming in at 43kg which was pretty much the lowest in the class. Well what can some damn light energy do to help increase your grip? All it’ll do is burn your hands off.

After came the standing long jump with you passed with breeze, just flying to clear the sandbox and with the repeated side steps you simply used pure speed to get through it. And at last, came the ball throw the one which you were most excited for since you had a great plan to get a good score. When it came up to your turn you grabbed the ball tightly throwing it up in the air gently right above you, then activating your quirk and encasing it in a bright bubble made of light energy, then sent it off, controlling the bubble to keep going forwards without leaving the circle at all. You concentrated hard, thinking about the ball in your mind and it got more difficult to control until you couldn’t visualise it’s location anymore and let it drop. A beep was heard as Aizawa presented you with his device, showing 1638 meters.

Satisfied with your work, you smiled a bit and got back to your place.

“Midoriya, your turn”, the green haired boy nervously walked forwards, grabbing onto the ball and throwing it. You almost scoffed, if you didn’t feel the teeniest bad for the poor boy who had seemed so confused. Something was surely off about him, how did someone who can barely even use or control their quirk get into UA... He was given another chance, getting almost the same as Bakugo, except his hand turned a weird purple colour. That must be one powerful quirk for one weak body, you grimaced at his injury.

“Ow, that’s gotta hurt, Aizawa-sensei sure is harsh”, Ochaco frowned at the scene in front.

“I mean yeah he is, but not gonna lie, if I was in Aizawa’s spot I’d seriously be wondering how he got in, though he does have some potential with a quirk as powerful as his.”

“I’m sure he’ll get better, hopefully he’s not last, I’m really hoping that Mineta kid gets expelled, I already don’t really like him just by the looks of him.”

“Either it’s a crush or just you dislike Mineta, but then again, you shouldn’t be judging a book by its cover.”

“Eh what make sure you think that!”, she panicked cheeks flushed, “Its just that Mineta guy really seems like a perv.”

“Well, in that case, I guess it’s kinda his own fault, first impressions are key.”

“That’s true I guess.”

The two of you were snapped out of your conversation when Aizawa’s voice rang through the field, pulling up a projection, or was it a hologram? Anyways, you quickly skimmed through the board, searching for your name and you were glad to see you had landed a decent spot, coming in 3rd, just behind the Todoroki kid. And in last came Midoriya, ow, that’s seriously gotta be a huge blow to his self esteem.

“No ones actually gonna get expelled, it was just a rational deception to get you all to go beyond.”

“It was clear it was a rational deception”, Momo who you had seen on the top of the board piped up unhelpfully.

“Ughhh well that’s just greaaat”, you groaned into your hands “and now we appear to have a smartie genius know it all in our class as well”, you muttered annoyed as Ochaco sweat dropped patting your back slowly.

“L/n, you should not be so disrespectful to your classmates!”, Iida reprimanded, chopping his arms up and down.

“Okay thank you thank you.”

Finally school had been dismissed and you stood outside the gates of UA, impatiently tapping your feet as you waited for Keigo to come pick you up as other students made their own way home. It had been 10 minutes already and the bird brain still hadn’t picked you up! Welll, he didn’t really ever specify that he would come pick you up, you just kinda assumed? Frowning, you activated your quirk, not give one hec about the no quirk in public rule since walking home would take forever and you didn’t have that kind of time smh. Flapping your wings and stretching your arms, you prepared to take off and far into the sky where the police wouldn’t be able to see you flying around.

“What are you doing using your quirk in public without a licence?”, a loud voice boomed, stopping you in your tracks.

“Oh hi Endeavour-san!”, you smiled a bit, continuing to ignore his words and continue what you were going to do. You were really great at being annoying and ignoring people, just a trait you picked up from Hawks I guess.

Endeavour deadpanned, “You’re not allowed to be using your quirk and I know you don’t have a licence, so you need to go and take public transport or walk like everyone else.” He was completely ignored as you started floating a bit, “Well, I’ll be off then! Have a wonderful evening Endeavour-san and Todoroki-san.”

You flew off, but before you could get anywhere, Endeavour was already pulling you down by your foot, I mean, considering how strong he is, it succeeded. “Okay then Mr.Smartie, how am I meant to get home now without my quirk huh? I have no clue how public transport works”, you sneered at him, huffing and crossing your arms unimpressed.

“Go walk home.”

“But it takes a long time.”

“Then go figure out the public transport time schedules.”

At this point, you were sick and tired of him and Todoroki looked pretty annoyed as well, so you decided to do everyone a favour. You grabbed Todoroki by the wrist running off and dragging him while waving back at Endeavour, “I promise I’ll return him in one piece! You don’t need to worry!!”

Endeavour was about to chase after you, but you were already gone and out of sight, whatever, he had to return to his patrol anyways. It could also be good training for Shoto to deal with the annoying villains, not saying you were a villain, but you sure did fit that annoying standard.

“Your welcome”, you yawned lazily, staring up at the sky while walking. Todoroki was still confused but if being with you let him get away from being with his father he was more than glad too. Plus, he could use this chance to find any weaknesses about you, you seemed quite strong and could be someone to look out for in the UA sports festival.

“How did you talk to my father like that? Most people would’ve never had the guts to do it.”

“Wellll, for one, I’m not most people and I know him pretty well, I’ve talked to him a lot of times on his patrols. There’s almost nothing scary about him, he’s just a big fire guy walking around with an angry voice, but it’s not like he can harm any of us, he’s a hero.”

Todoroki felt his blood boil at what you had said, Endeavour was no hero, driving his mother to the end of her wits, training him harshly from a young age, some hero. But the rational part of his brain won over the emotional part, explaining that you were an outsider and had no clue as to their personal lives. Todoroki was intrigued with your quirk, he wanted to learn more about what it could do, all he knew so far was that you had the ability to create wings, bubbles made of light energy and not very much else. Considering you were the sister of Hawks (Endeavour had told him, I guess that’s something that Endeavour is useful for), he honestly expected more, but you could be holding back. He considered asking you more about your quirk but that would probably make you put walls up around yourself and see him as a threat. It was probably just best to wait and see your full potential.

You noticed it had become silent and nobody had anything to say, enveloping both of you in an awkward silence. Well, you were pretty sure you were the only one feeling awkward. You made up some lame excuse and sent Todoorki off on his way, glad to be out off the awkward silence. UA wasn’t that bad, you supposed.

next

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 9

As she and Aizawa approached the door to the principal's office, she noticed he went to slow down to knock but Eras wasn’t dumb.

She saw that camera hidden in the wood of the door.

Without missing a beat, she walked forward through the now open doors as Aizawa faltered for half a second. Muttering the words ‘fuckin rat’ under his breath and Eras took a sharp breath as she held back a snort. Instead, she turned her attention to Nedzu and All Might. The latter was sitting on a couch and the minute Eras turned her head to him and sniffed, she could smell the metallic scent of blood. He was covered in the scent. A tell tale sign of injury.

Not that she didn’t know about that before she entered the room.

Is it really that surprising for a few people to figure out a national secret when it was literally walking around?

“Ah Eras-san,” of course the rat had listened in on their conversation at the gate, “Welcome, please have a seat. Tea?” Nedzu asked, his tone deceptively light.

“Thank you, If you have any green tea that would be delightful. I can only stomach certain kinds of tea.” That was a lie, well kind of. In reality Eras just didn’t like most human drinks or food, preferring coffee and Boba to just tea. Green Tea’s are the only kind she can have without it tasting like getting hit in the face with a bunch of spices. A consequence of her vampire attributes.

“Of course, I'll prepare that right away!” Eras nodded and watched as Nedzu started making the tea before taking her gaze off of him to settle it on the #1 pro.

She narrowed her eyes.

The man flinched.

Good.

“Before we start Nedzu,” an flip of the tail told her he was listening, “I think we could agree that All Might should save his time for when the Bakugo’s get here considering it would be a shock for them to see the hero deflate like a balloon after a 5 year old’s birthday party.”

All Might instantly deflated and started hacking up blood. Nedzu was cackling and Eras could hear the softly muttered ‘deserved’ from behind her where Aizawa was standing, leaned against the wall.

“How?!?” All Might stammered. Eras just sighed and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, her face the picture of unimpressed.

“You are a walking national secret that could potentially throw the country of japan into chaos with merely announcing said injury. I believe it's quite honestly predictable that at least someone would know about it. Besides, Nedzu wasn’t the only individual trying to get access to the veil. People in the veil are beyond what constitutes as human. Especially when it comes to life expectancy. Some people who wish to live long lives to further their ideals come to the veil seeking answers. Supervillains and the like.” The man's face paled at the last part and Eras felt a bit of relief at that.

At least he wasn’t a total idiot when it came to reading between the lines.

(Eras had been keeping track of All for One since she learned of his existence. Even after the man supposedly died, she made sure to keep an ear out.)

“Besides, even if I didn’t know beforehand, as you’ve demonstrated you're consistently either covered in blood, or seconds away from expelling it. I could smell it the moment I walked in here.” Eras stated simply. Reveling in the man’s confused fear.

That was until a tea cup was placed in front of her.

Nedzu was vibrating with glee.

Oh. Oh no. She had forgotten Nedzu didn’t know what race she was yet. Fuck.

“Thank you.” she said, conveniently ignoring her slip up. What he doesn’t know can’t be used against her.

“You're quite welcome. The Bakugo’s will be here in another 20 minutes since it does take a bit of time to arrive from their place of work.” The rat smiled that polite smile that grated her nerves wrong. That was the fake smile of something inhuman trying to act as society demands.

Just like her own tight lipped smile.

She sighed and turned to Nedzu. Eyes that were once black were now glowing a toxic green as she allowed herself to smile fully, fangs displayed for everyone in the room to see. Ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the occupant still leaned against the wall and sputtering All Might, Eras kept her gaze on Nedzu. Conveying with her inhuman qualities that she wouldn’t judge him.

The feral smile she got in return was satisfying.

“You can ask Nedzu. You have 20 minutes after all.” Eras allowed her eyes to dim back to their black and returned to her usual smile.

Nedzu kept his feral smile in place as his eyes gleamed and Eras came to a conclusion. She liked the chimera. Sure she will still call him rat man and other nicknames but he was truly just curious. Also, he stopped at verbal answers instead of testing every and anything like the elves.

“Based on what I’ve seen, you're a vampire. Though you do greatly contradict the basic stereotype for your kind found in lore and novels. Evident especially with the green glow we were allowed to witness, as well as having short fangs on the bottom row of teeth with the usual top and longer ones. Is that the norm or are you different?”

Right for the gut huh? Eras returned her sharp smile to her face. She could appreciate intellect and getting to the heart of a matter quickly and efficiently.

“As you’ve already hypothesized,” she saw Nedzu’s grin grow wider, “I am not normal for my kind. Specifically, my title is an ‘Origin’, in lore and new veil members though, I am referred to as a pureblood. True to the name, I was born the way I am a long time ago.”

“How intriguing. Muska had informed us before but vampires were the original members of the veil and held most of the information. I won’t press for more since we were already told we were going to be limited, however what exactly is the hierarchy like for Vampires? I assume Origin is a title for someone relatively high on the social hierarchy.”

Eras leaned back in her chair, sighing a bit as she remembered the fact that she was directly involved in politics, even if she was only called upon for those meetings, but she shook her head to get back on track.

“Essentially, we are ruled through clans, which then are ranked socially and politically by generation. Not generation as in blood descendants but generation by creation.” Eras shifted a bit as she gestured to her fangs. “Purebloods can create vampire brethren, fledglings, through a process I will not explain for reasons. These are known as 1st generations and resemble what you’re used to except things like weakness to silver and garlic. Honestly, I have no clue as to where that comes from. As you expect, anyone they turn are 2nds and they make 3rds. There are rules in place for those who are 4th generation though because at that point, for unknown reasons, the created creature is not a vampire but a Parafron, a bloodthirsty hunter that loses its mind within the first 100 years.”

Nedzu seemed to catch the implication because his eyes seemed to gleam brighter, if that was possible.

“You're a clan leader.” He simply stated. Eras nodded with a small smirk.

“Yes, as you may have noticed, I have a… mark... on my neck. Contrary to belief, I didn’t get a tattoo. I was born with it to mark what clan I’m from. A side effect from being an origin. My clan, however, is smaller than the rest due to my specific responsibilities that come with the mark.”

She could tell Nedzu noticed she was skirting around names and titles. Thankfully the chimera simply nodded and looked towards his computer. His smile dimmed and the gleam faded from his eyes as he turned back.

“Seems the Bakugo’s have arrived! Present Mic is currently meeting and leading them here.”

Eras nodded and she returned her now narrowed gaze to an All Might who squirmed. He had definitely forgotten her ire during her and Nedzu’s convo.

A mistake.

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

Muska was very concerned.

Why?

Greenie was very concerning.

When Eras had left, Muska turned back to greenie who had been spluttering still from Eras' blatant appreciation for saving her ass. The teen looked shocked, as if he didn’t just save her from third degree chemical burns. Sighing, which grabbed the teen’s attention back to her, Muska raised an eyebrow and stared at Midoriya.

“Did you expect her not to thank you? You literally dragged me out of the way of an explosion while I was frozen. Admittedly, not my best moment. You acted just like a hero and all that jazz, you deserve the thanks. Oh btw, when Eras means if you need anything, she means if you need anything. Even hiding a body she’d help as long as she gets plausible deniability.” Muska said, watching as very green eyes started to water.

At the last bit, Midoriya let out a wet snort and held a hand to his mouth to muffle it. Then he darted up, ramrod straight, as he returned wide eyes to Muska’s. He seemed to search her for something which made Muska more than just a little confused.

“Do you mean it?”

It was softly said. She almost didn’t hear it, but when she did she was even more confused.

“Mean what?”

“That I acted like a h-hero?”

“Of course? Why would I lie about that?” she asked, confusion lacing every word in genuine puzzlement.

It seemed that was the breaking point because Midoriya broke out into sobs. Not knowing what to do, Muska stared wide-eyed as her new friend(?) started to break down in front of her. Not knowing if touch would help, which she also really didn’t want to do because she wasn’t fond of contact with people she didn’t know well (nor did she know what to say), she just stared awkwardly. The part that worried her most though, was how near silent his crying was. As if he wouldn’t, no couldn’t, make a sound.

The sobs tapered off and Muska sat up and turned towards Midoriya. She made sure he calmed down enough to listen, but not quite enough for the sheepish ‘I’m sorry’ to finish coming out of his mouth.

“It's a fine greenie. If you’d be willing, mind explaining if I did something wrong? I also assume I’m on friendship level one considering it’s the second day of school so I don’t expect answers but I’d appreciate a heads up. Are they at least happy tears?” Muska made sure her features were softer than normal, a hard earned skill since she had a resting bitch face that scared people away when she wasn’t focused on playing nice.

That and the barking. Could you blame her if it worked in keeping assholes away?

Midoriya snapped his head up and started throwing his hands around in a rejection gesture before he whipped off excess tears in order to speak over the floodgates of his eyes. Seriously, he could probably fill a bathtub.

“Oh no no, these are happy tears! It’s just, no one has ever really said that to me before. The hero thing. So I was just… really happy?” A hand raised to sheepishly hold the back of Greenie's neck as left over tears spilled and a bright red blush poked through tan freckled skin.

“Why wouldn’t they? I mean Hero’s seem pretty important to Japanese society so like, there must have been a few?” Muska said. This conversation was giving her very bad vibes. Like curtains that block you from seeing someone in a hospital bed. All ominous and nerve wracking.

“I uh-” He cuts off, thinking hard about what he was about to say. He glanced over a few times, soaking in the honest confusion on her face, and possibly going over every detail of their meetings so far this year.

“I- I well, I may have manifestedmyquirkduringtheentranceexam-” Midoriya stuttered and launched the words out of his mouth fast enough that they were barely intelligible, only to slam his mouth shut with a click and wide eyes.

“Ok? I am…. Still very confused here. What does manifesting your quirk that late have to do with the hero bit? Granted that does explain your lack of control.” Muska added, somewhat regretting the last bit when Midoriya flinched,

Then, he shot up ramrod straight and disbelief started to enter his eyes as he processed her last statement.

“I was- I was quirkless most of my life?” He added, his posture defensive and prepared to take a hit. Emotionally or physically.

“So?”

A minute passed. Then 2 more.

Midoriya promptly burst into tears again and Muska sighed. A world weary heavy sigh.

She’s so done with everything today.

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

Tags:

@baguettehead

[guildedlily6]

You Plus Me Equals Soulmates Part 4 (Peter Parker x Reader Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Things continue to grow tense between Liz and Y/N after the results of the house party.  Meanwhile, things heat up between Y/N and Peter Parker.  Is Y/N Peter’s soulmate?  Or will Liz interfere?

Author’s Note: Hey, you may have noticed I’ve been posting parts for this imagine every day for the past three days, but I’m sorry to say don’t get too used to it.  I am writing mainly at night due to me having online school during the day (yay quarantine) which usually ends in me up until 4 or 5am.  There is a Part 5 in the makings because of the unresolved things in this part with Liz and more that I’m not going to spoil for you right now.  Click on the links below to read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Word Count: 2,824

Warnings: swearing, fluff (if that counts as a warning)

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

So it’s official.  My former best friend, Liz Allen, and Peter Parker are no longer going to homecoming together.  Partially because of me.  But maybe Liz and Peter were never meant to go to homecoming together in the first place.

It’s been about two weeks since the mortifying incident at Liz’s house party that ended up all over social media.  I was a school-wide meme for about two weeks before the Principle got involved and started handing out detentions and even suspensions to anyone who even mentioned the party or posted about it on some social platform.  Out of anyone in the school, though, Liz chats about it the most.  She won’t talk to me directly, but word travels fast when you’re 16 and the gossip of the school, so I hear every little thing she has to say about me.  So far, I’ve ignored it.  I have other things on my mind.

Peter Parker is sitting across the room from me in 7th period, writing something in his chemistry journal.  I do have to admit, things were extraordinarily awkward once he found out about the drama, pictures, and videos of me yelling “I don’t care about Peter Parker!” in front of everyone to see, but unlike Liz, I talked things out with him and we’re actually friends now.

Friends.  Do people really think about their friends the same way I think about Peter?

The answer is no.  Ever since the party, I couldn’t stop thinking about brown curls, eyes that hold such softness, and the familiar smile.

I’ve accepted the part of me that wishes to see a matching equal sign tattoo on Peter’s wrist, by now.  What I haven’t accepted is that confronting Peter about my newfound feelings is necessary in order to discover if he feels the same way and with the same intensity as me.

“That wraps up today’s lesson.  Homework is due tomorrow and if it is not turned in, it will be entered as an automatic zero,” rings the usual monotonous voice of my chemistry teacher.  I tuck papers and folders into my backpack, packing up just before the bell rings.

Slinging the backpack around my shoulders, I stand up only to notice someone is waiting for me.

Peter smiles gently.  “We have a Decathlon meeting today,” he reminds me. Right.  Liz is also in our Decathlon club, which is a small problem, but “everyone is a necessary member of our team” as Mr.Harrington would say.

“So are you and Liz going to fight or something?  I mean, you didn’t last week or the week before that in Decathlon club or in the hallways… or in any of your classes together, but if you do plan to fight, tell me,” Ned says eagerly, rushing to catch up with Peter and I.

“Liz and I are not going to fight, Ned.”  For the past week, Ned has been trying to convince me that the only way to settle things once and all for Liz and I is to throw down in the middle of the hallway, or something along the lines of that. Two weeks ago, I totally would’ve been up to forcefully shove my fist into Liz’s face, but now I’m not in the mood to get expelled.  Honestly, the whole mess shouldn’t be as big of a deal as it is.  I feel like I’m back in preschool, fighting over a toy.  Not only is Peter not a toy, but he’s also made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with Liz.

However, Peter hasn’t exactly made a move to ask another person to homecoming yet.

Peter, Ned, and I walk into the gymnasium, other members of the Decathlon club already sitting in chairs.

“Just get seated please!  Today we’re going to figure who’s going to Washington with everyone for the National Decathlon,” Mr.Harrington announces while unfolding chairs.

MJ sees us and greets us with a nod that says ‘sup’, Flash looks at Peter and laughs, whispering something to his friend, and Liz regards the three of us with a yawn.

I sit down in between Peter and Ned.

“Alright, so all of you have paid the club dues which means you’re all technically allowed to go to Washington with us.  Who thinks they may have a conflict with the trip from April 30th-May4th?”  Mr.Harrington takes a seat, spreading out some papers before him on a fold-able table.

Peter’s the only one to slowly raise his hand in the silence.  I glance over at him with a questionable look.

Mr.Harrington raises his eyebrows.  “What is your conflict, Mr.Parker?”

“Well, you know I have the Stark Internship, and well, uh… Mr.Stark said that I should always be prepared for someone to call me so-”

“Hold on, lemme get this right.  Parker gets to miss out on the trip because of his ‘Stark Internship’?” Flash raises a single eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“Peter, you understand this trip is mandatory.  The conflicts are only for… well, only for serious things,” explains Mr.Harrington, peering over his glasses at Peter.

Peter blushes slightly, embarrassed.  “Well I- I don’t want you to… Uh, make Mr.Stark angry…”

He’s still pretending to have a Stark Internship?  Seriously, Peter, drop the act. You can’t quit the team.

Our Decathlon leader sighs.  “Peter I’m afraid you have to go on this trip.  You’re extremely valuable to this team.  Unless you wish to leave the team…”

“I- I understand Mr.Harrington.”

“So he’s off the team?”  Flash speaks up again, obviously excited by the possibility of Peter getting kicked out of the club.

“What’s your decision, Peter?”  Mr.Harrington asks.

“I… I guess I can’t do it,” Peter admits quietly.

I turn my head to look at him.

Really?  What are you doing?

“Well, okay.  If you change your mind, just email me, Mr.Parker.”  Mr.Harrington crosses something out on his paper before pushing his glasses back up on his nose and looking at Peter.

The rest of the meeting goes on as it does normally; reciting facts and sitting around listening to Flash and Mr.Harrington argue over whether ‘fergalicious' is a word or not.

__________Liz’s POV__________ I plan to get Peter back.  It sounds dumb and childish, but if I want to prove that I wasn’t humiliating myself in front of the school for nothing, this is how to do it.

Unfortunately, there’s some minor obstacles.  The first problem is that somehow Peter found it in him to forgive Y/N for saying she doesn’t care about him and now they’ve grown to be close friends within the past two weeks.  The second problem would be that Peter most definitely hates me.  Part of that may be my fault, though, since I haven’t bothered to try and communicate with him in any way in the last couple weeks.  The third problem is that I wish Y/N wasn’t mad at me.  Yeah, I’ve done some pretty mean things in the past, but none this bad.

My chin resting on the palm of my hand, I gaze at Peter from a few seats away.  Either he doesn’t notice or he’s ignoring me on purpose.  To be fair, I did say that I didn’t want to talk to Y/N or Peter ever again.

I shift my eyes to focus on Y/N.

I want my best friend back.

Was it really worth it?  No, it wasn’t.  But I guess it’s too late now.  I’ve already formed my plan, so no going back.

“Liz?  Hello?  Do you have an answer?”  Mr.Harrington waves a hand in front of my face.

I snap back into reality.

Was everyone watching me gaze longingly at Peter and glaring at Y/N? “Can you repeat the question?”

Mr.Harrington hits the table a few times with his baby toy hammer, signaling I answered wrong.  “I’ve already repeated the questions 3 times, and if you were paying attention, Miss Allen, maybe you would know that.”

In the corner of my eye I see Y/N smirk and shake her head with a look that reads ‘dumb ass’.

Whatever.

Anyway, my plan is to slowly release every single secret Y/N has ever told me out into the school until almost everyone knows everything about her.  At that point, Peter might be so embarrassed to be seen with her that he completely abandons her.  Next, I’ll make my move on Peter.

Obviously, I have some details to fix, but it’s coming together.  However, Peter not going to Washington affects a lot of my plan.  If he does end up going, every part of my plan will fall into place.

_________Y/N’s POV_________ After the Decathlon meeting ends and everyone is dismissed, I pull Peter out into the hallway.

“What’s the real reason for not going to the National Decathlon?”

“What?  I told everyone it was because of the Stark Internship-” but Peter doesn’t get to finish his sentence before I cut in.

“Yeah that’s what you told people.  But, like, a 16 year old kid doesn’t have a Stark Internship.”

Peter’s expression displays a bit of hurt from my words.  “You don’t believe me.” “No.  I don’t.  Sorry, I don’t believe you have an internship with one of the richest people in the world.”

“Well, I- I can’t tell you.”

Now it’s my turn to be hurt.

He can’t tell me?  Why not?

This slight pause gives me enough time to realize how close we’re standing.  There’s plenty of hallway outside of the gym for the both of us, but we choose to stand so close that if I leaned in eight more inches we would-

I dart my eyes back up to meet his eyes.

“Fine.  Okay,” I say.

“Did you want me to come or something?”  He questions.

“I- yeah.  I mean you’re my friend, right?  Why wouldn’t I?”

Friend.

He looks down, slightly disappointed.  Is he disappointed?  Why?

“Yeah, I guess,” he responds, shifting his backpack straps and taking a few steps back.  “I don’t know why there would be another reason,” he mutters under his breath.

“Hey guys what are you- did I interrupt something?”  Ned busts through the gym doors and pauses after seeing our faces.

“No, you didn’t, Ned.”

“Oh, okay.  So Peter, are we still going to your place after school for our Star Wars movie marathon?  My mom bought popcorn for me to take,” Ned continues, oblivious to the uncomfortable tension.

“Yeah,” answers Peter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Y/N.  Do you want to come?”  Ned smiles warmly.

I say “Yeah sure, Ned,” the same time Peter cuts in with “I don’t really think-”

“Great!  You remember where Peter's apartment is, right?  If you don’t just, text one of us.”  Ned starts walking away, leaving Peter to glance apologetically at me.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say to Peter before walking away.

_______(Time skip)_______ I click send on a text telling Peter I’m at his apartment.

Was Peter actually disappointed when I said we were friends?  Aren’t we friends?  I think back to earlier.  How close we were standing.  Peter’s lips had looked soft and his eyes were inviting, but I hadn’t done anything.  Anything about what?  What even is my goal?

Soon enough, the door to the apartment opens and I’m greeted by Peter’s aunt May.

“Oh, hey Y/N.  Come on in,” May says while stepping aside.  “Peter and Ned are in Peter’s bedroom.”

“Thanks, Miss…” I stop myself, unsure of what to call her.

“May.  You can call me May,” she says, beaming.

“Thanks, May,” I say.  I walk past May and up to Peter’s bedroom, slowly opening the door.

“Hey Y/N,” Peter and Ned greet at the same time.  I take a seat on the floor, leaning against Peter’s bed.

“Hey guys.  When are you going to start the movies?”

“Oh we were waiting for you.  Do you want some popcorn?”  Ned holds out a bag of popcorn and I grab some, eating a few.

I get up and we all make our way to the living room.  May announces she’s going out and then leaves.  I take my seat on the couch.  Peter sits down a small distance away from me and Ned sits on a different couch.

All throughout the night, Ned munches on popcorn while the movies play and I slowly get drowsy.  I find myself leaning more and more to one side before I completely fall asleep, and so does Peter.

_________(Time skip)_________ I wake up to something moving beside me.

Why is the couch moving?  My mind is a big groggy.  I open my eyes.

I’m lying nestled into Peter, our limbs tangled in mess.  My eyes drift up and meet Peter’s, which are very much awake and very much flustered.

“I- I’m sorry… I just woke up and-”

“It’s okay,” I say, chuckling softly and quickly moving away.  At the loss of contact, I feel my heart sink sadly.

“Soulmates are usually naturally attracted to each other if seated or lying near one another.”  Where do I remember that from?  Right.  History Of Soulmates textbook I had to read in my psychology class.

I sit up straight and look at Ned, who’s still asleep on the couch.  Star Wars: Return Of The Jedi is playing on the TV.  I grab my phone from the table beside me.  It reads 8:35am.

I turn to look at Peter and realize I’m still practically draped over his lap.  I blush a bright red and once Peter notices, his blush matches mine.  Hastily, I scoot away from him and then stand up.

“Uh… where's your bathroom?”  I ask timidly.

“It’s down that hall and to the right,” Peter says, his voice still slightly raspy from sleep.

My feet carry me away, padding down the hall and then into the bathroom.  I close the door and look in the mirror, fixing my hair and straightening up my shirt.  After I finish touching up, I open the bathroom door, only to be surprised by Peter standing right outside.

I bump directly into his chest and he laughs gently.  I smile faintly and step to go past him, only for us to bump into each other again.  He tenderly grabs my shoulders and leads me to go past him.

I look up at him and admire his messy bed head and the adorable blush still on his cheeks.  He looks down at me with an expression similar to mine and then lets go of my shoulders, still smiling.  “Sorry,” he apologizes, turning to go into the bathroom and then closing the door.

Since when did you get so mushy, I think to myself.

I walk back out to the living room where Ned has now woken up.

“What were you two doing?”  Ned asks the question suspiciously, looking me up and down.

“Peter and I?  Nothing I- we… I just went to the bathroom and-”

“Together?”

“No!  I- I mean no.”  I look at my phone to see a text from my mom: when are you coming home?

“If you did, I mean I don’t judge, I personally was waiting for it to happen, it was just a matter of time before-”

“What are you two talking about?”  Peter walks in, running a hand through his curls.  My heart flutters at the sight.

Stop it.

“Congratulations on you and Y/N finally getting together,” Ned says and I think I’m ready to crawl into a hole and die.

Peter looks at me with an unreadable look on his face.  “What?”

“Peter and I aren’t together, Ned, we just- I just went to the bathroom and he happened to be outside. Nothing happened-” I quickly try to explain it all.  But Peter had a different idea.

“We could be together…” interrupts Peter.  I look at him, shocked.  “I mean, I was just saying- we’re not together- I was just suggesting…”

“Yeah.  Um…”  I try to find a response in myself.

Together?  Really?  Does this mean he feels the same way?

“Right.  This is a bit awkward… So I’m going to go.  Thanks for the marathon, Peter.”  Ned gets up, grabs the popcorn bag, and leaves through the front door. I pretend to be interested in the lamp sitting on a table.

“So…”  Peter starts off.  “I guess I should tell you this now.  That day when I asked Liz out, I had actually meant to ask you to homecoming.  I really like you, Y/N.  Extremely.  It’s like nothing I’ve felt before.  Like-”

“I’m naturally attracted to you,” I finish for him.

He grins with so much happiness it’s almost contagious.  “Yeah.  Exactly like that.”

“Can I- your tattoo.  What is it?”

He rolls up his right sleeve, showing his bare wrist with one simple tattoo. An equals sign.

We’re soulmates.

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

Hey so here’s some fluff, but the first kiss is yet to come.  Things will escalate from here, so make sure to keep reading.  Or don’t.  I can’t really control what you do.  Thanks for reading!

@disfunctionalcellmembrane @marvel4geeks

Part 5

[hanawrites404]

Twice My Age

Show : Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Jojo No Kimou Na Bouken

Pairing : Noriko (female Noriaki)/Jotaro Kujo

Warnings : Age-gap romance and sex along with swearing.

Characters : Jotaro Kujo, Noriko (female Noriaki), Jolyne Cujoh

Timeline : Pre-Stone Ocean

This story is based on this song :

This story is also based on the author's headcanon when she had finished reading Stone Ocean and was recovering her brain cells.

Third Person POV

It was a normal afternoon at Florida. Today was Friday, which meant the last day of the working week. Students at the school were frustratingly tapping the heels of their feet on the floor waiting for the school bell to ring and mark the end of the tiring session.

The teacher obviously minded his own business and lectured the pupils without averting his gaze from the blackboard. He kept ignoring the sounds of whispers and paper-tearing and snickers of the children, until for once he recognised one of the students who was continuously talking in his class, and decided to take some action.

"Ms. Cujoh" the teacher called out harshly as he teared his gaze from the blackboard and stared at the student.

The talkative student looked at the teacher and went silent. She had a piece of folded paper in her hand, her arm stretched out to the student for whom it was meant for. She retrieved her hand back and answered the teacher who was glaring lasers at her through his glasses.

"Yes Mr. Anderson??". "First, please stand up while you speak to a teacher" Mr. Anderson pushed his glasses up. The student sighed and stood up, putting away the paper she had in her pocket.

"Would you please answer the question which is on the board??". Ms. Cujoh read the question. She then rolled her eyes and read the question the teacher had written in white.

Prove that Cos2x = Cos^2x - Sin^2x

"What the??" The teenager reacted.

Mr. Anderson's gaze never left Ms. Cujoh. He was observing every move of her of how she was looking around the classroom, silently asking for help and her friends were giving her a shrug or a thumbs-down.

"Ms. Cujoh. We don't have all day"

After that, she knew that she would have to answer the question by herself.

"I-It's simple Mr. Anderson. Multiply both the sides by zero, and there you go. LHS = RHS".

The students roared with laughter at the teenager's statement. Mr. Anderson was actually expecting such kind of an answer from the rowdy teenager.

"Silence everyone" the teacher stomped his ruler on the table and the room became quiet. But it didn't last for long as the bell finally rung, meaning that it was time for dispersal.

The students quickly packed their bags by shoving their books and stationery inside and exited the classroom, scrambling on their feet. The whole classroom became empty, leaving the astute teenager and the stoic teacher alone.

The silence in the room grew kind of tense. So the girl started to pack her bag and leave the class. Until.......

"Jolyne". The teenager looked at the teacher. She really wanted to leave the vacated classroom and go home. Also she had successfully survived today's class. Now what was the problem??

"Your behaviour is getting worse day by day. And I'm afraid that you might need some extra tutelage for your discipline and your academics yet again".

The teenager rolled her eyes once again. She then placed one of her hands on her hip and looked at the teacher with disinterest.

"Give me a break Mr. Anderson. My answer was correct". "You can argue with the ones who will correct your answer sheet Ms. Cujoh. I'm definitely not the right person to go against with your illogical statement".

Jolyne held her fist tightly. She really wants to punch her teacher square in the face and make sure to get the glass shards of his glasses cut his eyes. But she decided to bottle her anger for now.

"Your discipline is very concerning. Also you are not taking your studies seriously. Even the previous teachers whom I had appointed to improve your etiquettes returned home with a broken nose and teeth" he said to himself.

Jolyne smirked to herself with pride.

"So I have decided to change my plans" he spoke.

"Ha!! So you finally understand, Mr. Anderson" she then crosses her arms and sits on the table while putting her leg on the other. "You will never be able to transform me into nerds like you want to. I'm what I want to be and I don't give a fuck to anyone who wants me to change".

"We will see about that" he then pushes his glasses. "Huh??" Jolyne raises her eyebrow at him. What was this thick-skulled teacher really planning to do to her??

"If it's another teacher, then do keep some extra bandages for the injuries, because I'll not go easy on them" she then cracks her knuckles.

"Now that's where I stop you Ms. Cujoh".

Jolyne then glared at the teacher.

"I'm not going to appoint a teacher to straighten you up. This time, it's a student of your age. Your own classmate".

Jolyne was slightly taken aback. A student?? Of her age?? And the student of her own classroom?? But she barely knew anyone who was good at both discipline and studies. The only persons she was aware of were mostly the divas, the jocks and the bullies.

"W-Who is this student you are talking about??" Jolyne asked. "You will meet her outside the school premises. She is actually one of my best students and has been topping her class for the past 3 years" Jolyne witnessed a sense of pride in Mr. Anderson's tone.

Jolyne became a bit nervous. Who was this nerd whom she hadn't even notice that she was in her school and her class?? And also, a girl??!!

"You might be wondering--'why a girl??' It's because I really want you to get along with her and learn whatever she teaches, and her being the same gender as you would be a good boost".

Jolyne then sniggered and got up from the table. "Just because she is a girl and is of my age, doesn't mean that I can't afford a bruise or two on her".

"I had already warned her about your..........tendency and she is perfectly fine with it. So do whatever you want to do to her, she will be alright with it as she was the one who chose to take the risk and tutor you".

What a daring one for a nerd......Jolyne thought.

Mr. Anderson then looked at his wrist watch. He then spoke "It's getting late. You may leave now".

"Oh thank you, Mr. Anderson" she said in a very sarcastic manner and she even bowed to add to her mockery as she left the class.

"And another thing Ms. Cujoh". Jolyne then looked behind at her teacher lethargically. Can the teacher just leave her already before she actually punches him??

"If you hadn't been the daughter of Dr. Kujo, I would have already expelled you. But I'm still giving you a chance because I'm sure that you too can be as disciplinary as your father".

"Alright first of all, Dad was a delinquent when he was my age. And second of all, he would have already punched your face and shove your stupid glasses into your mouth just to make you shut up if he was at my place" and she then goes away without saying anything else or looking back.

Mr. Anderson sighed as he stacked the sheets and registers he had to take home and correct. After he was done, he looked at the empty classroom once more, especially at the seat where the spiteful teenager sat.

"Hopefully you know what you are doing, Noriko.........."

*One minute time skip, brought to you by Binod*

"Stupid Anderson, he just doesn't know how to mind his own fucking business!!!!" Jolyne angrily stomped out of the premises. She then turned around to look at the clock which was installed on the school building.

It's 5 already. I need to return home fast. Dad is coming home earlier than his usual time so I better reach home before him..........

"Umm....Jolyne Cujoh??".

"What?!!" She turned to the voice. Jolyne relaxed her eyes a bit when she saw who was the owner of the voice.

It was a girl wearing the same uniform as her. The only difference was that she was comparatively shorter than Jolyne and was fairer than her.

She had her red hair down which was a bit longer than shoulder length and purple eyes, one red wavy bang was framing her pretty face and her lips were a glossy, cherry red.

"Do I know you??" Jolyne raised her eyebrow at the unknown girl.

"Not yet, but you will. My name is Noriko. I'm the one who is supposed to mentor you" she then goes closer to her and offers her hand to shake. "It would be a pleasure to get to know you better".

Jolyne observed the girl's hand. She had her nails perfectly trimmed but there was no polish on them. Jolyne then looked at her face and asked.

"Japanese??" She asked. "Yeah" Noriko replied. Jolyne then smirks and shakes her hand firmly.

"Then we will get along pretty well" she said. Noriko then smiles and brushes her bang behind her ear with the other hand. "I'm glad you think so" she replied.

Both of the girls let go of their hands and then they walk home beside each other.

"By the way, why did you say that we will get along well, judging by my nationality??" Noriko asked the taller girl.

"You see, I'm a Japanese myself".

"You are??" Noriko asked, a bit surprised.

"Yeah. I know. I may not look like that but yes, Japanese is one of my nationality" Jolyne replied.

Noriko then snickered and asked "Just how many nationalities do you have??". "Well, my mother is from Florida and my father is Japanese, Italian and British" Jolyne calculated.

"Wow, so many citizenships" she commented. "Haha, it's not that cool as it sounds like. Trust me" Jolyne joked. Noriko chuckled and slapped the taller girl's shoulder lightly which made Jolyne chuckle.

"So Noriko??". "Yes??". "Why did you choose to mentor me?? You do know that I have a certain.........reputation at school".

"I am aware of everything you do in school. Mr. Anderson has updated me everything on you".

"*Ugh* That fucker. What is he, a spy?? Did he only find me to spy on?? And not the ones who actually harass girls or bully lowerclassmen behind the school??"

"Actually, I should be the one at whom you should be angry at". "Huh??" Jolyne looked at her.

"Wait, don't tell me--". "Yes. I was the one who told him to note everything you do".

"*Ugh* Noriko~!! I didn't expect this from you~" Jolyne whined. "Sorry, but this was the only way to plan on how to get you into discipline just like how Mr. Anderson want it". "Fuck that teacher!!!" She then kicks a stray rock on the road which goes very far.

"You seem to be very strong". "Heh, thanks. It's not much, but I can surely lift a heavy table pretty easily". "I'll take a note of that. It might come handy to me when I need to move a table" she chuckled. Jolyne then laughs and Noriko too joins her.

After their laughter died, Noriko spoke.

"You are really fun to be with". "Thanks. I had assumed that you were going to be just like Anderson but you are one lively person" Jolyne said.

"Oh really?? Thank you. Actually, no one has said that to me before" she then brushed another strand of her hair behind her ear.

"What do you mean??" Jolyne asked. "I don't really have friends. Only a few classmates talk to me but only when they need my assistance".

"Huh?? How is that even possible?? You are such an amazing person. Also, you are very pretty. You should have at least a boyfriend with you".

"I don't have a boyfriend". "Oh......a girlfriend perhaps??". "No.....". "Oh, you love a trans??". "What?? No. I'm not interested in anyone for now". "Ahhh....I see".

"Say, do you have a boyfriend??". "My status is also as same as you. Even I'm not really interested in getting into relationships. It will just..........get in my way, that's why". "I understand. Love is.......a very new subject for me" Noriko said.

"Yeah.....me too.....Hell, I don't even know why Dad fell for Mom in the first place just to leave her after that" Jolyne stated. "Huh?? What do you mean??" Noriko looked at Jolyne.

"My parents got a divorce after I was born. And according to the laws, both of my parents have the rights on me. So I visit one of them after every alternate month. This month I'm staying with my father" Jolyne explained.

"I see. Your father is Dr. Jotaro Kujo right??". "Yes, the famous marine biologist. The one who wrote thesis on starfish and other marine creatures. How interesting" Jolyne said, adding a dramatic sarcasm to it.

"Honestly, I'm a big fan of him" Noriko added, a light blush on her cheeks. "What?? Seriously??" Jolyne gaped.

"Yes. I have read every report and thesis he has ever written. The way how he observes and analyses the creatures is just wonderful. I bet that he is going to be the one who will discover a new species of marine life which humanity has never seen before" she spoke with amazement.

"Ha!!! You are flattering him now. My Dad is nothing like how you think of him" Jolyne argued. "Oh really??" Noriko raised her eyebrow.

"Yes. I know he is smart and all but he is not Einstein-level" Jolyne answered. "I never compared him with Einstein, Jolyne. It's just that I really think of him very fondly, and I admire him a lot" Noriko said.

"Yeah yeah, but don't fall in love with him. He might break your heart" she joked. Noriko blushed pink. It's good that Jolyne didn't notice it, otherwise it would have been very awkward.

"Well, here we are. My Dad's house" Jolyne stopped and showed Noriko her house.

"Wow, it looks very big" Noriko looked all over the lavish bungalow.

"Heh, these are the perks of being a Joestar" she said. "Joestar?? What do you mean??" Noriko asked. "You first come inside and then I'll tell you" and so Jolyne and Noriko entered the luxurious house. Both of them removed their shoes and Noriko looked around the house with an agape mouth and wide eyes.

"Wow......this looks so much better from the inside. Just how rich are you people??" Noriko commented and asked Jolyne.

"Well, there was a guy named Robert Speedwagon who was friends with my great-great-grandfather. He then became rich after finding many oil ores out of nowhere. After he died, all of his luxuries went to my great-grandfather and that's how all of our expenses are taken care of" Jolyne explained.

"That's amazing. You guys are literally royals" Noriko commented. "Yeah. And also my great-great-grandfather was a noble in England, so he was rich even before the Speedwagon guy came" she added.

"I see" Noriko then sat on one of the loveseats. "Being a Joestar must be very lucky right??" Noriko asked. "If you think like that, you are gravely mistaken" Jolyne told her.

"What?? Really?? I can't believe this. But you guys have everything!!!.............I guess everything has it's pros and cons" Noriko told herself.

Jolyne was about to speak more, but then the bell of the house rang.

"That must be Dad. You stay here Noriko. I'll be right back" and then she goes to check the door. Since Noriko had nothing to do for now, she looks at her skirt and straightens it up a bit.

Jolyne on the other hand opens the door and sees her father standing outside, just as she expected.

"Hello Dad" Jolyne greeted. "Hello Jolyne, how was school??" Dr. Kujo entered the house and Jolyne stepped away to give him some space.

"Meh, it was fine. Mr. Anderson barked at me as usual" Jolyne told him. Mr. Kujo sniggered a bit.

"He doesn't seem to stop critisizing you, does he??". "Of course not. I bet he won't even shut up even after he is an old man and cannot even lift his hand to push his oversized glasses up" she mocked.

Dr. Kujo smiled a fraction as he removed his shoes and his coat. While he was putting his shoes on the rack, he noticed another pair of school shoes which were similar to that of Jolyne's.

"Jolyne, have you brought a classmate here?" Dr. Kujo asked.

"Uhh yeah. She is actually my mentor who is supposed to tutor me, starting from today. I hope you don't mind if she stays here".

"No, not at all" The professor replied. He then hung his coat up and headed to the living room, her daughter following her.

As soon as Mr. Kujo entered the room, he spotted the red-haired girl. She looked awfully familiar to him which made the professor stop on his tracks.

"Dad, what's wrong??" Jolyne spoke from behind her father.

"Noriaki........" He whispered.

"Noriaki?? No Dad, her name is Noriko"

Jolyne corrected.

Even her name is similar to his...........

Mr. Kujo continued to stare at the red head who was scribbling something in the notepad on her lap with a pencil.

That red hair, those amethyst eyes, and how she was concentrating on her work, everything Mr. Kujo had seen already a long time before. It all felt like Deja Vu to him. And he clearly remembers the person whom this girl reminds him of. He was his highschool lover after all.

"Noriko-chan" Jolyne calls her. Noriko looks up from her notepad to her friend.

"Here is my father, who is also your 'sole idol'. And Dad, this is Noriko, my friend" Jolyne introduced them to one another.

(Part 2)

[yoaridk]

~Disgusting Feeling~ (One-Shot)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Invader Zim.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences.

Warnings:  This fic is a ZaDe and has hints of DaTr and ZaGr (if the shipps are not to your liking please refrain from reading), character death and ambiguous plot.

Relationships: Zim/Gaz and  Dib/Tak

Characters: Zim (Invader Zim), Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib (Invader Zim), Tak (Invader Zim).

Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Family Drama, Tragic Romance, Interspecies, RomanceZAGR - Freeform, Zim and Gaz Romance, Top Zim (Invader Zim), Badass Zim (Invader Zim), Zim Rules the Earth, Zim is an Invader after all, Strange feelings, Dib suffering, Partner Betrayal, Duty is everything.

Summary: 

Feelings are not part of the programming of Irken soldiers and their race in general, not when the ultimate goal of their existence has always been conquest and ambition. Love? Compassion? Affect? These were weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their condition. Dib understands it to the worst way he can imagine, Zim is a monster in every sense of the word.

                                               ~*~

"It's the most horrible creature I've ever seen in my life."

 That´s the only thought in Dib's mind as he lies on his knees in front of the ostentatious throne of his worst enemy. The black surface of polished marble reflects the horror of his gaze when he observes the vile creature, a creature who instead returns the gesture with lazy grace, transmitting power, strength and something that Dib catalogs as a mantle of death around him.

 Dib's fists clench, hating the fact of staying in an unfavorable position for not saying disadvantageous and resisting frustration at the vain attempt to stand up. The marks on his wrists remind him of how exhausted he is and how weak his body feels because of the blood he lost during his fight to reach his freedom.

 One that unfortunately never came.

 “So?” The creature's tone is barely a mocking hiss."Human, did you really believe that Tak had those inferior feelings for you?”

 The derogatory tone does´t go unnoticed by Dib, much less the slight tinge of twisted fun that mixes in it. Cruelty is not unknown for him after all, growing up at the expense of it became something inherent in his life.

 A misunderstood child whom everyone always labeled as mentally ill. No less than the shame of a successful father and recognized by those same people...

 A father that Zim murdered mercilessly when chaos spread throughout the world.

 “Where is she? Where do you have her, Zim?” Dib calls in his despair. “I swear if you did something her... if you hurt her, I...”

 "You are even more foolish than I thought." Interrupts the Irken, rising slowly to rise even more above the human from the ostentatious throne he occupies. “Hurt her?” The vibrations of Zim's boots at approaching echo through the room. “Oh, dirty beast, don't you know?”

 The weight of this affair records a bad omen in Dib.

 “Know what?” He doesn't quite understand the weight of words and feels fear settling in his being.

 Zim looks at him in a way that suggests he doesn't consider him very clever and Dib's face pales at the alien's tacit expression.

 "You're really pathetic." The Irken shows his peculiar zipper teeth in a smile wickedly sinister half. “Do you know how you got here Dib?” The question lacks genuine curiosity and it´s intentions have the whole purpose of being derogatory.

 No more than one uncomfortable and silent minute passes in which Dib is not able to answer that question, and in general that is because the answer really remains a mystery to him. The last thing he remembers is running away from the Zim soldiers before receiving an impressive discharge and then losing consciousness and waking up in one of the specialized cells for the members of the resistance. The following is horror and the beginning of hell.

 “Your stupid soldiers! They ambushed Tak and Me to one of your traps.” The pieces fit perfectly creating the only plausible answer, Dib has no doubt that that is what happened.

 The pleasure dances in the alien factions of Zim at the words of his enemy, ignorance and naivety are the blessing of idiots like Dib.

 "You fell directly into a trap, yes, but I assure you disgusting beast that the credit of such ambush is not mine."

 Zim's words blink into Dib's gaze briefly as if they had managed to hit a nerve in him and seconds later the alien sees beyond the human, urging him to follow his example, surprise hits Dib so hard that his feet falter threatening with sinking it further into the ground.

 “Tak?” Dib whispers with growing disbelief, running around the silhouette of the Irken woman with his eyes, although she doesn´t seem to answer his call. What is happening? “You are alive!" He try again with the hope that this time she dignifies her words even with a simple nod.

 The statement doesn´t have the expected effect and Dib frowns, Zim's laugh breaks the charm of the reunion filling the air of uncertainty and malice.

 “So you still don't guess?” Zim asks in a hard and ruthless voice, yearning to see the expression of who has been his nemesis for years and a hindrance in all those plans that ended in failure. “Please Invader Tak, help this dirty human to better understand the nature of your loyalty to the empire.”

 Dib shudders when Tak's silhouette leaves the shelter that the shadows provide her from the other side of the room, and to his bitter disappointment he realizes that Zim is not boasting with empty words.

 “What…?” The face of the human shows some confusion, but any doubt dissipates when Dib seeks sincerity in Tak's gaze and any sign of denial in the face of such an assertion.

 Doesn´t find it.

 Dib's eyes dodge Tak and get stuck in some empty spot in that room, so remember, recognize and he horrified by the truth. That Tak's offer to overthrow Zim's advances on the planet was nothing more than a tactic to take him straight into a trap, the ultimate end of that alliance has nothing to do with Zim's fall and all with his revenge to him.

 Dib's mind and heart are breaks.

 “Why? I trusted you!” The boy simultaneously questions and protests, shaking his head as if with that simple action he could expel the betrayal thoughts that flood his mind.

 Dib is sad when he recognizes that the small moments of complicity and sincerity that he shared with the alleged ex invader meant absolutely nothing to her, perhaps, he thought, he longed for a bit of company and understanding on the part of anyone in the middle of hell they were living. No one could blame him for placing his trust in the first `person´ who held out a hand with the promise of helping him in his cause.

 "I had no choice." She just says, feeling the need that she didn't need to explain more and assuming is better that way. Will help make what comes next much easier for both of they.

 "Yes, you had, but you preferred to take sides with the monster you swore to take revenge on." He corrects painfully in each of his words and gives her a look of disapproval.

 The invader opens her mouth as if she were going to respond but says nothing because she doesn´t find the valid argument to refute the human's words, however Tak doesn´t believe she can explain and justify her actions. At this point any explanation is left over.

 Instead, she regains the determination necessary to end the matter once and for all.

 "Well, you already have him Zim, now you can send him to that prison on one of Saturn's moons." The only reason she ended up in that situation was because of Zim's promise to keep Dib alive by banishing him to that prison.

 The former invader has a backup plan to amend the damage she has done to the human.

 Zim lets out another shrill laugh as if what Tak had just say him was nothing more than a funny joke, then cleared his throat before speaking.

 "The plans have changed Tak but I appreciate your help in bringing this scum to me." The alien replies dryly, hardening his countenance. "I will remember your loyalty when I kill the human." With a wave of his hands Zim calls the guards that waiting patiently for his signal.

 Three soldiers approach the Irken girl to catch her, two hold her hands and the third one positions and presses the tip of his weapon on Tak's back.

 “What? Don´t!” She fights trying to get out of the soldiers grip when they drag her to the door to take her to one of the cells."You're a damn traitor Zim, you promised me you wouldn't hurt Dib!”

 The guards take her out before she could finish her prayer. Dumbfounded by the events, Dib cries out Tak's name again and again hoping she can get rid of her captors, but hope dies when He doesn't perceive her voice after a while.

 "Tak was as pathetic as you after all." Zim says in a hiss to no one in particular. “Harbor such inferior feelings for a pathetic creature is not worthy of an invader.” He boasts, but his tone keeps disgusted by the simple idea.

 After all, feelings are not part of the programming of Irken soldiers and their race in general, not when the ultimate goal of their existence was always conquest and ambition. Love? Compassion? Affect? They were weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their condition.

 Dib pays attention to the words of his enemy recognizing hypocrisy in them, Zim has the nerve to take human feelings as the worst blasphemies for his people when he has also professed those emotions.

 “What about you?” Dib dares to question with the intention of erasing that smug smile on the despicable face of the alien. “You are nothing but a hypocrite in accusing Tak of pathetic when you also has felt affection for a human, Zim.”

 Zim changes his expression of arrogance for one of shock mixed with slight indignation, although it only lasts a fraction of a second before recomposing and facing that human. It doesn't take him a minute to unravel the meaning in Dib's words and frowns at the grief that arises when memories stir within his mind.

 The Irken murmurs a curse in his alien lenguage before approaching the human and putting his heavy boot on Dib's shoulder to sink him further into the ground, rubbing it again and again delighting in the groans of pain from his enemy.

 “Are you going to deny it, damn unhappy monster?” Dib's face comes down to a grimace of pain and his voice is barely audible to fill the room but if to reach Zim. He hopes to see some hint in him, anything that answers the question he has had for many years.

 The alien clicks his teeth towards Dib before removing his boot on him and turning to surround the human, he walks from side by side maintaining the necessary distance between the two although the possibility of escape from the boy is void. A hint of disdain touches Zim's factions in the face of Dib's boldness, it is a subject he continually avoids and has in mind despite the years.

 "I admit that I had these... feelings for little Gaz." Zim have a sudden crackles heat inside him as he pronounce his former lover's name. “But you are wrong Dib beast, Gaz was not a human more of your dirty race, she knew how to recognize the inferiority of her species and despise them for their stupidity, I must admit that little Gaz had enough vision to be taken a account by someone so superior like Zim.”

 Of course, Gaz , the thought reinforces a smile on the alien. Despite the time, Zim still remembers the approach he had with the sister of his worst enemy; the video games, the time she shared at his base repeating him how ineffective his plans were, Zim's mania for pleasing her mundane and ridiculous desires. And the interaction, the feeling of company that made his stay less boring on that deplorable planet.

 Many other details and moments were marked in the alien's memory. Love? His species does not know the term or anything remotely similar to it, however Zim could classify the strange and annoying feeling for the girl as such. Maybe.

 "No Zim, if you had loved Gaz, you wouldn't has left her alone before her death." Dib's voice is barely a low growl full of rage that drips down the ostentatious room, Zim lies and is certain that the affirmation of the feeling of Love to his sister on his part is totally false. “And you wouldn't have killed our father on your return.” No, that was not love . Dib finishes the sentence in his mind but his eyes in rage reflect the thought.

 Dib's hands sting to circle Zim's slender neck and twist him to extinguish his miserable life to avenge his father and all those who died since his return to earth. Underestimating Zim was perhaps the worst mistake made.

 The Irken shrugs as if the claim of the professor's death wasn´t much and in reality for Zim it isn´t, Membrana as well as other humans are obstacles in their way to take the planet and prove to the Tallest their worth as an invader, being this the last and true opportunity.

 It has taken several years for him to have that mission again and he doesn´t plan to let his opportunity be ruined.

 "You will see Dib, unlike your dirty inferior species, the Irken race has only one purpose in its existence." Zim retakes up the previous action of surrounding the human while he explains, moves with sinuous grace in front of him. “The expansion of the empire and the destruction of all inferior life that crosses the road, for thousands of years the empire has been responsible for the ruin of hundreds of planets. That is the purpose of our race, to grow until everything is part of it.”

 Yes, Zim is nothing but a monster. Dib thinks, avoiding the desire to get up and kill the alien right there. The Irkens are really a universal plague: they infest, consume and destroy other planets in order to quench their hunger for domination and power.

 “Invaders like Tak and I shouldn´t have such inferiors feelings because they are a setback to our missions.” Zim's eyes narrow and his lips twist in sardonic humor.

 “You said you loved her!” Dib replies, also remembering Tak's words.

 A dark emotion flames on life in Zim's eyes.

 "Of course I did Dib." The Irken tilts a slight smile that denotes little humor on his lips, but is just a grimace at the awareness of what he will say next. “Zim loved his love-pig very much, but as much as I loved your sister, I also realized that this feeling was only an obstacle to my mission.” He stops to observe the frank disbelief in the human.

 “What do you mean Zim?” It takes Dib a moment to recognize something else in Zim's speech and just a moment to feel the bad omen in the response he was about to receive.

 Zim's expression hardens and Dib understands that his assumptions are true, something doesn't feel right. A strange sensation settles deep within his heart.

 "That even if I loved little Gaz a lot, I had to do what was necessary to do my duty as an invader." The malicious gleam in Zim's eyes goes out when he releases his next words. “I admit that ending Gaz's life was perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done. It hurt me to implant those Nanobots in her bloodstream to weaken her defenses and make they think it was an autoimmune disease.” Despite the broken tone, Zim's expression shows no regret."

 Dib blinks at the blunt confession. The premise that the death of his sister was caused by Zim generates a state of shock in him.

 "You..." Dib throws a dark glance at the alien when the feeling of sickening settles in the mouth of his stomach.

 "I understood that if I continued with this situation I would never achieve my purpose and even if I returned to Irk or some other distant planet, I would end up returning to be stay with her." Zim ignores the look on Dib and continues his rant with grim determination.

 A low hiss is heard from Dib's lips and in an outburst of renewed determination he gathers forces to stand up and rush against the despicable Irken who dared to boast about the murder of his little sister. The impact bounces and echoes through the cold walls of the room, the force is such that it throws Zim on the floor in just a second.

 Dib's breathing is agitated and his emotions turbulent and violent with the desire for death characteristic of the instinct for revenge. But the victory lasts less than a blink when Zim stabs Dib's side with one of his PAK legs.

 “Soldiers!” Zim screams angered by such a grievance by a disgusting human and the least he can do with it is to give him the punishment he deserves. Four soldiers arrive to him shortly after that call. “Throw the human into the reinforced containment cell and prepare what is necessary for its execution this afternoon.” Zim's lethal tone doesn´t go unnoticed by subordinates.

 A dismissive wave of his hand is enough for the soldiers to abide by the order immediately taking Dib, and the human is not even strong enough to fight after the outburst of previous violence.

 Dib is dragged to his destination to find death a few hours later and Zim looks at the human with cold disdain for having awaken the feelings inside. The hand of the Irken migrates to a compartment in his PAK from which he removes an object that he has been carrying with him for years protecting him as an invaluable treasure.

 The sharp claws hold the pendant of a necklace with such delicacy, the Invader looks longingly  the object and sighs with regret admitting that he still misses his lover's company; He only hopes that the sacrifice is worthwhile to reaffirm his loyalty to the empire.

.

 .

 .

  End.

~*~

A/N:

 This thing started as a vague idea and it took me almost two weeks to finish writing it... I was inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy scene vol. 2, when Ego tells Peter the truth about his mother's death and I said why not? And finally this was the final result.

 I had a lot of fun writing this, I think it's been my favorite fic of all the ones I've written so far.  

 Sorry if the story is flawed, this is a translation or at least an attempt at translation... my English is bad.  

 Anyway, I hope you like it and in advance thank you for reading

[percyscourt]

imagine the movie Wild Child, but Silena Beauregard as Poppy Moore...

silena beauregard was born and raised in Malibu, CA. she lived with her mom, dad, and little sister until her mom died when she nine years old in a car crash. before the crash, silena was quirky, respectful, sometimes even quiet. but after the crash, she was like a totally different person. as soon as she hit middle school, she became a party-girl, and her nights weren't complete without drinking, dancing, or trashing somebody's house. of course, it also didn't help that her dad owned a million-dollar chocolate company and was rarely home

the last week of the summer before her sophomore year, silena's dad announced that his new girlfriend was going to move in with them. naturally, silena reacted with nothing short of a large ball of rage. when the moving trucks arrived, they were greeted by more than 100 teenagers that silena had invited over to take, trash, and torch all of her father's girlfriend's belongings

as if this wasn't enough, silena herself wanted to participate. silena scooped up a handful of clothes and started running full speed to the pool in her backyard. instead of jumping in the pool like everybody assumed she would, silena didn't stop running, but instead ran behind the pool to where the cliff looked down into the ocean, and dived in

right as she came up from the ocean, her dad arrived, and he immediately started kicking everybody out

flashforward to dinner that night, silena's dad tells her that she's going to boarding school.

in new york. and not the city new york, no, the countryside new york.

after dinner, silena stormed to her room. her younger sister, Lacy, came into her room and spent the night. they didn't get any sleep, though, but instead talked about their mom. "i've already lost her. i can't lose you too, S."

the next day, silena began packing. her friend, Kelly, helped her while lacy sat on the bed, talking about new york. "What if your school is like in Gossip Girl? That'd be awesome!" when lacy stepped out, silena and kelly looked at the school's website. the school showed a lacrosse field, outside dining pavillion, horse stables, a lake, and dorms. "could be uglier, I guess." kelly left, promising to call silena every night

the next day, silena and her father left early so silena could see the campus before classes started, and they drove all the way from california to new york; "S, it's like a roadtrip! Fun, right?"

it took them about two days to get there, and when silena and her dad finally get to the campus, it's two hours till dinner. as soon as she stepped out of the car, silena was met by the school's dean, Professor D. who introduced her to the school's head girl, Drew, and her friends

silena immediately takes an instant disliking to Drew, which is only increased when drew looks at silena's phone case. "'Pink is powerful?' Ha! Pink is weak- like you, I'm assuming." when drew tried to take silena's hand to shake, silena pulled it back roughly. of course, drew was taken aback. "You shake the head girl's hand out of respect." she yanked silena's hand

silena pulled it back. "When the head girl has earned my respect, then I'll shake her hand..

Biotch."

after drew and her posse stormed off, silena was introduced to Clarisse, her "big sister." while clarisse was nicer than drew, you could tell she didn't like silena either. all silena wanted to do was go home.

clarisse told silena to get any bags she needed and follow her to their room. when they got there, silena was introduced to her other roomates; Katie, Thalia, and Annabeth, though everybody just called Annabeth "Wise Girl"

when she got to the room, silena found out that technically she wasn't allowed to have her phone, except for sundays, and during the week it would be with her dorm's RA

silena hated this. this rule. this school. this whole thing.

two weeks pass, and silena wasn't any closer to liking this school, but also not any closer to finding a way out of it, either. her and her roomates barely talked, and when they did, it was snarky remarks or arguments

one night, silena ended up sneaking out after lights-out. she went to the school's computer room and logged into her email to write to kelly. after she wrote and sent the email, silena looked for the log out button so she could get back before anybody realized she'd left. right before she was about to log out, she saw somebody else sneaking around, just out of the doorway

it was annabeth.

silena left the computer to investigate. she walked out of the comouter room on her tippy-toes, looking this way and that for signs of anybody else. a thought popped into her mind, maybe she's meeting a guy, but as soon as that thought came, it was gone. silena creeped behind her and saw annabeth walk into a doorway. silena waited, counted to ten, then followed and peaked inside the room. it was the school's library. ugh, lame. silena left and started heading back to her room

when she was on the second floor on the way to the third, a fire alarm went off. scared of getting caught sneaking around during lights-out, silena hopped out a window and onto the fire escape. she walked on the fire escape until she got to an apparently empty bathroom. she hopped through its window

when she gets into the bathroom, she realizes it's actualky occupied. a voice calls out from her from behind the shower curtain. "may I help you?" it was a man's voice. holy hell, i've walked into one of my teachers taking a bath! "Uh maybe. I'm Silena Beauregard, sophomore, room 308. How do I get out of here? without getting caught, I mean." the faceless voice gave her directions and she ended up getting out without getting in trouble

a couple days later, silena is in pe class when she gets in a fight with drew. it starts out with a witty comment from silena, as it always does, but then drew threw the first punch. soon, both girls were rolling around on the ground, equally pulling hair and punches. "Silena Beauregard from 308?" it was the voice. silena looked up, but instead of coming face to face with a professor, it was a boy. a boy her age. "Charles! Hey, Charles! Hi, how are you?" Drew was quickly on her feet, rushing to shake his hand.

"Uh, well. Goodbye, now." Charles left, and silena found out that his full name was Charles Beckendorf, and he was the Dean's nephew. "How do you know him, fresh meat?"

"Aww, are you mad because you have a crush on him, old meat?" Drew's friends had to drag her away before another fight ensued

as she walked to her dorm from pe, a bucket of sewer water was dumped on silena's head, courtesy of one of drew's minions from seventh grade. silena wasn't alone, though, and turned around to see clarisse. clarisse laughed for several seconds before composing herself. "Okay, let's say we get yourself cleaned up, alright?"

after they had cleaned back up at the dorms, clarisse handed silena her phone. "We gave Mr. Brunner decoys; some old flip-phones. Go ahead and call your friend if you'd like."

silena calls Kelly but it goes to voicemail, and she texts her a simple "imy girly <3" instead

when all the girls are in the room, silena opened up about her mother's death and how hard it was at this new school. partly because they liked her, and partly because they felt bad for her, they all agreed to help Silena get expelled from school.

over the course of several weeks, the girls pulled a series of pranks; dying the lake blood-red, re-recording over Mr. Underwood's lectures, etc. they never got in trouble though, and the only thing the pranks were successful in doing was bringing the girls closer, though they didn't know it

after she realized their pranks weren't working, clarisse suggested a different approach: silena would seduce charles, and the dean would be so mad that he'd expel her immediately

their plan was put into motion at the school dance a week later. the girls were allowed off campus, and they went shopping for dresses in NYC. while they were shopping, clarisse suggested they all get their hair done. Silena went along with them, then even ended up swapping her platinum blonde curls for her natural raven-black waves. when the hair stylist was done, she realized with a shock that she looked exactly like her mother. she liked it

the girls showed up twenty-five minutes late to the dance, per silena's suggestion to be fashionably late. they were by far the most dressed up and stylish there, also due to silena's large interest in fashion and design

when they got there, charles was standing in a corner, awkwardly talking with drew

"Hey, Charlie, wanna dance?"

They danced, though it was more like Silena danced and Charles just standed there and watched. "Nobody ever calls me Charlie, y'know. It's either Charles or Beckendorf. I like when you call me Charlie."

in the middle of dancing, Silena tried some new move she had seen on one of her shows, but she tripped and fell on her head. charlie picked her up and took her outside to sit down. when she assured him that she was okay, charlie just started looking at silena instead. he leaned down to kiss her but they were interrupted by drew's followers

just as she was leaving, charlie asked silena on a date

the next day at school, silena was called into Professor D's office. he scolded her for not only for behaviour but also the fact that she had brought alcoholic beverages on to the school campus. silena sat silent through the whole stretch of this talk, waiting patiently for Pr. D to finish up and expel her. instead, her punishment was joining the girls' lacrosse team

after a good two weeks of lacrosse, silena had started to like it. she found out her mom not only went to the school when she was young, but also was the team captain to lead them to nationals, and silena was determined to do the same. somewhere along the way, she found herself actually falling in love with the sport. and something somebody else.

silena and charlie's first date was the day after her talk in the dean's office. charloe took her off campus to an underground bunker. silena was surprised to see that while it was a little packed, it was very neat and fresh-looking. "welcome to bunker 9." they had a picnic then went on a drive. the date ended with a kiss that made silena feel as if she was floating

when she got back to her room, she found Clarisse, Thalia, Katie, and Annabeth crowded around the computer. "What're you reading?" the girls turned around, faces mad and hurt at the same time. "Your email."

when she looked at a screen, silena saw an email from her account, though she hadn't sent one. it went on for more than a hundred words, with the summary being that she was only pretending to be their friend so they'd help her get expelled

silena checked her account to see that a similar email was written to charlie. both charlie and her roomates shut her out and refused to talk to her

upset and alone, silena decided to call kelly. when she did, she found out that kelly had been sneaking around with Silena's on-and-off-again boyfriend, Luke, since the first week of them dating in eighth grade. silena deleted both their numbers. she sat there, feeling almost as alone as she had when her mom died

poppy was in the common room after lights-out when she really started to feel depressed. absentmindedly, she started playing with her lighter. the flame accidentally touched the curtain and scorched the corner. though she put it out before anything else happened, silena was so spooked that she decided to retire to her room. as she walked, she heard footsteps, and her slow pace turned to a fast sprint

a few minutes later as she laid awake in bed, silena turned her head to see that outside of her window the common room was on fire. silena got up, started yelling, and slammed down the fire alarm to wake everybody up

once everybody was evacuated, the teachers started doing head-counts. silena and her roomates quickly realized that one of their own was missing. "ANNABETH!" silena pushed past the crowds, ran past the firemen, and made her way to the library. when she got there, she saw Annabeth trapped behind a fallen bookcase. silena, dizzy and bleary-eyed, led annabeth until they reached the kitchen, and the firemen carried out the collapsing girls.

after the fire was successfully put out, charlie pulled silena aside. when she tried to talk about the email, he only shoved her lighter into her hands. "I believe this is yours." he refused to listen to her explain and walked away, fully believing that she was the one who started the fire

the next day, silena sat in the dean's office awaiting his decision. ironically and cruelly, she found herself wishing not to be expelled. though she held off for a while, she started crying. she couldn't tell if the tears were because of the fire, or her friends, or even her mom, but whatever the cause they didn't stop. until somebody called her name. "Silena"

silena looked up to see charlie staring her right in the face. "I believe you. It was an accident, wasn't it? Tell me everything."

later that day, silena was set to attend a hearing concerning her future at the school. at the hearing, she told her side of the story, starting from when she first got to the school, and her roomates realized she didn't send the emails

they quickly left the hearing, and silena was convinced they hated her

they returned after several minutes of investigative research and took the stand in favor of silena. they defended her against drew and debated back and forth until drew let it accidentally slide that she had saw silena put the fire out, then started it back up herself again

of course, the case was immediately resolved, and silena was cleared while drew was expelled

silena spent the next weeks preparing her team for their nationals game. when the gameday came, silena was surprised to find her dad in the crowd with the rest of the parents. mr. beauregard was equally surprised to see silena's new natural, happy appearance

silena and the rest of the team ended up winning their nationals game by a landslide, and afterward they had a party at the beach by camp

silena ended the schoolyear completely different from when she arrived. she was now officially dating charlie, her team was staying with her for three weeks in the summer, she learned more about her mother and became closer with dad, and she was finally, truly happy.

[classictogetherlike]

Chemistry [L.R.H]

Surprise fic post! I finally finished this one up, it’s been bugging me for awhile but I’m really happy with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy it, feel free to send in requests or just come talk!

Warnings: Kinda sad, kinda angsty, kinda fluffy. There’s a lot going on here. 

WC: 2615

At the rate her day was going, Y/N was sure she’d be dead by the end of it. She had set the wrong alarm the night before and woke up twenty minutes before her first class, barely making it on time before realizing that the test that she thought was the following week was in fact today. So there goes that grade.

Her roommate had texted to remind her that rent was due early this month, because of course it was, and when she finally, finally was able to head home, got caught in a pop up thunderstorm that soaked her in seconds. A great day, really.

Cursing every entity that she could possibly think of, she finally reached her apartment complex and stumbled her way up to the third floor before freezing in her tracks. Sat in front of her door was a face she hadn’t expected to see for at least another three weeks, a face she hadn’t spoken to in at least three days. Luke.

He had glanced up at the sound of her feet hitting the floor, a small smile forming on his face as he took in the sight of his soaked girlfriend. “Hey, babe.” All she could do was stare, and for a second, she considered turning around and walking back downstairs, before ultimately deciding to reach her right hand to her left arm and pinch herself as hard as she could.

Upon finding herself still standing across from her boyfriend and not in fact dreaming, she slowly walked closer to the apartment door, reaching into her purse to grab her keys. He moved off to the side to let her access the door, his small smile turning a little bit nervous at her reaction to his presence. When the two were safely inside the apartment, the door shut behind them, Y/N finally met his gaze. 

“What are you doing here?” His smile turned into a frown at the question, and he began picking at the polish on his nails. “We have a few days off and I thought I’d come see you. I know our last conversation didn’t go really well and I wanted to make it right.”

Her eyes narrowed at his words, scoffing slightly as she turned to walk towards the bedroom. “A conversation? That’s what you’d call that interaction? I think most people would classify their partner accusing them of cheating to be at least an argument, don’t you think?” Once in her room she moved to the dresser, changing out of her soaked clothing and into an old t-shirt and sweats. 

Luke slowly followed her to the bedroom, frown more predominant as he gathered his thoughts. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Y/N’s phone rings, breaking into whatever he was going to say. She barely spares him a glance before answering her phone. “Hello? Oh hi, Cal. Yeah, I know, he’s standing right in front of me.”

Her eyes dart over to Luke’s figure in the doorway before focusing back on her fidgeting hands.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know. I don’t know what's going to happen, Cal, I’ll let you know. Bye.” She tosses her phone down onto the bed, eyes moving to settle on Luke. “I thought you had a break? Calum seemed concerned because apparently, you just up and left in the middle of the night.” He flinches at her harsh tone and steps further into the room and moves to sit on the bed. “Can we please talk? Please, Y/N. I know I messed up and I’m really, really sorry.” She scoffs and sits across from him on the bed, legs crossed in front of her. “Are you really sorry though, Luke? Waiting three days to even attempt to apologize really doesn’t sit well with me, especially after what you said.” “I didn’t mean it, you know that! I was just stressed and frustrated.” His rebuttal is much louder than her question and is accompanied by dramatic hand gestures that would’ve made her laugh if she wasn’t so upset.

“Just because you were ‘stressed’ and ‘frustrated’,” her voice grinds out, “doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me and accuse me of fucking cheating on you.” It’s hard to breathe now, her chest feels like it’s constricting and she knows what’s coming, she can recognize the slightest hint of a panic attack from miles away, and although she tries to shut it down it pushes through anyways. Luke notices, of course he notices. He knows practically everything about her. Coffee over tea, dogs over cats, hair up and out of her face instead of loose on her shoulders. He sure as hell can tell when her breathing becomes tighter and her fingers begin to shake, he notices the slight wandering of her left eye as she stares into the space in front of her.

He moves closer to her, not close enough to touch her, but close enough that her eyes focus back in on the room. He lowers his voice, telling her that he’s going to start counting out a breathing pattern and that she needs to follow it, and she does. In for four, out for three, over and over again until the air feels lighter, feels more manageable and her fingers stop shaking. When she finally locks her gaze on him, her resolve breaks and she’s in his arms, sobbing. 

Large hands rub up and down her back and he starts humming under his breath, letting her get her emotions out. He knows she hasn’t let them out since the fight, the god awful fight, and he knows she has let it grow and fester in her mind until now. It takes what feels like hours but is likely only minutes before her breathing has leveled out and he leans back to catch her gaze.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice, I didn’t mean to stress you out even more.” His voice breaks the silence in the room, barely a whisper but strong in the face of emotions and high tension. 

His hands rise to her face, wiping away the stray tears remnant of a panic attack that he feels could have been avoided. No, he knows it could have been avoided. He’s not blind to what he did and what he said, both moments ago and three days ago. His emotions came first in those moments, not worrying about how it would impact hers. And although they had discussed that they both needed to share and expel their emotions, they had agreed to do it in a civilized manner.

Well, as civilized as you could be with emotions pouring out. They avoided pulling personal cards to guilt the other into agreeing and listening, no bringing up past arguments because they all should be settled and stirring a pot of old emotions definitely wouldn’t help with whatever was coursing through their minds and bodies at that moment. 

But he ignored their rules, letting a moment of insecurity and longing to be near her dictate the harsh words that came out of his mouth. 

“Hey this is Y/N, sorry I can’t get to the phone right now, leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”

“Hey, babe, it’s me. Luke, which you probably know because I’ve called like ten times in the past half hour. It’s -uh, it’s 7:30, well 7:55 now, but it’s our time to talk for today but I haven’t heard from you. Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

She let out a sigh of relief as she entered the car, tossing her backpack onto the passenger seat before putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. Her phone connects to the bluetooth, blasting out her 90’s playlist before abruptly cutting off with the sound of her ringtone. 

Pressing the accept button on her radio, she answers the phone as she backs out of her parking spot. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, you actually answered?” His voice is rough, tone coming across as a mix between hostile and relieved, though causing her forehead to wrinkle in confusion.

“Lu? What’s wrong bub?” “I wasn’t expecting you to pick up is all. I’ve been calling for nearly an hour, Y/N.” Her eyes dart to the clock as she stops at a light, eyes widening when she realizes how late it is. “Oh, god, Lu I am so so sorry. I was at the library with Brendon and Will, we’ve got this huge chem test tomorrow and I must’ve forgotten to tell you I needed to push our talk tonight to a little bit later.”

Silence. She knows he’s still on the line, she can hear him breathing and the muffled sounds of the other boys on the bus. She also knows he’d never hang up on her, not once has he done it in the year they’ve been together, no matter how stressed out or angry the two of them may be.

“Luke?”

“You went out with Brendon again?” She squeezes her eyes shut momentarily, realizing where this conversation may lead. A beep from the car behind her has her eyes flying open, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal and heads through the intersection. “Luke, we didn’t go out, we went to the library to study. And Will joined us, it wasn’t just Brendon and I.”

He’s silent again and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “You said you wouldn’t talk to him anymore. Not after last time.”

She sighs, flipping the blinker on and turning into the parking lot of her apartment. “I wasn’t planning on it, Lu, but no one else was getting together to study tonight, they were all going to go in the morning but I’ve got work.”

Her car is shut off after pulling into her space, picking her phone up and squashing it between her shoulder and her ear as she gathers her stuff to head inside. She’s not making a lot of noise, but enough that she almost misses the words that he mumbled in response. 

“Right, fifty people and only he’s available.” She freezes, nearly drops her phone as her mouth drops open, changing the angle her phone was resting at. “Excuse me?”

He scoffs and it sends a sour feeling through her body. “I just find it odd that the only person available to study is the same guy who tried to get you to dump me.”

“Luke can we not do this, please? I’m home now and if you give me a few minutes I can be ready to FaceTime, okay?” “Actually, I’ve got stuff I have to do, so I should go. If you want to FaceTime someone, I’m sure Brendon would be happy to help.”

The line clicks dead and her mouth fell open once again, taking in the fact that her boyfriend has essentially accused her of cheating and had actually hung up on her. She must stand in the entryway of her apartment for too long because suddenly her roommate is calling her name and asking if she’s okay.

She manages out some sort of reply about how she’s okay and just tired before stumbling into her bedroom and falling on the bed, tears soaking her pillow and a massive headache beginning to form behind her eyes.

They’ve moved further up the bed and she’s cuddled into his chest while they sit and gather their thoughts. She knows that part of the argument was her fault, she was normally really good at letting Luke know if she needed to change her plans, but she also knows that his comments were completely uncalled for.

“I love you, Luke.” She sits up to look him in the eyes, seeing the same nervous and apprehensive expression she’s sure is gracing her face staring back at her. “I love you, but you can’t do that. That doesn’t work for me, I can’t handle being called a cheater when my boyfriend is halfway across the country. I know that I should’ve sent you a text about going to study, but I got so busy and it slipped my mind.”

His fingers are linked with hers and his thumbs are gently rubbing circles on hers as he lets her get her thoughts out before he speaks his peace. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that and I know being stressed and frustrated isn’t an excuse and neither are my feelings towards Brendon. You’re doing so well at school and I know that you wouldn’t study with him unless you had to and I just-” 

His voice cuts off and suddenly choking, gasping sounds are coming out of his mouth and he’s sobbing. She pulls him closer immediately and lets him curl into her chest, rubbing her hands up and down his back to try and calm him down.

“I just- I just miss you so much when I’m gone and I know our lives have so many different people in them but I hate not being here to spend time with you and help you and-” “Luke Robert Hemmings.” Her interruption startles him and forces him to glance up and lock eyes with her. “You are doing the most important thing for you. I love you so much for putting yourself first sometimes, and your tours are those times. I know how important music and the band are, and I knew that getting into a relationship with you. I know our relationship isn’t conventional in any way and that sometimes we spend more time apart than together, but that’s a sacrifice we both knew we would have to make.” Her hands reach up and to frame Luke’s face, their eyes still locked, and she pulls him in for a quick kiss. Their lips meet and linger for a moment, and she can feel the tears streaming down his face. She pulls back and wipes the tears from his cheeks, offering him a small smile. 

“I love you, Lu. So much. But you can’t shut me out anymore and you definitely can’t accuse me of being unfaithful.” Luke’s head moves up and down, agreeing with her statement. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so so sorry.” Her fingers run through his hair as he apologizes, recognizing his need to apologize an absurd amount of times, knowing that it makes him feel better. She sits there and lets him mumble apologies and I love you’s to his heart's content until the room is silent, only the sound of their breathing apparent in the room.

Luke’s voice finally breaks the silence some ten minutes later. It’s still rough from crying, though it lacks the hesitancy and uncertainty that tainted it earlier. “How did your chemistry test go?”

Y/N barks out a laugh, leaning up and planting a kiss on his cheek as she dives into detail about how her test went and how half of the class didn’t even show up for the exam. Luke watches her explanation with a smile gracing his face, more content than he’s been in a long time, tackling her to the side of the bed when she tells him that she scored an A on her test.

Her pleas fill the air as he attacks her face with peckish kisses, on her forehead, cheeks, nose, even planting some on her closed eyelids as she laughs. He knows that he’ll apologize for at least another week, and that she’ll accept his apologies as long as he gives them, but for now, everything is good. Everything is great.

[thatdarncatchronicles]

That Darn Cat | Issue No. 2 | A Hint of Pesto Aioli

Warnings | Mentions of blood, Canon-typical violence

Rating | K+

Genre | Friendship, Family, Snark (Is that a genre...?)

Guest Stars | Harvey Bullock, Ornell Sackett (OC)

Word Count | 1.7K

Summary: Help comes from an unexpected source when a suspect is kicking the snot out of Jim. Cue Agents of Shield references, a large dose of Harvey!snark, and a lovely dollop of protective!Harvey.

The third punch sent Jim reeling, stars and colors bursting behind his eyes. This was not how he had seen his day going. Pushing off the brick alley wall, he turned back to his assailant just in time to catch a meaty fist square in the face.

Ow.

He staggered and dropped to his knees on the rough pavement, blood spurting from his nose. Then a heavy boot connected with his chest and suddenly his cheek was pressed into the asphalt.

He grunted. He could hear Harvey's I-told-you-sos already.

The boots stepped into his field of vision, and Jim struggled to his hands and knees just in time to catch the kick in his side rather than his face. Flat on his back now, Jim watched as the surrounding buildings swam against the gray clouds of Gotham.

He knew another blow was surely coming, and he knew he should probably do something to avoid it, but he couldn't find the energy to move. When several seconds passed without any sign of his attacker other than an intelligent, "huh?" and a loud clonk, he wondered if he had been forgotten. There was another clonk, followed by a thud, and then footsteps.

Great. Another thug who wanted a piece of the imprudent GCPD detective. He should definitely do something now. He groaned, and was about to try to roll to his feet when this new threat interrupted his view of the Gotham skyline.

"Hiya, Detective." Selina Kyle stood leaning over him, hands planted on her knees and an insufferably smug smile on her face.

Jim frowned. Was he hallucinating? He didn't think he had been hit that hard. "Selina? What are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Cat! That guy was really kicking the snot out of me."

"Yeah." He shifted successfully, if painfully, into a sitting position and smeared at the blood still pouring from his nose with the back of his thumb. "That, too I guess." His halfhearted attempt to stem the blood flow ceased abruptly when his eyes landed on the fallen form of his attacker, spread-eagled on the pavement, a sizable welt already forming on the side of his head. "Did you just—?"

Selina pulled a large glass bottle from her coat and flipped it in the air, catching it with cat-like grace. "Lucky for you, the local booze joints dump right outside my digs."

"Huh." Jim gave up on his nose and rubbed experimentally at his jaw, instead. Ow. "So what brings you to this part of the neighborhood?"

She shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms. "I could ask you the same question, Detective."

"I feel like we've had this conversation before." He struggled to his feet with a barely suppressed grunt and gestured at the prone form beside him. "Ornell Sackett."

Selina smirked. "Well, he certainly sacked you."

"Funny. He's a suspect in a murder investigation." He pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed 911. "This is Detective Gordon, badge number two-three-six-seven-four. I have a suspect unconscious at 24th and Finley, in the alley between Sergio's and…" he glanced at the sign hanging above the second establishment's back door, "Arnold's Florals. Gonna need a bus." Returning his phone to its pocket, he reached back for his handcuffs and set about restraining the man in question. The last thing he needed was for Sackett to wake up and come at them again. Then he called Harvey.

"Hey. I got him in custody, but he's gonna need to be checked out by a doc before we can bring him in. Yeah. Okay. See you in a few." Flipping the phone closed, he looked up, somewhat surprised to find Selina still present, sitting cross-legged atop a trash can. "You're still here."

"That's quite the observation, there, Gordon. I see why you made detective."

He sighed. "Usually, when our paths cross in the city, you take off at the first opportunity—probably with my watch or my wallet. Or leave me in a sewer."

"That was one time." He raises his eyebrows and she shrugs in acknowledgment, amending, "And it probably won't be the last."

"Exactly."

A siren wailed in the distance, growing nearer, and Selina swung her legs off the trash can. "Well, as fun as this has been, Detective, I'm afraid I can't hang around long enough to see the touching reunion between you and your pals at the GCPD."

"Selina, wait."

She did, head tilted, eyes hard.

"Stay a little longer. Harvey'll be here in a minute, and he'll have seen that Fitzsimmons' food truck is parked two blocks away, which means as soon as he's allowed to leave the scene, he's gonna be dragging me over there. Eat with us."

"Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll take my chances somewhere where there aren't a dozen cops waiting for an excuse to send me upstate."

"No one is going to send you upstate, Selina. Not on my watch."

"Sure. Whatever." She turned to go.

"Hey."

She paused with a dramatic sigh, back still towards him, her very posture oozing annoyance.

"Thank you."

She turned back just enough to meet his eyes, her own glinting with mischief as she gave him a two-fingered salute and darted away, disappearing into the maze of Gotham's underbelly.

Jim sighed, turning his attention to the ambulance that had pulled up at the entryway behind him.

A few minutes later, Jim watched, standing by with the two of the uniformed officers now on the scene, as the EMTs loaded the still-unconscious Sackett onto a gurney.

"I gotta admit, partner, I underestimated you."

Jim's eyes closed when he heard Harvey Bullock's voice behind him.

"I'm impressed! You takin' down a hard hitter like Sackett all by your lonesome. I gotta tell ya, I thought you were gonna get your—"

Jim reluctantly turned to face his partner.

"—butt kicked." Harvey's face went from amiable pride to shock to concern in record time, and he was he was at Jim's side in an instant, poking and prodding him to determine the extent of his injuries.

"Harvey—" Jim swatted at his partner's hands when he found a particularly sore spot. "Harvey. Stop it. Stop it, I'm—no, I'm fine. I'm okay."

Harvey eyed him suspiciously, but the fact that Jim was standing seemed to assuage his worry at least enough for him to stop his bearish pat-down. "You sure?"

"Yeah. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Well, that's good, cause it looks bad. Look at you—you got blood everywhere."

"It's just from my nose." Jim ran his blood-crusted hand under his nose again. It seemed to have stopped, mostly. Small mercies.

Ten minutes later, despite his protests, Jim was sitting on the ledge at the back of the ambulance as an EMT made sure he didn't have a concussion or fractured skull or anything. The bruising would be substantial, but the EMT pronounced him good to go and gave him a towel to clean up with.

Jim was in the middle of mopping the worst of the blood from his face when Harvey leaned against the ambulance beside him with a look that Jim knew only too well.

Jim sighed and accepted his fate. "Go ahead. Get it out of your system."

"I told you. I told you this was a stupid idea. Didn't I tell you this was a stupid idea?" He turned to a uniform passing by. "Didn't I tell him this was a stupid idea?" The officer shot him a quizzical look and kept walking. Jim offered her an apologetic smile as Harvey continued. "I definitely told you this was a stupid idea. But did you listen? Nope. Nobody listens to Bullock, do they?"

"Alright, alright. But you also told me this was a bum lead, and I found him, didn't I?"

"Yeah, sure, you found him all right. But got your butt handed to you—royally, I might add. I'm surprised you were able to see well enough to cuff him with that fat eye."

The EMTs rolled Sackett by, and Jim stood to let them load him up.

Harvey's eyes widened at the sight of the golf ball-sized lump on Sackett's temple. He whistled. "Dang, son, what'd you hit him with?"

"I didn't."

"What do you mean, you didn't? That thing's the size of a grapefruit!"

Jim expelled yet another sigh. It was going to come out sooner or later. "It wasn't me. Selina Kyle showed up with a bottle and...Well, you see."

"Selina Ky—hang on, let me get this straight. You're tellin' me a twelve-year-old kid with a beer bottle and a bad haircut took out a three hundred and fifty-pound murder suspect while you sat on your thumbs seein' stars?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. It was a champagne bottle. And you're hardly one to talk about bad haircuts. Or...any haircut, really."

"Hardy-har-har. Where'd that kid get a champagne bottle?"

"Some dumpster, I guess."

"Nice."

"Yeah."

Jim finished cleaning up his face while Harvey finished laughing.

When the guffaws had faded to the occasional chortle, Harvey slapped a hand on Jim's shoulder and began guiding him back to his car. "So, it's your lucky day."

Jim shot him an incredulous look. "Really? My lucky day, huh? How so?"

"How so? I'll tell you how so. You'll never guess who I saw parked a couple blocks down."

"Fitzsimmons."

Harvey didn't appear to have heard Jim. "Fitzsimmons! What do you say we get a bite to eat? I'd kill for a sandwich right now. Prosciutto and mozzarella—slap some buffalo on there, maybe a hint of pesto aioli, and…" Sliding into his seat, Harvey proceeded to make a series of sounds that Jim was embarrassed could come from a seasoned member of the GCPD.

No sooner had Jim eased gingerly into his own seat and Harvey finagled the key into the ignition than the back door opened and closed, someone plopping merrily into the seat behind them.

"Howdy, boys."

"Selina, what are you—"

"I said I didn't want to go upstate, Gordon. Never said I didn't want lunch."

A/N: So, this is super nerdy, but I didn't want the bottle to break when Selina conked the guy out, so I did a little research on the packaging of alcohol. Because the only time I have handled any was when I found a can of beer someone left on the beach and disposed of it. (It smelled terrible. 0/10. Do not recommend.) Annnyway. I found out that while most tall bottles, such as wine, are made of fairly fragile glass, champagne bottles are dense and heavy because of the amount of pressure the contents are under. So yah. If you ever need a large bottle to knock someone out with, champagne is the way to go, y'all. You're welcome.

Props to those who caught the shamless Agents of SHIELD reference, and double props to anyone who caught the more subtle Louis L'Amour reference.

Oh, hey! Lemme know what you thought of Harvey in this chapter! This fic definitely focuses on the grudging palship between Jim and Selina, but I'm excited about the opportunities for guest stars. :D Who would you like to see make an appearance in upcoming chapters?

Remember to follow my blog and #thatdarncat (no spaces!) to never miss an issue! If you missed issue no. 1, I’ve got it linked below. :)

Thanks for reading, beautiful hooman. Get your sleep, take your vitamins, drink your water, eat somethin’ :) I love you! *hugs*

Issue No. 1 | Of Spaghettie and Sneezes:

https://thatdarncatchronicles.tumblr.com/post/620372790294528001/that-darn-cat-issue-no-1-of-spaghetti-and?is_related_post=1

[justlightlysedated]

for @fraudulentzodiacs just because 💜💜💜

* * *

The target was moving too fast for the scanners to track, and Michael had to admit that he was a little impressed. Especially considering that the target was on foot and human.

Even Isobel flying at her fastest yet wasn’t enough to keep up.

Isobel curses low and harsh, her breathing heavy as she pushes past the limits of her stamina to keep up. 

“Remind me again how much credits are on the line,” Isobel asks, panting hard.

“3.5 million,” Michael says sounding a little breathless at the thought of having a third of that for himself.

“Dead or alive,” Max says, pushing the ship to go harder so that they could cut off their target. “So you don’t have to be gentle.”

“Not planning on it,” Isobel says, and then gives out a yell before Michael can see her speeding up on the scanner.

“I hope you’re getting ready,” Max tells Michael. “We’re almost in position.”

Michael rolls his eyes, “I was born ready.”

He can feel Max resisting the urge to take his gaze away from the front shield to glare at him.

“Dropping from this height at this speed-”

“Relax, my king,” Michael says mockingly. “Impenetrable skin, remember?”

“Not sure that will help when you get flattened like a pancake,” Max says, sarcastically.

“Trust me,” Michael responds. “I’ll be fine.”

“Now,” both Max and Isobel say.

Michael tugs the goggles holding his hair back from his face down to protect his eyes and pushes the blue button right next to the bay doors making the floor open up beneath his feet.

Michael lets out a whoop as he falls through the air, the wind rushing past him as he drops steals the sound away.

“Okay,” he hears Max’s voice through the implant in his left ear, connected to the ship’s broadcasting system. “You’re right on course. Isobel-”

“The fucker has those fucking cosmic boots,” Isobel says sounding pissed off. “I’m gonna kick Valenti’s fucking ass. Just picking up the son of an earth ambassador, he says. Easiest 3.5mill in the galaxy, he promises. Easy my ass, this fucker knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“And so do we,” Max assures her. “Michael, twenty seconds to impact.”

Michael changes his position in midair, and presses down on his amulet hanging from his neck. It glows bright blue as the force field surrounds him, and then he crashes to the floor, throwing dirt and rocks in his wake.

The force field powers down and Michael falls to his back laughing helplessly with the adrenaline pouring through his veins.

“Michael,” Max snaps.

Michael pushes himself to his feet and braces his foot on the floor, pulling the laser rifle strapped to his back and looking through the scope.

He spots the target immediately, jumping between the rock formations like he has no fear of falling. Everytime he pushes off, the boots give him a sonic boost sending him farther than humanly possible.

It’s easy to see how he’s been keeping ahead of Isobel, and it’s also easy to see that unlike them, he knows the terrain.

It’s also easy to see the moment he slows down. 

Michael gets a bad feeling immediately, but before he can warn Isobel, she swoops down from the sky like an avenging angel, all golden and bright. 

The target, pushes off from the next formation, but instead of forward he jumps up, and collides with Isobel in midair, dragging them both down to the ground.

“Isobel!” Michael yells, and straps the rifle back on his back before he pulls the cylinder disk from it’s holster on his hip and throws it in front of him.

It folds out into a hoverboard and he jumps on it and speeds forward to where they dropped.

He gets there just in time to see the target, knock Isobel out, and lean forward to grab the amulet from around her neck. “Thanks, princess,” he says.

And Michael takes one second to curse Valenti’s name because the target knows who they really are, before he drops back down to the ground and pulls his rifle from his back as the target stuffs the amulet into the front pocket of his pants.

Michael points the rifle at him, “Hands in the air and maybe I’ll think about not blowing your brains out for hitting my sister.”

The target doesn’t move like he’s surprised, and Michael takes another second to curse Valenti’s name before the target moves fast, using the boots for an extra boost as he roundhouse kicks the rifle out of Michael’s hands and into the air, before he catches it and points it at Michael.

Half of the target’s face is covered by a black cloth, and his eyes widen a little as the take Michael in, but it’s only marginally, before the rifle is giving a whining sound as it powers up.

“You were hardly going to be able to blow my brains out with a cold rifle,” he says and takes a step closer. “And you are hardly the brother of the Lost Princess of Antar, General.”

Michael spits at the ground and bares his teeth at him, raising one hand to his amulet when he feels the tip of a dagger right against the small of his back.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” an unfamiliar female voice says, pressing the knife harder.

Michael is seriously going to kill Valenti if they manage to get out of this alive.

The knife presses harder, and Michael lets his hands drop to his sides.

“Two against one isn’t exactly a fair fight,” he tells the target, who rolls his eyes at Michael.

“Yeah, and what’s three against one?”

“A hell of a party,” Michael says, grinning at him, and hoping that Max is almost at their position.

“If that was a code word or something,” the target says moving closer. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“Max,” Michael says suddenly realizing that Max hasn’t spoken since he called Michael’s name.

“Nope, sorry, he’s a little tied up at the moment,” another unfamiliar and amused female voice says into his earpiece.

“Don’t worry,” the target says snapping Michael’s attention back to him. “He’ll be with you soon enough.”

Before Michael can ask what he means, the target swings the rifle knocking Michael out.

* * *

Michael comes to with a gasp, sitting up too fast, making his shoulders twinge in protest as the move tugs against the restraints around his wrists.

Michael looks around his surroundings to see that they’re in the same spot the target had dropped Isobel. A sort of ravine that had enough shade to hide from the scorching hot suns to protect them all.

Michael spots Max passed out with his head on Isobel’s lap, and Isobel also has her hands tied behind her back and her eyes are narrowed in anger.

Michael looks over to see what she’s looking at and spots the target, sitting down on the floor, hands moving fast as he types into his wristband which is connected to the holographic monitor in front of him that is crunching through data extremely fast, and from the way his eyes are moving, Michael can tell that he’s got at least one neural implant.

Michael feels something hit his thigh and he turns to Isobel to see her gaze on him. She tilts her head towards the target pointedly, and points her chin down.

Michael looks back over to the target, and down to the boots, and finally sees what Isobel was talking about.

“You know,” he says, and the target startles, blinking rapidly before his dark gaze narrows on Michael. “I designed the prototype for those boots.”

The target seems to smile smugly at Michael with only his eyes and his eyebrows, and there is something so familiar about it, but Michael can’t quite put his finger on it.

“These are your prototype actually,” he says and something jolts in Michael’s stomach at that. “I stole them and destroyed the plans before anyone else could get a hold of them. There have been copies flying around the quadrants but none like these.”

“Impossible,” Michael says immediately, blinking rapidly. “No one would be able to get into my lab-”

“Unless they have the code,” the target finishes, and then pulls the dark cloth from around his mouth, and Michael feels like every single atom in his body freezes.

“Alex,” he breathes, and feels Isobel kick something else at him, but he can’t look away.

It’s been ten years since they left Antar in the middle of the night. He didn’t even have time to say goodbye to his mom let alone Alex.

“General,” Alex replies, voice frosty.

Before Michael can say anything else, two figures float down on Michael’s hoverboard, dropping down on either side of Alex.

Michael recognizes them both from the pictures Alex kept in his room. Maria and Liz, his best friends.

Michael hears Max groan and looks over to see him waking up.

“Now that you’re all awake,” Liz says stepping closer to them. “We can begin the interrogation.”

Maria is standing right behind Liz cleaning her finger nails with the tip of her knife, and Alex is plugged back into whatever it is he was doing before.

“Where is Antar?” she says, and Michael’s gaze snaps to her incredulously.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“Antar is where it’s always been,” Max says, diplomatically. “Quadrant 43, Galactic Coordinates AAP98592094 and MNR31101.”

“It’s not like we shrunk the planet and put it into our suitcase when we ran away,” Isobel says, sardonically.

Liz and Maria share a look before they both look back at Alex, who lowers his hand and makes the monitor disappear before he looks at Michael.

Michael looks back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I told you they wouldn’t know,” Alex says after a long moment turning to Maria and Liz.

Maria rolls her eyes, sliding the dagger back into her pocket.

Liz gives Alex a look. “Yeah, and what? We were just supposed to let them take you back to your father?”

Alex licks his bottom lip. “That wouldn’t have happened.”

“I would never let that happen,” Michael snaps at the same time.

Maria’s gaze flickers to him, and then to Alex and then back again, before she expels an exasperated breath and walks away from them muttering under her breath in a language that Michael has never heard.

“What?” Liz asks, calling after her, but doesn’t move away from Alex’s side.

“You know I was stationed on Antar, before the Disappearance,” Alex starts, and is cut off by Max and Isobel.

“The Disappearance?” they ask at the same time.

Alex looks over to them, and then to Michael and then back to Liz, who inclines her head slightly.

“Exactly five years two months and three weeks ago, the New King of Antar used ancient technology to move the planet somewhere else and no one has been able to locate it.”

There is silence for exactly five seconds before Isobel starts cursing and Max starts asking questions, and Michael starts talking about how that would cause an intergalactic catastrophe.

“It did,” Alex says. “It created a singularity that very nearly decimated every planet within range. Many people were killed. Some were lucky enough to survive.”

Michael swallows hard and eyes Alex up and down as though he’ll be able to see through his clothes and make sure that he’s whole and that the neural implant is the only thing different about him.

Alex doesn’t reply to his unspoken question, avoiding his gaze.

Liz lets out a breath. “How are we going to find Rosa now?”

“Rosa?” Isobel asks and something about her voice makes Michael stare at her.

“My sister,” Liz says turning back to them. “The New King kidnapped her and is holding her as his captive. You were our last hope in finding her.”

Isobel looks away from her to Michael, and Michael can see that she knows something, but before he can ask her, Max is speaking.

“We can take you to Antar,” he says, and Liz turns her gaze to him, eyes narrowing.

“How?”

“I’m the true King,” he says simply.

Alex and Liz share a look.

“It’s an evolutionary tic,” Michael answers when Liz and Alex turn unimpressed looks on them. “A King’s heart is with his people. Home is where the heart is, and home calls to us all.”

He looks at Alex as he says it, and Alex looks away immediately, but not fast enough that Michael doesn’t catch the flush that spreads across his cheeks.

“And if we let you go,” Maria says from behind them, startling Michael and making Isobel curse. “How can we be sure that you won’t just kill us all and drag Alex’s dead body to his father and collect your bounty?”

Isobel says, “You can’t. You’ll just have to take that chance.”

At the same time that Max says. “We won’t. I promise.” Not looking away from Liz.

And Michael swallows hard, and looks at Alex who widens his eyes and shakes his head slightly, but Michael is already talking. “Antarians don’t kill their mates.”