#like i have not spoken to another student who plans to go into plant or animal or ecology science and its v sad in lab when my

[glassamphibians]

ig its a bio 101 class so a lot of people like Have to take it but i still get so surprised when the other students dont care abt biology or like think what we’re doing is boring what do you mean you think the guy who studied fly eyeball genes is crazy. this is the studying fly eyeball genes class.

#like i have not spoken to another student who plans to go into plant or animal or ecology science and its v sad in lab when my #prof (marine ecology expert) asks nature questions & im the only one who answers with any degree of enthusiasm idk it’s just frustrating #its hard being a bug lover in a bug hating world 😔

[opalvatter]

Heathers MLB AU - (Meant to be yours)

“You a Heather?”

“I’m a Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng”

Marinette remembered the first time she met Adrien. Tall, dark and handsome, not forgetting to mention smart ( which was hard to come by) and had enough guts to stand up against Kim and Ivan.

“I don’t really like my friends”

“I don’t like your friends either”

Then she met him at 7/11 when buying corn nuts for Heather Chloe. They flirted for a bit before Chloe came and pulled her away.

After that disaster of a party, she broke into his house by climbing through the window. She demanded that she’d ride him till she broke him and the rest of that night was history 

“I’m a dead girl walking!”

The problems started then.

“Coooorrn nuutts!” 

The morning after, she and her boyfriend went to Chloe’s house and accidentally gave her drain cleaner instead of hangover cure while begging for forgiveness.

They covered it up with a fake sucide note and went along with their life. Lila took over Chloe’s place immediately. Sabrina… was just Sabrina.

A day or 2 later,Sabrina had tricked her into a date with Ivan and Kim, who tried to date rape her but failed. That didn’t stop the remaining Heathers from spreading rumours. When Adrien tried defend her, the boys beat Adrien up and left the couple to stew in humiliation and anger. 

Adrien lied to her with fake bullets to kill Ivan and Kim. She believed it and followed trough on the plan. They wrote another sucide note saying that the boys were gay, only this time, Marinette thought they were still alive.

But he tricked her again. She found out they were actually dead but he manipulated her into believing that he did it for her. Maybe he truly did but she will never know, now would she?

“Why can’t we just be seventeeeeeen”

She tried to convince him to be 17 and he surprisingly agreed. Due to some events, less than a week later, she broke up with him.

Adrien(spoken):

Knock knock! Sorry for Coming in through the window, dreadful etiquette, I know.

Now hiding in her closet , Marinette wondered, what could she have done different ?

Marinette(spoken):

Get out of my house!!

Adrien(spoken):

Hiding in the closet?! Come on!!

Marinette(spoken):

I’ll scream and my parents will call the police!

Adrien(spoken):

All is forgiven baby! Come on, get dressed. You're my date to the pep rally tonight!

‘What?! He hates events like this!!’ Mari thought

Marinette(spoken):

What? Why?!

She heard him chuckle from beyond door.

Adrien(spoken):

Our classmates thought they were signing a petition. Come out and see what they really signed!

Adrien(sung)

You chucked me out like I was trash,

For that you should be dead—

But! But! But!

Then it hit me like a flash,

What if high school went away instead'

Her eyes widened in shock.

Those assholes are the key!

They're keeping you away from me!

They made you blind, messed up your mind but I can set you free

You left me and I fell apart I punched the wall and cried- bam bam bam!

Her lips twitched upwards at his special effects. Through everything, this dramatic boy was what she had fallen in love with.

Then I found you changed my heart and set loose all that truthful shit inside!

And so I built a bomb

Tonight our school is Vietnam!

Fear gripped Marinette within its clutches and squeezed her heart.

Let's guarantee they'll never see their senior prom!

I was meant to be yours!

We were meant to be one!

Even though now was not the time, a tiny smile shone through her.

Don't give up on me now!

Finish what we've begun!

I was meant to be yours!

So when the high school gym goes boom with everyone inside—

Pchw! Pchw! Pchw!

In the rubble of their tomb

We'll plant this note explaining why they died!

 Adrien AND STUDENTS (spoken):

We, the students of Westerburg High

Will die. Our burnt bodies may finally get through

To you. Your society churns out slaves and blanks

No thanks. Signed the Students of Westerburg High

'Goodbye.'

That was even more dramatic than anything she had written in her apparently going to be short life. No wonder he did amazing in English.

Adrien( sung):

We'll watch the smoke poor out the doors.

Bring marshmallows,

We'll make s'mores!

We can smile and cuddle while the fire roars!

That did sound nice.

Wait. 

No.

NO!

Marinette slapped herself a  couple of times and shook her head. She was supposed to save her school and Ex boyfriend. Not go along with his plans. 

Not to blow up the school and the people who caused her so much misery. Though it would be nice to— NOPE! Not going there!

I was meant to be yours!

We were meant to be one!

I can't make this alone!

Finish what we've begun!

Shit. He was getting desperate and slightly frustrated. She needed to think of a plan. She began looking around. 

You were meant to be mine!

I am all that you need!

You carved open my heart!

Can't just leave me to bleed!

Honestly, boyfriends should come with a tag saying what they are made of. If she knew he was this psychotic, she would have took him to an psychiatrist and help his healing process before climbing through his window, drunk.

Marinette open the—open the door, please'

Marinette, open the door.

Marinette, can we not fight anymore'

Please, can we not fight anymore'

Marinette, sure, you're scared,

I've been there. I can set you free!

She tied the last knot on the rope. 

Marinette, don't make me come in there!

I'm gonna count to three!

Her heartbeat quickened it’s pace, doubt filling her mind. 

(Spoken) One! Two! Fuck it!

Adrien pushed the door open but immediately froze as he saw his girlfriend hanging from the ceiling.

Oh my God!

Adrien fell to his knees , tears openly falling from his eyes. 

'No! 'Mari’! 

Marinette was a second away from jumping in to kiss his sadness away at hearing how distraught he sounded.

(Sung)

Please don't leave me alone'

You were all I could trust'

If he stayed a second more she would have fucked the plan and squeezed the living daylights out of him.

I can't do this alone'

‘Please give up!’ She prayed to the Heaven above.

Adrien AND STUDENTS:

Still I will if I must!

Of course he didn’t ! 

Sabine:

Marinette!

Adrien finally broke away from his trance.

Sabine:

Marinette! I made you a snack!

Adrien jumped out the window as Sabine entered the room.

Marinette had never heard her mother scream as loud as that in all her life

As she left her home for what she hoped wasn't the last time, she was determined. Determined to win

Leave a Like if you Like!! :)

Have a good day!!!!

#miraculous ladybug #heathers the musical #meant to be yours #I'm a pycopath #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #veronica sawyer #jason dean

[wecantseeyou]

a note on color - how line of duty series 6 uses wardrobe to frame narrative (pt 1)

author’s note: this began as a personal observation on the use of cool tones for AC-12 and warm tones in opposition to AC-12, and evolved into a spreadsheet tracking most every outfit 3 of the 4 leads wear in every episode (through 6). 

Why Jo, Kate, and Steve? 

Jo: This is ultimately a rumination on Jo and her character, and the non-textual ways the show indicates Jo’s feelings, actions, and allegiances.

Kate: Jo’s major emotional connection in the series. Kate’s wardrobe often mirrors Jo’s in both style and color, and Kate’s wardrobe also gives hints to Jo’s true identity, while also reminding the audience of her allegiance with AC-12 (in both principles and action)

Steve: As the face of AC-12 in many ways (especially in this season, whereas past seasons that would’ve been Kate), Steve’s wardrobe is the control. He is firmly planted as an anti-corruption officer, is an ally of Kate, and he acts as Jo’s foil.

Why not Hastings?: Lord knows I love Ted, but the man really only ever wears his uniform (which is an entirely different essay about his views of the police force, ‘bent coppers’, and the ‘bad apples’ view of addressing police misconduct)

Some of the colors folks wear are difficult to quantify - I note circumstances where a shirt or sweater could be interpreted as multiple colors, and some instances where I believe that open interpretation is intentional. To be incredibly simplistic for how I coded the colors, cool tones are the good guys, and warm tones are the bad guys. Where possible, I have included reference images for the outfits I’m discussing (low quality screencaps ahead). 

It took me some time to choose the organization of this essay, but ultimately there’s only one way to really do it - scene to scene. So buckle in, cause this is a doozy. I’m posting just episode 1 today, and then plan to post analyses breaking down the other episodes through Saturday. Essay under the cut.

DISCLAIMER: I’m American, so there’s likely something about the UK that I miss here. Alas, we’ll persevere. I barely edited this because I’m no longer a student and don’t have that kind of time. Also, I already wrote one dissertation and I refused to admit I wrote another one. 

METHODOLOGY

To kick off, I went through and looked at every outfit worn by Jo Davidson and Kate Fleming, and most worn by Steve Arnott, in series 6. Steve acts as my control because he begins and ends my sample as a working member of AC-12, which for the purposes of this narrative represents police who are not corrupt. He is exclusively shown in cool tones in every scene I discuss here. Kate serves to bridge that gap in analysis between Jo and Steve - she is anti-corruption through and through, but she is no longer a member of AC-12, and she also has a close relationship with Jo, which is clearly romantic in tone. Kate often wears cool tones and white, but the occasional brown, orange, and green pop up (hold that thought on green). Jo is my main focus of my analysis, because I believe her wardrobe is most clearly impacted by the struggle between internal desires and external pressures. She wears a range of colors, but most frequently it is a combination of warm and cool tones. For the purpose of this analysis, black is considered a warm tone, white is both cool and absent allegiance, and grey is considered a cool tone.

THESIS

Since the first episode of series 6, Line of Duty has used color to indicate that Jo Davidson is not bent by aligning her with the tone of AC-12 as a whole and Kate Fleming specifically. TL;DR: The show has used wardrobe to tell us that Jo is not (intentionally) bent from the beginning.

Jo isn’t ‘bent’ in that she doesn’t want to be corrupt, but she’s forced to be. Surrounded on all sides by the OCG because of her uncle/father, Tommy Hunter, Jo therefore has no choice but to follow OCG orders for fear for her life. The show works to show us this visually in a few ways. Cool tones, representing ‘justice’ through AC-12, are seen throughout her screen time, but they are often peppered with warm tones, representing corruption and the OCG. This is true of her wardrobe overall, but is perhaps most succinctly demonstrated in her apartment. Keep these thoughts in mind as I break down each outfit. 

EPISODE 1

There are points where the wardrobe informs us of things that the text directly contradicts. For instance, in the opening scene of episode 1, Jo arrives at the Hill wearing a black coat over a dark grey turtleneck, and is shown talking to Lomax about a new lead in the Gail Vella murder investigation. She is then shown talking to Buckells about this lead, an unknown CHIS who claims to have spoken with a man named Ross Turner who claimed to have killed Gail. The interaction seems innocuous, and Buckells denies permission for a raid on Turner’s home, but look more carefully at the dialogue here. Jo is manipulating Buckells by presenting him with information about the source, including that he was a sex worker and speculating on his potential drug use. These two factors are what makes Buckells hesitate, and he ultimately stops the raid from being carried out that night. 

While Jo in this scene seems to push Buckells to give permission for the operation, Jo’s dark wardrobe is telling the audience that something else is happening on another level here. We learn later that Jo would take advantage of Buckells baser instincts and desire for upward advancement in order to manipulate him, which is what she does in this scene. She specifically mentions the CHIS’s sex work and the potential drug use because she knows Buckells will worry about the reliability of the witness and want more to go off of, hence cancelling the operation. Jo’s dark clothes hint at her manipulation of Buckells while the audience is not yet clued in.

The next time we see Jo during the team briefing about Ross Turner is also the first time we get a hint at the fliration between her and Kate. Jo’s “dirty stop-out” line and Kate’s “glass houses, boss” response, coupled with Jo’s smile that she hides by looking down show a clear shift in tone. The black jacket is removed, and she’s wearing a grey turtleneck. Jo is slightly more at ease here, enjoying the easy banter. Meanwhile, Kate is wearing a cream/light brown sweater, our first visual clue of her separation from AC-12 and her connection to Jo. 

Note here that Jo’s black jacket was on top of her grey turtleneck, and could be removed. The turtleneck, a very modest and in some ways restrictive top, also serves as an armor Jo wears to brace herself against her own actions. 

When the operation to arrest Ross Turner is approved, Jo again dons a black jacket under her body armor, while Kate wears a green coat under her body armor. Jo putting on the black jacket is symbolic of how she is about to waylay the team with the staged armed robbery at the bookie, allowing time for the OCG to replace Owen Banks with Terry Boyle. Kate’s green coat is symbolic of her mixed allegiances between AC-12’s blue and Jo’s yellow.

Later, when debriefing the operation with Lomax and discussing the importance of learning the CHIS’s identity, Jo and Kate are back to the grey and cream sweaters they were wearing earlier. Their banter is also back with Kate’s “great minds” line, demonstrating their comfort and also telling the audience these two women are in sync with one another. 

Immediately after this series of scenes, we see Steve for the first time. His first scene is at AC-12, wearing a grey suit, white shirt, and red tie, when he is notified that Farida Jatri is there to see him. We learn in the next scene, where Steve is in a blue suit with a blue shirt and blue tie, that Farida brought her concerns about Jo to AC-12, particularly about the odd armed robbery that Jo spotted. He asks Hastings for permission to look into it further, which is granted. The all blue outfit on Steve represents his desire to root out potential corruption in this complaint. He continues to wear this outfit for most of the episode when dealing with the investigation and MIT.

(Note: there’s an interlude scene here of the MIT crew in crime scene suits at Terry’s, but I’m not including that here.)

We next see Jo with Lomax, interrogating a frightened Terry Boyle, while Kate watches the video feed of the interview. Jo is wearing another grey turtleneck, but this time is wearing a grey jacket, while Kate watches on with a cream oversized sweater. The interview with Terry goes nowhere for the most part, as he refuses to comment, which seems to be to Jo’s relief. Kate, however, clearly isn’t done.

Donned in a green mockneck and navy suit, Kate visits the crime scene at Terry’s apartment again. This green top still aligns her with both AC-12 and Jo, but the navy suit serves as a reminder that she doesn’t think the MIT has the full story on Terry Boyle. 

Later, we see Kate in the same outfit debriefing Jo on the new information at the crime scene, namely that there is no new information because it’s been wiped clean. Jo is wearing a grey suit jacket, brown sweater, and a white shirt. Both agree that Terry isn’t a solid suspect, and want the ID of the CHIS in order to confirm that he’s the man identified as Ross Turner. Jo’s layering here is interesting - cool tone, warm tone, cool tone. She agrees with Kate externally, she knows Terry is in the frame for Vella’s murder, and she doesn’t feel comfortable pursuing Terry as a suspect she knows is innocent.

They then visit the CHIS’s handler, who refuses to give up his informant’s ID, but reveals to Kate that he is concerned about the CHIS’s welfare. Kate is wearing a long navy coat, while Jo is wearing a long grey coat with a blue and orange scarf. Kate wants to know the CHIS’s ID to genuinely pursue justice, hence the blue, while Jo wants the CHIS’s ID for ostensibly the same reason, but for her, pursuing justice with the CHIS would also clear Terry’s name. Jo doesn’t want Terry to be punished because he’s innocent, but she also knows a negative ID on Terry will lead to trouble for her with the OCG.

We see Jo in the same outfit minus outerwear in the next few scenes - when she is called into Buckell’s office and convinces him to put pressure on for the CHIS’s ID (while Kate watches), and later when Kate informs her that there was a surveillance gap on Terry Boyle’s flat due to the wrong authority being sought. Jo pushes Buckells and manipulates him to reveal the CHIS’s ID, and also blames him for the gap that she’s responsible for, hence the warm coloring of her sweater. Kate, meanwhile, is showing her allegiance to Jo by telling her about the gaffe, the green of her shirt being the visual representation of that act. 

Next we have a scene of Steve looking at CCTV of the armed robbery, and their suspicions are raised about the speed the convoy was traveling and the likelihood that Jo could have actually spotted it. Again, Steve is in an all blue outfit. 

Back to our favorite murder investigators, Lomax, Jo, and Kate arrive on the scene of a murder victim which turns out to be their missing CHIS. Jo is dressed in a long grey coat, green sweater, and light blue shirt, while Kate is rocking a long navy coat, navy suit, and an orange and navy striped turtleneck. Later at MIT, Kate and Jo discuss the CHIS further, lamenting the loss of the only witness who could ID Terry as Ross Turner. Throughout this scene, Jatri is watching the two of them interact. Jatri then calls Steve, in a grey suit with a blue tie, and tells him she can no longer be an informant. 

Round two of interviewing sweet Terry begins, with Jo in the same outfit and Kate watching on video, again in the same striped turtleneck. They all seem to think Terry is hiding something, but Kate seems taken aback at some of Jo’s lines of questioning (Vicky McClure, expert reactor) but is mostly saddened by Terry. Later, Steve meets with Kate outside of Hillside and they discuss his inquiry into Jo. She refuses to help, but gives him the name Carl Banks as someone to look into. 

We then see Jo arrive at Farida’s house with a suitcase, moving out her final belongings after their breakup, where they have a row over Jo’s refusal to introduce Farida to her nonexistent family. After, Jo returns to her own apartment with its 18 dead bolts. Nearly the entire place is blue - the walls, the furniture, even the refrigerator. However, those warm tones pop up throughout - lemons on the counter, golden pillows in the living room, gold lights framing the picture of her mother. Jo at her heart is good and believes in justice, but she has been groomed and manipulated by the OCG into acting against her nature in the name of self-preservation. She is blue, but the pops of gold and yellow of the OCG catch the eye. 

The following scene shows Jo getting chewed out by Buckells in the briefing room in full view of the rest of MIT, again in the green sweater and blue shirt. Kate looks on in concern, still wearing the orange and navy striped sweater. Buckells storms out, and Jo rushes into the hallway. Kate follows quickly behind, asking after Jo, who vents her frustrations with the pressure to charge Terry with murder because she knows it isn’t right and wants to find real justice for Gail. The color choices in this scene are clear. Kate is wearing orange and navy, highlighting both her connection to Jo and her pursuit of justice. Jo is wearing green, combining the blue of her heart and the pollution of OCG yellow, with a light blue shirt, again highlighting her true self and alignment with Kate.

This also highlights something we don’t learn until episode 6 - Jo wanted Kate on her team to keep her in check and be a barrier to the things the OCG was asking her to do. This includes the arrest of Terry Boyle. Jo specifically identifies several odd things about the recent evidence - and tells Kate that something doesn’t add up, essentially encouraging the DI to look into these inconsistencies further. This is her way of looking for help when she still feels trapped in many ways. 

Of course, no analysis of this scene would be complete without mentioning the hand grab and subsequent hold. They’re gay, kids!

The final scene shows Jo watching as Terry Boyle is released and remanded to police bail, a look of relief on her face. Because yeah, she’s done a lot of bent things, but Jo isn’t bent.

And that’s where the episode wraps.

Stay tuned for more wardrobe analysis tomorrow!

#line of duty #jo davidson #kate fleming #steve arnott #lod spoilers #line of duty spoilers #flemson #kate x jo #so sorry to anyone who follows me for cr but I do love a good crime drama #anyways defund the police #this is fully unedited pursue with caution

[rostovs-lover]

roy rogers

brian may x reader | cursing, some suggestive language, a little bit of anxiety, alcohol consumption | she/her pronouns | fluffy? slow-burn?? | wc.3667

i’m low key tempted to make a part two,, 

anon : Can I request a super cute fic where Bri needs more money for uni, so he starts offering guitar lessons and the reader has a little brother who really wants to learn how to play, so she signs him up. Maybe her brother is extremely good with a guitar and he has a lot of lessons with Bri. He also sees the reader a lot and he catches feelings HARD. Maybe the reader’s little brother spills something to both of them with the help of the rest of the band and they end of together. I just need major FLUFF

your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together. requests open!!

     A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

     Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

    When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

    “One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

    “What is this?”

    “Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

    He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

    “That's so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

    He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

    “Mum said what?”

    “You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That's according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

    “Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

    “First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

    Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one. 

    You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

    The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

    “Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

    The person on the line snorted, ���Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

    The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

    “Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

    “Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That's me, are you looking to schedule one?”

    You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

    The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

    Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

    “Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

    David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

    “Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

    David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That's my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

    “We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

    A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

    The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

    “Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

    You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

    “Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

    “Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

    David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it's true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

    “Because I like stability David,”

    “[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

    “If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that's what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

    David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

    “Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it's never just dinner.” You snorted.

    “Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

    “Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

    It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

    “You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

    David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

    David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

    Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

    “Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

    “Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

    You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

    “Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

    “Roger said you’re in a band now, what's that called?”

    His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

    David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

    Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

    It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

    “I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

    You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.” 

    He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

    You considered, “Where is it?”

    “The Cameo, downtown London.”

    “It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

    “Wonderful,” He grinned, “It's a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

    You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

    “It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

    You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

    “Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What's he got to do with this?”

    “He's an insufferable little shit, that's what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

    Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He's a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

    The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

    “What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It's alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

    “Come on, it's almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

    Brian’s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

    Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That's him?!”

    You nodded, “It is,”

    “Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

    “His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

    She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

    It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

    “Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

    “You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

    You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

    The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

    “It's nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

    “You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

    Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

    Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

    Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

    “I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

    He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

    “Well, I'll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

    When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

    “Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there's a lot of people here.”

    He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it's crowded. There's a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

    You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

    The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

    “You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

    You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

    “Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

    You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

    His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

    You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

    “With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he's always been good at everything he tries. It's really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

    “He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

    “No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it's not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

    Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

    “I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

    He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

    He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

    “Absolutely,”

    He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

    You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

    He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him. 

     He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

    David would never let you hear the end of this either.

#Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagines #queen #lennie writes

[shih-coulda-had-it]

193 for... maybe nanahiko? Really just do whatever ship you feel like :D

193. "Are you crazy? The kid is upstairs!" | VestigesTorino [Yes. OT8. The orgies are fantastic, and Torino is Holder bait, 8th and 9th exempt.] | WC: 2,222 of an OFA!VampireCoven!AU except op has taken liberties with worldbuilding.

TW: Blood-drinking. Outrageous flirting. Mildly spicy!

//

“Vampires,” Sorahiko echoes blankly.

He looks from left to right, trying to spot the differences between himself and the six adult men and one adult woman sitting at this round table. Most atypical appearances can be attributed to the strange and wondrous natures of Quirks, so Sorahiko could excuse the fourteen red eyes (every iris the identical shade) as a matter of Quirk heritage. However, none of the Shigarakis resemble the other.

They still might be pulling his leg.

The leader of the household (presumably) leans his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “Torino-san,” he says in a gentle voice, “we greatly appreciate your timely rescue of our youngest. And believe me when I say I would have preferred you stay ignorant of my coven’s true nature.”

“But the boy wants to be a professional hero,” one of the men interrupts. His arms are crossed, and his hair sticks up in rakish angles. An X-shaped scar has been carved over the bridge of his nose, just missing the eyes.

He sounds dismissive of the kid’s dream.

Fair. When Sorahiko had stepped onto the moonlit scene, the kid was frantically scrabbling at a thick-skinned villain’s hand, trying to save his bag from being rummaged. The villain had planted a knee in the kid’s stomach in an attempt to menace him into silence.

Sorahiko pounced on the villain, called in the location to pick up the too-heavy bastard, and escorted the boy home. He fielded questions about heroics and U.A. High for half an hour before they finally reached the Shigaraki compound.

And now he is here, trapped in a gigantic dining room, being told about vampires.

“We agreed to let him try,” says the singular woman sharply.

“If you three hadn’t filled his head about saving the world,” a man with a spiky ponytail shoots back, “then we wouldn’t have this problem. And you too, Yoichi.”

“Nevertheless,” the leader says. His red eyes gleam in the low light, and Sorahiko feels his skin prickling at the attention.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Ah, who hasn’t heard of the toughest teacher of U.A.?” another man asks, sly and teasing. His voice is soft like the leader’s, but perceptibly younger. His coloring is similar to the woman’s, but he’s lean where she’s muscular. “Yoichi believes we should give you a head’s up. Toshinori is a good child, but even he will slip from time to time, and that will draw undue attention to himself.”

Sorahiko considers these seven faces. Slowly, he says, “You think he’ll be accepted into U.A.”

“Three of us are active pro-heroes, and we’ve been training him when we can,” the woman informs him. “I’d say he’s got a headstart compared to all of your first years.”

“My students have always been terrible. That’s what schooling is for.”

She flashes a smile at him, toothy and amused; his throat works through a sudden dry spell. Belatedly, Sorahiko realizes that every adult in this kitchen is eyeing him with intense interest. Even the ones that haven’t spoken yet.

Yoichi speaks again. “He’s smart, and he’ll be strong. U.A. will accept him. I ask you for your discretion and help, Gran Torino.”

He could refuse, but Sorahiko assumes they’ll simply kill him. Being blackmailed is a low possibility; Sorahiko doesn’t have much to be blackmailed about. And pro-heroes disappear all the time. No one really knows why. Principal Shi might demand an investigation on Gran Torino’s behalf (and possibly at the behest of Recovery Girl, who grudgingly acknowledges Torino’s efforts to raise the survival rate of U.A.’s graduates), but otherwise…

Still. Vampires. Another subset of humanity, among the Quirked and Quirkless. It’s weird enough to be true.

“Is this a verbal agreement?” Sorahiko asks.

A bark of laughter from the square-jawed man in the leather jacket, who leans forward and grins like a shark at Sorahiko. The light glints off the yellow lenses of his goggles, and the play of light and shadow highlights the muscle definition of the man’s shirtless chest. In a rich, low voice, he says, “We’ve got something better. A contract.”

“Using what?” Sorahiko bites back. “Paper and ink?”

“Skin and teeth, teach’.”

“Daigoro’s correct,” says Yoichi mildly, snatching Sorahiko’s attention away. “Torino-san, allow me to introduce my coven. I am Shigaraki Yoichi, second of my line. In the order of which my coven grew: Kenzo, Sanjuro, Hikage, Daigoro, En, Nana, and you’ve met our Toshinori.” As he speaks, he points to each person in turn.

He wonders when the kid got folded into this group. The kid’s affection for his home had been sincere, and he greeted the adults (well, Hikage had only come out of the forested grounds at Daigoro’s call) with merry cheer.

Is Toshinori even a vampire? U.A. conducts its business in the daytime.

Sorahiko nods in acknowledgement and doesn’t offer his full name in return. Instead, he says, “If I accept this contract, will you tell me whatever I want to know? About anything I ask?”

“Even vampires aren’t omniscient,” Yoichi answers.

Rolling his eyes, Sorahiko clarifies, “If the kid’s going to develop vampirism over the course of high school, then I need to know things. Like whether or not he’ll go feral over spilled blood. Or if sunlight’s going to be an issue.”

Yoichi’s smile is kind, and surprisingly not patronizing. “What we can tell, we will. The contract will have a mutual hold on us all.”

“What could break it?”

“A different coven, not that you should seek one out,” says Nana. “Trust us, we’re as nice as you get in the supernatural world.”

Sorahiko does not have many options. He hates the idea of agreeing to this without a safety net or a contingency plan. How can this woman ask him to trust them immediately? He’d have to be a gullible idiot, or a fool in lust, or...

He exhales. Sighing in resignation, Sorahiko tips his head to Yoichi and says, wry, “I accept the contract. Don’t kill me if your kid comes crying home about how mean I am.”

Yoichi shrugs, casual as anything. “Toshinori’s quite brave for his age, and stubborn, too. You’ll have your hands full training him.” He then stands from his chair; in measured, unhesitating steps, Yoichi approaches where Sorahiko sits at the opposite side of the round table. What he orders, Sorahiko complies with. “Take your cape off, Torino-san. Your gloves as well.”

“You may have to unzip the top half of your suit,” advises Hikage. “You won’t want the signatures to overlap.”

“Signatures,” Sorahiko repeats, pausing.

One glove’s already off. The flight suit’s sleeves extend up to his wrists, and they don’t have a lot of give. Similarly, the collar is skin-tight and provides ample coverage.

Daigoro playfully snaps his teeth at Sorahiko, once, twice. He says, “Paper and ink, skin and teeth. You forget already?”

The man barely flinches at the snarl directed his way. Seven pairs of eyes are honing in on the exposed flesh; Sorahiko shoves his self-conscious thoughts away. He focuses on the sheer outrage of being asked to strip by strangers, hissing, “Are you crazy? The kid is upstairs!”

“I’ll make sure he stays in his room,” Nana volunteers. She winks at Sorahiko. “We’ll be quick, Torino-san. You just have to keep quiet.”

“You—!”

She slips from her chair and darts off, exiting the dining room and ascending the stairs, floating off the floor. Sorahiko glares after her but snaps to attention as Yoichi stops by his chair, hip resting against the table, red eyes expectant.

Grudgingly, Sorahiko works off the second glove. As he does, Yoichi continues to lecture.

“The signatures can be made in two ways. A lighter bite will result in less pain, but will fade sooner. And I’d like for this arrangement to stand for several years, Torino-san. A lighter bite necessitates more renewals. Possibly, seven bites every two weeks.”

“And a stronger bite?”

“Seven every month.”

He scowls at the thought. The only silver lining he can see is that his suit will cover the marks, which will save him from his colleagues’ gossiping tongues. “Monthly, then. Are you drinking my blood? I don’t think I’ve got enough to cover seven appetites.”

Yoichi offers him a gentle smile. “A mouthful will suffice.”

Sorahiko works his jaw, and then he reaches backwards for the hidden zipper. It’s incongruously loud in the dining room; Sorahiko feels his face burning as he hurriedly rips his arms free of the sausage casing sleeves, letting the slackening front of the suit crumple to his lap. He hears an appreciative whistle.

“Daigoro, he can give you a run for your money,” Sanjuro jokes.

“He’s softer,” Daigoro deems, and Sorahiko bristles. “Must be the suit, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he snaps. “And proper hydration, asshole.”

“I’m not complaining!”

“At ease,” says Yoichi, calm, and that’s when Nana makes her reappearance. She swings back into the dining room, expression confident and content, until she spies Sorahiko’s half-naked appearance.

“Are we going in order?” she questions Yoichi, even as her eyes are trained on Sorahiko’s.

“That’s how it works, Nana,” Kenzo answers for their leader. “How’s Toshinori?”

“Watching his martial arts dramas. We’re good for like, fifty minutes.”

“You said you’ll be quick,” Sorahiko rasps, and his hands are clenching into fists, anticipatory and anxious. This is all so incredibly weird. “You all need more than five minutes to bite me?”

Yoichi laughs. It’s a bright sound, attractive and human and not at all like something that should be coming out of a self-proclaimed bloodsucker. When Yoichi moves, pushing off the table, Sorahiko nervelessly allows himself to be pinned to the back of his chair. One hand cards through his hair and lightly tugs; the other hand settles at his shoulder and presses it down.

His throat is exposed. Though Yoichi bends close, Sorahiko knows it isn’t the jugular he’s aiming for.

“Torino-san will need a moment to recuperate,” Yoichi whispers, and Sorahiko shivers, swallows past the apprehension, and spends half a second regretting his decision to let this happen. Yoichi adds, “We will not harm you, and you will not harm us. Your help, in exchange for ours. Let it be so.”

Teeth sink into the join of Sorahiko’s neck and shoulder, sharp and surprisingly hot. Sorahiko chokes out a garbled sound and jerks in his seat, until Yoichi’s bite goes deeper, deeper, and then Sorahiko gasps. Adrenaline bursts to life in his system; his Quirk sputters a reflexive Jet through his boots, but Yoichi’s slender frame hides an unseen strength.

He holds Sorahiko down.

He draws blood from the wound. Sorahiko barely feels the drain, fixated he is on the pressure exerted against him. Every single one of them is going to have the capacity to do this. If Yoichi, whose frame is most similar to En’s, can keep Sorahiko from bolting—Sorahiko arches his back, an involuntary moan escaping him.

It feels good. It feels really, really good.

Yoichi hums against his skin, pleased as punch, and his teeth retract. Sorahiko feels the tongue lap over the mark, heavy with spit. As Yoichi rears back, Yoichi rolls his neck lazily, licking his lips like a cat full from its meal.

“The saliva is a coagulant,” he explains idly, watching Sorahiko slump back against the chair, lungs still stuttering. A faint sweat has broken across his forehead, and Sorahiko distantly suspects that he’s going to need all the time he can get before the kid grows bored of his dramas.

“Oh, he already looks wrecked,” En observes. His awed tone elicits a laugh and encouraging clap to his shoulder from Daigoro, the latter of which requires En to brace against.

“You think he’ll last seven bites?”

“To be fair,” Hikage says, “that is a common erogenous zone. We’ll focus on less stimulating areas.”

Sorahiko, somewhat nettled at the implication that he won’t last (and what the hell does that mean? That he’ll back out? Start begging for mercy?) all seven signatures, musters his strength and shoves himself upright. He scoffs exaggeratedly, masking a shaky exhale with it. He challenges the coven, “Do your fucking worst.”

Yoichi blinks. Behind him, Kenzo is leaving his seat and stalking towards Sorahiko’s, red eyes gleaming. Before Kenzo can dive at Sorahiko and probably tear an artery out, Yoichi holds him back with one placating hand.

“Do not,” Yoichi warns. “We’re not trying to induce a thrall, do you all hear me?”

“Yoichi,” says Sanjuro, “if the man gets off, he gets off.”

A sigh leaves Yoichi. “Be that as it may. Please try not to leave him resentful for the months ahead.” He pats Kenzo’s collarbone; Kenzo catches the thin-boned hand and raises it to his lips.

“Understood, Yoichi,” Kenzo murmurs into the knuckles. He lets go, and Yoichi moves aside, now more fond than exasperated. A safety net, maybe.

In any case, Sorahiko gazes up at number two, who studies him back.

“The shoulder?” suggests Sorahiko, half-heartedly offering the right one up to sacrifice.

Kenzo inclines his head. “Just above the bicep will work,” and he goes on to prove his point, keeping Sorahiko locked in position, unable to do anything but wriggle and fail to contain strangled moans.

This is going to be a long hour.

#bnha #vestigestorino #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shigaraki yoichi #second ofa user #third ofa user #shinomori hikage #banjo daigoro #sixth ofa user #shimura nana #shih.txt #asks #anon #vampire ofa coven au #i have not figured out the lore yet #but afo should be in here #he's thee progenitor after all

[lirbrarycrows]

Various Fake Dating HCs

Various situations that require fake dating from there’s a creep, to a school play,  and how it becomes real 

AN/Yall know the drill. Caffeine, sugar, no sleep, binge writing session with no edits. That said if anyone catches a mistake please let me know Todoroki’s got a little away from me (def. was not 2 pages worth of google docs nope not me wrong writer) Enjoy!

Characters: Deku, Bakugou, Kaminari, Shinsou, Todoroki 

Word Count: 2520

Requests Open

Warnings: Mentions harassment

Deku 

Mineta wasn’t the only creep on campus and you were Class 1-E’s lucky lady as he called you thinking he was God’s gift to women

After 2 weeks of annoying you everyday after class was enough 

You’d complained to Deku and Uraka about it before so he was well aware of the jerk

When he approached you at lunch you couldn’t take it anymore

The moment he left you’d plopped your forehead onto Deku’s shoulder and asked Deku to help you out offering to buy him lunch for the week in return

He wasn’t sure how he could - he knew he couldn’t intimidate the guy like Kirishima or Bakugou so he wasn’t sure what you wanted

When you explained he’d gone pink but agreed

Since then he’d held your hand, helped you study, and called you honey and sweets when the creep was in earshot 

It took the jerk a while to realize you weren’t interested for some reason when he did though Deku kept up all the sweet gestures 

You told him a week after the last encounter with the creep that he could stop 

He’d just murmured (thinking you couldn’t here) “I don’t want to” 

You’d given him a kiss on the check and realizing you’d heard he’d launched into one of his patented spiels saying of course if you weren’t interested, and he still was focused on becoming the number 1 hero, and and and 

You’d wait for him to finish and look up at from the floor before giving him a smile and asking where he wanted to go on your first official date

Bakugou

It was his idea believe it or not. You both were good friends and after his internship he had several dedicates “fans” They’d gone so far as to track him down and asked him out incessantly 

The first time he’d scoffed and told them to get loss with his usual tact, that is to say none

After that when they’d followed him everyday from the gates of UA he’d blown up at them, literally 

Most of them were properly scared off by this or at least more reserved 1 girl just couldn’t take a hint

You and Bakugou had been sent to get snacks for movie night later and SHE was as always waiting on Bakugou

He’d groaned seeing her and whispered in you ear to play along 

Snaked his arms dangerously low around your waist, pulled you close

He purposefully didn’t look at her pretending he hadn’t already seen her

When you were out of the gates he spun you around and trapped you against the wall leaning in to whisper to you thanking you for playing along he asked if he could kiss you

You grabbed his face and pulled it towards your own

When you broke apart he smirked then pretended to take notice of the girl telling her off for spying on him and his girlfriend

You walked up behind him as he yelled at the girl and glared daggers at her 

She wasn’t happy about it but between both your threats she finally backed off (though she would occasionally pop up at public UA events) 

You were always with the Bakusquad so it was an easy matter to plant a kiss on his check and motion you were watching her in case she felt like trying anything

Neither of you were ready for or wanted a real relationship so that was as far as it went in high school but you keep in contact and who knows what the future holds

It did become a running joke how you two were such a lovey dovey couple in between the cursing each other out and harder than necessary slugs to the shoulder

Kaminari

You two flirted like there was no tomorrow 

Eventually everyone assumed you were dating bc who else flirts with every breath

One night you were running late and Kirishima had asked Denki “Where’s your girlfriend” 

It took him a second bc as much as you both flirted it was never serious

You’d popped in not a minute later and Kaminari had thrown his arm around you dramatically declaring “MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND IS HERE” for everyone to here 

You looked at him quizzically and snorted

He managed to pull you away from the group and convince you it'd be a great joke to see how long you could convince the gang you were dating and how much drama you could create in your fake “relationship” 

You were plotting soap opera level storylines by the end of the night

After a week of scheming and late night writing session you started your personal drama with a dramatic monologue to the girls before class on how Kaminari had forgotten your so important 1 week-aversy 

-They’d consoled you and told you guys care about stuff but if you did you should talk to Kaminari

By lunch everyone had heard and Bakugou had a betting pool on how long the happy couple would last - Kaminari tried to join but was banned

Week 3 had the suspected cheating scandal - that had earned you a lecture from Kirishima on how it wasn’t manly to cheat and you assuring him nothing had actually happened 

By week 5 the two of you had a regular date scheming night 

During week 6 when Kirishima was “buzzed” after overusing his quirk he confessed to loving your (nonexistent) identical twin who conveniently went to another school and you had never spoken of bc she had stolen you last boyfriend

Towards the end of the term during date night Denki dropped to one knee proposing a proposal story line you’d burst out laughing when he grabbed a slap bracelet (He’d gotten from goodness knows where) and slapped it onto your wrist

At least take me on a real date first you’d joked - then frozen hoping he hadn’t heard 

He had. He took the slap bracelet off, still on one knee and said (Y/N) will you take this slap bracelet and go out with me for realizes I mean 

You’d ceremoniously take the slap bracelet and try to carefully put it on your wrist, treasuring it - slap bracelets can’t be gently moved though so it snapped up immediately as you said “I do” 

Shinsou

It wasn’t planned by either of you

You didn’t even know people though you were dating until a picture of the two of you showed up in the schools gossip column and someone pointed it out to you at lunch 

Shinsou just nodded his head and sighed saying “that makes sense” 

You had no idea what he was going on about - you found out that people had been kinder to him this morning some. Guys approached him about his “game” and some girl had talked to him saying if he was with you he couldn’t be as scary as he seemed 

You to were close and you knew how much it hurt him that people were scared of him bc of his quirk 

You were sitting so you leaned over and gave him a side hug promising him it would be okay

That hug went down the grapevine and “confirmed” your relationship 

By the time someone directly asked you about Shinsou the two of you had talked and agreed to let slide neither of you liked anyone and it was helping Shinsou so where was the harm 

You didn’t go out of your way to appear as a couple but you were friendly and people were prone to misinterpretation 

Shinsou certainly wasn’t a social butterfly but he certainly wasn’t seen as scary and his friend group grew

2 months into your “relationship” Shinsou had a girl confess to him she liked him 

He was taken aback she hadn’t talked to him the entirety of last term and suddenly she liked him

She had been scared of him unlike you. Unlike you, something clicked for Shinsou and the rest of the week he found himself comparing other girls to you and realized he may truly be in love with you 

By the time he came round to that realization you had made your own. Maybe people had thought you two were a couple bc you hung out with him more, hugged him more, smiled at him more, and liked him more and differently than your other friends. You  maybe even loved him 

At lunch he was the one who reached out and touched you, lightly settling his hand on yours and asking if you wanted to be more than a rumor 

Todoroki

Can we say emotional trauma 

In literature class there’d been a project to perform a Kyogen as a part of their classic lit unit - you’d loved it even if you’d been graded more on the accompanying essay of the evolution of language and classism than the performance part 

When you saw there was a school play you hasn’t hesitated to audition bc the kyogen performance had been so fun

You hadn’t gotten the lead role you wanted but you were more than fine playing a the female lead’s best friend who got swept off her feet by the quiet tortured poet

As soon as you saw who you’d been cast as you immediately checked who your love interest was. It was none other than Shoto Todoroki

You were really nervous the first rehearsal that focused on your sections

You knew Todoroki only by reputation, as a aloof and focused student 

You had no clue what he was doing in the play so you asked. He didn’t tell you the first day instead just did a read through 

The entire time the drama teacher kept saying “More Emotion” and “You’re in love so SMILE” you were pretty sure it was directed at Todoroki who was barely beyond monotone

The director requested Todoroki stay after rehearsal for extra practice. As his scene partner you stayed too

During on of these he explained during the kyogen project he’d felt different in his everyday life when he was pretending to be happy or angry compared to when he tried to show no emotion 

The director had called that moment a breakthrough. You smiled at him and asked whatever made him think that showing no emotion was in any way a good idea. He didn’t answer you 

You made it your mission from then on to get him to show emotion. Of course that was the director’s job on stage. You made it your mission everyday though. 

You would have friends pass him notes for you in between classes, eat lunch with him, and had a bad joke of the day hoping to catch him roll his eyes rather than just stare ahead eating robotically 

Eventually he started to show cracks in the armour, he would smile when you made funny faces backstage, or say he was upset which wasn’t much but baby steps

There were days he reverted to mono-emotionalism (that emotion being bored) on those days you eventually decided your best course was just to annoy him to death or even better till he said he was annoyed this came in the form of you lightly hitting you arm on his head, singing the 100 digits of pi song on loop, or running and jumping at him (he would always catch you knowing his choices were that or be bowled over) 

Those days became fewer and further between as you got closer to the play. There was one particular bad day though. You’d been trying all day to get a reaction, good or bad, out of him with nothing working. 

He was sitting on the floor during practice. You dropped beside him and leaned back till your head was in his lap and started asking “What’s up with you?”

You didn’t finish your question bc he shoved you out of his lap and stormed off 

Your scenes that day weren’t great to say the least 

By the end of practice you were just drained, you really were trying to help, and instead you’d hurt him and that hurt as much as him pushing you away and saying he didn’t need you 

The next day you had Deku hand him a note saying you were sorry 

You didn’t try to reach out to him the rest of the day, sat with your own friends at lunch, and didn’t bother him between scenes during practice

It was a week before you two spoke and that was only on the blocking of the last scene the leads ran to each other as you two cheered and hugged 

Tech week was hell week for 2 reasons 1. The general tiredness and overwhelmingness that always come with tech and 2 you were practically glued to Todoroki’s hip the entire play for 3 run throughs a day and you still weren’t really speaking 

Opening night you saw Todoroki pacing half an hour before curtain call. You were headed back to the dressing room to help some of the other girls with their makeup but he looked stressed. 

You waved not wanting to startle him. He looked up from his pacing feet and just stared at you 

“I’m not here to annoy you. You just look stressed and I wanted to say it’ll be fine and um break a leg. Anyway I’ll leave you to your pacing.” You said before starting to leave

He doesn’t move to stop you from leaving but he stares you down and starts talking, spewing all the feelings that have been building up (that he doesn’t understand) He’s nervous around you. Why is he nervous around you? He’s mad at himself for making you sad that day. You didn’t talk to him. He didn’t know what to do so he let you not talk to him. His miserable and he misses you he thinks. He tried talking to Deku but Deku just told him that he needed to talk to you about these feelings so he didn’t say anything more to Deku. He has all these feeling and doesn’t know why? 

You walk towards him and ask if it’s okay to hug him

He gives the smallest nod

You wrap him in the tightest hug you possibly can and lean your head into his chest. He eventually rests his head on top of yours and awkwardly wraps his hands around your back

When you pull away he looks at you for a moment before telling you your makeup looks nice 

You have to run to help the girls with their makeup you remember but make him promise to talk after the show 

You two talk and by the final curtain call your on stage hug has somehow become a chaste peck on the cheek. 

He pays for your post set strike theater crew Denny’s meal with Endeavour's stolen credit card and asks if it counts as a date if there are 20 other people with you

#mha #bnha #mha x reader #Todoroki #todoroki x reader #shinsou #shinsou x reader #denki #denki x reader #kaminari #kaminari x reader #deku #deku x reader #bakugou #bakugou x reader #fake dating #hcs #fanfic #LibraryCrow

[amostimprobabledream]

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) - Part One

They say humans, in a strange, ironic twist of fate, owe their magic to demons. A thousand years ago, they walked the earth, wreaking destruction and chaos wherever they tread. Humans were no more than meat for the slaughter, or glorified playthings for their amusement. The first generation of humans to fight back against their monstrous oppressors did so by a peculiar, ancient magic. A power that could repel demons and bring hope to all humanity. A terrible war raged for the fate of the world and the humans managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The demons were banished to their land of origin, sealed away in defeat. But seals don't last forever. While historians argue on how literal these legends may be, there is no denying that ancient creature have begun to stir, appearing in our world again with growing frequency. And soon there might- The last paragraph was torn away. "Oh, for god's sake," you tsk. Sunlight pours through the large, high window of your lecture room, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Though you were engrossed in your book, once you look up, the spell is broken, and the clear sky outside once again has your eyes wandering to it. It seems that you are not the only one getting distracted, either - even the professor keeps tapering off at the promise of an afternoon outside in the gorgeous spring weather. "Well," the professor says, shuffling the papers in front of her. "That's all for today. Please revise over the material and we'll discuss it in further detail next time. You are all free to go." You're only too happy to comply, putting your things away and scrambling to your feet. Everyone else is hurrying to get outside, pouring down the stairs to the doors, chattering to one another as they go. Normally you love going to lectures, but it's just too nice outside to be cooped up indoors. You push open the doors and step outside, a muted sigh of pleasure leaving your mouth. Your university, the Royal Academy of Magic, has the reputation for being tough, but so far, you've been enjoying the work. Learning about the different faces of magic, its uses, and the history of it, it's all so very fascinating to you. You've been able to use magic since you were young, but it's studying it here that will really help you unlock your true potential, and hopefully give you a concrete idea of what to aim for with your career. So far there are so many options a magic-user might do that it's been a little overwhelming trying to decide. As you cross the lawns, grass crunching beneath your feet, you decide to swing by your dorm first to drop off your books - they may contain a lot of knowledge, but damn if they're not heavy - your mother pointed out that you've developed something of a slouch since you started studying here. "I'm back!" you call as you push open the door of your dormitory. "Huh?" Kendou looks up from her bed, where she has a couple of books sprawled out next to her head, notes scribbled in the margins of her notebook as she looks over her textbook. Her red hair spills down her shoulder, coming loose from its signature ponytail. "You're back early!" "Yeah, they let us out sooner than I expected," you reply with a shrug and a small laugh, dropping your bag on your own bed and stretching, wincing as a kink in your shoulder pops. "Oh, well, that's good timing, someone came by earlier with a message for you," Kendou says, pushing herself up into a sitting position, apparently deciding your arrival is a good a reason as any to take a break from studying. "Your mother wants you to go down to the Imperial Research Centre to get your father." "Did she come by here?" you ask in surprise. Normally your mother arranges to meet you after lectures or seminars if she wants to see you during the week, and she's a rather busy woman besides. "No, she left a message at the front desk and someone passed it along," Kendou shrugs. "But she also said you guys are doing something tonight, right?" "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about that!" you say, feeling silly that it could

possibly have slipped your mind - you love it when you get to go out for a meal with your parents and often it means one of them has some exciting news to share. "Thanks, Kendou, I'll head over there now." She grins and gives a little wave. “No problem!” You suppose it's fortunate that the Imperial Research Centre is only a short walk from the campus and that you're very familiar with the place, since your father's been working there for so long. Anyway, it's a pleasant walk, the way there is lined with rows of trees that are only a week or two away from growing from dark to light pink and shedding their blossoms. When the street is in full bloom, it's like there's been a wedding. You even find yourself humming as you walk, breathing in the subtle smell of flowers on the breeze, wondering to yourself if the blossom trees were planted before or after the buildings were founded, but either way, whoever was responsible for them made a good call. The Imperial Research Centre is a peculiar building, made of blue stone and with a roof that boasts four conical points, one in each corner, making it resemble a castle from bygone days just plopped in the middle of the city. There's an aura of mystery to it, too, hinting at the all-important, life-changing work that’s always going on inside. If ever cutting-edge technology is released to the public, odds were that the Centre had a hand in making it. The building is cooler on the inside than it is outdoors, powered by a system designed to spread cool or warm air throughout the entire building, depending on the system. You approach the front desk, wishing that you'd thought to bring a jacket, because it’s always cold in here during the warm seasons, and the receptionist glances up on you with a slightly dismissive expression on her face. It's probably because she thinks you're an overeager student or some hapless intern, it's very rare a researcher your age would be able to work here. "May I help you?" the receptionist asks in a cool, professional tone. "Yes, I'm here to see my father," you reply. "He's one of the vice executives here." You give his surname, and the woman pauses. Is that a trace of nervousness you can see? "He's downstairs in Containment Room 1A," she says, checking a sheet of paper on the desk, which is littered with various papers, random pieces of stationary and one of those magitech intercom systems that they use. They have something similar at the Academy too, though of course, the Centre get the most high-tech version of everything. "All right, thanks," you say, turning to head for the elevator. "Wait!" the woman cries out and you glance back, confused. "I'm sorry, but you can't just walk through here, especially to the lower levels! You don't have the clearance and it can be dangerous." You scoff in disbelief. You have visited your father here before, many times, and this has never been a problem for you before. You always just tell them who you are and then get a visitor's pass. You even know some of the codes to the doors, thanks to waiting around for your father to finish work so often. "Well, please can you have someone go fetch him for me?" you ask, going to reluctantly perching on one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Can't it wait?" the receptionist asks impatiently, and maybe it can, but her attitude is starting to piss you off, so you shoot her a frosty smile you've perfected after watching your mother pull a similar face at people who don't meet her standards. "No, it can't." The woman sighs but she dutifully presses a button on the intercom system and speaks quietly into it for a moment or two, while you idly pick at a loose thread on the chair you're sitting on. She then glances back at you, eyebrows raised. "A messenger has been sent down to speak to him. Hopefully he should be upstairs shortly." "Thank you so much." you reply sweetly, the last words with heavy emphasis. After that, the two of you sit in a mutually frosty silence, with the woman sorting through paperwork on her desk and occasionally

directing people who approach her desk to the correct floor (which seems redundant to you - why can't people just read the clearly printed sign on the wall next to her desk ?), while you flick through some glossy magazines without actually taking in a single word. But you're not leaving until you've spoken to your father. Minutes tick by and you start drumming your heel lightly on the floor, leg jiggling with impatience. You wonder if the woman just lied about sending a messenger down to the Containment Room in an effort to pacify you, in the hopes you'll just get bored and leave. You grit your jaw at the thought, ignoring how cold you're getting, sitting here doing nothing. After maybe ten minutes, a man in a lab coat approaches the front desk, leaning over to speak to the woman. "Kino, could you come with me a moment? Hannah can start her shift." "Oh, I'll be right there!" Kino says, flustered, getting out from behind the desk and following the man as he walks briskly down the corridor, without a backwards glance at you. No doubt her replacement will be along any moment - perhaps she's running late? But you don't plan on sticking around. As soon as the receptionist rounds the corner, out of sight, you spring up and walk briskly across the room to the elevators, stabbing the button and stepping through the doors. You don't bother to fight the smile that spreads across your face as the doors slide shut. ~ "Father?" There's always something slightly creepy about the lower floors. The orbs lining the walls that are designed to keep the machinery running in case of a power shortage cast an eerie glow in the corridors, washing everything with a pale blue light that makes it seem far colder than it actually is. It reminds you a bit of walking through a tunnel of ice. Your boots click on the stone floor as you follow the lights to Containment Room A1. Finally, you reach the double doors leading inside, flanked by two windows each side. You can see your father inside, his back to you, so you rap on the windows. Nothing. You try again with more force, hurting your knuckles, but he still doesn't turn around. Perhaps it's soundproofed, so whatever's out here can't disturb whatever's going on in there? You glance at the keypad next to the doors, but you've never been to this particular room before so the code for the doors on the upper level is unlikely to be the same one for down here. Then you see movement, shadows beneath the crack between door and floor, and the doors slide open with a mechanical swish and two scientists in lab coats come out, comparing notes and murmuring together excitedly. You slip inside before they can slam shut again, unwilling to stand outside in the chilly corridor for any longer than necessary. "Father!" you call out as you enter. But then you stop dead in your tracks. Ahead of you, trapped behind some kind of containment field...is a monster. "What-?!" you hear your father say in surprise at his daughter suddenly marching through the doors. "What are you doing in here?!" But you don't answer. You can't look away from what's in front of you, even if you wanted to. You know without being told that this is a demon, but it's certainly not what they looked like in any of your history books. A tall, humanoid being that is undoubtedly male and you can tell from where you’re standing that he’s tall. The demon's huge, black wings arch out from behind him, reminding you of a bat. Two horns jut out from a crown of spiky black hair, but aside from that, you're surprised by how… human he looks. Your cheeks warm up as you notice he is shirtless, peculiar burn marks covering over half of his body and seemingly crudely stitched together like a patchwork doll. Despite that, he's impressively sculpted, sinewy muscles on full display and you know that demons were said to be uncommonly strong. Your eyes drift further down, and you spot a whiplike tail wrapped around one leg, topped with a pointed barb at the end, like a club in a game of cards. His arms are in restraints and so are his

ankles, yet he doesn't seem stressed in any way, leaning against the back wall of his holding cell as though he's waiting for something. "What...is this?" you breathe out, finally turning to your father. "This is our latest research subject," your father replies beside you, also staring at the demon, though his expression is surprisingly somber, considering just how amazing it is that they have been able to capture and contain a demon. You've never seen a live demon before, and something tells you that the one before you certainly isn't any garden variety one. "Director Fuji is very excited about this. It's not every day you see a demon this high ranking." Slowly, the demon stirs, raising his head a little. You're perfectly safe outside the containment field, as well was the multiple other safety measures both inside the cell and out of it, yet the sensation of being watched makes your flesh break out in goosebumps. From beneath spiky fronds of hair, the demon's eyes - so blue they almost don't look real - stare right at you, his gaze alone rooting you to the spot, laying all your defenses bare and leaving you feeling bizarrely naked before that look. Watching you without once blinking or breaking his gaze, his lips part in a sneer to reveal two rows of teeth, the fangs sharp and white as an icicle. You find yourself holding your breath as your father speaks again. "Sweetheart, meet Dabi."

#Dabi #My Hero Academia #Dabi x Reader #my hero academia #Touya Todoroki #Boku No Hero Academia #BHNA #Fanfiction #Reader-Insert #F!Reader #Demon AU #Supernatural AU #Writing

[simplybakugou]

These Damn Kids

↝ After some convincing despite how much he despises kids, you managed to get Bakugou to volunteer at a children’s camp with you... 

BINGO SPACE: Camp Counselors

⋆ PAIRING: bakugou x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1955

A/N: another @bnhabookclub​ bingo piece. i honestly missed writing for bakugou so this was very easy to write lmao. the minute someone requested bakugou for this prompt (thank you to the anon who did btw) it had me cracking up at the thought of bakugou having to deal with a bunch of kids. hope you enjoy this!

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.08.2020✐

“Can’t believe this shitty girl’s convinced me to come to this stupid fucking thing,” Bakugou muttered under his breath as he drove up the slope into the campsite. 

It was the summer of his second year at U.A. and Bakugou was ready to train and work his body as much as he could before starting his final year. He wanted to prepare so that he would be ready for the chaos that comes with attending a high profile school like U.A. but unfortunately his plans were foiled. You somehow managed to convince him to volunteer at the summer camp for children, which was one of the many things Bakugou hated.

Being a student at Shiketsu High, you were well aware of the kind of rigor and training that is required when attending a hero school. U.A. and Shiketsu would often collaborate and allow the students to intermingle in order to get accustomed to working with students that weren’t from their respective schools as once they became pro heroes, they would be teamed up with other pros that they might not be familiar with. 

When you met the students from class A during one of these school team ups, you immediately gravitated to Bakugou. Having watched and always been fond of the annual U.A. sports festival, you admired Bakugou’s will and ambition, not to mention how he was a powerhouse of a fighter. Initially Bakugou saw you like he saw everybody else, just an annoying extra that would get on his nerves. And although you did find it hilarious when you were able to get under his skin, you caught Bakugou’s eye when you managed to beat Midoriya during a one and one training fight. Needless to say, he didn’t hate you that much.

Since then you managed to get him to agree to go out on a date with you and the rest was history. Now you practically had him wrapped around your finger as he wouldn’t hesitate to beat anyone up that even looked at you the wrong way. It was unbelievable when you imagined how different he was back when you first met him to now. 

Bakugou parked his car in front of the camp site, letting out a big sigh as he was preparing to enter the battlefield of children. He exited the car, making his way through the wooded area as he scanned the many kids and supervisors looking after them. He finally found you as you were sitting on the ground in front of a crowd of about ten children. You had them practically eating out of your palm with the way they were mesmerized by the book you were reading to them.

The corners of Bakugou’s lips rose slightly as he admired how adorable you looked. He knew how much you loved kids, although he could never understand why, and you genuinely seemed content with working with them. 

“Um, excuse me,” a high-pitched voice squeaked from behind Bakugou. 

“What?” Bakugou asked the little boy as he turned around, his natural tone making the child frightened.

“Um, are you that angry guy from U.A.?” He asked, innocently watching him.

“Whoa, I think that’s him!” Another kid said as two other children ran up beside their friend. 

Sooner rather than later a mini crowd formed around Bakugou as all the children peered up at him in awe. Under any other circumstance he would’ve relished the moment of being recognized by such simpletons but the idea of a bunch of miniature humans annoying him as they all were speaking amongst one another as if he wasn’t there was just pissing him off.

“Wait! I think this is the guy that got kidnapped by the League of Villains!” One kid exclaimed, a round of gasps erupting from the crowd. 

“You fucking shit, I dare you to fucking say that again--” 

Before Bakugou ended up assaulting one of the children, and even though you were enjoying yourself as your boyfriend seemed genuinely ticked off, you cupped your hands over your lips as you called out, “Okay! It’s time for lunch!”

The kids let out their excited cheers as they ran towards the common area for lunch. You waved at them, letting a few of them know that you would be joining them soon. You glanced over at Bakugou, a wide grin appearing on your face as you approached him.

You leaned up on your tiptoes, planting a small kiss to his lips as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Yeah? That makes one of us.”

You chuckled. “I really appreciate you coming here. You’re always working yourself so hard and I thought you could have some fun!”

Bakugou scoffed. “There’s nothing fun about spending a week with some fucking brats.”

“Well, I also wanted to spend some time with my handsome boyfriend, too,” you said, knowing Bakugou well enough to throw in a few compliments to butter him up. “And plus, you might make some new friends here, you never know!”

“I fucking doubt that,” Bakugou muttered.

“Ahem!” A more grown voice mumbled from behind you. 

“Shishikura!” You said as you turned around, greeting your upperclassman as you pulled away from Bakugou.

“You shouldn’t be doing something so indecent in front of children, Y/N,” Shishikura scolded you despite his glare narrowing down at Bakugou.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Mind your business, you meat fuck. If I'd known your ass would be here, I wouldn’t’ve come.”

“Well maybe you should go back home then,” Shishikura said, his tone holding as much annoyance as Bakugou’s did. 

“Okay, boys, you can calm down,” you said, laughing as you had gotten used to their hatred for one another and their need to constantly be at each other’s throats. “I’ll be over to help out in a second.”

“Alright,” Shishikura said curtly, turning around as he made his way towards the picnic area where all the children were hanging around.

“Why the fuck is that piece of shit here?” Bakugou grunted, as he was still scowling at the sight of the annoying upperclassman that he encountered during his provisional license exam in his first year.

“Shishikura’s really sweet when you get to know him. You guys just make a big deal of nothing.” You entwined your fingers into Bakugou’s hand as you pulled him towards the direction of the kids. “And plus, he’s the one who told me about this camp in the first place!”

“So it’s that fucker’s fault I’ve gotta stay here for a week?” Bakugou asked, content with being able to blame Shishikura for something.

“No, silly, that was me.” You turned your head to the sound of one of the older supervisor’s calling your name. “I’ll be right back. Just make sure all the kids are eating and getting along!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou muttered, watching as you helped out as much as you could.

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes scanned the area, already deciding that he didn’t really want to be around so many tiny humans as they were scarfing down their meals. While most of them sat at the wooden picnic tables together as they happily consumed their food, one little boy sat all alone. He was picking at his sandwich, barely eating even a crumb. 

“Hey, kid,” Bakugou called out to him. “Why’re you sitting by yourself?”

The little boy looked up at Bakugou, his blue eyes widening at the sight of such an intimidating person. He turned his head back to his sandwich. “No one wants to sit with me.”

Bakugou glanced over to the other kids who seemed jovial as they were enjoying each other’s company and then he glanced back at the little boy. Letting out a sigh, Bakugou sat in front of the boy at the table. “I’ll sit with ya. What’s your name?”

“Ayato,” the boy said in a low tone.

“So none of these little shits wanna hang out with you?”

Ayato’s eyes widened at the sound of Bakugou’s profane language. “Um, I don’t think you’re supposed to be cursing like that.”

“Yeah? There’s a lotta things I’m not supposed to do but that’s not gonna stop me,” Bakugou said with a huff. 

As Bakugou’s eyes wandered amongst the crowd once more, he felt a surge of anger flow through him, more than usual at least, at the sight of Shishikura standing so close to you. He said something to you, causing you to laugh and your features to soften in a way that would normally make Bakugou’s heart melt. Typically he wouldn’t have gotten so upset at the sight of a man being so physically close to you, as he had full trust in you, but the idea of one of the people he despised being that man made him furious.

Ayato followed where Bakugou was glaring so harshly. “Why do you look so mad, mister?”

“See that prick over there?” Bakugou pointed to Shishikura to which Ayato nodded. “I can’t stand him… especially when he’s near my girl.”

“He’s weird and he talks funny,” Ayato said in agreement. “Is (L/N) your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s really pretty and she’s really nice,” Ayato said, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“Damn right she is.” Bakugou decided to take this chance to try and get him to eat something, understanding that he was fond of you. “Well, (L/N) would want you to eat.”

Ayato let out a small sigh, grabbing the sandwich in his hands and taking a small bite, chewing the food before swallowing. He watched Bakugou as he watched you, observing Shishikura carefully and almost letting out a sigh of relief when he finally walked away from you. 

You glanced over at Bakugou, feeling his crimson eyes seer through the back of your skull. You sent him a toothy grin, overjoyed that he had finally spoken to someone. After taking care of things for the supervisors, you made your way towards Bakugou and Ayato, checking up on a few children on the way.

You sat beside Bakugou, resting your head on your hands as you smiled at Ayato. “How’s lunch, Ayato?”

“It’s good!” Ayato exclaimed in a tone that was ten times more enthusiastic than it was with Bakugou. “We were talking about you.”

“You were?” You asked, glimpsing over to your boyfriend.

“Yeah, and we were talking about how weird that meatball shit is,” Bakugou said, earning a giggle from Ayato.

“Katsuki, you can’t curse in front of the kids,” you whispered to him, intending for Ayato not to hear.

“It’s okay, it’s funny,” Ayato reassured.

“See, the kid’s fine with it,” Bakugou said.

Before you could scold him any further, one of the lead supervisors clapped her hands to get the attention of the kids, announcing that they were going to start the next activity soon. Ayato took another bite from his sandwich, jumping down from his seat with the sandwich still in hand. He waved to you and especially to Bakugou. “Thank you for keeping me company, mister.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Bakugou replied back and you both watched Ayato catch up with the other kids and adults.

You smiled at Bakugou, brushing a few stray strands of hair back to place on his forehead. “So you made a friend? I thought all kids were ‘fucking brats?’”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes at you and then peered back to Ayato. “Well… some of these damn kids are alright I guess.”

You laughed, getting back to your feet as you had to drag Bakugou back to the crowd to help the others. Maybe it was due to meeting a ‘tamed’ kid like Ayato, but this week might not be so bad after all...

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[aloha-solar]

The Spaces Between the Stars: Chapter One

AO3 is here

Pairing: fem!Shep x Kaidan

Rating: M

Ex-Cerberus Operative Miranda Lawson was not a doctor. The Alliance military and the staff at King James Hospital made that quite clear when she sent in an inquiry to join their team. They said that while they appreciated civilian aid, “Miss Lawson was not equipped to handle the delicacies of medical aid on severely injured patients.” In an ordinary case, Miranda would have agreed with them. She didn’t know how to perform an appendectomy. She didn’t have a clue on the proper procedure to amputate a limb. Hell, if she needed to deliver a baby, Miranda felt pretty sure she would end up telling the mother to keep her legs crossed until the doctors arrived.

But Commander Shepard wasn’t an ordinary case. Miranda rebuilt the woman from scratch, fitted her with different cybernetics to repair the pieces they couldn’t replicate from ordinary skin tissue, and made her look and perform better than before. She brought a clinically brain-dead woman back to life. Whatever medical expertise that was, Miranda had it.

But the Alliance didn’t want an ex-terrorist working on their galactic hero. They wanted an actual doctor, and Miranda felt pretty sure most of the doctors in the hospital never worked on someone who ended up being as much synthetic as organic. She sent another fifty letters, all of them rejected. But she still waited. People always came around…even if it did take them a while.

“Are you serious about all this, princess?” Jack asked one night. “You seriously think they’re going to let some cheerleader with nice tits into one of their secret operations?”

“To be honest, Miranda, that does sound a little bit far-fetched,” Kasumi said. “Okay, well, more than a little, but I’m trying to be nice.” Miranda fought against rolling her eyes. The three women weren’t exactly friends, but when the whole universe seemed to be on the brink of destruction only a month before, it seemed only fair to let bygones be bygones, even though Jack still probably wanted to paint her bedroom with Miranda’s innards, while Kasumi most likely stole half of Miranda’s credits while Miranda was watching. However, Miranda wouldn’t have even sought out the position if it weren’t for Jack and Kasumi: several of Jack’s students were being treated at the same hospital, and Jack caught a glimpse at Shepard when she got lost after visiting hours. Kasumi got access into Alliance records during her work on the Crucible and discovered the files detailing Shepard’s rescue and her current medical condition. Jack had gotten the message to Miranda first, while Kasumi ended up sneaking into their comm channel and spamming the chat with all the data she could find about Shepard’s status.

Miranda drummed the rim of her wine glass, like she was playing a piano. “Why not?” she said. “I know every piece of Shepard’s body, both inside and out. I know what pieces of her are still organic, and what areas are heavily synthetic. I spent two years of my life trying to bring her back.”

“This isn’t some kind of fucked-up Frankenstein shit show,” Jack said. “This is actually treating a person.”

“She crash-landed on Earth,” Miranda pointed out.

“Yeah, but there was still an intact body.”

“And who gave Shepard the parts to keep that intact body? When we first got her, she was more like a pile of meat than an actual human. If the Alliance is working on an intact body, they’ve got the Lazarus Project to thank for that.”

“That’s not the fucking point.”

“It’s a point enough.”

“Maybe the Alliance is upset that the woman who rebuilt the Commander Shepard wasn’t actually Alliance-affiliated,” Kasumi said. “Or at least, she wasn’t at the time.”

“I’m still not.”

“There you go,” Kasumi said, taking a sip of her neon-orange drink. Miranda wondered if Kasumi drank enough of it, she would actually be visible when she cloaked herself. “They want to keep everything in the family. Better to not risk an outside source ruining the Alliance’s poster girl.”

“The queen of the girl scouts,” Jack muttered into her bottle of beer.

“So if the Alliance screws anything up, they’d end up blaming me and my Cerberus background,” Miranda said. She downed the last of her wine. In the dim light of the bar, it looked a little too much like blood.

“Yeah,” Kasumi said. “They screw up, they can blame Cerberus for shoddy workmanship. They make her as good as new, it was all the technological advances of the Alliance.” Miranda snorted. She grabbed the wine bottle and poured another glass, nearly overfilling it and spilling it all over the table.

“You’d think that because we worked with her, we’d actually get a chance to see her,” Miranda said, more into her wineglass than her tablemates.

“I think it’s more ‘forced into helping her on a suicide mission’, princess,” Jack said. She opened another bottle of beer with her teeth. Miranda winced and prayed that the white stuff she saw was beer froth and not Jack’s teeth chipping away. Kasumi peered at Jack from underneath her hood and caught the bottlecap when Jack tossed it to the side. “Besides, Kasumi’s still a thief, so they don’t want her stealing their fucking medical equipment. You were on the run for six-goddamn-months, so they don’t know what the fuck you were up to: you could have still been with the Illusive Man for all the Alliance knew. And I’m the Psychotic Biotic, so that’s totally someone they want around the Savior of the Galaxy.”

“Are they calling her that now?” Kasumi said, taking an orange slice from her drink and squeezing it onto the table. She dabbed at the juice spots with her glove. “I can see the air quotes around it already.”

“The point is,” Miranda said, “the rest of the Normandy crew—even Garrus and Tali—get to see her whenever they come back. We’re the poor idiots pushed off to the side.” Miranda swallowed the rest of her wine in the glass, before grabbing the bottle and finishing it off in three long gulps. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, before standing up so abruptly that she made her chair fall backwards and the table wobble. Kasumi grabbed her drink without spilling a drop. She made a grab for Jack’s at the same time Jack did, spilling the rest of the beer onto the floor.

“What the fuck, princess?” Jack said, standing up too.

“You don’t need to follow me,” Miranda said. “I’m going to go to the hospital again. I just need an official explanation other than the vague political bullshit they gave me.”

“You just downed a whole bottle of wine in like ten fucking minutes,” Jack said. “You’re going to be shitfaced walking in there.”

“Liquid courage,” Miranda said.

“Oh my God.”

“Why are you questioning it?” Kasumi said, taking another few sips of her drink before dumping it into a potted plant just a few steps away from the table. “It’s either going to go extraordinarily well or extraordinarily poorly. Whatever it is, it’s great entertainment.”

“Kasumi—” Miranda said, but Kasumi cut her off by cloaking herself. Jack rolled her eyes and sucked at the beer bottle, trying to get the last dregs.

“Are you coming?” Miranda asked. Jack spat the bottle back out onto the table. It bounced and rolled off next to the potted plant that Kasumi threw her drink in.

“And miss the chance to see the Cerberus cheerleader embarrass herself? Fuck no,” Jack said.

“Good,” Miranda said, in a tone that implied the opposite. With legs wobblier than a baby giraffe, she led the invisible Kasumi and the (unfortunately) still visible Jack out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. Jack quickly motioned for a taxi and forced Miranda in first, then Kasumi, then Jack.

“Take us to King James Hospital,” Miranda said. Her stomach was churning like crazy. She wondered if wine vomit stained fabrics in the same way actual wine did.

“So what’s the plan?” Kasumi asked as she uncloaked herself.

“I dunno. Probably laugh at her when she pukes all over Admiral Hackett,” Jack said.

“I’m just trying to get an explanation,” Miranda said, shooting Jack a glare that should have killed her five times over. Unfortunately, Jack was still alive. Even worse, she kept snarking on Miranda.

“Remember how after Pragia I said I was going to spill your guts all over the walls?” Jack said, snickering. “Looks like you’re about to do it yourself, cheerleader.”

“Can we not go that far?” Kasumi said. “I am not in the mood to see if a test-tube human throws up differently than me.”

“I mean, she’s gotta be flawed somewhere, right?” Jack said. Her face flickered in the streetlamps, making her look ghost-like. “Seems not even Little Miss Fucking Perfect can avoid getting hungover.”

“Can we please stop now?” Miranda asked, clutching her stomach. The bottle of wine on an empty stomach—“You need to eat carbs before you go nuts on the alcohol!” Kasumi said when Miranda ordered the wine, but of course she didn’t listen—seemed to only get worse the longer it took to get to the hospital. Or maybe it was the nerves. Miranda sent in a lot of letters to the hospital, but she’d never actually gone in and spoken to the doctors face-to-face. Maybe she never had the time. Maybe she didn’t want to interrupt them. Maybe she was scared at taking the rejection in-person. It felt like one of the Illusive Man’s tricks, only there was no way to charm herself out of answering it. She put her head on the cool window and closed her eyes as Jack and Kasumi argued as to whether Jack could or couldn’t get alcohol poisoning based on her implant.

Eventually, the car slowed to a stop. Kasumi re-cloaked herself, Jack nearly fell out of the cab, and Miranda gave the driver five pounds extra than she was originally going to, but it seemed like the least she could do for him, especially considering that he just spent half an hour with the world’s best thief, the Psychotic Biotic, and the Cerberus Cheerleader. After she watched the driver peel away, Miranda staggered around and blinked in the hospital’s bright lights.

“You’d think they’d reduce their power a little bit, considering that London has power rations going on,” Kasumi mused from somewhere on Miranda’s left-hand side.

“And let five-hundred people die?” Jack said, scoffing.

“Fair point. Also, Miranda,” Kasumi said, briefly un-cloaking herself again. “I was able to steal some of Cerberus’ files before the Normandy got impounded. It’s all pretty much from the Lazarus Project.” Miranda blinked.

“What?” she said.

“I can transfer the files over to an omni-tool or a datapad. What one would you prefer?”

“Damn, Kasumi,” Jack said. “How did you even get those files?”

“A thief never reveals her secrets,” Kasumi said, typing on her omni-tool. “Or maybe that’s what magicians are supposed to do. Whatever. Anyway, Miranda, I’ve set the files to both your internet and extranet address.” Miranda pulled out her omni-tool. Sure enough, she received ten attachments. Tentatively, Miranda opened one. Her own voice came booming back out at her as a lung surgery played on the screen.

“As you can see here, we ended up abandoning the idea of using tissue from the right lung and instead just used synthetic pieces in order to repair the punctures in her left lung,” screen-Miranda said.

“What made you change your mind?” another voice said, and Miranda swallowed. She forgot that she gave every piece of information to the Illusive Man.

Another voice came on, and Miranda fought the urge to roll her eyes. Wilson. “With all due respect, sir, Operative Lawson realized that ou—my initial plan was foolish. We couldn’t take tissue from the right lung without causing severe damage to it.”

“I see,” the Illusive Man said. He paused to take a drag from his cigarette, and Miranda used the ensuing silence as a chance to turn her omni-tool off.

“Never thought I’d hear his voice again,” she mumbled.

“You want to know something funny?” Kasumi said. “In a lot of the Alliance documents, they abbreviated his name as ‘TIM’.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack said. “And I thought Rodriguez’s name was pathetic. TIM? Yeah, that’s a name that’ll make people shit themselves on the battlefield.”

“They won’t accept it,” Miranda said. Jack and Kasumi glanced at her. “They’ll hear the Illusive Man’s voice and they’ll think I’m still with Cerberus. Let’s get back to the bar.” She turned around to call another taxi, but Jack yanked her back with a biotic pull. She pulled a little too hard, and Miranda landed right on her rear.

“Damn,” Jack said. “With a bubble-butt like that I’m surprised you didn’t end up bouncing.”

“What was that for?” Miranda said as Kasumi yanked her up.

“Yeah, it’s called ‘you’re not leaving this hospital until you go in there’, Queen-Bee,” Jack said. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “The Illusive Man was a major piece of shit, and if there’s a hell I hope that fucker’s rotting in it. But it’s like you said: you were the one who brought Shepard back, and you were the one who built the squad that took on the Collector base. You might piss me off most of the time, princess, but there’s two good things I can say about you: one, you’ve got nice tits, and two, you’re damn good at getting shit done when you put your mind to it.”

“That’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Miranda said. She took a deep breath and gently shook Kasumi’s arm free. She stared up at the hospital again, her fists clenched. “All right then. Let’s do this.”

“And Jack and I will be there as moral support!” Kasumi said. “Jack’ll be the one you can look at for encouragement and me…well, it’ll be good to know my presence is felt.” Miranda gave a quick nod to the two of them before marching her way up to the hospital. Her legs still felt shaky, though she wasn’t quite sure if that was from nerves or from the wine. Luckily, she still managed to make it to the reception desk without turning her ankle in her boots. The receptionist—a young woman whose nametag read “Charlotte”—looked up at Miranda and Jack.

“Erm…” Charlotte said, her fingers hovering above the terminal as she took in their appearances. “Did you two just come from a fancy-dress party?” Miranda did suppose they looked a sight: while her white body-suit was more public-friendly than Jack’s crop top and tattoo combo, the two probably did look like they’d come from a costume contest instead of a bar.

“Good thing I cloaked myself, right?” Kasumi whispered in Miranda’s ear.

“No, actually,” Miranda said to both Charlotte and Kasumi. “We’re here to see Commander Shepard.” Charlotte bit her lip and looked at a spot on her desk.

“Commander Shepard isn’t here,” she said, fiddling with a sticky key on the terminal. “Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“Oh, bullshit,” Jack said, and the two women pressed their palms and leaned over Charlotte’s desk at the same time. “Shepard’s here. She might be in a different ward, but this is the only hospital in a three-mile radius that’s had patients that were hit by the Reaper beam.”

“Plus we worked with Shepard, so we’re kept in the loop as to what happened to her,” Miranda lied.

“Plus I had access to the Alliance information that stated Shepard’s current medical condition,” Kasumi said, shimmering in-and-out of her cloak as she said it. Charlotte glanced from Jack, to Miranda, to the space where Kasumi stood, and wilted.

“She’s on the third floor. She’s had a whole private room to herself,” Charlotte said. “All the people from the Alliance keep going in there. I think one of the admirals is in there right now. Can you please…go away now?”

“That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” Miranda said. She turned on her heel and walked away. “Come on Jack,” she called as she walked to the elevator. She took a quick glance around and saw Jack do a quick fake-out at Charlotte’s desk before running up to catch the elevator. Miranda clicked the button.

“We make quite a power-team, don’t we?” Miranda said as she watched the numbers on the elevator slowly reach their floor. Jack snorted.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” she said as the elevator doors opened.

“If we’re going to be a girl-squad, can we be like Charlie’s Angels?” Kasumi piped up as the three women stepped into the elevator. “No, wait, actually bring Shepard, Samara, and Tali into the equation and we’ll be like the Sailor Scouts!”

“Who?” Jack asked.

---

Shepard’s room wasn’t that hard to find. It was the only one surrounded completely by Alliance military. Miranda, Jack, and Kasumi turned a corner and, upon seeing the huge swarm of blue in the distance, all quickly turned back around.

“That many members of the Alliance there?” Miranda said. She glared at Jack. “I thought you said there weren’t many people around her room!” Jack shrugged.

“That receptionist did tell us that one of the admirals was in there right now,” Kasumi said. “They’re probably just there for protection.”

“There’s like ten guys there,” Jack pointed out. “They don’t need that many. And if you’re that worried, I’m sure a quick shockwave will send ‘em running.”

“We’re not here to give this hospital anymore patients.”

“If you’d like, I could go check,” Kasumi said. She shimmered and became invisible again. Her soft-padded shoes echoed down the hall as she ran down, before quickly running back. As soon as she saw Miranda and Jack again, she became visible. “What was that admiral that Shepard kept talking about? The one with the grey beard? Hatchet?”

“Hackett,” Miranda said. She sighed and buried her face in her palms. “Great. This is going as well as ever.”

“Might mean two things,” Jack said. “Either Shepard is awake and communicating, or she’s about to die and there’s like a funeral going on in there.”

Miranda pulled her head from her hands so quickly she banged her against the wall. “Kasumi, did you see Shepard’s condition?” she asked.

“No, I could only see the admiral,” Kasumi said. “But they wouldn’t bring ten bodyguards in unless something really big happened, right?”

“And this ward does require fewer medical staff. They moved her from the last time I was in to see the kids,” Jack said. “Before, she was in kind of like an emergency unit.”

“Great,” Miranda said, rubbing the back of her head. “So what am I supposed to do? Just walk up to them and act like I’m Shepard’s doctor or something?”

“Her nurse,” Kasumi said. “That would be a little bit more believable than a doctor.”

“Yeah, a nurse in a porno,” Jack said. “With that outfit, there’s no way they’re going to think she’s a nurse or a doctor.”

“I can steal one,” Kasumi offered.

“A nurse or a doctor? You’re good Kasumi, but no-one’s that good.”

“I meant an outfit. And we’ll all act like medical staff.”

“And then we’ll all get put in jail because we were caught impersonating medical staff,” Miranda said, sighing. She stood up properly. “No, the only way to face this is head on.”

“You’re not gonna puke, are you?” Jack asked from below.

“No,” Miranda said, though she wouldn’t be surprised if she did. “Wish me luck.” She stumbled around the corner again, and tried to muster up any sort of courage, drunken or otherwise. She couldn’t. What she got was a few angry soldiers staring at her as she wobbled towards them.

“I’m here to see Admiral Hackett,” Miranda said. Even before the sentence left her lips, she was aware of how stupid that sentence sounded, like a child on their first job interview.

“The admiral?” one of the soldiers said, and the one on her right hand side started to snicker. “Sure, if you pay me a million credits.”

“So the Alliance is accepting bribes now?” Miranda said, crossing her arms.

“How about two million and a night in bed with you?” said a soldier a few steps away from the first two soldiers. “Actually, forget the two million. How about just a night in—” Shepard’s door opened, and all the soldiers immediately zipped up their mouths and stood to attention. Admiral Hackett walked out.

“At ease,” he grumbled. He frowned at them. “Soldiers, you do know I can see you when you’re goofing off out here, right? Keep doing that, and I’ll tell your chief that he might want to put you all on latrine duty for a month.”

“Um, sir?” the first soldier said, raising her hand. Hackett scowled at her. Her friend pulled her hand down and the soldier started sweating. “Um…that woman over there said she was here to see you?” Hackett turned around and raised his eyebrows. Miranda clasped her hands behind her back, though despite her heels and her posture, she felt incredibly small.

“Yes, I am,” she said, her voice shaking. “I was the one who headed Project Lazarus—”

“—And brought Commander Shepard back after we all presumed her dead. Yes, I know who you are, Operative Lawson,” Hackett said.

“I haven’t been a part of Cerberus since the Normandy was taken by the Alliance,” Miranda said. Hackett had the ball in his court and this was her only chance to put up a decent fight. “The Illusive Man was dangerous and deserved everything that he got. I’m here as a friend to Commander Shepard—”

“Miss Lawson, I know you’re here as more than a friend to Commander Shepard,” Hackett said. He put his hand on his chin and gazed directly into her eyes. Miranda stared back. “You’re here because you want to get involved.”

“I am more than capable of doing so,” Miranda said. “I built Shepard back from nothing, and she saved the bloody galaxy.”

“I know,” Hackett said. “And you’re the only person who knows exactly what kind of tech we’re dealing with. You’re on the team.”

“I’m—what?” Miranda said.

“I don’t believe I stuttered there, Miss Lawson.”

“No, Admiral, I heard you the first time,” Miranda said, feeling her face grow hot. She felt a surge of bile in her throat and she quickly swallowed it down before she embarrassed herself even more. “I’m curious to know as to why you’re so…so willing. I have footage of the surgeries if you want solid proof of my work,” she said, pulling out her omni-tool. Hackett placed his hand on her arm and looked Miranda in her eyes again, much softer than before.

“We’ve already most of it, Miss Lawson. Some of it was left on your terminal on the Normandy, and we were able to pick up other bits and pieces from the raids on Cerberus bases,” Hackett said. “You’re the leader of this project now. Shepard’s been out for a month, and humanity wants to see its hero back. If we could raise the Normandy, we’d use them as a placeholder until Shepard was up and running, but they’ve been off the grid since the Crucible went off.

“So we need Shepard, and the staff here aren’t equipped to bring her back, especially when there’s so many wounded. There’s only one other person that’s performed the impossible, and that’s you. Get in there and wake her up. In exchange, I’ll make sure all of your activities with Cerberus are taken off your record. Troops, let’s head out.” With that, Hackett and his foot-soldiers marched away, leaving Miranda feeling like she did when they recovered Shepard’s body. From behind her, Kasumi and Jack walked up to watch Hackett and the Alliance soldiers leave.

“Well then,” Miranda finally said.

“God, if any of my kids turn out to be that shitty, I’m making them deal with Zaeed,” Jack said. “No, Garrus. Actually, fuck it: both.”

“I thought you met Hackett before this?”

“Yeah, with a group of like sixty other people to get pardoned. Not exactly a heart-to-heart conversation.”

“Did he say when you needed to start? Probably tomorrow, right?” Kasumi said. “Then let’s head back to the bar! You need to celebrate the fact you’ve got a new job now, Miranda!”

“Yeah,” Miranda said. “The most important job in the world. Now, does anyone know if there’s a bin or pizza place nearby? I’m probably going to throw up if we don’t get some of this wine absorbed.”

#Mass Effect #mass effect fanfiction #f!shenko #shenko #fshenko #kaidan x femshep #femshep x kaidan #OTP: dipshits in love

[otome-on-the-side]

What’s Your Deal, Solomon? 

Solomon & GN! reader 

fluff

word count: 1,364 

Ao3 version 

MC & Solomon talk over drinks they shouldn’t, technically, have                           ______________________________________________________________  

    Adjusting to your new living conditions took time.      You were more than a little disappointed when you learned that alcohol wasn’t allowed in the house of lamentation. “Wasn’t allowed,” meaning Lucifer immediately shot down the suggestion when you proposed it, threatening to provide something with an alcohol percentage high enough to dissolve your frail, human skin if you insisted. 

     You knew the brothers got drunk off of something, but they did it well away from the eldest’s supervision. You didn’t really want to ask them what they drank, or to hook you up- getting mocked or, worse, dragged to a bar and left alone in the devildom, wasn’t all that appealing to you.         With the implication that booze wasn’t smiled upon in the dorms, your eyes nearly popped out of your skull when you witnessed your fellow human exchange student discreetly sipping out of a flask. It was the end of the day, so couldn’t really judge him for imbibing.  

   Solomon caught you staring and smiled, putting a finger over his lips.     Panicking, you copy the gesture, trying to silently convey that you won’t snitch on him. At this, his smile deepens, and he opens his D.D.D.      Your pocket buzzes, and you pull out your own device to see that he’s texting you.  

‘I’m assuming you can keep a secret?’  

     And with that, you arrange to “study” at the purgatory hall with your “close friend” Solomon. Lucifer was less than pleased to hear this, and was reluctant to drop you off. You weren’t thrilled to take the equivalent of the demon fuzz to your ‘illegal’ hooch rendezvous either, but safety prevailed over a possibly disappointed and huffy Lucifer. It wasn’t your fault Mammon had work that evening. But you had planned for this meeting with that in mind.        Witnessing the awkward standoff between Simeon and the avatar of pride at the purgatory hall’s front door almost made it worth it.        There was something deeply amusing about an angel delighted with Lucifer’s presence, while the demon seemed like he couldn’t leave (politely, these exchanges were always frigidly polite) fast enough.      

    You try to tamp down the amused grin on your face as you slip past the two, Lucifer calling after you to inform you that Mammon will be picking you up after he’s done working. You don’t even turn to respond as you wave behind you, wordlessly signaling that you’ve heard him and ushering him to leave as you disappear from sight.     

    You’re overjoyed to easily find Solomon in the front hall, waiting for you.     “Any trouble getting here?” He asks politely, making small talk as he leads you further into the dorm.     You answer with no, that you had no trouble and you both continue with your polite chatter as you enter his room.      It’s pretty similar to your own, though the color scheme is wildly different, the lighting is dimmer, and with a sturdy desk over the table you have; clearly meant for a single person to study at.  Solomon opens a drawer from the desk and pulls out a bottle of Amber liquid, and glasses from within a cabinet.    “Whiskey?” You ask.  

   “Rum, actually. I do have some Whisky if you prefer, but…” He trails off, his smile, while still polite, is knowing. 

   “Rum’s good.” You affirm. “I don’t think I have the refined palette for casual Whiskey drinking, if I’m honest.”  

   “I only really use it when I need to trade favors, if I’m honest,” he speaks as he pours your glass.    When he hands you your glass, he remains standing. You politely remain standing as well, chatting with him as time passes, going through a couple glasses.      As he goes to pour you a third, he seems to notice you awkwardly shifting your  weight from foot to foot- you’ve begun to tire, your drunken state becoming obvious. He pulls one of his more cozy chairs towards the desk after he hands back your glass. You only sit after he does, placing your glass on the desk next to his own.             “So,” you settle down on the seat Solomon has offered. “What’s your, like, deal?” 

    He can’t help chuckling in response. “My, like, deal?” He asks, incredulous.       “Yeah!” You rock back, bringing your knees up and planting your heels into the seat cushion, promptly spreading your legs and wresting your elbows on your knees as you lean forward again.    “Are you, like, THE Solomon the wise, or just some yutz using the name?”  His eyes are glittering with amusement, but he doesn’t respond; his answer is a grin over the rim of his glass before he takes a sip of his “illegal” wares.  

    “Names have power, you know.” You warn.  

   He doesn’t stop smiling- if anything, he looks even more pleased. “I know.”  

   You give him a hard look, thoroughly sloshed. “So.”  

   “Mm?”  

   “Have you been body hopping then?”  

   He pauses mid-sip at that. He puts his glass down, eyes widening a fraction as you go on.  

   “ ‘Cuz like. You are waaaay too pale and snowy lookin’ to be from the Middle East as you are.”  

  “That’s all?”  

  “Well,” you pause to take a sip of hooch, throat dry from your drunken chatter. “You’re so cold, Solomon.”  

  He raises an eyebrow.  

  You don’t notice as you ramble on. “It’s not just from wonky blood circulation either, ‘cause your entire body radiates a lack of heat.”  

  “When did you notice this?”  

   “Crashing into you was like, walking into a fridge but like. Meaty, I guess?” You pause, trying to think of a better description, and your drunken mind knows there’s a better one, but gives up under the alcoholic haze. “An’ like. You’ve been drinking since before I got here.”  

  “I could just be very good at seeming sober.” He posits.  

  “Nah!” You chuck something small from your pocket- a single grimm- in his direction, with the intention for him to catch it.  

   That coin does not fly anywhere remotely near Solomon, and clatters against a wall. You point at him. “Pretend you caught that.”  

  He laughs again. “No, I don’t think I will. So, any more evidence for your accusation?”  

   “Mm!” You slap the desk table, getting your train of thought back on track. “You have like, over ninety demonic pacts, and. Both the demons who really care about my safety are wary of you.”  

  “It’s not just them,” he posits.  

  “You’ve gotta know some demon magic.”  

   “More than some.” For Solomon, he’s dropping an insane amount of details- but you’re too far gone to care. Solomon knows this, enjoying the wiggle room it’s giving him.  

  “And if I’m honest? I don’t like the idea of it simply bleaching you and sand blasting your possible wrinkles away. Seems too easy for magic. The themes of immortality AND using magic to solve your problems is too prevalent in any folklore or mythology for it to NOT have an obnoxious cost.”  

  “I’m shocked you would imply that the use of a corpse would merely be ‘obnoxious’,” he’s trying to seem incredulous, but he can’t hide how his voice hitches as he barely holds in another laugh.  

   You don’t notice, but you’re too sure of yourself to back down from your hypothesis. “It’s not like finding a body is hard when you’re a king. Or in possession of demon pacts. And it’s not like it’d be hard to find someone in a coma or suicidal enough to give up their body, these days.”  

  “Touché.” He sips at his drink again.  

  “I know what you are.”  

  “Say it.” Even you can tell he’s barely holding in laughter.  

  “Yourra lich.” You slur out.  

   You’re both losing your collective shit, feeding off of each other’s laughter at the stupid joke when Simeon pokes his head into the common room, calling your name. “Mammon’s come to pick you up.” 

   You clap with joy and swing out of the chair; happy to see your first. You don’t really care if he sees you like this, and you doubt he could criticize you for cutting a little loose.  

   “Good luck.” Solomon says, as way of a farewell.    “You too!” You enthusiastically reply. “Have a good night!”   “You too.” His response is soft, spoken only after you've turned your back.

#obey me #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #obey me solomon #obey me fanfic #lucifer and simemon are here too #theyre just so minor im not putting their full character tags #mammon is also mentioned #I feel like this barely counts as fluff but solomons feeling Emotions by the end so #text #SO MUCH text #long post #alcohol tw #solomon is a booze wizard and you cant convince me otherwise #reader is GN but definitely gay #reader is a little bit of a light weight #i think #had this conversation in my head for montHS

[calanthemavis]

LEMON - a Renesmee Cullen one-shot, inspired by “Thirteen” (2003)

"Renesmee Cullen!", the teacher barked. I heard snickering behind me, causing me to roll my eyes. Not another day of them laughing at my name. If there was anyone to blame, it was my mother. She could have chosen any other name (well, except for Edward Jacobina or Gertrude), so why had she chosen Renesmee? To honour her mother and my father's adoptive mother. So dumb.

The teacher ignored the laughter of the students and roared at me to read the next poem in the textbook. I was stuck in an English Literature class and we were learning about poetry. I personally thought our teacher made the class even worse and more boring than it was. Neither it was advanced enough for my mind, nor my classmates seemed to cooperate and make things easier with their constant snickering and gossiping.

The material was far too easy. We were preparing for our SAT exams and we were just now learning about poetry?

I let out a small sigh before opening my mouth to read the example on the page of the textbook:

He was crippled but only his bodywas cracked It's not easy, nor is it an easy matter to explain. "Let's just leave it at that," she says and closes The Holy Book of Lies. She covers her eyes, denying to herself what she thought happened.

The class snickered yet again. What the fuck did they find amusing enough to laugh? The poem? The way I had read it?

Having just read the poem, I personally found it relatable. I could easily identify myself with the woman and the man could definitely be Jacob. The way I interpret the poem had to do with the imprinting. Ever since Jacob (in the presence of the rest of my family, of course) had revealed to me the truths of imprinting, I hadn't spoken to him. I had refused to look him in the eyes. I needed time to process this and everyone was making it even harder for me.

My heart ached that there was practically no one on this planet who appreciated me the way I was without some magic being involved. Dozens of vampires had fought to save my life but only because hybrid children (like me) were somehow alluring to everyone (supposedly). If that was the case, then why did my classmates think I was nothing special? Why hadn't they struck a conversation with me during the past couple of years? And before you blame me for being antisocial, here is my defence: every time I'd tried speaking to them, I would be met with snickering, snickering and even more snickering. So much for "Oh, honey! Everyone will love you! You're a hybrid, you attract people the way honey attracts bees!". Well, I had to be some sort of honey that was too sweet to be eaten, the kind of honey people would be repulsed by (did such thing even exist?).

The bell rang before the teacher could even give us homework. I now had to have a lunch break which would be followed by a free period. Only, however, I wasn't going to sit in the cafeteria with everybody else. I had learnt that nobody would ever want to sit by a freakshow like me. Luckily, very few people came outside, especially to the corner where I hid.

When I made sure nobody was watching me, I snuck a hand in the pocket of my jeans to retrieve a lighter and a cigarette. Thank the Lord that my parents never checked what I hid in my clothes. I didn't want to have to resort to sneaking stuff in my bra or panties - that would be gross.

I had learnt to smoke as soon as I had begun attending this school. So far nobody seemed to be aware of that. Covering the smell of cigarettes was not as hard. I could easily lie that I had stood next to smokers after classes. After a long conversation with my mother and a therapy session with one of my uncles, my dad had begun to trust me more and to not snoop on my private thoughts (the biggest mistake ever if you are the parent of a teenager).

Smoking made me feel older. It made me somehow feel connected to my human side. I was aware of the consequences, but truth to be told, I didn't care. So what if I died? Everybody died, even vampires! Fear of death, in my honest opinion, was the most ridiculous fear to ever exist. Yes, death was devastating, but it was part of life.

And when I put the cigarette between my lips, ready to inhale and exhale one more time, I closed my eyes, never allowing myself to rush. I wanted to take my time, to live in the moment. Smoking was a privilege. I could only do it outside and as long as I was out of my father's reach. If my mind was safe, then so were my cigarettes as well. I couldn't exist without them anymore. They were the only thing that still kept me where I was.

My sweet safe heaven.

*

Jacob and I were at his place. One week later, I had forgiven him, alas not so easy. I needed something from him and I had the feeling that he was the only one who could give it to me.

We were sitting on the couch in his living room, as the TV was distracting him. That was when I knew I had to execute my plan. If he had imprinted on me and he would do anything for me, then what was the problem in him being the one to have the key to my virginity? I was sick and tired of being supposedly sixteen and pure. And my father could go and shove his 1910s moral values in his ass. Or my mother's. I wasn't like them. I wanted to be cool. And the cool girls had penetrated vaginas. They thought I couldn't hear them in the toilet? Perks of being a vampire-human hybrid.

Or so I had thought.

At first, it was easy to mimic women from books and television and to begin planting small kisses on his neck, as he was still distracted by some crappy TV series. But when I attempted to straddle him, he pushed me away, knocking me onto the carpeted floor.

"What the fuck was that for?", I exclaimed, trying to hide the fact that I was in pain. My bum was throbbing.

"What is wrong with you?", he raised his voice at me. He had never done that. Not even the previous week when I had shouted in his face and hadn't wanted to see him ever again.

Even trying to play dumb didn't work. He continued screaming about how my parents would freak out and how we weren't even in a relationship. Apparently, he wanted to follow my parents' advice and to wait until marriage. Loser.

I squeezed my lips into a thin line and grabbing all of the dignity I still had left, I rushed out of the small house, seeing red. How could he do this to me? Wasn't I supposed to wear the pants in this relationship?

As soon as I was far enough away from the red house, I began pacing back and forth, feeling humiliated. Fuck Jacob. Fuck my classmates and my teachers. Fuck everyone! Only cigarettes didn't betray me. And they never would, because they were objects, toys to calm people down.

I quickly lit a cigarette to calm myself down. I thought I would be left alone, but, of course, God had another plan for me.

I was smoking, trying to be discreet when I heard footsteps. And who did I see when I looked up? Seth Clearwater. Just my fucking luck.

It was too late. He had seen me with a cigarette in my hand. I quickly dropped it and furiously stepped on it with my foot. Seth's eyes never left mine. They looked as if they were going to pop out of his face at any moment. And I couldn't blame him. If anyone I knew in real life saw me like that, they would be disturbed by the view as well. Besides, no one expected the miracle child of the Cullens to be a smoker. Well, too bad. Expectations never lead to good things anyway.

"Nessie? Was that a cigarette in your hand?", he screeched. If he was even a little bit louder than he already was, the whole reservation would hear us. As if it hadn't been more than enough that Seth had already seen me and was going to do God knew what! Especially since he was studying Medicine. I wasn't in the mood for being lectured about smoking. My body - my choice!

From anger, I pulled him by the collar of his shirt so that our eyes could meet. And then I hissed in his face like a snake:

"If you dare to tell anyone about it, I will never forgive you, got it?"

I had never seen Seth behave like that. He looked as if he had seen a bear and had pooped in his pants from fear.

I knew I had been incredibly rude to Seth. But he was Jacob's best friend. I couldn't let him tattle on me.

*

"Renesmee Carlie Cullen! What is this?", my mother roared as soon as I stepped into the main house. My father had insisted on picking me up from school that day. During the entire journey back home, he hadn't spoken a word to me. One damn word. And I was about to find out why.

Then, when we arrived home, I was taken aback. In the family room, everyone had gathered, looking like they had just witnessed a murder. At first, I was confused. What was going on? Had anyone died? And then I noticed that my mother was holding a bag. But not just any - it was the one where I kept every secret.

My heart was beating rapidly. I could feel sweat forming on my entire body. My face was probably flushed like a tomato. Now I looked like I had seen a bear and had pooped in my pants. Karma was a bitch. And I was about to pay for everything I had done.

My mother poured everything... and I mean everything on the coffee table. My hidden packets of cigarettes, my lighters, my stash of money I had been stealing from my parents for quite a while. How else could I afford my goodies? I had a green little monster inside of me that I had to satisfy!

Aunt Rosalie's gasp was the loudest. Both her palms had covered her mouth and her eyes were even wider than mine or Seth's the previous day. I imagined she was in disbelief that her own niece could do stuff like that. Even uncle Emmett couldn't calm her down.

Something was making my heart feel as if it was being squeezed with bare hands. But what was it? Was it guilt? Or was it the shame? Or was it just because all of my secrets had been exposed in a matter of seconds?

And how had my family found out in the first place?

"Seth," my father loudly confirmed my suspicions. He had to have told Jacob, who had to have informed my family. What else?

I wanted to break everything around me. To burn the whole house, including my whole family and me. Or to at least sink in the ground and to never re-appear.

Instead, when I was asked why I had done all of that shit, my body betrayed me. Cries escaped from my mouth as I dropped on the floor like a puppet without somebody to control it. What was the point to fight back? I was defeated. Outnumbered. All I could do was to allow myself to be taken in somebody's cold arms. I wasn't controlling my mind anymore. My father could now see the treatment I had been receiving from my peers for the past couple of years and how it had contributed to my new unhealthy habits. How the imprinting had deceived me, how I had almost lost all of my dignity the previous day. He could see that I wasn't okay and that I hadn't been for a while.

"It will be alright," I heard cooing in my ear, but I couldn't register whose voice it was. Scratch that. I couldn't register anything except for my own wailing.

That night I wept in my mother's cold embrace until I fell asleep. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, it was a new day.

*

Long three years had passed since that day when my secrets had been revealed to my vampiric family. Long years full of therapy sessions, family time and some dates with Jacob until we broke up. He had decided to stay back in La Push and I wanted to move on. I supposed imprint didn't always end up the way Sam and Emily had - with a happy family after all of the troubles they had endured. On the bright side, Leah (Sam's ex) was now in a relationship with Jacob. They wanted me to bring the rings on their wedding day. Aunt Alice was already sewing me a dress.

It was my first day in a new school. I was starting my second cycle of high school again by myself. I was hoping it would be better than the previous one. If not, then I didn't know what I was going to do. I couldn't be cooped up at home all day long. Despite the fact that I was going to be forever young, that didn't mean I couldn't contribute to society somehow. But that would come later on. I wanted to allow myself to be a teenager first, to gain some experience before University and from there I would decide what job to find.

My mother had driven me to school that morning. She thought it wouldn't be so bad, since I was pretending to be a ninth-grader. Most fourteen-year-olds still spent time with their families, including allowing their mothers to pick their clothes for school and to drive them to school. There was still time for everything. No need to rush. I had grown up in the blink of an eye and had caused trouble for everybody.

And now that I was chronologically almost fourteen, I could let myself behave like one. Fourteen-year-olds, as much as they despised it, still needed the adults in their life. And after years of attempting to be a pseudo-adult, so did I. No matter what, I would always need my family.

On the ride to my new school, I had sat in the front and had chosen the music to allow myself to feel calmer. The previous night, I had had a nightmare for the first time in years. I had woken up at three in the morning, drenched in sweat as if I was a little girl again, scared to death by the Volturi. I had barely slept, allowing my nerves to take over me.

Before I left the car, my mom grasped my hand. She wanted me to look at her and so I did. She made me promise her yet again that I wasn't going to do any foolish stuff anymore. Or else those three years of therapy would be for nothing.

I released a breath I had attempted to hold, "I just hope that this high school experience will be better than my previous one, you know," I wanted to chuckle, to be funny. But I found nothing amusing in my words.

My mother looked at me with a hint of concern in her eyes, "Don't worry about that. You'll do great, okay? And if something is wrong, don't hesitate to come to us. We are here for you."

As soon as she was done with her pep talk, I couldn't help but throw my arms around her, holding back tears. This time, everything would be different.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/keepfaithbaby

#thirteen #thirteen 2003 #renesmee #renesmee cullen #fanfic

[mischievousmoony]

Not My Ex

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco Malfoy and Y/N are ex fuck buddies and right when Y/N thinks she’s ready to move on and start a new relationship with Harry Potter, Draco forces himself back into the picture.

Warnings: none

Requested

Masterlist

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“I want something more, Draco,” you admitted, heart racing as you told him the truth about your feelings.

Draco didn’t react. Not even a muscle on his face twitched to show what kind of response was formulating in his mind. And it made you terribly anxious. 

“Draco?” You prompted him to say something. Hopefully, even say that he feels the same way. But right now you just wish he would react.

“That’s not our deal,” Draco finally said, but it was not the response you were hoping for. 

Your face twisted in confusion, “Deal? What deal?”

“Oh, you know,” Draco said nonchalantly, “We... satisfy each other’s needs and all the complications that usually come with it are out of the question, no worries.”

The confusion never melted from your features, so Draco continued, “No strings attached... you know... fuck buddies, Y/N, we’re just fuck buddies.”

Your heart began to ache, “I thought things changed. You’ve- we’ve been different. We’ve been hanging out more as if we were- were together.”

“Yes, behind closed doors.”

“Well, why does it have to be behind closed doors?” You were growing frustrated with Draco and it showed in your tone.

“Because that not the deal.” Draco shrugged as if he didn’t notice–or care–about your frustration.

“Why does it have to be a deal?” You were beginning to raise your voice now, “I like you and I think you like me! So why can’t we do something about it and be more than just ‘fuck buddies?’” 

Draco sighed, walked closer to you to place his hands on the sides of your arms, “I do like you, Y/N. I like what we already have. We could never be more, anyway.”

“Why not?” You asked dejectedly. You didn’t understand what was wrong with the idea of actually being together. The two of you would just keep doing what you were already doing but you didn’t have to stress about hiding it. Why was he making it so complicated? 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco raised his brow, “You’re a Gryffindor, how can I be seen with you?”

It felt as if you had been punched in the heart. You took a step back and Draco let his arms fall back to his sides. 

“You’re too ashamed to be seen with me. That’s it?” You said shakily, tears ready to spill at any moment. 

“I’m not... well, it goes both ways,” he defended, “How can you be seen with a Slytherin, especially me? I have a reputation and it will ruin both of us.” Draco sounded like he thought he was really smart, but you weren’t seeing it.

“I don’t care about reputation. That’s just you!” You jabbed your pointer finger into his chest, shouting louder with every word.

Draco shushed you, “Someone might hear.”

You laughed, stepping away from him again. Draco took on an apologetic look, realizing his timing couldn’t have been worse.

“If you’re so scared to be seen with me, then this whole thing must be too risky,” you spoke wildly. While you could keep the tears from flowing, you could not contain the emotion that revealed itself in your tone. 

“Wait-” 

“No, no, we can’t go on. We could get caught!” You spat mockingly, “So let’s just end it right now. It’s over, Draco.”

You didn’t wait to hear his argument as you stormed out of the room. From the previous conversation, you knew he wouldn’t dare follow you. In fact, as long as you avoided being alone for the rest of the year, you wouldn’t have to worry about talking to Draco at all. 

So, until the school year came to an end you didn’t seek solitary anywhere outside of Gryffindor Tower. Somehow, it worked. Draco didn’t bother you for the remaining months of school at all. It pained you because part of you wanted him to try, but you knew he would never give you what you wanted, so it was for the best. 

When the summer came, you didn’t even have to think about Draco. You were completely free of him for those blissful months. It was just enough time to filter him out of your system because when you came back to Hogwarts the next year, you didn’t grant him even a glance if you didn’t have to. 

And with him out of your life, you were spending less time hidden in a corner and more time with your fellow Gryffindors. This change had you spending time with a particularly snarky Gryffindor, Harry Potter. 

It began when you were paired off in potions. Of course, you had talked to him many times before that, but sitting next to each other in potions had you talking more often. It only grew from there. Soon you were sitting with each other in every class you shared, doing homework together, and sharing conversations outside of schoolwork every day. 

But as your friendship grew, you began to see a much more flirty side of Harry.

“Today we will be brewing the Elixir to Induce Euphoria,” Slughorn introduced the day's lesson. 

Harry leaned over to whisper in your ear, “I personally don’t see any point to an elixir when all I need to do is talk to you to induce euphoria.”

The chills that ran down your spin from Harry leaning so close to whisper to you were contrasted by a blush warming your cheeks. It was the cheesiest thing, but it made you fuzzy inside. 

Moments later when the brewing of the potion took place Harry stopped you from adding the next ingredient, “Wait, we need to add a peppermint sprig.”

You peered at your textbook, “It doesn’t say anything about that.”

“Just trust me. I’ll be right back,” Harry stood from his chair to retrieve the peppermint from the closet. 

You figured you’d do as he said and trust him. His marks in potions this year have been exceptional, he has to know what he’s doing. 

You began thinking about Harry in his absence. Your crush on him has been bubbling for a little while now. He often occupies your thoughts when he’s not around, just as he did right now. 

However, you were abruptly ripped out of your Harry-centric daydream by a harsh whisper in your ear, “Getting real cozy with Potter, eh? What’s your game?”

You snapped your head around to catch a boy walking away and from his harshly blonde hair, you could tell exactly who it was. And it confused the hell out of you.

Why would Draco suddenly try to talk to you again? And, of all things, say that?

Your thoughts of Harry had been quickly replaced by thoughts of Draco, someone who hadn’t crossed your mind for months. You wanted to know who the hell he thought he was. He hasn’t spoken to you in nearly a year and the first thing he says is that? And for what reason? What was his problem? 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a much softer voice this time, “I’m back.” 

Harry grinned at you as he sat down, bringing a smile to your own face, “I’m happy you are, mind telling me why we’re adding peppermint?” 

“It’s going to cancel out the side effects, so no excessive singing for the drinker,” Harry explained as he added the peppermint sprig. 

You followed with the sopophorous beans Harry stopped you from adding earlier, “How do you know that?” You asked, amazed at Harry’s intelligence.

“I have my secrets,” he winked as he added wormwood, the final ingredient. 

You took it upon yourself to finish the potion, stirring six times anti-clockwise as the book said. 

“For example,” Harry continued as you stirred, “I’m actually keeping one from you, I’m afraid I’ve made it quite obvious, though.” 

You smelled the finished potion, sweet and minty, as you prompted Harry to go on, “Would you like to get it off your chest? There’s no harm in telling if it’s obvious, right?” 

You were expecting another flirtatious line like always, but he caught you off guard.

“I.. I like you, Y/N. In a ‘I wanna take you on a date’ way. So if- if you want-”

But Harry didn’t get to finish his statements because he was rudely interrupted by the one and only Draco Malfoy. 

“Nervous? Eh, Potter? I can hear you stuttering from across the room. “If, if, if,” Draco mocked, laughing at Harry after he finished, making both of your blood boil. 

Harry stood from his chair, the softness of his voice completely gone as he sneered, “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Oh, my elixir didn’t quite go as planned. But you’ve got quite a nice batch here. I was hoping to borrow some,” Draco said, placing his hands on the cauldron.

“Hands off,” Harry said darkly, shoving Draco back. Unfortunately, Draco didn’t take his hands off until after Harry pushed him, sending the perfect potion to the ground. 

“What’s going on over here?” Slughorn intervened. Draco had landed himself and Harry in detention. 

Luckily, Slughorn had observed that the conflict was between Harry and Draco so you were free of any punishment. That didn’t stop you from going to where detention was being served anyway.

You felt like it was your fault that Draco targeted Harry today. In turn, you felt like it was your fault he was serving detention right now. So, hoping to make up for it, you hoped Madam Pince wouldn’t notice an extra student and made your way to the library to help Harry dust the bookshelves. 

The library was quite crowded with students. You weren’t surprised, as it was the middle of the week and at this point students were usually catching up on work they missed in the previous days and doing work for the following ones. 

You noted that this would work in your favor. Madam Pince surely wouldn’t notice an extra helper with the number of students that were already in here. 

You traversed the library, peering into each aisle in search of the green-eyed Gryffindor. 

“Harry?” You called out just above a whisper as you searched. However, when you finally got an answer it was not from who you were looking for. 

“You’re in luck. He’s not here.” 

“Draco,” you sighed. 

“The one and only,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and tried to push your way passed him to continue down the aisle. However, he grabbed your wrist before you could move any further.

You groaned but planted your feet down anyway. You told yourself that you were only staying because his tight grip on your wrist prevented you from leaving. But that was only what you told yourself because you didn’t want to admit what was really going on. 

The truth was, there was a part of you that missed him. You had pushed it away and locked up deep, deep down over the summer, but Draco’s touch seemed to be the key that unlocked the door and set that part of you free.

“What are you doing looking for Potter anyway?” Draco asked, spitting out Harry’s name like venom.

You found yourself rolling your eyes again, “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s my friend.” 

Draco scoffed, “Friend, eh?”

“Yes.” You answered simply, but with a feistiness in your tone.

“You sure?” Draco asked accusingly and your face scrunched up in response.

Angrily, you asked, “What are you getting at?” 

“Are you shagging Potter?” Draco replied without missing a beat. It seemed like he had been waiting for the opportunity to ask. 

In response, you launched your free hand towards his face. But, before your palm met his skin, he caught your other wrist. 

You struggled against his grip. Whilst you were attempting to break free, you exclaimed, “Let. Go. Of. Me!” 

Draco did as he was told, letting go of both of your wrists. He thought you would turn and run now that he wasn’t holding you in place. Much to his surprise, you stayed. 

“What the hell is your problem?” You raised your voice, not caring that someone could hear you in the quiet library, “You have no right trying to talk to me about my personal life! You don’t even have any right to talk to me!”

“I do when it involves me!” He snapped back but maintained a quieter volume.

You gaped at him, nonplussed by his statement, “Why the hell would my relationship with Harry involve you?”

“You’re only with him to make me jealous,” Draco finally said what had been on his mind for weeks. 

“What!?” You couldn’t believe his accusation, “I have half a mind to slap you again!”

“I’d like to see you try! You couldn’t even successfully do it the first time.”

For some reason, he didn’t expect you to actually try it. That’s why you were successful in bringing your hand harshly upon the right side of his face without his interruption. 

Draco’s jaw dropped as he clutched his reddening cheek with his hand. 

“Look, I don’t know why you’re suddenly trying to insert yourself into my business because it honestly has nothing to do with you, Draco,” you said harshly, anger laced in every syllable, “You’re acting like you’re my boyfriend when you’re not even my ex! You were too ashamed to be either of those, remember?”

With that, you shoved passed him with intent to leave the library.

You know you came here to see Harry, but you were in no mood for that anymore. You just wanted to be alone now. 

Just as you reached the heart of the library, in the middle of all the studying students and just a few more paces from the exit, a familiar hand wrapped around your wrist once again.

Draco spun you around to face him and you stared into his cool blue eyes, confused. He stared back intensely as he spoke.

“I’m not ashamed,” he said quietly before clearing his throat and trying again. Louder this time, he repeated, “I’m not ashamed.”

He was beginning to draw the attention of the students sitting at the various tables. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Draco began, raising his voice even more, “I, Draco Malfoy, have feelings for you. I’ve had feelings for you for over a year. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.” 

You were completely speechless. It was like something had possessed Draco. This was the last thing you ever expected from him and yet it was like a dream come true. 

After looking around to assure he had the library’s attention, he continued. 

“I’m not ashamed to have everyone know how I feel. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you. I’m not ashamed to call myself your boyfriend, if you’ll have me,” Draco scanned your face for any sign of how you were taking this, but the only recognizable emotion to him was shock. 

He took a quick deep breath before making his next move, not knowing how you would take it, “And I’m not ashamed to kiss you right now, right here, in front of everyone.”

He moved his hand from your wrist to gently place it on the side of your face. Draco leaned in, pausing just before his lips touched yours to look you in the eyes and make sure that this was okay. 

In a split second, all your emotions rose to the surface. A smile broke out on your face as you brought your hands to the back of his neck and pulled him the rest of the way in. 

“What is going on out here?” You suddenly heard Madam Pince’s voice growing closer by the word.

Draco pulled away, wrapping his hand around yours and pulling you out of the library. 

The two of you laughed as you ran through the halls, not caring who saw you speed by. 

Eventually, you two came upon an empty classroom and Draco pulled you in. He immediately made his way toward a desk, turning around to lean back against it as he pulled you into him to plant his lips on yours once again. 

You knew you would have to have a real talk with Draco about your relationship. But you would talk out your problems with him later. Right now, you had other things on your mind. 

“I missed this,” you sighed against his lips, pushing your hands into his robes, snaking them up his torso and beneath his shirt. 

––––––––––

Note: i kinda feel bad for harry tho... maybe i’ll just have to write a fic where he gets a happier ending soon :)))

#Draco Malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x gryffindor #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader #gryffindor!reader #slytherin x gryffindor #gryffindor x slytherin #draco x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfic #hp imagine #hp fanfic #hp imagines #hp fanfiction #draco one shot #draco malfoy one shot #draco oneshot #draco malfoy oneshot #draco fanfic

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Spring Weddings and Pomegranate

Summary: In which a marriage still occurs on NRC but it isn’t Eliza and Idia getting married.

Tags: Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Scheming! Reader, Marriage Proposal via Pomegranates, Big Dick Energy! Reader

Rated: M for the things bought at Sam’s shop and implied sex.

A/N: Written before the entire translations came out. m(_ _)m

---Idia knew that his face was beet red and that his hair had already gone red from embarrassment. Your hands were gripping his waist tightly and though you were shorter than him, he couldn't help but admire how cool you were with your white and gold trimmed twin tailed tuxedo along with the collar cuffs he recognized as his.

"I'm sorry Miss Eliza but this 'prince' is already taken" You apologetically told Eliza.

From the side, the other "Princes" were shocked at this particular development. 

"Lies!" Eliza cried as she gripped Idia's free arm.

The other dorm leaders present could feel the temperature drop and couldn't help but wonder how things went to this point.

It had been a fine day, as far as you know, since Idia had happily invited you to his room. As his significant other you had happily agreed and rejoiced over the fact that he had taken initiative, as a purehearted human in love you had come prepared for the day he would take initiative in regards to your relationship. Thus you had come prepared for the date in your most cute, comfy and seductive clothes along with an equally cute and comfy sleepwear. Naturally, you didn't forget to bring the battle weapons of L*be and C*nd*m*.

'At times like this, it never hurt to be prepared' You thought serenely as you calmly and happily bought the items from the Shop.

Your smile was bright as Sam handled your purchases and like a through professional businessman, he even offered you a few toys which you also bought for future uses. The few Ignihyde students who saw your purchase silently prayed for your success and at the same time silently agreed to keep Ortho occupied.

As for the other students from other dorms? They all silently cursed you for having a girlfriend while the rest of them had to settle for a pure loving friendship among men.

In this way, the world rearranged itself to ensure that your desires would be fulfilled. You had stopped by the dorm kitchen to take out the pomegranate napoleons you made before heading to Idia's room. 

“Idia~ I’m home!”

“We-welcome home...” 

His face was bright red as he greeted you back, compared to his flustered face when you had first done such a thing Idia was calmer now. Though the bashful and joyful emotions in his eyes couldn’t be concealed.

“Isn’t this domestic play so fun?” You asked as you set your clothes down and Idia started to arrange the food and drinks you had brought.

The items you bought from Sam’s shop had been skillfully hidden in calculated places, meant to stimulate your beloved Idia when you weren’t around thus you hummed a soft tune as you plastered yourself at Idia’s back and admired his pleased and flustered look. He really had a face where you can’t help but just want to bully him a little bit.

“Mmnn...you...you shou-shouldn’t just keep on sta-sta-staring at me!” He squeezed his eyes when your hands moved at one of his sensitive spots.

“But I missed you so much! And it’s rare for you to ask me out on date so I want to engrave this particular look of yours in my mind~!” You honestly told him and then tugged at his clothes to make him duck down to your level.

You cheekily looked at his eyes and planted a quick kiss on his lips and stood back as he hid behind the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Tha-that! You shouldn’t just kiss me so easily!” He whined to hide his embarrassment.

“Ara? Then Idia-san should I kiss you deeper then?” Your tone of voice made him know you were teasing him further even so he couldn’t help but want to pay you back thus with great courage he replied,

“Tha-that’s right! Slowly and dee-mphf!!!”

Quickly grabbing the opportunity you did as he told and Idia ended up having a lapful of you on the floor. Idia did his best to hold on as both of you engaged in a heated make-out session but the feel of your ass wiggling on his crotch and the overwhelming feeling of your passionate kiss made him weak.

Seeing that he was at his limit you kiss him for one last time and admired the thin string of saliva that was now dripping from his lips, the flushed look on his face, the dazed look on his eyes and the undeniable hard-on that was poking you on the ass.

“Hehe~ Idia-chan lasted longer this time~♡” 

He shyly wiped the drool off his lips and sulked at you. 

“Ah~! Idia-chan’s angry look still looks cute!♡” You gently peck him on the forehead before getting out of his lap.

Helping him get off the floor, you guided him to he large bean bag he had ordered for both of you to cuddle on, and gently placed him there. Giving him sometime to finish sulking before you began another round of Private Displays of Affection. At this point in time, you were still confident that your relationship with Idia was unshakable.

 There were no threats to his future status as your husband and you had simply continued your usual date routine of flirting, pampering, loving, and doting upon your beloved. The night had been filled with the sweet air of love and Idia had even managed to not shake that much as he held your hand in the middle of a romantic cut scene.

You had kissed him good night after casting a protection spell on him as you slept on his bed and Idia took a nap before heading out to buy his game.

That was the last time you saw him.

“How could my darling be taken?” Eliza pouted as tears gathered on the corners of her eyes.

You felt your heart soften at her heartbroken look before steeling yourself,

“That’s because he’s my lover of 2 and a half years”.

From the sides you could hear Azul’s glasses breaking in shock, the loud gasp from Vil, and Lilia’s words of “So that was who you bought those toys for?”

You made a mental note to drop by Diasomnia once this was over, to bribe Lilia into silence as well as future cooperation. There was certain merit in building connections with someone of Lilia’s peerage.

“Miss Eliza, just like how you wish to wed your ideal beloved, I, as well, wish to do so” You turned and looked at Idia, channeling all the love you felt for him in your eyes before turning to Eliza, “For me, no one else but Idia would do that’s why...as recompense let me help you find your true love!”

You smiled brightly and made sure to up your charm.

Ortho had come to wake you up in tears, effectively rousing you from your sweet dream of eating and enjoying Idia’s body.

“Wa-wake up!!! Nii-san was taking by ghosts!!!” Ortho cried as he shook you awake and you blearily looked at him.

“Idia...got taken by ghosts? Was he mistaken as one of them again?” You asked as you got up and calmed Ortho down.

“Please hurry up! Nii-san was taken by a ghost bride!” Ortho cried harder as he pushed you out of the room and you stumbled as you got dressed.

“Wa-wait! Ortho-chan at least let me put on a jacket!” You begged as tried to stop him from pushing you out.

“Okay! But hurry up! Who knows what’s gonna happen to Nii-san!”

“Got it! Got it! Please stop pushing me already.”

Ortho carried you away as soon as you said you were ready, the next thing you knew, you were already standing right in front of the Headmaster and watching the CCTV recordings with the Headmaster and the young prefect of Ramshackle Dorm once again.

“Yuu-chan since you’re helping us out, you should come and stay over our dorm while Ramshackle is on loan” You kindly offered one of the unused rooms of Ignihyde.

“Sempai! You’re a lifesaver!”

“Not at all, this is just me repaying you for your help later on~ I can’t have my Idia end up on someone else’s hand after all” You smiled.

From the side, Headmaster Crowley watched your clenched fist and hoped that things would end peacefully. Before he could even advise you to not take things too far later on, he was disrupted by the ruckus outside. Angrily opening the door he was once more, greeted by another problem.

“I won’t hand over my love so easily!” Eliza cried and tugged Idia away from you.

“Ara~Ara~In that case, shall we fight for his hand then?” You asked as you let go of Idia to prevent him from getting hurt.

“Ha! Someone like you who can let him go easily won’t win!”

“I’d rather my beloved Idia not get hurt even the tiniest bit, please don’t mistake my utmost consideration for him to be a sign of weakness.” You replied coldly as you took out your magic pen.

“I-Isn’t there another way?!” Idia panicked, “U-um I-I only want to marry (your name) so please stop this already!!!”

You paused at the sudden declaration and beamed at Idia before turning your smug look at Eliza, “Well then, Idia has spoken, so kindly removed your hand from his arms!”

“No, before that, shouldn’t you put down your magic pen?” Azul reminded you, his composure made it look like his earlier reactions were nothing but a hallucination.

“Shut up, this looks interesting. Seeing that bastard get this agitated...heh” Leona stood on the side and watched the show with keen interest.

“No...didn’t we all agree to put that ring on her finger?” Riddle reminded everyone.

Hearing the silence that greeted him, he looked at his companions and glared at them with annoyance as he demanded,. 

“Headmaster Crowley! Hurry up and stop those two before worse come to worst!”

“I name this plan…. “Operation: Propose!” Crowley declared and you clapped on the side to show your support for his efforts.

“Are you actually fine with this?” Rook asked you, eyes sharper than usual and you knew that you couldn’t hide anything from him. 

So you hadn’t bothered and instead confessed, “I’m a little bit annoyed that someone can easily take Idia from me but I know that right now Idia must be feeling the worst of it.”

“Oh my, what sweet words coming from you, souverain de la mort”

“Fufufu~Is that so but this would also be a good learning experience for Idia, He needs to be aware of his surroundings when I’m not there~”

“There it is~ that tough love that I expect from someone like you!” Rook cheered.

You laughed at his antics and decided to join in on the discussion to take back your boyfriend. It really wouldn’t do if he ended up on someone else’s hand after you took so much time and effort on laying the ground work after all.

Thus all of you burst into the reception hall and began the operation.

You waved at Idia and signaled him to be at ease while each of the dorm leaders and the first years tried their luck.

Ignoring the sound of slaps, you comforted your boyfriend who was near tears. Idia despite standing tall over you acted like an over sized dog and hid his face on your chest. He held on your clothes tight and whined about everything that happened to him.

“I was so scared! I thought I got mistaken for a ghost again and would end on the Underworld once more! I don’t like going there!”

You calmly rubbed his back up and down, occasionally planting kisses on his flaming hair. and generally soothing him to a much calmer state.

“It’s fine, I’m sure our friends wouldn’t fail our expectations and if worse comes to worst...I’ll deal with it personally” You promised him and held him tight.

Ortho came over to hug you both and you welcomed him and pulled him close as well. You wouldn’t deny that both siblings had occupied the soft parts of your heart and you couldn’t help but indulge them every now and then.

“I won’t give up! My love for my darling won’t lose to you!” Eliza declared, grip growing tighter on Idia’s arm.

“In that case, I challenge you to a duel for Idia’s hand in marriage!”

“Eh?! Wa-wait why a-are you shuddenly proposing?” Idia stammered as he ran over to you.

‘He bit his tongue...’ Azul, Leona, Rook, Vil, Jade, Floyd, Lilia, Sebek, Cater, Trey, Ace, and Deuce thought.

“It’s fine to do this but please avoid damaging the school buildings~!” Crowley shouted from a safe vantage point.

You calmly looked at Idia and said, “ I can’t just stand to see the man I love get married to someone else.”

You took a strand of his hair and placed a kissed on it, the warmth of his flaming hair made your lips tingle as it slowly turned red in embarrassment, “Idia, please wait for my triumphant return.”

Idia blushed and quickly peck you on your forehead and said, “For good luck...”

From the side Yuu commented, “If Sempai was single...they would have easily made Eliza-san accept the ring right?”

“What are you talking about?” Ace asked grumpily.

“What sharp eyes you’ve got!” Rook replied, “As a child of the Goddess of Love it’s natural to for them to be brimming with charm however from the looks of it...they might just use their Unique Magic.”

“If that is truly the case, then we are in for a good show.” Lilia floated over, “Their Unique Magic is one of the kind after all, fufufu~ Sebek you should try learning from them~”

“Lilia-sempai just what is Sempai’s Unique Magic?” Yuu asked.

“Hmmm...it’s hard to explain but their Unique Magic is something close to a God’s powers~”

Everyone who heard that looked at you at a new light. Idia and Ortho were the same though for entirely different reasons. Idia had never thought you were considering marriage with him, he was content with being your boyfriend and eventually breaking up once you were tired of him but seeing your gallant figure raising your magic pen he couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with you.

Ortho had been happy seeing how you easily got his brother to go out and mingle with people occasionally and how good you were to his brother but he hadn’t held much hope that you’d stay for forever. He was prepared to do anything to protect his brother’s smile and seeing how you finally stepped up to fight, Ortho could be at ease.

“Well then, I’ll finish this quickly,” You said apologetically to Eliza, “Crush Thy Heart!”

“In life you couldn’t find your love however in the Underworld, your beloved has been eagerly waiting for you, therefore let go of those regrets and pass over. Crush Thy Heart and Free Thy Soul!”

Eliza disappeared in a soft gentle particles of light, her eyes seeing someone who was not visible in their eyes. Dressed in white and smiling with happiness, the Ghost Bride had finally settled her business.

You smiled at her gently, offering a silent prayer to your mother and the God of the Underworld to look after her upon arriving. Then you headed towards Idia and swept him off his feet, uncaring of the public spectacle you were making you kissed his cheek and said,

“Idia Shroud, this event led me to realize I can’t put my guard down when it comes to you.”

Idia was still stunned at being carried by you so easily that his eyes were only looking at you in a daze. You sighed at him, helplessly fond of his endearing traits.

“That’s why let me stay by your side as your spouse, let me dine with you and partake in your wine, share your hearth by your side and that we may welcome Hestia’s and Aphrodite’s blessing upon us.”

Idia, who had understood what you were doing, trembled in your arms and with his shaking hands clutched your lapels and kissed you on your lips. 

“If-if you’re fine with me the-then I happily accept!”

“Congratulations on your marriage, Nii-san!” Ortho said as he jumped with joy.

"Husband, it's not that I enjoy being under you but why am I being tied as well?"

Idia merely glared at you, pouting with embarrassment. You observed his flickering hair and noted that only the tips were dyed in red.

'He's not that mad then' you thought as you wiggled around the newly bought queen sized bed that replaced Idia's former bed.

"My love? my Darling dove? Beloved Idia? My Dear Husband? Idia-chan?" You called out to him.

"How could you just se-send the betrothal gifts to my home without telling me!"

"...I didn't...but my mother probably did..." You weakly answered as you magically undid the ropes and pulled him to lie on the bed with you.

He snuggled closer to you like a cat and whined, "It was so scary! Hearing that I had to bring you back home with me! What if you didn't agree!"

With a snap of your fingers, a couple of pomegranate seeds appeared on your palms and you took it from the palm with your mouth. Idia looked at you in confusion and suddenly found himself being kissed. Your tongue swiped on his bottom lip, silently asking, and Idia obliged opening his mouth and letting your tongue in his mouth.

The taste of pomegranates spread inside his mouth as he sunk into the plush bedding. You were straddling his waist as your tongue entwined with his while your hands were already undressing him deftly. Idia could feel his brain turn into mush with your skillful ministrations upon his body.

With a loud pop and the saliva that connected your mouth to his, you ended the kiss knowing that Idia was already at his limit. You wiped the drool off his mouth and said, "You don't have to worry about me leaving your side anymore."

Your pleased smile and gentle reassurance, like always, didn't fail to make his heart skip a beat.

"Mou...you're the more dangerous one..."

#idia shroud x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst idia x reader #idia shroud

[koeyohte]

It’s bright in the hallway.  Sunlight streams in from the expansive glass doors and windows just a few steps away in the atrium.  The campus has received many remodels in the past few years and I’m fortunate to be taking two of my semester’s classes in this airy building.

    I’ve never been good with school.  Other students could casually discuss what they’d learned or cram their study session in the night before an exam and do just fine.  I’ve always needed extra help - after hours work from the teachers, tutors, extravagant memory solutions.  I’d finished high school last year and now was waiting, alone, outside a closed wood door where my english literature class would take place; not for a while though, I think, glancing down at my phone.  I’m always early to class.  For now, I’m sitting on the floor, plucking at stray fibers of material from my jean shorts and wondering if wearing leggings would have been a better idea.  The tile is a cold shock to my skin whenever I touch it.

    I’ve been taking this class for three weeks now - two days in each of those weeks on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I look hopefully down the hallway, toward the atrium.  There’s usually a quiet young man who arrives early and waits across from me.  He keeps to himself and is always reading something.  I think he’s nice to look at, though I would never admit it out loud.  He’s a bit unusual looking - angular features compliment a frame that’s thin and wiry, but with broad shoulders that make him appear larger than he likely really is.  His hair falls just past his shoulders, which is unusual around here.  I’ve never seen a man around my age with long hair.  When I’m sitting on the floor, he seems rather tall, but when I’m standing, he’s actually about the same height as me.  I don’t know anything about him but it’s nice to share the otherwise lonely wait in the hallway with him.  I feel like there’s something calm and even comforting about him, though I’m not really sure why.

Twice, I’ve switched up what side of the hall I stand on, just to see what he’ll do.  He stood farther away during the first week but after I accidentally dropped my notes and he picked them up for me in the second week, he’s been standing a little closer, still always across from me.  I remember noticing a narrow but long scar across his wrist when he handed me my notepad.  His hands were rather rough when they brushed mine.  He hardly met my eyes and was quick to move away again, like he was uncomfortable with being near me.  The dark circles under his eyes were much more apparent up close.

I look up when I hear the doors of the atrium open and my heart skips a beat.

    He’s buried in his phone just like he has been every day before.  He makes his way down the hall, barely looking up even once, and comes to lean against the wall opposite me like he always does.  He looks past his phone to nod at me, which I wasn’t expecting.  I try to smile at him but it comes out like more of a grimace.  He doesn’t seem offended and brushes his long hair from his face while he continues to read.  His hair is a strange, dark blond color and it frames his sharp features in a way that makes it difficult for me to look away. He doesn’t seem to attract much attention from anyone else but I realize as I stare at him that I find him oddly handsome.

    I guess that explains why I’ve randomly thought about him more than a few times this past week.  That’s new for me.

    Confused by my revelation, I look away before he can notice.  I don’t even know his name.  There’s a subtle smoky scent that I now recognize is coming from his bag.  It’s sweet and herbal rather than stale and dusty.  His clothes are the same as always - a button down, earth-toned shirt with dark grey slacks.  He looks like he should be working in an office.

    He doesn’t say much and he won’t speak unless spoken to. I’m not sure if that’s just how he is, or if it’s a manners thing, or if he actually despises small talk.  He seems too buried in deep thought for it, from my observations.  He’s always reading something, whether a book in his hand or something on his phone.  I can tell they’re not text messages by the way he brings the phone up and stares at it while occasionally scrolling for the entire 20 minutes we usually stand in the hallway.

    It’s surprising and a bit bewildering to admit that I like looking at him, but it’s true.  That being said, I find just about everyone nice to look at in some way.  It’s confusing sometimes.  I’ve never felt anything more for anyone, though, despite being pursued more than once.  It just hasn’t happened yet I guess.  I’m in no rush, so it’s alright with me.  Unintentional flings don’t seem enjoyable and I can’t imagine being so intimate and open with someone who doesn’t plan to be there in the future.  Unlike Sun, I think to myself - she’s been with lots of people, and while some of them still spend time with her just as friends, others have left a bad taste in my mouth.  She’s easily forgiven them.  Or forgotten.  Maybe both.

    Someone else walks between us and when I glance up, I’m surprised when the man across the hall looks quickly away from me.  I watch him for a moment, wondering how long he was staring.  Maybe he wasn’t.  Instead of looking back at me, he scratches at his chin and tucks his phone away, looking at something over my head.  I find myself glancing upwards, assuming there’s a flyer I must have missed, but there’s nothing there.  When I look back at him, he’s watching me again, but he startles.

    “Sorry,” he mutters and looks away.  He sticks his hands into his pockets and avoids my gaze.  I’m not sure what to say.  That it’s okay?  That sounds weird, possibly even creepy.  Should I ask him if something’s amiss?  That might be weirder.

    He’s looking at me again and this time, he doesn’t shy away from my own gaze.  His light eyes trail down to my knee, where I realize he’s eyeing a small cut from where I had banged it on one of Sun’s short coffee tables last week.  He looks like he wants to speak but he’s holding himself back.

    “Ran into a table,” I say awkwardly, gesturing at the wound.  It’s just a small red line now.  The man looks back to my eyes and nods.

    “Looks recent,” he says after a moment.  His voice is mellow and lighter than I expected it to be.  He sits in the first row, close to me in our class, yet I’ve rarely heard him speak; certainly not more than a simple yes or no.  “Not from this week, though.”

    I tilt my head at him, surprised he can tell.  “How’d you know?”

    Something passes across his face.  He looks almost disappointed - or angry?  “I’ve seen a lot of… cuts,” he mutters.  He shakes his head but falls silent again.  His expression is mellow as he stares at the tiles between us.  Relaxed, he’s very nice to look at.

    I feel myself start when he blinks up at me again.  I’m wracking my mind for something to say.  There’s a palpable tension in the air - either that, or I’m just incredibly nervous, for some reason.

    “What happened to your wrist?” I blurt, glancing at the pale pink line that reaches over his skin.  He pushes his hand further into his pocket and I fear I’ve crossed some invisible boundary with him.

    “Nothing,” he responds quietly, voice hardly more than a whisper.  His posture is stiff now and he’s avoiding my gaze, so I don’t press him.

    “What do you do?” I ask, hoping a change in subject will make him feel more at ease.

    “Metal shop,” he mutters simply.  He’s still not looking at me.  Deciding he’s done with the conversation, I just nod and go back to my phone.  Sun’s sent me a picture of some plants she wants to buy for her patio.

    “What about you?” he asks after a moment.  I’m glad that he’s not giving up so soon.  He still looks upset, or frustrated, but his posture’s relaxed a bit.

    “Just… this right now.  I’ve been around.”  I pause, realizing how that sounds.  “I mean - I’ve had a few odd jobs.  Nothing serious.  Coffee shops, library, things like that.”

    At mention of the library, the man perks up.  “What did you do there?”

    “Just inventory, organizing shelves, scheduling shipments from one branch to another.”  I watch his features change, almost dramatically, from brooding and gloomy to fascination.

    “I assume that means you like to read?” he asks, standing up straighter.  He takes his hands from his pockets and folds them.  He crosses one leg over the other and suddenly appears much more comfortable than he ever has in the hallway.  The newfound engagement on his face makes him much nicer to look at.

    “I do,” I begin, but before he can ask me what most everyone does, I hurry on, “but mostly nonfiction.  I had to focus on school for so long, I hardly had time to read for fun reading.  I’m just now getting into it again.”

    To my surprise, he nods as if he understands.  Most people find what I’ve said to be ridiculous, or a poor excuse to avoid reading as a hobby.

    “I’m like that sometimes, too,” he says.  “I’m always reading something, though reading purely for enjoyment is something I only very rarely get to do.  I’m….”  He tilts his head to the side and sighs as though he’s about to tell me something ludicrous.  “I’m in the midst of a collection of European cavalry history, right now.”

    I nod, unsure of what to say.  It doesn’t sound particularly appealing to me, but I can understand the draw for someone who knows more already than I do.  I try to smile in place of empty words, and the man drops his gaze to the floor again.

    I notice a tear in the belt loop of my shorts and start to pull at it.  They’re one of my favorites, as they actually fit.  I have exceptionally wide hips, so everything is either too tight in the thighs or too loose everywhere else.  I grumble when the string gets caught on my ring.  I wear a thin silver band around my ring finger on my left hand - I grew tired of people trying to hit me up.  Free from the devious string, I glance down the hall, but first I steal a glance at my classmate.

    I nearly startle when I notice his eyes are resting on me again.  It looks like he meant to just glance at me but upon noticing my staring, now he is too, in an effort to hide his intention.  Whatever it was.

    My heart is pounding in my ears.  I can feel my pulse in my chest.

    “Jeans,” I say weakly, shrugging at the string in my hand.  The young man nods once.  I see him swallow and lower his phone from his face.

    “I had a sister who wore a lot of them,” he says slowly, as though he’s considering each word before he speaks.

    I notice how he chose his words - “had” a sister.  I offer him a polite smile.

    “I’ve never had a sister.”

    “Brothers?” the man asks.  I shake my head.  He shrugs.  “More resources for yourself.”

    I open my mouth to respond, then realize that nothing natural comes to mind.  What an odd thing to say.

    “I suppose,” I finally say.  He had started to look at his phone again but when I speak, he pauses.

    “You suppose?”

    I look away.  There’s an edge to his tone that wasn’t there previously.  He seems frustrated with my comment.  His brows lower and the creases along his mouth deepen.  Whatever attraction I did feel toward him fades slightly.  The man straightens himself up and tucks his phone into his pocket.

    “You don’t get anything to yourself with six siblings,” he elaborates.  A subtle, tired smile flashes across his face at my expression of surprise.  “That’s all I meant.”

    Realizing that he noticed my disenchantment with his tone, I begin to feel guilty.

    “It’s alright,” I manage, hoping he’ll forgive my reaction.  I’ve always been sensitive to people’s behavior.  I assume it has something to do with a handful of particular years during my childhood.  My mother went through something that I was too young to understand, but I didn’t miss the things she did and said to me before she found herself again.  I’m quick to assume the worst from people rather often.  It’s something Sun likes to remind me about, if she isn’t criticizing my willingness to help people.

“Seven of you?” I ask, realizing the man is still watching me.

    He nods.  “We’re fosters… so, none of us are really related.  Different ages, come from different places….”  He looks suddenly uncomfortable and trails off, looking away.  He sticks his hands back into his pockets, shoulders slumping.  He looks like he wishes he hadn’t told me.

    “That must be difficult.  I can’t imagine that.”

    “Hmm.”  The young man looks back to me.  “It can be.”

    A few other classmates are starting to arrive.  I’m disappointed that we don’t get the hall to ourselves anymore.  The man pulls his phone back out and resumes his reading like I’m not there at all.  I get the distinct impression that his foster family is something he doesn’t speak about much and probably didn’t mean to offer to me.

    The rest of the wait goes by as usual.  Relative silence in the hall is replaced by shuffling shoes, the rustling of paper, the clamoring of heavy books against tile, and chatter.

The door to the classroom opens, the last of the previous class files out, and the professor beckons us inside.  I take my place in the front row, all the way over to the right, where I’ve made a corner against the far wall.  The man follows and sits two seats away like he always does.  The professor does all the talking, until discussion time.  My quiet companion and I aren’t exactly fans of speaking to the class.  The professor hasn’t called on us yet and she doesn’t this week, either.

    Once dismissed, I gather my things and wait patiently for the young man to take his so I can leave.  He’s shuffling papers in his bag and muttering to himself.  He looks upset, so I pretend to read a message, but am glad to see one from Sun to respond to anyway.  She’s got some exciting news about a new girlfriend, it seems.  I begin to type a reply but the man groans and moves aside, pinning himself uncomfortably against the table.

    “Sorry, I’m sorry.  Go ahead.”  He waits for me to pass him and I notice how he recoils further as I do, as if being near another person disgusts him.  His knuckles are white against the table and he’s turned his head away from me like he’s afraid I’ll look too closely.  I try not to think too much about it, hoping it’s not personal to me.  I pause just after him when I notice the way he paws frantically through his things.

    “You okay?” I ask, lowering my phone.  He looks up.

    “Yes.  I just… lost something.”

    “Can I help?”  I start to move closer but he quickly straightens up, picks up the bag and sighs heavily.

    “No.  Thank you.”  Clearly frustrated, he strides past me toward the classroom door.  I’m surprised when he holds it open and looks expectantly at me.  I thank him and sweep out into the hall.

    “You sure you’re okay?” I ask again when he trudges past me.  He frowns.

    “I’m fine.”

    “Okay.”  He doesn’t seem fine.  He seems to be silently fuming.  His brows are low and the creases in his face are deep.  I remind myself that I don’t know him and it’s best to leave him be.  Despite the way my feelings get carried away so easily, I have to remind myself that they shouldn’t choose my decisions for me.  It’s very difficult, especially when I see someone upset or in need.  Sun likes to tease me about it, telling me I’ll spread myself thin trying to provide more attention to everyone I’ll ever meet than I ever do for myself.

Some days, I think she’s right.

I leave my disgruntled classmate behind and go to stand outside, waiting for my mother to pull the car up.  We share the vehicle, so she dropped me off today.  She had work for a few hours while I was on campus and doesn’t always get off on time.  I could be waiting here awhile.

    I look up when someone comes to stand next to me.  It’s my classmate, and he’s fidgeting like he’s distressed or like something is wrong.  His hands are flexing like he’s in pain and he’s gritting his jaw.  I don’t ask him this time if he’s okay.  He’s staring straight ahead as if I’m not there.

    “You getting picked up?” he asks suddenly.  I nod and ask him the same.  He barely hides a scoff.  “Ah - no.  They would never… no.  I just....”  He frowns and looks down.  “Nevermind.”

    “Wait.”  I follow him as he steps back toward the building.  He looks strangely on edge, like a frightened, injured animal.  I feel myself hiding an eye roll at the way he stares at me like I’ve caused him further upset.  “Don’t worry, I won’t ask if you’re alright - but... do you need anything?”

    He looks offended until he realizes why.  “I’m sorry,” he begins, turning around to face me again.  His voice is thin and suddenly soft.  There’s something gentle in the way he speaks to me now.  “I didn’t mean to be rude.  It’s not… socializing isn’t my strong suit.”  He looks sheepishly away again, hand anxiously rubbing at the strap of his backpack.  I can see how worn it is there.  “You don’t… have a lighter, do you?”

    That’s what the herbal smell was.

    “Sorry, no.”  I don’t have anything against smoking, but I’ve never done it myself.  Sun does, sometimes.  I’ve sat in her room in the cloudy, sweet haze while her company languished around, discussing things they weren’t ever quite relaxed enough to allow themselves the luxury of doing before.  It’s a great time it seems, but I won’t try it with so many strangers around.  I trust Sun with my life, but she has a lot of strangers in her room sometimes.  Some come and go swiftly and others stay for weeks.

    The man casts me a small smile.  I hate how charming he looks like that.

    “Darn.  Hope you won’t think any less of me for it, anyways.”

    “What makes you so sure I’m thinking about you at all?”

    I’ve spoken before thinking.  I feel my face flush bright red.  He blinks at me for a moment, then looks away.  Neither of us say anything for several breaths.  The tension is stifling.

    I close my eyes and shake my head at myself.

    “That - that was… I didn’t mean it like that.”

    The man laughs quietly and I see him reach up to scratch distractedly at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair.  He looks shabby but in a confusingly enticing way.

    “‘S alright,” he mumbles.  I allow myself to look at him for a moment while he’s busy looking anywhere else but at me.  His face is lightly shadowed and his sharp features cast sunlight across his forehead and the bridge of his hooked nose.  His eyes are light, unlike my own.  As I look, I notice pretty, almost yellow centers.  I’ve heard of heterochromia but I can’t tell from here if that’s what’s there for sure.

    He looks at me again and I notice out of my peripheral vision that my mother’s little blue car is turning into the driveway.

    “My mom’s here,” I announce, unsure of how else to proceed.  The tension is still there but it’s not as taut.  The man looks up and backs away from me as though he shouldn’t be seen so close.  He’s chewing his lip but as the car pulls up to a stop, he just looks away from me again.

    “See you,” he says, and turns back into the building before I can even respond.  I open the passenger door and climb in, not allowing myself to stall, and glad when my mother doesn’t ask any questions.

#modernAU #short story #ch1 #idk what im calling this yet

[chupacabrahhh]

*~{ Garden of Golden Deer }~* a Fire Emblem: Three Houses Part 1 drabble

okayyy this is kinda brazy, I've never written fanfic for a video game before but man fe3h really got my imagination juices goin, and it's all thanks to my wonderful Golden Deers Q v Q

[ set during the aftermath of ch5 when Miklan is defeated & you rescue the Lance of Ruin. I recruited Sylvain the previous chapter and he replaces Lorenz in my house. The professor tells her students a story her father Jeralt once told her long ago. ]

~

It was nearing late afternoon, and the end of the Golden Deer’s lesson for the day. Byleth had everyone practicing combat moves they had drafted earlier, the sounds of weapons clashing ringing throughout the training grounds. The professor herself was locked in special dedication with Sylvain, the Sword of the Creator parried against his newly acquired Lance of Ruin. This was the first time he was allowed a feel for the relic in combat, but his clammy grip and furrowed brow gave insight to inner turmoil unlike Byleth had ever seen on her student’s face, especially when wielding a lance with which he was already very proficient.

“Of course he must still feel some type of way over Miklan. I bet he hasn’t laid a hand on the relic that stole his brother’s humanity since the day it was handed over to him. This must be very difficult for him..” she thought empathetically. Next to Claude, Sylvain was her most cocky and skilled student with their weapon of choice. She had never seen him mishandle a lance or without a confident smile on his face, but in front of her now he kept changing grip position and shifting the weight of the Lance of Ruin away from him, his body language screaming that he still wanted nothing to do with the thing. Byleth wished she could ease her student’s troubles, but she didn’t know what to say to comfort him about wielding this Hero’s Relic when she herself still wasn’t all that acquainted with the Sword of the Creator. And her past experience as a mercenary made her nothing if not numb to the taking and end of life, either around her or by her own hand. Suddenly, a memory from years past flickered back into her consciousness from a time when she was very small and had questioned death for the first time, before it became a daily part of her existence.

“Sylvain, that’s enough for today,” she nodded at him with eyes as kind as she could emote, and sheathed her sword. “Everyone, wrap up your sparring and meet me underneath the oak tree outside of the training grounds.”

She turned her back to the sounds of her students exclaiming victories over the others or getting into teasing squabbles. Byleth grabbed her water canteen on the way out and took a few gulps, knowing she would need the hydration for what she planned next. A part of her felt nervous at the coming prospect but an even greater part was assured in the comfort she hoped to bring her Golden Deer. Taking a seat on a large rock underneath the shade of the great tree, Byleth closed her eyes and tried transporting herself years back in her memories of being a small girl in her father’s arms. She could recall the feeling of his fur coat’s neckline as she gripped it, could smell the crisp air of winter’s final gusts as spring made its grand appearance across the land. At this time the mountains were still capped white but the valleys were turning lush and verdant, and buds of the bravest flowers were starting to stand tall, yet withheld the magnificence of their blooms.

Opening her eyes now, she gazed upon seven colorful and expectant faces all looking up at her with mixed expressions, her own little garden she was tasked with tending. Sigh, but the face of their biggest problem plant- er, child, was not among them.

“Claude, get your golden butt over here and sit down with the others. I haven't dismissed you yet.”

“Augh Teach, I was just a few steps away from making it home free, if only you had stayed in your trance a moment longer,” the house leader lamented teasingly but obediently plopped down in the back of the bunch beside Leonie and the Lance of Ruin, which Sylvain had expectantly distanced farthest from him as he sat towards the front of the bunch.

“Professor, are you going to make us meditate because that’s really not my thing and I already promised to meet someone for tea so,” Hilda piped up next and smiled sweetly as she twirled the ends of her pink hair, hoping to be obliged to leave as well.

“No, Hilda, we are not going to meditate and I promise this won’t be long. I’d like to share a quick little story with you all.”

“A story?” Lyisthea spoke next with a twinge of annoyance coloring her tone, but her doe eyes gave away her true excitement.

“Yes, this is a story my father told me back when I was a young child, and it’s stuck with me ever since. As we continue receiving missions that send us onto the battlefield, you’re all going to have to become very acquainted with death, which still might be a difficult or painful concept for you to grasp, understandably.” The mood had shifted from playful to pensive as she brought up death, and the change had caused that prickle of anxiety to return. Lecturing about battle tactics was something she had been forced to get used to by now, impersonal, automatic and well within her wheelhouse, but storytelling with colorful language and emotional sentiment was definitely leagues outside of her comfort zone. She gulped back the fear quickly and cleared her throat to begin, not wanting the silence to stretch any longer than it had.

“This is a story about what becomes of those who die on the battlefield.” Her opening statement grabbed the attention of all her students, with Leonie leaning in the most, obviously setting her expectations high as she hungrily awaited the words of Jeralt. “It was around the end of the Lone moon and I was small enough to be carried by my father but had already seen the handiwork of what he and his fellow mercenaries were hired to do. The image of bodies lying facedown on the land had been imprinted into my mind, and as we walked among the melting snow and coming flowers, I asked him what would become of those who died fighting? Accomplished nobles had grand sendoffs, and villagers were lovingly prepared by the hands of their families, but what was to become of those violent strangers who met their end in a random battlefield? Without missing a beat, he said…”

Byleth took a moment to appreciate the looks on her deer’s faces, with Sylvain’s amber eyes gleaming the brightest of the bunch.

“They become flowers.”

“Flowers!?” Raphael booming incredulous tone contrasted the professor’s soft spokenness.

“Yes, the fighters become flowers. As their blood and life force seeped out of their bodies and into the land, the great exchange was transmuted by the goddess into the most delicate and lovely creation, flowers. What’s more, he explained, was that the soul of each warrior who had taken life as their means of living would spend their next reincarnation as a flower, to learn the lessons of fragility, powerlessness, and surrender. A brief moment in their soul’s journey back to the goddess where they embody what it means to be defenseless. A child could come running along to pick it, a deer grazing and eat it, or at the end of the year it withers to the natural cycle of the seasons, never once harming another soul in its lifetime. He says that is how balance is restored  and how all warriors learn the lesson of gentleness.” Byleth concluded her storytelling with a breath and leaned back with a tiny amused expression watching the unexpected existential and poetic tale turn over in their minds.

Leonie was the first to speak up. “Pardon me, Professor, but I have trouble believing Captain Jeralt the Blade Breaker came up with a story so… uh, flowery.”

“Very perceptive, Leonie, you do know him well. You’re right that that tale didn’t originate from his thoughts. My mother told it to him. But I can assure you he does believe in its message.” Leonie blushed and huffed embarrassedly at being praised by her one-sided rival but nodded once in acknowledgement.

“So Teach, do you believe in that myth? That you and he and all of us will reincarnate as flowers in the next life?” Of course she was expecting that from Claude, a languid smirk on his face as he awaited her answer with interest.

Byleth pondered her inner self for just a moment then nodded slightly. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh, I knew that to be true, Professor! I always noticed that wherever you walk, you always take care to never step on flowers. It’s something I always admired about you..” Marianne was softly glowing with a rare joy then remembered she was in the company of all her classmates and immediately wiped the smile from her face and looked downwards.

Ignatz spoke next, the stars of inspiration lighting his whole body language. “Professor, thank you for sharing such a moving tale! I believe it must be true, as it aligns with all that I believe the goddess values as well! A-and if I may, Professor, I believe that in your next life, you will be a grand and magnificent tree, just like the one we’re all gathered under.”

“Ignatz, so bold! I’m impressed with you!” Sylvain smiled teasingly and ruffled his peer’s olive bowlcut, causing the boy to blush an even deeper shade than his proclamation had him before. “And I have to say, I agree with you. The Professor has to be a majestic and wise tree,” he said, turning his smile towards her. Byleth noticed most of the darkness had left his amber eyes and his inner light was shining through once again, so even though the storytime was a bit embarrassing and uncomfortable, seeing him embody a bit of his old self again made it all worth it, as much as the wonder in the rest of her Golden Deer’s faces. Yes, she felt herself smile genuinely, they were indeed a vibrant garden of individuals.

#WHEW UM YEAH #STAN GOLDEN DEER #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #fe3h fanfic #golden deer #fear the deer #moomoo ramblings #sylvain jose gautier #claude von riegan #Byleth eisner #Leonie pinelli #Ignatz victor #raphael kirsten #lysithea von ordelia #jeralt eisner #marianne von edmund #hilda valentine goneril

[eliteprepsat]

In my 10+ years of teaching at the college level, I’ve met a lot of students.

Recently, a colleague and I shared how professors we’ve both known have often referred to the “top 1%” of students they’ve taught in their careers. I quickly did a bit of rough math in my head, and it turns out that I have likely taught at least 1,500 students in my own career. This excludes the many students I’ve taught in test prep programs, after school programs, and summer programs. Add those, and I could probably at least double the total number of students I’ve taught to 3,000.

Using the “top 1%” metaphor, this means that a teacher who has taught for 10 years has about 15-30 students that come to mind when they think of “the best” students they’ve worked with.

The question, then, becomes: How do you, as a student, make it into that top 1%?

Making it into a teacher’s top 1% isn’t just for the sake of playing teacher’s pet. It’s practical. As a student, it benefits you to not simply “go through the motions” of school, being just another name or number on a roll sheet. Of course, having a good relationship with your teachers benefits you in that you will have better communication with them, which enhances your ability to learn while in their classes.

But, it can also benefit you long after their classes are over. If you’ve had great relationships with your teachers—even perhaps making it into their top 1%—they will be more likely to write you excellent letters of recommendation, which are vital to your success in the college admissions process.

So, with this in mind, below is a list of 6 great ways to stand out as a student so that teachers will give you strong recommendation letters.

1. Be reliable

Many of the best teachers admire students who don’t necessarily follow the rules. But, it’s important to clarify that this only applies to being an intellectual rule-breaker and thinking outside of the box. What teachers don’t appreciate are students who deliberately disobey rules that are established for the sake of helping their classes run smoothly.

This may seem like it goes without saying. But one of the simplest ways to be a great student is just to be reliable. You can do this by always completing your work, arriving to class on time, and showing up every day prepared and ready to participate.

It’s not so much that students stand out for being reliable; it’s that students stand out for being unreliable—in other words, for all the wrong reasons. So, take the first best step toward securing a strong recommendation letter this way.

2. Be a team player

Most of the best classrooms (virtual or otherwise) function like a sports team, where the teacher leads or guides (like a coach) and all of the students also have a role (like players). This stands in contrast to traditional (and largely outdated) classroom models where the teacher takes the only active role and the students are merely passive observers.

Good teachers relish students who are excellent team players—who listen actively, participate by making meaningful contributions to discussions, and generally exude a positive energy.

In my own experience, I’ve found that classes tend to function like the organic and often unpredictable flow of a basketball game. Some of the best moments in my classes have occurred when my game plan suddenly (and wonderfully) shifted because a student raised a compelling idea in discussion that we then pursued. I think of such students as my best teammates, giving me assists as I try to make a play.

But being a great team player in class doesn’t just involve your interactions with your teacher. It also involves how you interact with your other teammates, or classmates. Some of the strongest students I’ve worked with stand out in my memory not just because of how they treated their classmates, but also because of how their classmates responded to them.

Just as the best team players know when to lead and when not to hog the ball so as to let others on the team shine, so too do the best students know when to speak up and step in when their classmates need help, but also when not to dominate the conversation, actively listening instead so as to let their classmates also shine.

3. Demonstrate curiosity

Students often believe—incorrectly—that the best way to be a team player is simply to be the most “intelligent” student in the room. In reality, raw intelligence is typically not the attribute that good teachers appreciate most in their students. Instead, this attribute is curiosity.

What does it mean to “demonstrate curiosity” as a student? Generally speaking, it means having an open mind. If you encounter course material that is initially off-putting because it seems too difficult, for instance, don’t run the other way out of frustration. Instead, ask yourself: Why might this material be of interest? Why have people devoted their entire lives to its study? What could I learn from it?

With that said, another component of demonstrating curiosity is the ability (or at least the attempt) to draw connections between course material and your own interests or life. So, even if you are taking a class in a seemingly “foreign” subject (e.g. if you are in the sciences but taking a world literature course), again ask yourself what you might have to learn from this material. Perhaps you see parallels between the formal structures of storytelling and what you have been learning in one of your engineering classes. Bring this up in discussion! Not only will you find that the course is far more worth your time because it is applicable to something you care about, but your teachers will also appreciate your curiosity.

4. Visit office hours

The best letters of recommendation are written by teachers who really know the student in question. Although there are exceptions to this rule, it’s typically not ideal, then, to request a letter from a teacher who you only studied with for a brief summer session, or who you never actually spoke to in person (say, from an online course).

In my own experience, the recommendation letters I write are better the more I know a student. So, if there is a teacher with whom you feel comfortable, don’t be afraid to open up to them a bit.

Why is this helpful for recommendation letters, exactly? If you are taking several AP courses while also juggling a heavy load of extracurriculars, a resume or transcript will show this at a glance. But if you are taking night classes while also raising a child or taking care of your ailing parents, for instance, the extent of your hard work will not likely appear anywhere on paper.

If you take the time to open up about the particulars of your life to a teacher, however, they can speak to your perseverance and grit in a meaningful recommendation letter to an admissions committee. That added understanding could very well mean the difference between a college acceptance or none.

You may or may not have opportunities to open up to your teachers during class. And you may or may not feel comfortable doing so. So, take advantage of your teachers’ office hours, when you can speak with them one-on-one.

5. Turn in an impressive assignment

When writing recommendation letters, the best teachers will not write generally about the student in question. Rather, they will look for specifics to discuss. After all, specific examples are what help readers visualize and relate to what a writer is describing, ultimately becoming convinced of their claims.

In order to do this, teachers need to be supplied with specifics to write about you. So, if you’ve written an especially impressive paper, completed a particularly dynamic presentation, or organized a uniquely inspiring event, bring this to your teacher’s attention. It will give them something to focus portions of their recommendation letter around, and they can point to these specific examples as evidence of your mastery of a subject, your hard work, your passion, or any of your other exceptional traits.

Ultimately, your teacher’s reflections on these detailed examples will give admissions committees something to remember about you as a candidate, which is crucial considering how many applications colleges receive each year.

6. Stay in touch

Typically, students don’t require recommendation letters immediately upon completing a course. So, it can be difficult having to reach out to former teachers semesters—or even years—down the road. In this case, it can feel awkward asking them for the favor of writing a letter since you haven’t spoken in some time. You may wonder if they even remember you!

To avoid this, I suggest emailing your teachers not long after a course has ended just to say a friendly hello, to share that you enjoyed their class, and to ask if they might be open to writing you a recommendation letter in the future. Although you might not require the letter immediately, asking in advance in this way is a good idea for a few reasons. It demonstrates that you are taking initiative by being so forward thinking about your future success. It also helps to plant a seed in your teacher’s mind; they will be more likely to remember you when you reach out to officially request a letter one day.

Beyond this initial email, it is a good idea to simply stay in touch with your former teachers, especially if you believe you will request a recommendation letter from them eventually. Most teachers love to hear from their former students and get caught up on all of their wonderful achievements. So, don’t be shy about sharing yours. Again, if you do so, your teachers will be more eager to help when you contact them for recommendation letters.

Some final advice for requesting letters of recommendation

When requesting a letter of recommendation, it’s always best to ask your teachers well in advance of the deadline so that they have plenty of time to complete the work. This means that you should usually aim for giving them at least 4 weeks and never less than 2 weeks. Remember that while they typically understand that writing such letters comes with the job and are happy to help out their students in this way, teachers are very busy people. So, do what you can to make the task as simple as possible for them.

Beyond giving them ample time to complete their letters, you can also simplify the task for your teachers by giving them a copy of your resume/accomplishments and a few of your strongest assignments as references. Finally, be sure to always ask at least one more individual than is required as a backup in case your original letter writer doesn’t come through or fails to get their letter in on time.

Stacy G. is a writer and teacher who has taught composition, literature, and creative writing courses at a number of public and private universities across the U.S. She has also taught SAT, AP English, and Literature SAT Subject Test courses at Elite Prep. She likes poetry, dogs, and poetry about dogs.

#appblr #studyblr #high school #college #college prep #go to college #college admissions