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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Note

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

Request a prompt

#havenwrites #the witcher #wiedzmin #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher geralt #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #dandelion x geralt #geralt/dandelion #request open

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

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hello! can you write scenario for akashi, aomine, kise, and kagami where their s/o is jealous of all the attention they're getting from other girls?

awwww. adorbs! certainly ^_^ 🖤

Jealous S/O

Akashi

It’s not a surprise that he was popular.

Akashi was smart, handsome, rich. Great at academics, and sports, and the youngest student council president in the history of Rakuzan. You didn’t believe in people being perfect, but if ever someone was going to get close it would be Akashi. He really lived up to the ‘Emperor’ nickname.

And what was an Emperor without his court.

“What’s wrong [Y/N]?” You look up from the pavement as you walked to class to see Akashi staring at you. His gaze focused, but soft & concerned. “You seem distracted.”

“Oh…it’s nothing.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. Prepared to let this go. Of course, Akashi wouldn’t let it though. He continued to stare at you until you finally broke down and told him. “It’s just them.”

The red head turned to look where you had jutted your chin towards the girls, huddled behind one of the pillars in the court yard whispering & staring, and your boyfriend let out a sigh. “Ah yes. Them.” He doesn’t seem surprised by their presence. Nor their borderline stalking. You should have guessed that he knew they were there. “I just choose to ignore them. However, if they are making you uncomfortable, I can order them to stop.”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to cause trouble. And although it was annoying, you didn’t want to break another girl’s heart over their rejected feelings. “It’s not a big deal. It’s the burden of dating the ‘Emperor’ I guess.” His lips scrunch. Though the nickname stuck over time, you know he doesn’t actually care for that title. “I just feel a little bit like one of those women in a historical K-drama. You know, like someone is waiting in the wings to knock me off so they can take my place near the emperor.” Sometimes you kind of feel like I should start checking my lunch for poison or glass.

Akashi scoffed a little. Then leaned in to kiss your cheek. “That’s never going to happen.” He assured you. “My heart belongs to only you. And, if anyone were to hurt you, I’d gouge their eyes out.”

Perhaps it’s poor form to giggle at such a threat, but you do. He really was so protective of you. You really had no reason to be jealous, because no one was going to take Akashi away from you.

You continue on your way to class. The ‘court’ suspiciously hanging back more than usual after that day.

Aomine

The street ball court was a buzz as usual whenever Aomine played.

His ‘quick game’ with the challenges on the court had turned into a full basketball brawl that had lasted for hours. One-on-one after one after another.

Not that you minded. Watching Aomine play, and seeing him happy, was always thrilling. He always looked so cool when he played; giving his all, even against weaker players. You chuckle to yourself. He really was a terrible guy to take such joy in crushing people. But then what did that say about you when you were so turned on by it?

“That dark skin guy is so hot! Do you think he’s foreign?”

You turn away from the court to a gaggle of girls, some your age, some older, watching the game as well from the side lines. Some had noticed the game and come to watch. Others had come with their own boyfriends. You frown a little as they continue to whisper and gush over your boyfriend. Getting moodier by the second.

“Yo, what’s up?” You look up from glaring at the lines on the court; just in time to see Aomine place his ball he was holding in one hand against your head. “You look pissed. Are you not having fun?”

“Not really.” You confess, batting his hand away. You weren’t having fun now. He was talking to you, but those girls still couldn’t take their eyes off them. “Can we go now?”

“What?? But things are just getting started.” He lifted his shirt up as he whined to wipe the sweat from his brow and you could practically hear the siren like squeals from those thirsty ass bitches.

“I don’t like the crowd here.”

Aomine seemed to catch on, and looked to the side to see who was annoying you. You have to assume he expected to see some guy making you uncomfortable, based on his expression, but looked surprised when he saw it was just a bunch of girls; totally playing it off like they weren’t staring at him a moment ago. “What can I say babe? I can’t help it if girls think I’m super hot and junk.” His cockiness and smirk were not attractive at the moment.

You continue to pout, but just long enough for Aomine to lean in and give you a peck on said pout. “Let me kick this guys ass and then we can go. ‘Less you wanna stick around and make ‘em jealous back. We can do gross couple stuff until they get weirded out and leave.”

You chuckle again at the offer. Appreciating the gesture he was trying to make. “Go play your game and then we can go. If we’re going to do ‘gross couple stuff’, I’d rather do it in private where we can enjoy it.”

Aomine gave you a big grin, followed by a loud, “yes ma’m!”

Of course, he slaughtered the guy in the next game. Leaving him to sulk off back to his own girlfriend; who was indeed in the pack and not looking too happy about it. You both leave after that to finish your date. Aomine proud as a peacock for the rest of the afternoon from the ego boost.

Kise

It was hard, dating a model.

You knew of Kise’s profession before you started dating, of course, but you had no idea how hard it would be on your relationship.

Girls stopped him every chance they got to ask for his autograph, or gush over his new photobook. He of course was courteous and polite. Turning on that model charm. He always thanked them for their patronage of his work and they promised to always support him. It had been bad before, but ever since his game was televised this past season, it had grown into a circus. Not only was he the beautiful blonde-haired boy they all admired, but now he was also the super-hot jock they all drooled over. You could barely go out on a proper date anymore without being accosted by some female vying for his attention.

“[Y/N]-cchi, what’s wrong? You look upset.”

“This is ridiculous!” You told him, and you weren’t just talking about his huge sunglasses & stupid hat he was wearing to try and be ‘incognito’. It wasn’t working even a little bit, so now it was just doubly stupid. “Why can’t they leave you alone for 10 minutes?!”

“They’re my fans [Y/N]-cchi. I can’t disappoint them!”

“Right. Don’t disappoint them. Why don’t you hang out with them today then?” You mutter sullenly. Prepared to leave.

Kise seemed to realize what was going on, and just how upset you were, as he reached out to grab you hand. “I don’t want to hang out with them [Y/N].” You turn back around when he said your name like a real person. Not the cute little way he did it as part of his act. “I don’t want anyone else but you. They only like me because I’m handsome and a model.” Humble too, you think to yourself. “They don’t really care about me. You do! I don’t want to lose that. Please forgive me.”

He did genuinely look hurt, and you have to believe that he meant it. You sigh. It wasn’t totally Kise’s fault. “It’s alright Ryouta.” You tell him. He seemed to perk up a little at that. “If you could maybe not lay it on so thick for them in the future, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course [Y/N]-cchi!” He cheered with a beaming smile. Already back to his normal self. “I’d do anything for you!”

It doesn’t stop of course. But Kise kept true to his word and politely asked to be left in peace. Most respected that. Some weren’t as understanding of his needs. You just appreciated that he was trying to keep them at bay. Fangirls were weird.

Kagami

After practice, you and Kagami went to Maji Burger, as per usual. And, as per usual, people were staring at your table.

Most of the time they were staring at the loud, tall teen scarfing down his body weight in hamburgers. Amazed at his own personal eating contest. However, more recently, the people staring were girls from your school who had also come here. And they were staring at Kagami only.

He was completely oblivious to it, but Kagami was actually really popular; even before Serin started wining so much. He was tall, athletic, built. He’d come from America, which was so cool for a lot of the students around here. Plus, he had this whole ‘bad boy basketball star’ vibe going. If they only knew how much of a sweet heart he really was. Actually, scratch that. If they knew that would only make it worse.

“Hey, what’s up [Y/N]? You’re not eating. Do you not like your food?”

You look up from your own, normal portion on the tray, then back down as you play with your food. “It’s just hard to eat when people are staring.”

Kagami blinked. Then looked around to see what you were talking about. “I don’t see anybody.”

“Of course you don’t….” You mutter under your breath. He never did.

“What does it matter?” He asked. “It’s not like I can stop people from looking at me. They have eyeballs. It’s a free country.”

“That’s not the point Kagami. It’s not that they’re looking at you. It’s the fact that they’re looking at you.” You’re trying to be discrete here, but subtle or discretion never really got through to Kagami. “They wanna fuck you.”

Kagami choked on his burger halfway devoured in his mouth. “Don’t say that!” He scolded you. Once he’d recovered from his near-death experience.

“Well, it’s true. Maybe that’s a bit much, but they definitely look at you that way, and it’s annoying.”

“How can you even tell?”

“Because it’s how I look at you.” You muttered under our breath again. Fidgeting with our soda straw to avoid eye contact.

Kagami heard you again though and now you were both blushing in the booth. “Well…the only one I’m interested in looking at me that way is you.” He muttered back. “The only one I’m interested in looking at that way is you.” His leg moved forward under the table to touch yours. Simple, secret, intimate.

You smile softly as you realize it was stupid to be jealous. Kagami had no guile. He was honest to a fault, which was another of his amazing qualities. He genuinely didn’t see those other girls because he was only focused on you. So let them stare. There was no way they were going to take him away from you.

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harrypotter-imaginess · 3 years

Text

A/N: I got a tiiiiny bit of power and my first thought was my need for validation through my fanfiction lol. Hope you enjoy!

<This is Part 1!> / Part 2 Here!

- You’re in the middle of a blizzard, reading to pass the time, the power cuts in and out- giving you just enough time to scramble about trying to make your home just warm enough so you don’t freeze to death

- You sigh when it flickers off again, taking a sip from the hot drink you managed to make while you still had electricity

- Eyes turn back to the book in your hands, with the poor cell reception, and lack of television you’ve found the only thing you can bear to do it read and sleep

- Only occasionally withdrawing from both to eat whatever cold meal you can

- You’ve settled on reading the Harry Potter books, easy enough to read, even in your current condition

- The books are waterlogged, in terrible condition, you treated them quite rough when you were a child, though not all the blame is yours

- It’s an eclectic group, some hardcover some paperback, some borrowed from friends and never returned, some you got as a good deal at your local used bookstore

- You smile when you see all the parts with Fred and George are highlighted

- They always were your favorites

- You stiffile a yawn, you’re just getting to a good part-

- But a small rest won’t hurt will it?

- You feel your eyes drift close

- When they open again you’re looking at rolling hills, a wisp of steam curling into your view every so often

- Huh what a nice dream

- You close your eyes again only to feel a sharp sting in your neck that your eyes shoot open

- You don’t feel pain in dreams

- You’re in a train compartment an empty red bench in front of you

- You’re alone, the green hills rolling by outside the window

- You’ve seen this type of scenery before maybe in a movie, or a book-

- It looks a lot like something out of Harry Potter

- Your thoughts come to an abrupt hault, the memories slowly filtering in

- You’re a witch- your parents passed away in the first war, and you were brought up by your muggle godfather

- Don’t be mistaken, this isn’t some unfortunate Harry-Potter orphan story, your god father loved you a lot

- Even though he was a bit of a sl*t, the revolving circus of women that left his room every Sunday was practically your childhood form of television

- You even did a report on it in muggle school, high left several faculty members feeling concerned

- Still he loved you a lot, and he tried to be as honest as he could about your heritage, and your parents

- But well- he was a muggle, there was only so much he could do

- Still, he took you to kings cross himself, taking you to your gringott’s safe where your parents meager savings had increased by ten fold over the years, helping you pick your wand and books

- “Now I can’t go with you onto the platform, so write and let me know when you’ve reached safely alright?” You nodded, as he pulled you into a hug

- “I’m going to miss having you home”

- “But now you can bring women to the flat whenever you want” You were only joking but it makes him sniffle

- “I’d trade all of that to have you at home for just a few more years”

- You only pat his shoulder reassuring him you’ll be back during the holidays

- You had tried your hand at a few spells, but nothing drastic

- You were excited to see what Hogwarts would bring, what you might learn, and the friendships you might build

- You were so excited that you didn’t sleep all night, finally succumbing to a nap when you collapsed in an empty compartment

- And that brings you to the present, where you’re practically sweating buckets in the red bench.

- Okay, so you’re in Harry Potter now- some how

- And yeah, you’ve always kinda wished you could go to Hogwarts-

- But not like this!

- For one every book, like 3 kids die

- Even the cute ones, like Collin Creevey-

- And honestly if a main character like Fred Weasley died, what chance do you have at surviving?

- You’re probably just one of those nothing characters that dies at the battle of Hogwarts- if not sooner

- You look down at your hands

- Not to mention you’re suddenly eleven years old

- How many times did you have a nightmare you suddenly had to go back to middle or high school again because apparently you missed a class?

- Well this is like a nightmare come true

- You look under your shirt, holding the neck out only to sigh

- It’s your body still, you vaguely remember looking like this when you were younger

- But god-

- It’s like a strangers body at this point

- Ugh you don’t have time to think about this

- your goal right now is to survive

- A knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts

- “Change into your robs, we’re getting close” a muffled voice says from the other side and you sigh

- Of course you are

- You sigh as you pull out your plain black wizards robe, almost looks like a graduation gown to be honest

- And that’s the uniform here is it

- Strange

- As you tug on the sleeves you think how you’re going to get out of this

- If you’re right the year is 1990, a year before Harry Potter shows up

- Okay so as far as you know- nothing really happens this year

- You don’t have to worry about all the Pureblood crap because both your parents were wizards, so you’re a half blood at least

- Now it’s all about house-

- If the books are 100% accurate then it’s between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Snape will turn a blind eye to any of your transgressions because of favoritism

- And McGonagall would go to bat for you if the circumstances were unfair

- Still- the Slytherin house seemed problematic what with the old money in that group

- Not all of them were probably like that- just the most prominent characters- you’d really rather not get involved with all that if you could

- And then- Gryffindor was even worse, you might be safe this year, but next year you would be plagued with death flag after death flag- no thanks

- Sprout seems nice enough, but you’re not too sure about that common room, in the dungeons- hard pass

- That leaves Ravenclaw, Flitwick seems nice enough, and the dorms are in a Ravenclaw tower

- Luna Lovegood will be there soon, and well, that could be pretty fun

- So you’ll try for Ravenclaw you think- pulling on your bag and joining the horde of students

- You’re about to join the other first years when you feel a tug on your bag.

- You turn towards the feeling to see two identical boys, a splatter of freckles across their nose, and flaming red hair

- “Are you (Y/N) (L/N)?” The taller of the two asks, a grin curled onto his lips, and his eyes full of stars

- You only nod

- They’re both looking at you like they’ve just seen a movie star and you can’t figure out why

- You’re only eleven years old after all, what could you have possibly done?

- “Was you Mum-“ the shorter starts

- “Was she the famous auror?” The other finishes

- Ah- of course

- Your mother was indeed a famous war hero, known for her noble efforts during the war

- Your god father had told you that at least

- “I’m George, and this is Fred” the shorter - George- says jerking his thumb to his twin

- Oh

- So they’re Fred and George Weasley?!?!

- Honestly you should have known by the red hair

- You can’t believe you’re meeting some of your favorite characters

- You stick your hand out, hoping it’s not too sweaty

- “(Y/N),” you say, “but you already knew that”

- George grins as he takes your hand first, with Fred repeating the motion

- “What house do ya think you’ll go to?” Fred asks

- “We hope you’re aiming for Gryffindor” George adds with a sly grin

- You can feel your face warming up under their gaze

- Alright- change of plan- you’ll try to get into Gryffindor so you can be friends with George and Fred

- It’ll be a little risky, but until the end they weren’t really in any of the serious adventures.

- Besides maybe if you hang out with them, you can save Fred near the end

- “Maybe” you smile at them, hearing a voice call your name for a carriage

- “See you around!” You wave goodbye, stepping into you assigned carriage with a group of other first years

- It’s sort of a mismatch, you don’t quite recognize anyone in here

- Than again the children an age above Harry were never really mentioned

- “Ugh I can’t believe my glasses broke, what rotten luck” a girl besides you says- you turn to see a girl with long dark hair, fiddling with a pair of broken glasses in her hands

- “Ah here, can I?” You ask, holding out your hand, and the girl wordlessly hands you her glasses

- Your murmur a spell and watch as the metal expands curling until it wraps around the broken edge, resembling intertwined vines

- “It’s not the best, but it’ll do for now”

- It’s only when you look up to hand the girl back her glasses that you notice everyone’s watching you

- “How did you do that?” A boy asks, and you shrug

- “Oh well I just said the incantation-“

- “I’ve never heard that one before” another girl murmurs

- You shrug again

- “Anything can be an incarnation of you just put enough feeling into it right?”

- The children clamor at you all at once

- It turns out the two girls were Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott- both Hufflepuff’s if you remember correctly

- Guess they were a year older than Harry in this world

- And then the boy is Blaise Zambini

- You know in the books he’s in a morally Grey area at best.

- “So like this?” He asks and you shake your head

- “You have to put your wrist into it more”

- But now, as he’s begging you to teach him the repairing charm that you cast, all you see is a little boy who wants to learn

- Change of plans, if you get into Slytherin maybe you can watch over Blaise and be his best friend

- That way he won’t get all mixed up in that Death Eater crap

- Maybe you can even get him onto your side, make a coven of witches and wizards and do some non-alignment stuff during the war

- You’re all gathered in the hall, answering a roll call from a rather lithe and strict woman- professor McGonagall no doubt

- After that you’re left waiting, and feeling somewhat bored, and somewhat like you may have had too much pumpkin juice- you hobble off into the corridor looking for a bathroom

- “Hurry back I think we’re about to go into the sorting ceremony” Blaise says and you nod

- You do not, in fact, hurry back

- Because after relieving yourself- you are incredibly lost

- It doesn’t help that all the portraits keep on shuffling around, or that all the corridors here look equally dark

- It’s only on your third time around the portrait of a woman eating an apple do you see what appears to be a person

- “What are you doing in the corridor?” As you come closer you realize it’s a boy, a yellow and black striped tie around his neck. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”

- He’s quite pretty, with thick brown hair and rosy cheeks

- “I went to the bathroom and got lost,” you hear him murmur first year and raise an eyebrow “What’s your excuse?”

- He lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair

- “That’s fair,” he admits. And then after a moment he says:

- “I’m hiding”

- Your eyebrows thread together

- “Like from a crazy ex lover or..?”

- He laughs again, shaking his head

- “No, from my professor.” And then after a moment, before you can ask ‘is it because you’re having an affair with them’ he says:

- “They want me to be prefect for my house next year, and I don’t know how I feel about that”

- You let that sink in,

- “I know I should do it- it would give me an opportunity to represent my house, and look out for all my friends, and I’m sure my dad would be awfully proud but-“

- But it’s a lot of responsibility

- You get it.

- You sit beside him on the floor

- “You should do it-“ and before he can give a reason why you say:

- “You would get your own bathroom and I think that means a lot in a place like this”

- He laughs again, only this time the laugh leaves in loud gaffs, somehow you feel like this is the first real laugh the boy has shown you

- “I’ve heard a lot of reasons, but having my own bathroom is definitely a first”

- He looks at you in a way that makes your hair stand on end and your skin feel hot.

- “I’m Cedric, Cedric Diggory.” He says with an extended hand

- Ah, so this is pretty boy Diggory.

- He does kinda look like a young Robert Pattinson to be honest

- You take his hand in yours giving a firm shake

- “ (Y/N) (L/N) “ and you see his eyebrows shoot up

- “ (L/N) like the-“

- “ Yeah that’s my mum, the famous Auror”

- Cedric’s mouth curls up in a lopsided grin

- “I was going to say inventor- the inventor for the portable infinity box”

- Ah yes, your dad was an inventor. You didn’t know much about it though. Just that his inventions had left you a small fortune

- “My parents were both pretty remarkable huh?”

- And even though they’re not really your parents, and this isn’t really your body, you feel a little sad thinking about them.

- Before you can give Cedric a chance to offer his condolences, you stand up brushing off your robe.

- “We’ll come on Mr. Prefect in the making, show me to where I’m to be sorted” you say with a wave of a hand

- He grins

- “As you wish”

- Maybe being in Hufflepuff wouldn’t be so bad,

- and if you can manage to get close to Cedric, maybe he’ll let you use the prefects bathroom

- Huh, that does sound enticing

- Okay change of plans, you’ll get into Hufflepuff

- For the nice bathroom privileges

- When you get into the hall you feel all eyes turn to look to you

- And even though you’re an adult, you feel awfully embarrassed

- “If you get in Hufflepuff let’s get a butterbeer to celebrate, my treat..” Cedric whispers in your ear, and you catch a glimpse of the lopsided grin curled onto his face before he pushes you forward towards the group of first years

- Your face still feels hot when your name gets called

- You gulp as you move towards the chair

- Well it’s do or die- and you don’t plan on dying here

- You gulp again as the cold wood presses against your thighs as you take a seat

- All you have to do is ask for it to put you in -

- Wait

- What house were you aiming for again?

- Logic dictates Ravenclaw, it’s your best chance-

- But well, you’ve always wanted to be friends with Fred and George it just seems like so much fun

- And then, Slytherin’s not so bad, it would be nice if you could change peoples opinions about that house

- Oh and Hufflepuff might be nice too, you would have someone to look out for you- and you in turn can look out for others like Susan and Hannah

- And so it seems you’ve made peace, no matter which house the hat chooses, you’re happy with the outcome because there’s good and bad in all of them

- These things aren’t one dimensional, they nuanced. And that’s okay

- You feel the hat place on your head, and several long moments of silence pass

- .

- ..

- ...

- ....

- Shouldn’t something be happening by now?

- Like at least whispers in your ear from the hat or something right?

- “I-“ it finally chokes out

- Ah good a decision

- Well what’s your future going to be like?

- “I don’t know” the hat finally sputters, a collective gasp filling the room

- You drop your face into your hands, as small murmurs begin to spread through the tables

- “F*ck me” you mumble

#harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter preferences #harry james potter #harry potter reader insert #Harry Potter x reader #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #Fred Weasley imagine #Cedric Diggory imagine #cedric diggory x you #Cedric Diggory x reader #Draco Malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy x reader

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scripttorture · 3 years

Note

Hello! I have a few questions related to your most recent post and the definition of torture. You said:

"A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture."

According to everything else I have seen on your blog, this makes sense - the mental and physical trauma from being tortured have lasting effects which make certain tasks more difficult.

However, this seems to juxtapose certain tropes I've seen in US military training advertisements. For example, "Hell Week" in the Navy SEAL training seems like it would be torture if it was forced upon someone (like if the soldiers didn't sign up for it and didn't have the option to quit.). *Hell Week is when soldiers are training continuously for 5 days in freezing, wet conditions, with little more than 4 hours of sleep for the entire week, under insane amounts of physical and mental stress.

- If someone chose to be tested both mentally and physically, I feel like it wouldn't be torture. However, if the same exact conditions were forced upon someone else (testing their mental and physical limits without their consent or understanding), does your quote above mean that the person who did not have a choice would not reap the benefits of the training/testing? Or would the Navy SEALs be better soldiers if they didn't have to go through 'torturous conditions' during Hell Week, regardless of their choice to do so?

(I used Hell Week as an example, but I meant this question generally. I'm trying to figure out how to best train an elite soldier and avoid any harmful torture apologia tropes, while also making sure that they are able to handle insanely challenging situations)

- My other question has more to do with the definition of torture that you quoted from the UN in one of your master posts. If someone is being seriously injured (pulled fingernails, whipping, starvation etc), but not for the purposes of interrogation, punishment, or intimidation, is that still torture, or is that just abuse? And, regardless of what we call it, would the effects be the same as if it were torture for any of the three motives above?

Sorry if this is long and hard to understand, I can clarify if needed!

It’s not the longest I’ve gotten and it’s perfectly clear, duck*. :) Honestly this is a difficult topic with a lot of nuance, it’s better to take a longer and more thoughtful approach.

From the stand point of the legal definition and what we study/understand as torture any consensual activity, however extreme, is not torture.

But here’s where it gets interesting: consent and our attitude to an activity actually changes our response to pain. It may even change how much pain we feel.

I’m going to take a slightly different example to yours. There are a lot of cultures globally that have practiced scarification, ritual cutting to deliberately form scars. And this can be done for a lot of reasons: membership of a family or clan, coming of age, traditional medicine, religion, you get the idea.

A lot of people in these cultures describe their scars as incredibly important and the process of getting them as a moving, deep and positive process.

This does not mean they wouldn’t be traumatised if they were attacked by someone with a knife.

Being able to approach something painful and see it as positive really changes our perspective. It makes trauma and mental illness a lot less likely. And being able to back out, even if it’s just for a little while to take a breather, seems to make us able to withstand more pain then we would have otherwise.

The simplest and most famous experiment that dealt with this relationship between our mindset and pain asked people to keep their hands in ice cold water. They timed how long people could do it when they were told to stay silent and how long they could do it when they were allowed to swear. If they swore they could hold their hands under for longer. An average of forty seconds longer.

Looking back over O’Mara (Why Torture Doesn’t Work, a very good intro to how pain works and what it does to the brain) the way he describes it as by thinking of the experience of pain as a collection of three things. There’s the physical sensation itself, the nerves firing. But there’s also an affective component, how we feel emotionally about the experience and a cognitive component, how we think about it.

Did you ever play that game as a kid where you stuff as many chilis as possible in your mouth to see who would spit them out first? I… might have done. And from what I remember it hurts an awful lot. But those memories to me are mostly about messing about with my friends, I remember trying to be stubborn about it and I remember us laughing at each other.

This is a completely different experience to someone being held down and having chili stuff up their nose. But the difference isn’t necessarily in the physical damage done or the physical sensation of pain. It’s in the other components, the emotional response and the rationalisation.

I also had a filling drilled in my tooth without painkillers as a kid. I don’t know how common this is in the West? It happened in Saudi. Honestly my biggest memory of it is the language barrier between myself and the dentist.

These are anecdotes obviously but I’m trying to show that you probably also have experiences in your own life that back up the experiments too. The way we think about a painful experience really does make a huge amount of difference. And that means consent matters enormously.

These soldiers are going into this experience knowing what to expect, how long it will last and that they can stop at any time. That makes a huge amount of difference. Those same factors have drastically increased the time volunteers will spend in solitary confinement for research. I’m pretty sure if I dug even a little I’d find pain studies with similar findings.

Here’s the flip side: the physical factors are still in play.

Sleep is an important physiological process that’s essential to normal functioning. Studies on consensual sleep deprivation have shown massive negative impacts on memory along with a host of other things that you can read about here.

Let’s take a non torture example. A student who stays up all night cramming for an exam is not going to develop the symptoms of trauma that a torture survivors who was sleep deprived would. But the effect sleep deprivation has on memory is due to sleep playing an essential role in preserving memory (and learning more generally.) So they’re both likely to have difficulty remembering things in days just before and just after sleep deprivation. They’re also both more likely to have false memories and catch a bad cold.

As a result of this memory impairment I question the educational value of anything involving sleep deprivation: you can’t learn while messing up the processes that let your brain remember things.

There have been cases in the UK of people dying during training for the armed forces. Because while consent makes a huge difference, mindset makes a huge difference- our bodies still have limits. We can choose to push ourselves past those limits and, whatever our motivation or feelings, it can do real harm.

Personally? I’m unsure of the benefit of these kinds of exercises. As in I’m unsure there is a benefit. Learning is going to be shot, chances of injury are going to be a lot higher- I don’t see anything that could be improved by these sorts of exercises.

Anecdotally people do report feeling like a closer unit after going through these sorts of routines. That might be the benefit: moral and unit cohesion, possibly self-esteem too.

If you’re making up something for your story I think it’d be helpful for me to mention a little statistical effect that gets used to justify punishment pretty regularly. Get some dice out if you’ve got them and roll one. Let’s say the number represents performance in some kind of test (because effort and learning matter but our performance also varies because of things we can’t control.) A roll of 1 gets punished, a roll of 6 gets praised.

Now after you roll that first 1 statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be better. And if you roll a 6 then statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be worse. People observe this effect in real life and they often conclude that there’s no point in praising someone but that punishment leads to improvement. Really it’s just a statistical effect, after a particularly, noticeably bad day the chances are things will be better next and vice versa.

This effect can make it difficult for people to recognise overall, long term progress. Which is the kind of progress you should be paying attention to when designing a training program.

If you want good performance from people, whatever the metric, the most efficient thing to do is ensure that those people are; well fed, have access to clean water, get plenty of sleep, have breaks and have access to medical treatment when they need it.

I’d say the main things to keep in mind when designing this fictional training regime are:

Being honest about the effects you describe, ie if they’re spending long periods without shelter are they at risk from exposure? If they’re standing in cold water are they going to get hypothermia?

Remember that even if something is damaging or causes lasting trauma it would not necessarily prevent someone from doing their job. Torture survivors have serious, lasting symptoms but many of them still work.

I think I’m going to leave that there because I’m not an expert in militaries or training people. And keep in mind that I am a pacifist, read this with my biases in mind.

Getting to the second question, there is a little more to the UN definition then that. The primary factor is still who the abuser is. For it to be torture (legally speaking) the abuser has to be (or be ordered by) an on-duty government employee, part of a group that controls territory (ie an occupying force). Some countries also count international organised criminal gangs in this definition.

It’s also important to note that torture can be targetted at someone other then the victim. So if the police arrest the brother of a political opponent and beat him in order to intimidate the politician, that is still torture.

Basically there are a lot of factors in the legal definition of torture and it’s that way by design. The hope is that you end up with a framework that captures as much government abuse as possible.

But it also means that there’s a pretty high barrier when it comes to proving torture. Which means that things which are legally torture can be prosecuted as assault, bodily harm or equivalents to these, because it’s easier to get a conviction for those charges.

Technically you are correct: if abuse done by a government official doesn’t have one of the four motivations in the legal definition (attempts to obtain information, forcing a confession, intimidation or punishment) then it doesn’t meet the definition.

However in practice I’ve not heard of a case failing because of the motive.

I’m not a lawyer and I’m not an expert in international law. I won’t say it’s never happened. But it’s much more common for cases to fail for other reasons. Off the top of my head I’d say the most common reason is difficulty proving the abuse took place.

The most common types of torture today are ‘clean’, a term we use to indicate that they don’t leave obvious marks. If someone turns up with fingernails torn out or the skin of their back lacerated by a whip that is clear physical evidence of abuse. Nothing else causes similar injuries. But if someone turns up at a doctor’s with swollen feet or reddened skin, if they’ve lost a lot of weight or they’re so tired they’re struggling to stand… Well all of those things can be caused by common tortures. But they can also be caused by common illnesses.

A lot of the deaths from torture today are similarly hard to prove. Beatings and stress positions ultimately cause death by kidney failure. Which can mean that prosecutors are asked to prove a victim didn’t have an underlying health condition. Or take drugs.

Honestly my instinct is that the motive is the easiest thing to prove. It’s often harder to bring charges against people in positions of authority, regardless of the country we’re talking about. Bringing those charges, proving abuse took place and proving it was done by the person in question, those are usually the tricky parts.

The difference between torture and abuse is scale. Torture is industrial scale abuse.

The law doesn’t define that scale but that’s what we’re talking about when we talk about abuse from organised authority. Abusers might have dozens of victims. Torturers have thousands, tens of thousands.

If you want to explore a different motivation in your story, something outside the legal framework, consider the scale at which this abuse is taking place. Consider how organised it is. If it’s organised and large scale, with multiple abusers, with no prior relationship between the abuser and victims then torture will probably be a better model then abuse. If it’s smaller scale with a more personal relationship and if it isn’t supported by a legal framework/organisation then abuse might be a better model.

For victims and survivors the difference isn’t so much about the symptoms they personally experience as the… side effect of that scale. Abuse victims are often very isolated and may not know anyone who has had a similar experience. Torture implies a community of survivors and possibly generational trauma. There are also effects to do with access to support, access to medical care and how likely it is that someone will be believed.

Torture survivors are often systematically disenfranchised in a way that abuse victims are not. Torture survivors are often forced to leave their home country. Anecdotally, based on what I’ve seen globally over the last few years, I think that struggling to get citizenship is increasingly an issue for torture survivors. And without citizenship there’s difficulty finding legal work, getting accommodation, accessing medical care, accessing the legal system etc.

I do not know whether torture survivors are more or less likely to be believed by their community compared to survivors of abuse. I do not think any one has attempted a comparative study. I do know that the prevalence of clean torture means that many torture survivors are not believed and this puts up a further barrier, making it harder to access medical treatment and bring charges.

Rejali’s book was published in 2009, so things may have changed a tad. At the time he was writing the average wait for a torture survivor to see a specialist doctor was about 10 years.

Abuse is to torture what murder is to genocide. And there are difference on a wider social scale as a result.

I mention all that because I feel it’s relevant but the impression I get is you’re mostly interested in the long term symptoms? In which case, yes the legal definition makes very little difference. The physical injuries caused by particular kinds of abuse don’t change depending on whether it’s a private individual or a police officer holding the Taser.

The lasting psychological symptoms are not particular to torture; they’re what the human brain does when traumatised. The same symptoms can manifest in people who witness traumatic events but weren’t actually hurt themselves. They can manifest in people who were injured in accidents and they manifest in people who were neglected or abused. Hell, I have a couple of them, though no where near the severity a torture survivors would experience. A sufficient amount of stress is enough for these symptoms to start developing in anybody.

You can find the general list of symptoms here. There’s also a post specifically about memory problems over here.

The pattern I describe; that these symptoms are a list of possibilities not ‘every torture victim will get all of these’ holds true for trauma survivors generally. Anecdotally there is some variability with chronic pain being reported more often with some kinds of abuse. That might be because it can have physical causes, psychological causes or a mix of the two.

Whether it’s torture or abuse there isn’t any way to predict a survivor’s symptoms in advance. Much of the advice I have about writing torture survivors and their symptoms holds true for trauma survivors generally. Which is why I’ll still take a crack at some questions that aren’t about torture.

Pick the symptoms that you feel fit the character and serve the story. We can’t predict symptoms and that means that there’s no reason why you shouldn’t pick the things that appeal to you.

And I think I’m going to leave it there. I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*This is a weird English endearment. I had someone ask if this was me trying not to swear.

#orphicphosphenes #writing advice #tw torture #torture as training #legal definition of torture #clean torture #military abuse #trauma #trauma and consent #pain #pain and memory #sleep deprivation #attitudes towards clean tortures #writing survivors #abuse within the military

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babybluebex · 3 years

Text

of pubs and profs pt.2 [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: professor!tom x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 2.7k ➽ summary: for some reason, you just can’t say no to tom holland, even if you know that it’ll end in sadness. ➽ warnings: explicit language, mentions of sm!t ➽ a/n: you all voted for opap pt.2, so here it is!! enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

Your heart was in your throat for the entirety of class, and it only got worse when Tom dismissed the class. You had been terrified for when class ended and you had to talk to Tom. You gathered your stuff in your bag and lingered awkwardly. Once when the room was empty, Tom got up from his place at his desk and shut the door, and then he turned to you. “I think we should… Address the obvious here,” he started. “I want you to know that I like you. I really do, but--”

“But we can’t be together,” you supplied quickly. “I know. I should’ve asked what your job was.”

“Well, there was no reason for you to,” Tom said. His eyes were focused on you, and the contact was too much; you looked down at your lap. As cliche as it was, seeing his pretty eyes only reminded you of your night and the way they glittered as he looked down at you. “I… I feel partially responsible. I knew that you were the right age to be a student, I just didn’t think about it, I was so distracted and blinded by…”

“By…?” You said. “By what?”

Tom shrugged. “You,” he said. “You are so beautiful, and… I was distracted by my own desires and wasn’t thinking rationally. Please don’t blame yourself; I’m as responsible as you are.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, and you mumbled, “Guess we gotta break up, huh?”

“Would be for the best,” Tom agreed. “That being said, you… You left something at my apartment.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What?” you asked.

Tom laughed, his cheeks growing red. “You seem to have left your panties,” he said. “I put them through the wash, they’re all clean for you. Unless you’d rather me keep them...?”

You had noticed that you left your panties at his apartment, but that was the plan. In the best circumstances, you would have called him that night and asked about them, and you would have had an excuse to go back and retrieve them. However, given everything, you would need them back. “No, no,” you said. “You can keep them. Throw them away. Whatever.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked. “They seem expensive.”

“Just keep them,” you said softly. “‘Cause how would I get them? Go to your apartment? You’d bring them to class? There’s no way to do that innocently.”

Tom sighed. “You’re right, I guess,” he said. “Well, at least one of us has our head on straight.”

You tilted your head in confusion, and Tom added, “It’s so, so wrong, but, darling… I was so happy with you. That sounds stupid, but I slept easy with you in my arms. I had gotten into a habit of not sleeping at all, but you made me feel happy and safe and comfortable enough to… Anyway. I have feelings for you, my darling, and I can’t just overlook them.”

“Tom, we can’t,” you whispered. “You could lose your job, I could get expelled. I like you a lot too, but we just can’t.”

Tom nodded, and he wrung his hands together. He was perched on the corner of his desk like at the beginning of class, and he said, “You’re right. You’re right, darling. You’re so smart… Well, I have my phone number in the syllabus in the event that email goes down, so there’s an excuse for having my number in your phone. I… I will see you on Friday, then, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You nodded. “See ya, Dr. Holland.”

“Alright, tell me about Tom.”

A pang of sadness hit your chest, and you looked up from your computer at Zendaya. “What?”

“Your new boyfriend,” Zendaya said, playfully jabbing your ribs. “I wanna hear about him.”

“Oh,” you started. You were dying to tell her all about the scandal that you had found myself in, but you were scared to admit it. “Well, his name is Tom. He’s from London.”

“How old is he?” Zen asked.

“Umm…” you started. “In his mid-twenties.”

Zendaya nodded. “His job?” she asked next. “Does he have one?”

“Yeah, yeah, he does,” you mumbled under your breath. “You… You can’t tell anyone this.”

“Ooh, is it juicy?” She asked, readjusting herself on the couch for the incoming gossip.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s a… Umm, a professor.”

“At our university?” Zen asked, and you nodded. “What does he teach?”

You swallowed thickly. “English lit.”

“Oh, does he know this Dr. Holland guy?” She asked. “I have his class tomorrow morning; you had him this morning, right?”

You sucked in air through your teeth as shame filled your chest. “I did, yep,” you said. “And he does know Dr. Holland… Because he is Dr. Holland.”

Zendaya sat for a moment, blinking at you. “You…” she started. “You fucked our professor?”

“I didn’t know he was our professor when I fucked him,” you scoffed. “C’mon, Zen, give me more credit than that! But we talked after class and we broke up. It’s better, ya know?”

“Oh my God,” Zendaya laughed. “Oh, that’s really funny, Y/N. You fucked our professor, that’s--”

“Alright, stop,” you said. Your phone buzzed against your thigh, but you paid it no mind. “I’m in mourning right now, just…”

“Oh,” Zen mumbled. “Shit. You really liked this guy, huh?”

“I did,” you nodded. “Like… Love at first sight. That’s stupid, but… I really, really liked him, and not just because he was good in bed. He was sweet and funny and so handsome, and we really got along. I... “ Your phone buzzed again, and you looked down to see a flurry of text messages from Big Dick Tom. “Oh, Jesus, he’s texting me.”

10:32PM - Big Dick Tom: I’m so sorry. 10:32PM - Big Dick Tom: I’m such an asshole please 10:34PM - Big Dick Tom: Please take me back.

10:36PM - Y/N: you shouldn’t be texting me right now. i already told you, i can’t be with you.

“He seems drunk,” Zendaya said, and you tilted your phone away from her.

“Invasive,” you chuckled, but your heart still sank. She was right; he did seem like he was drinking.

10:37PM - Big Dick Tom: I’m so sorry darling. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

10:38PM - Y/N: you didn’t. just leave it alone.

Before you could properly close the conversation, your phone began to ring with a call. “Christ,” you mumbled. “He’s calling me now.”

“Put it on speaker,” Zendaya said, and you batted her away.

“What did I say about you being invasive?” you said, but did as she asked anyway. “Tom, what’re you--”

“I’m the biggest asshole in the world,” Tom said quickly. “Please, darling, please forgive me.”

“It’s already done, Tom,” you told him. “You’re forgiven. You really can’t keep texting me and calling me like this.”

“I know!” Tom sighed. “It’s fuckin’… God. I miss you.”

“I’m gonna hang up,” you said quickly.

“No, please don’t,” Tom whimpered out. “I just miss you. You’re so pretty and smell so nice, and I loved sleeping next to you. Can we meet somewhere? I wanna see you. I miss you.”

“It’s half ten,” you sighed. “Nowhere’s open. And we can’t do that anyway, we can’t be seen together--”

“Oh, fuck off!” Tom groaned. His accent was thick, his voice low, and you swallowed thickly. The sound of it was attractive, and you couldn’t stop the thought of him whispering in your ear with that voice, a hand in your hair and the other…

Your train of thought was completely derailed when you heard a shattering from Tom’s end of the call. “Tom!” you exclaimed. “What was that? Are you okay?”

“Threw a bottle,” Tom mumbled.

“Christ,” you whispered. “You’re drinking, aren’t you?”

“You know something? I am,” Tom said. “Why do you care, though? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

“I care about you, you dick,” you told him. “You’re acting like this isn’t hard for me too. I told you that we had something special, Tommy, and, if things were different… Ya know? I like you, you piece of shit, just… Christ, I’m coming over.”

“Why?” Tom asked.

“Because I don’t think you can be alone right now,” you said. “You’re drunk and throwing things.”

“What happened to ‘we can’t be seen together’?” Tom asked.

“Do you want to see me or not?” you asked.

There was silence for a few long moments, and you almost thought that you had misread the situation. Then, Tom said, “I do. How soon will you be here?”

“Give me like half an hour,” you said. “Please don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

You remembered the way to Tom’s apartment, and you got there quickly. You had to knock on his day and wait for him to answer, and your heart sank deep when he revealed himself. Sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair undone and frizzy with unkempt curls, his cheeks red with drink. He was holding his hand away from his body oddly, and you saw thin streaks of blood on his fingers and palm. “Hi,” Tom said simply.

“What happened?” you asked, taking his hand in yours. You saw a little glimmer of green glass in one of the cuts, and you tugged him to the bathroom, kicking the door shut. “Did you really smash a bottle?”

You sat Tom on the edge of the bathtub and began to look through the medicine cabinet for anything that could help bandage up his hand. “Felt like it,” Tom sniffed.

“Jesus,” you whispered. “Tommy, listen, we both know how terrible this is, but getting angry like this isn’t gonna help anything. Fuck, do you have any antiseptic?”

“Under the sink,” Tom told you. “I wish things were different.”

“Me too,” you admitted. You retrieved the bottle and a few cotton balls, along with a set of tweezers and a roll of gauze, and you sat down in front of him. Carefully, you pulled his injured hand towards you, and you began to extract the glass bits with care. Tom winced every so often and you apologized, and, finally, once that bit was done, you began to clean up the cuts.

“I…” you began. “I should drop your class.”

“Why?” Tom asked. “Am I… Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, no,” you said quickly. “Not at all. I just can’t focus. I’ll never pass.”

“Why can’t you focus?” Tom asked. “Is someone giving you a hard time?”

You had to remind yourself that Tom had been drinking. “You are, doofus,” you scoffed. “I can’t focus on the lecture when you’re the one giving it. If I stay, I’m gonna need tutoring out the ass.”

Tom pulled his hand away from you with a gasp, and you almost thought that you had hurt him, but the smile on his thin lips said differently. “That’s how we do it,” he said. “Tutoring. I tutor you! We get to meet at least once a week outside of class, in my office, alone… Would you want that, my darling?”

Your knee-jerk reaction was to say yes. After all, you did want to be with Tom, but anxiety kept you from instantly agreeing. “What if we get caught?” you asked. “It’s your job on the line, and my scholarship, I might even get expelled. It’s so… We just can’t.”

“But isn’t that a bit exciting?” Tom asked. “The rush of it!”

“You’re insane,” you huffed, grabbing at Tom’s hand, but he stopped you.

“Am I?” he asked. “Or am I actually smart?”

You chewed your lip as you considered it. The fact that you were even considering it at all was enough to make your breath falter in your chest, but you had to admit that Tom was making a good argument. Anyway, you only had his class for one term. 16 weeks. That wasn’t that long, in the grand scheme of things. You could do it, if you were careful. “Let me sleep on it,” you said softly. “I wanna do it, but… I don’t know. There’s so much at stake.” Tom nodded in understanding, and you whispered, “And you might think differently when you’re sober.”

“I won’t,” Tom said. “I’ll still think you’re the best girl there is.”

“You hardly know me,” you said softly, looking up at him. You wound the gauze around his hand, trying to cover the cuts, but his other hand cupping your cheek stopped you.

“That might be true,” Tom said. “But you’re special. I know it.”

“You are too, Tommy.”

The smell of coffee filled your head, and you squeaked as you stretched. It smelled different than usual, lighter than Zendaya’s usual dark roast, and your heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t coffee. It was tea.

You shot up in bed, gathering the blankets in your fists. Tom’s bedroom. Tom’s bed. Tom was making tea. You studied yourself, trying to assess the damages, and you found bruises littering your hips and thighs. If you could see your neck, you would bet that he had left hickeys there too.

You cursed yourself every which way to Sunday as you got out of bed. You knew what was bound to happen if you saw Tom again, and there you were, right back where the problem had started. Your arms felt weak as you shoved your shirt from the night before back on, and you whirled around. Bra. You had left your bra.

“Woah,” a low chuckle came from the doorway. Tom stood there, grey sweatpants and damp hair, absently stirring a spoon in a mug. “Late to class?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I need to--”

“Need to go,” Tom sighed. You saw a perfect mouth-shaped bruise just under his nipple, and the sight of it stopped you. You remembered every beat from the night before, every kiss, touch, breath, and moan, and the memory of his hands was enough to stop you dead. “Right.”

“No, actually,” you said, taking a breath. Your intentions had flipped as soon as you remembered, and you scrambled for an excuse. “Need to go to the bathroom. I don’t remember if I went after we finished last night.”

“Ah,” Tom hummed slowly. “What’s it called? UTI?”

“Yes, and they can be painful,” you said quickly.

Tom smiled, a sleepy, fuzzy thing, and he pulled you into him with one arm. His lips were warm against your forehead, and he whispered, “Good morning, sweetness. Glad you slept well.”

“Well, you nearly exhausted me last night,” you chuckled. Your arms circled his waist and you pressed your nose into his hard chest. “Would’ve been impossible for me not to.”

Tom landed a kiss in your hair, and he said, “I didn’t wake you up, did I? Seems to be my superpower.”

“No,” you said. “The tea did. I’m used to coffee.”

“Oh, my darling, you need to get familiar with tea,” Tom said. “I’m from Southwest London, we do tea.” With that, he offered you his mug, and you peered in for a moment, assessing the light tan drink, before you carefully took it and took a sip. It was warm and tasted good, lighter than coffee, and you nodded carefully.

“I think I like coffee better,” you whispered, and Tom gasped.

“You just insulted the whole of England,” he said. “How dare you.”

“To be fair, England deserves to be insulted,” you said quickly. “Most independence days that are celebrated are celebrating independence from your whack-ass country.”

“That’s…!” Tom began, then sighed. “Yeah, no, that’s fair. Well, do you want me to pop out and get you a coffee?”

You giggled. “No, I’m alright,” you said. “I’ll make it work with your pathetic leaf water.”

“Better than bean water,” Tom said, sipping his tea.

You laughed at him. “Did you really just shade me and sip tea at the same time?”

“What does any of that mean?” Tom asked. “Is that a meme?”

“Jesus, you’re not that much older than me!” you laughed. “I’ll have to teach you memes.”

“And I’ll have to teach you not to sass me,” Tom said. “You can get awful lippy, my darling.”

“I sure can,” you said and bit your lip as you played with the band of his sweatpants. “Want me to show you?”

“You little minx,” Tom smirked. “I’d never say no to you.”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader angst #angst #fanfiction #prof!tom

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ohmypreciousgirl · 3 years

Text

Xicheng AU Rec List

This time I compiled my favorite AU fics for @waterandsilver! Hope everyone will enjoy this list too ♥

Just Two Lost Souls 46,978

Even if it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, husband, or companion, all Jiang Cheng really wants is to run his company, take care of his pets, and maybe get some sleep. Unfortunately the new job promotion to CEO comes with a loaded social calendar and a need for some sort of companion.

So clearly the most sensible answer is to start dating the man he's had a crush on since he was a teenager.

Because nothing could go wrong there. Sequels: Hold Me Like You Want Me; I Am Yours, If You Are Mine; Jiang Cheng and the Lans; You Get a Torch and a Flame and Burn The Path You Want.

i don't really care how much silence kills me 15,611 [Part 1 of all the lights couldn't put out the dark] It’s been around 2 years since Jiang Cheng has last seen to his brother, and a little over a year since the last time he spoke to him, when they locked eyes at Nie Huaisang’s art exhibition. Jiang Cheng had only come because Huaisang had explicitly promised him he wouldn’t be here. He knows Wuxian and Wangji have just moved back into the area after traveling, and he has every intention of avoiding them at all costs, just like he avoids his college-era crush Lan Xichen.

But it would seem that the universe has other ideas.

charcoal on newsprint 2,151 [Part 1 of fine art] Xichen distantly realizes that there is no way Huaisang had actually told Jiang Cheng that this is a nude modeling session. He can already hear Jiang Cheng’s clear baritone, dripping with sarcasm, telling the entire dinner table “So, Zewu Jun wanted me naked in front of all his students.” at the next Lan-Jiang family dinner.Uncle is going to have his head.

Madam Yu is going to skewer him alive before that. Or, Jiang Cheng models for life drawing in his spare time.

Family 2,514 [Part 1 of The Lan-Jiang Family] Jiang Cheng stops dead in the doorway as he takes in the horrendous state the apartment is in; toys and clothes everywhere, new furniture, child-furniture, all over the place, and no matter where Jiang Cheng’s gaze drops, it’s been taking over by stuff that belongs to a child.

A child that is still screaming, almost drowning out Lan Xichen’s attempts to calm it down.

“What the actual fuck is happening here?” Jiang Cheng blurts out and while it does nothing to stop the child from screaming, Lan Xichen freezes.

Worthy of a god 1,859 [Part 1 of The most faithful] Jiang Cheng knows that there is a chance Chifeng-zun will choose him; he is the god of war and rage and ever since Jiang Cheng was old enough to scowl there had been talk at Lotus Pier, how well he would fit with that.

But Jiang Cheng also knows that there is a bigger chance of no god choosing him at all.

Not just a vacation [Part 1 of The best catch] The next night Lan Xichen goes back to the beach. He keeps out of sight at first, hoping to catch the man unawares first, his mind still reeling from the research he did during the day.

It’s probably not what Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji wanted for him when they sent him on this vacation, but Lan Xichen needs to know what’s going on here. The only thing his research turned up were tales of mermaid and Lan Xichen is not ready to believe that.

Until he catches sight of a rather huge tail, flapping out of the water.

What Happens in Vegas Comes Home to Taiwan 3,120 [Part 1 of What Happens in Vegas] What do you do when your brother is getting married to someone you can’t stand?

The answer probably shouldn’t be to marry his brother, but in Lan Xichen’s defense, he didn’t know Las Vegas would allow drunk people to tie the knot at three o’clock in the damn morning.

A Lionheart 19,916 Wherein Xichen is a Crown Prince and Jiang Cheng is his bodyguard.

Emergency Help Wanted 76,819 EMERGENCY HELP WANTED I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.

how to not fall in love in a broken elevator 2,741 [Part 1 of a guide to falling in love (for runaways and heirs)] Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen get stuck in an elevator together.

Stream 4,494 He’s in love with Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng blinks once, twice and allows the feeling to fill him completely, at least once, before he ruthlessly squashes it down and locks it into the deepest parts of himself.

By the time Lan Xichen stops laughing and turns his attention back to Jiang Cheng, it’s as if nothing ever happened. Sequel: Umbrella - Savor

Jiang Cheng knows what he’s worth, after all, and it’s definitely not enough for the First Jade of Gusu.

How to get revenge on your brothers: A Guide by Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen 8,339 “That’s it. That’s the solution.”

Jiang Cheng opened an eye confused. “What do you mean?”

There was a weird light in Lan Xichen’s eyes and for a moment Jiang Cheng thought the other had gone crazy. “We will make them understand what it feels like seeing their brothers being… intimate with each other.”

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities 80,575 Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.

do you eat pringles with or without the shell? 32,291 Wei Wuxian smiles at him, the bastard. “I’m proud of you for figuring this out. That means Xichen-ge is your gay awakening.”

“Don’t put it like that,” Jiang Cheng sighs but he isn’t wrong.

All This Could Be Yours 17,337 After transferring to the main branch of his family’s publishing business and into his newly-acquired responsibilities as its CEO and managing director, Lan Huan finds himself stressed and burnt out. His brother recommends a solution.

Jiang Cheng is too gay to deal with this shit.

how should i know what tomorrow will bring 1,630 “If they can’t accept the fact that Jin Ling will always be there, then they might as well fuck off.” Jiang Cheng points out.

“Well, sure.” Wei Wuxian concedes. “But you don’t even give them time to know if they want to be involved with you before you’re kicking them away. That’s not how first dates are supposed to go.”

“How would you know,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, annoyed that Wei Wuxian is right. This time. “You haven’t been on a date since like, 2002.”

Children's Secrets 5,225 Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen swap nephews for a weekend. Some revelations are made.

the Magical-Realism of Awkwardness 10,168 Jiang Cheng thinks things can't get worse when he is forced to third wheel Wei Wuxian and Lanzhan's date.

Then Lan Xichen shows up and proves that things damn well can.

(Or, what shapes up to be one of the worst days of Jiang Cheng's life takes an entirely different turn.)

in the incense is tangled a cool moon 3,614 Some loves aren't meant to be, Wanyin knows.

Pay me in love 2,770 Madame Yu watches Lan Xichen walk away, until he is out of earshot, before she turns towards Jiang Cheng.

“What are you paying him?” she wants to know and Jiang Cheng can do nothing but stare dumbly at her.

“What?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything else.

“Did you really think I would believe you’re dating Lan Xichen, CEO of Lan Enterprises? Nice try, Jiang Cheng. Now tell me what you’re paying him.”

a slight tilt of perception 5,238 It was just a dance.

Jiang Cheng, trying to avoid the society matrons and their matchmaking-themed whispers, accepted a dance invitation from Lan Xichen, an old friend.

He forgot that his dance partner was probably the most eligible bachelor in the room.

He forgot that was all it could take: a moment, a look, hands intertwined in a dance—and everything could change.

Not at all fake 3,070 “Tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng gives back and then makes a noise as if he’s dying. “Fucking hell, I’m a dead man. If I show up tomorrow without anyone in tow—without someone in tow who can give Lan Wangji a run for his money—then I am dead.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Lan Xichen says “Take me.”

Jiang Cheng blinks a few times, processing the words, but even after a full minute they don’t make any sense.

For better, for worse 6,713 People forget marriage vows are more than pretty words. It's easy to honor them when it comes to good things but they're easily forgotten when it comes to darker times. Lan Huan, however, always keeps them in mind. To love someone like Jiang Cheng, who wears his emotions on his sleeve due his terrible parents, is to remember that love is not simple.

Glow 3,033 [Part 1 of Eldritch!Lans AU] Jiang Cheng carefully turns his head, maybe the absence of his boyfriend is what woke him up, but when he looks at Lan Xichen’s side, he’s met with something so dark it even stands out against the darkness of the night.

There’s a void next to him in bed and Jiang Cheng throws himself out of it, Zidian already crackling and sparking, illuminating the room in a faint purple.

White Lotus in Bloom 7,147 As the Crown Prince from Gusu Lan visiting YunMeng Jiang, Lan Huan was beyond excited to attend the region's famous Lotus Festival, where he meets a boy in purple and black.

Never Had I Ever 56,263 Nie Mingjue is almost certain that Jin Guangyao has an ulterior motive for dating his best friend, Lan Xichen. However despite voicing his concerns, his best friend seems unconvinced and Lan Xichen continues to date the said man. Unable to give up just yet, Nie Mingjue tries a different tactic--convincing his best friend the man is not the right person for him by setting him up. Fortunately for him, Wei Wuxian's youngest brother is very much single and seems to be just the kind of person his best friend needs. Can Jiang Cheng truly change Lan Xichen's mind, or will Nie Mingjue's plan is a disaster from the beginning?

As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.

Comfort 1,838 Wei Wuxian always pisses him off, this is common between them. Some fights, however, make Jiang Cheng sad enough to lock himself away from people and Lan Xichen has taken on the role of always being there to comfort him.

midnight comforts 1,946 At 11:36 his phone buzzed next to his ear. Lan Huan had a strict sleeping routine, but even so he was a fairly light sleeper. He answered the call—no one he knew would call him this late without reason—and murmured a groggy greeting.

“Lan Huan?”

He sat up, already rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“A-Cheng?”

“I know it’s late,” he started, voice sounding odd through the phone, “but you,” he stopped again with a gasp. Now that he was more alert, Lan Huan realized with mounting horror that the hitch in his breath, the odd thickness, was from crying. “You said I could come over whenever,” he finished, voice much shakier.

To The Beat 1,859 [Part 1 of Fever]

"The bathroom is over there you fuc--"

His words caught in his throat as he saw the person on the other side. He looked a lot like Wei Ying's boyfriend, but he was smiling and his eyes were somehow kind; comparatively, the most expression he'd ever seen on Lan Zhan's face was mild disdain.

Jiang Cheng must have been staring dumbly for a while because the man cleared his throat. There was a blush rising on his cheeks, and oh fuck, that was kind of cute.

"I apologize for interrupting your night. I was told that this room was where the people who were 'no fun' were supposed to go," the man said. His voice was deep and somehow just as smooth as his skin, which was flawless.

It Took Me So Long To Find You 6,349 [Soulmate AU]

But it didn’t take him too long to realize that he was simply not worthy of the other.

So he hoped at least that they could become friends.

Lotus Pier burned down before Jiang Cheng could think of telling Lan XiChen. And after the Sunshot Campaign, he understood, being Lan XiChen’s soulmate would not just be a burden to the other, it would be a curse.

paint my skies with your skin 15,473 [Soulmate AU] “There’s no point in this, is there?” Jiang Cheng scoffs, “We both know I am not who you want your soulmate to be.”

“Soulmate or not, you have my heart and my ribbon. Only if you want it, Wanyin.”

once upon a dream 18,438 [Part 1 of once upon a dream] An au where your dreams are small snippets of your soulmate’s day. They’d show small things like buying coffee, reading a book, or hanging out with people from their perspective.

The problem was that people always have expectations and Jiang Cheng knows he always falls short of them. Time and time again.

#xicheng #lan xichen #jiang cheng #mdzs #the untamed #rec time

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tiredcowpoke · 4 years

Text

TITLE: Of Lines PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Reader REQUEST: @all-good-things-have-a-ending requested for a college/university au with Arthur x Reader. WARNINGS: Not really? Some mention of divorce and cheating (in the past). NOTE: This is long again, sorry. lmao Really, this is such a broad idea that it could be a whole thing, so it was hard to figure out where to end this for a sort of one-off thing. Anyway, just some stuff to note. I did shift around the idea of student x professor because it’s got a power dynamic that I’m not a fan of, despite both Arthur and reader being consenting adults in this. So, instead I went with a professor x professor thing with some compromise on that. However, I hope it’s still good. I rewrote parts of this multiple times so I hope it worked out nice in the end. lol This can also be read as gender neutral, there’s not much focus on the reader’s gender.

With it being a familiar university, you figured it would curb some of the anxieties you had about this.

Yet, you felt like a new student.

However, it had been a good couple years since you were a student of anything. This time it would be a role reversal where you weren’t the one sitting in one of the chairs in the lecture hall, hoping the professor had a good vibe about them and that the course material wouldn’t be too brutal. No, you were the one standing in front of that student and many others just like them. Thankfully, you didn’t have to deal with the eight-in-the-morning stares of a way too early history course but the idea had your stomach twisting something bad at points.

You were in charge. You knew the material and you had your lecture notes, just had to...give a little introduction to yourself and the course layout and worry about the content the next day.

The thought pulled a small sigh from your nose, something grounding as another dull ding of the elevator told you that you were arriving at the floor you needed to be on.

Thankfully, the first thing you had was an office hour that could allow you to collect yourself before you started your day of lecturing. You weren’t expecting any students, not on your first day. The university was still pretty small, newly minted and trying to make a name for itself, and you knew the office building was a bit of a mix and match. You knew you would be sharing the office space with someone, as it had been in your previous institution.

Walking down the hall toward the door you were looking for, having chanted the name a couple times coming in order to find it, you were greeted by a somewhat animated student stepping out of the door, talking quickly with someone sitting just inside. Well, there went your hopes of having the space to yourself for a bit. You tuned out the conversation for a moment, glancing up at the names beside the threshold of the door. Only two, your name, seasonal instructor, and an Arthur Morgan, Phd.

The name gave you pause, your eyes narrowing a moment as a small pang of familiarity hit you. Morgan. Morgan…

“Well I’m gonna go over that project in class, so don’t go worryin’ too much about it right now, alright?”

You glanced up at the voice, now much clearer as a man stepped out from the doorway as the student he was talking to slipped by you with a small nod and wave. His face hit you instantly, though you knew he had aged some over the last couple years. Little less lively, looking somewhat tired, despite the somewhat friendly and inquisitive stare he gave you in return.

“You here for the office hour?” he asked, “I got some time right now for a couple minutes, if that works. What course you in?”

“Oh, I’m not in any course,” you replied quickly with a small chuckle--he didn’t recognize you. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or a little disappointed about that.

“I’m actually just looking to get into my office…” you continued, pointing slightly toward the empty desk space behind him.

“Oh,” he replied, the surprise that touched his expression a little amusing, “Ah, right--course you ain’t. I’m sorry, it’s been...a mornin’.”

“Yeah, I can relate,” you said, stepping in after him once he had turned with a somewhat heavy sigh.

You placed your things down on the desk, letting out a small breath through your nose. This was an interesting turn of events. You knew you might run into the professors you had been taught under, coming to teach at the college, now university, that you had got your degree from before moving on. He had aged a bit in appearance from what you remembered of him, but you recognized his voice. Out of all the people you could have been sharing office with, it was that old professor you had wished you could have strangled when you were a student.

Taking a Fine Arts course for the credit had been required for your degree, and taking a fundamentals to traditional drawing had seemed like easy credit. Maybe it would have been, if it hadn’t been Arthur teaching it. He had seemed nice enough--laid back teaching style, admittedly nice to listen to and you had certainly heard enough comments about how he wasn’t hard to look at either. Yet, when that first project rolled around, things changed. Sandwiched between a couple heavily essay focused courses, trying to work on a drawing seemed easy enough that you hadn’t given it much thought, and he had been quick to kick you in the teeth for it. The grade had been bad and his comments seemed...overly nit-picky at the time. His previously laid back attitude had started to come across as arrogant to you soon after, making him your least liked professor that semester.

You had finished his course decently enough after that, making it a semester goal to make the final project to his liking as a sort of metaphorical flipping off. ‘I am listening and did retain your lessons, you ass.’

You had drank after finals to moving on from his course.

“You teach here before?”

The question pulled you from long dead and buried frustrations, your gaze lifting from one of your lesson plans toward where he was leaning back against the chair. You wanted to laugh--if only he knew.

“No, this is my first year here at least. I did teach at another institution in the city for a couple years, but got a better deal here.”

“That explains it,” he said with a small nod, pausing a moment before he extended a hand out toward you, “Arthur Morgan, Fine Arts professor.”

Yeah, you knew.

“History. Seasonal, for now,” you replied after gripping his hand, followed by your name.

There was a touch of something in his expression, a slight narrowing of his eyes. You thought for a moment that it clicked and he remembered you. However, if he did, it wasn’t commented on as you broke the handshake, turning back to his work after a small grin and nod.

A part of you was feeling somewhat grateful for the conversation being dropped.

***

After the first initial weeks, putting names to faces and breaking into the course material, things started to fall into place for you a bit more.

Really, it started to feel more like how it was at your other institution. Though, with it being a smaller university, that meant smaller classes. Your introductory ones were a little fuller with people taking them for the required credit, your higher level ones thinning out a bit. However, that wasn’t a terrible thing, those courses starting to feel a little more relaxed than your others and it put less on your plate in the long run.

Your continued office hours with Arthur were going alright, too. The two of you managed to work around each other, knowing you tried to tune out the conversations he had with his students and Arthur doing the same with the odd one that would come to you for advice. However, from the office hours you remembered having with him, the ones he had these days seemed a little more...forgiving. Granted, you had avoided going to him for anything while you were a student likely on pride alone, but the odd time you had it was an experience that you had wanted over with quickly.

Perhaps he could tell. Still.

Yet, there was the odd time you would be interrupted by his cellphone and the odd grumble about it, Arthur usually hurrying out of the room to answer it. There was the odd time he would shoot you and/or the student you were advising an apologetic smile before slipping out.

You didn’t want to dip into his personal life. He had his good days and bad days.

Though, you really weren’t expecting to walk in on it. The campus had a small coffee shop that it seemed both professors and students frequented, yourself included during the time you had between classes to eat. However, you were surprised to see a familiar figure waiting in line, talking quietly into his phone. You really didn’t want to surprise him or eavesdrop, but with how the line was currently set up, it was kind of hard not to.

However, much as you had your gripes about him from your time as a student, you wanted to respect his privacy. Still, he seemed to be in some heated argument with someone, his tone quick and stiff. You were somewhat familiar with it, though not in this context. Yet, he fell silent as the other person on the line seemed to talk, Arthur bowing his head as he ran a hand across his face.

Though, you found your gaze dropping as he seemed to look around himself as he listened. His gaze landed on you for a moment before he continued on in a more even tone with his conversation, seeming to wrap it up as he hung up with a sigh. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to look as awkward as you felt.

“The food here any good?” he asked, casting you a glance over his shoulder somewhat. You pulled your gaze away from his own to glance toward the menu, twisting your mouth to the side somewhat.

“I think they’re locally made, so I don’t want to say anything bad. Could be worse, I haven’t gotten sick or anything.”

Arthur hummed lightly, somewhat amused but it wasn’t hard to see the tension lingering.

“Well, it’s either this or nothin’ for me today, so guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“The coffee seems to be the popular choice, anyway,” you continued, shrugging before glancing down at your phone to check your email a moment while you waited. A couple automatic reminders, students telling you of sickness, and a few questions you still had to answer.

“You wanna eat with me?” Arthur asked, causing you to glance up with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Sure, why not?” you replied with a small shrug. You were colleagues, it wasn’t some taboo thing.

Not that you were thinking of him in any other way. That train of thought pulled a small tightness to your brow, a frown tightening somewhat on your face. You really didn’t want to think too deeply on it, but being back on this campus pulled a lot of interesting acknowledgements forward. Perhaps you had to set aside your judgement you had made of him as a teacher, and...well, there had been a part of you, even back then, that had wanted to impress him. You had told yourself it was some wounded pride, yet you had to wonder why it was that class. It had been something taken just for the credit.

Maybe we should stop carrying on like a child.

You placed your order, picking up the coffee and one of the pre-made sandwiches from the stand before following Arthur toward one of the free tables.

“I...I’m sorry ‘bout the phone calls,” Arthur said after a moment once you had sat down across from him, causing you to raise your eyebrows slightly before shrugging.

“They’re not as disruptive as you think,” you replied around your own shrug, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Universe seems to know when you’re around so you can witness ‘em…” he muttered into his own cup, removing the lid as he tested the heat of the beverage.

You watched him for a moment, knowing you should just leave it at that. Enjoy your food, at least as much as you could, and move on. Yet, you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek, the cardboard sleeve of the coffee cup warming the tips of your fingers as you hovered your hand around it.

“...You okay?” you asked, bracing yourself to pull back if you crossed some sort of boundary.

Arthur glanced up at the question, meeting your gaze for a moment before dropping it again and shrugging as he took a sip from his own cup.

“Sure,” he replied, leaning back in the chair somewhat, “Just...some personal issues. It’ll be resolved in a couple weeks, can just...move on from it.”

“It can be hard to leave that stuff at home,” you replied, nodding your head, “Went through the ringer myself in my second year teaching.”

Arthur let out a small sound from the back of his throat, something close to agreement. You started to eat a little in the silence that followed, though the admission that followed had it hard to keep the touch of surprise out of your expression.

“I’m gettin’ a divorce,” he stated, not looking up from where he was studying the surface of the table.

“...I’m sorry to hear that,” you replied after a moment, watching his expression as he shook his head.

“Picked the worst month for it, feels like I’m goin’ through the motions here with all that in the back of my mind. Ain’t so bad when I know I’m not gettin’ a call in a bit, but feels like she’s expectin’ me to drop everythin’ because she’s still tryin’ to move out. I know my schedule isn't makin’ that easy.”

“That’s...messy business,” you replied with a small nod, glancing down. “I, uh...I got cheated on a couple years back in the middle of a semester. Had to try to run a lecture during the same week, fielding the...stupidest questions while holding that in my chest and had to look the bastard in the face at the end of my days trying to split up our stuff. It really feels like you’re going through the motions, but...it’ll feel more natural again after a while. Though, I imagine I went a little hard on undeserving students during that point.”

“Hell I’m probably doin’ it, too,” Arthur returned, causing you to chuckle lightly.

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Why’s that?”

You glanced back up at him, a small grin pulling at your expression as you raised your eyebrow. “You really don’t recognize me, huh?”

The completely confused expression that tightened his expression almost had you laughing again, Arthur taking a moment to really look at you. Being under his gaze had you almost wanting to squirm and glance away, but you had started this whole thing. Eventually, there was a shift in his expression, his head lifting somewhat before he was leaning back.

“You were in one of my classes,” he stated around a small huff, causing you a nod with a grin bit back.

“A good couple years back, yeah,” you said, “You made it hard to forget, considering I was pretty convinced you made it your mission to rake me over the coals for a fundamentals to drawing course.”

You were expecting some defensive remark, for him to lean into that small voice in the back of your head that told you that you hadn’t really applied yourself in that class until he forced you to. Yet, he just ducked his head slightly, letting out a small huff of a chuckle.

“...I was a bit of a cocky bastard when I was younger,” he replied, “Might’ve been feelin’ a little showed up by some of my students. Y’know, ‘those who can’t do, teach’.”

“Ah, I’m sure that’s not true,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck somewhat, “Though, I’m happy to see you stepped off that a bit over the years.”

“Sure,” he said, meeting your gaze with a small grin pulling at his lips, “Though, I grade fair. Always have.”

“Yeah, well...I might not have been giving much of an effort until you showed me that wasn’t going to work. I thought it would be easy credit.”

“Well, guess we both had somethin’ goin’ on with that.”

“...It was still an introductory course.”

“Alright, alright.”

You both shared a bit of a chuckle after that, the tension somewhat stepping off. You weren’t so foolish to think it wouldn’t exist after, but it felt nice to sidestep some awkwardness about you having to share space with him multiple times a week. You shared some small talk about your classes for a while before separating to finish off your days.

Though, when you returned to your office to collect some things, you found a note sticking to one of your folders that you hadn’t put there. Pulling it off, you were met with unfamiliar handwriting.

I feel like I crossed a line today by telling you all of that. If I did, I’m sorry. Still, I didn’t get the chance or really thought to say so, but thank you for listening. - A. M.

***

This really wasn’t turning out to be your day.

A hell of a day, too. The last day before a reading week and you could tell most of your students had checked out, something you were close to doing so yourself. Teaching a class at seven at night was always a bit brutal, but after knowing your car had sputtered out a final goodbye as you were pulling up to campus that afternoon and that you would have to take the bus home? Well, it sucked.

You let out a tired sigh as the elevator came to a stop on the floor you needed, planning on just picking up a couple things from your office for the break before taking this adventure home. The evening was darker than you had been expecting with the rain that had come over the afternoon, falling steadily now as you noticed through one of the windows in the open doors you passed. Great.

Though, you were surprised to see a light on in your office. You had been under the impression that Arthur’s classes had wrapped up well over a couple hours ago, catching him moving between reading something and checking his computer in the light of the desk lamp. Pausing at the door, you couldn’t help but curse your luck somewhat.

You could admit that things had been pretty well between the two of you after that one lunch, even having a couple more over the months that followed. Perhaps things even started to lean a bit into a solid friendship, though it was hard to deny that small part of you that spoke to some type of attraction toward him. It really was something you kept shoving down as the days went along--he just got divorced, you should just keep things somewhat distant from that. Yet, it was hard not to notice the growing closeness, the shared jokes, the knowing looks and smiles when getting done with dealing with particularly difficult students.

At the moment, however, you really just wanted to pick up your things and wallow in a bad day on a bus ride home.

Yet, it was hard to do so in a particularly silent building, walking over to your desk and rummaging through your folders had him jumping slightly, glancing in your direction before letting out a breath.

“Christ, could’ve knocked or somethin’,” he remarked, causing you to glance his way somewhat sheepishly.

“Sorry, just needed to grab this.”

“You usually workin’ this late?” he asked as you turned around, placing your things down on the desk beside you.

“This semester, yeah. I just got done with my last class,” you replied, shaking your head, “Now it’s just a long bus ride home. Hell of a way to start my break.”

“You takin’ the bus? In this?” he asked, glancing toward the window with the heavy droplets of rain still hitting the pane.

“I don’t have a choice,” you said with a shrug, “My car gave up after driving here, I had to get it towed.”

“Well…” he started around a sigh, glancing back toward his things before checking the time on his laptop. You caught onto the next part of his statement, your hands raising somewhat at your sides.

“It’s not really a big deal, you don’t need to offer…”

“You guessin’ my words before they leave my mouth?” he returned around a small huff, glancing back toward you, “Where in the city do you live?”

“Just a little outside it, about fifteen minutes from here,” you replied, “By car, at least.”

“That ain’t too bad,” he replied, “I can drive you--if you’ll let me.”

“...Well, I’m not exactly excited to be taking the bus at night and standing in the rain,” you remarked around a soft chuckle, “I...wouldn’t mind that, I guess. I’ll have to return the favor someday, if I can.”

“Eh, sure. It’s fine. Just give me a couple minutes here.”

You nodded, feeling a touch of relief at not having to take the long way home, yet there was now a twist of anxiety about taking this car ride with him. Things had been pretty friendly and professionally distant for some time, the odd line stepped over every now and again but nothing extreme. Now this?

It’s a sweet gesture, you thought as you flipped open one of the essays you had to grade over the week break, there’s probably nothing more to it.

Still, you found yourself accepting it in the long run anyway, following him down toward the car park a couple minutes later. A bit of a beat up old truck, actually, though it still looked modern enough--which you should have expected from him. Much as he was spending his day teaching artistic young adults, he still had a way about him that made him stick out a bit. You knew you hadn’t been expecting the southern drawl when you had him as a professor those years ago.

“Air conditionin’ sucks, but the heater’s good at least,” he remarked as you climbed into the passenger seat once he had unlocked the door for you, “Though, considerin’ the night, that’s probably for the best.”

“Good winter car, at least,” you remarked, doing up your seat belt as he fiddled with the air and radio a moment. You could pick up on the familiar voice of the local talk radio host, something your own father listened to quite a bit.

Interesting choice, you thought while trying to hold back a chuckle.

Arthur started up the truck, finally pulling out from campus as you gave him your address. Really, it was hard not to feel a little awkward to be sitting in his car like this, much as you were grateful for the offer. You tried not to give into the urge to dig around, a nervous habit--always had to do something with your hands. Instead, you let the lull in conversation fall off somewhat as you listened to the rumble of the engine, the faint voice of the radio host, and the rain against the roof and windows. Still, you couldn’t really help yourself--

“You really are a lot more modern cowboy than I had been expecting,” you commented, earning a quick laugh, something genuine.

“Yeah, goes a little deeper than the accent. Just the way I grew up.”

“So how’d you end up here?” you asked, glancing toward him. You were aware it was a bit of a bold question, but you had been feeling a little more comfortable about that lately. With him, at least. It was something you could overthink later (or kick yourself over later if he brushed it off.)

“What, the city?”

“Sure, teaching.”

“I can draw,” he said around a small chuckle, “Had a friend get my foot in somewhere, allowed me to get into college and it took off from there.”

You nodded, taking that in. You knew he really wasn’t all that older than yourself. You had started college as a mature student after giving up on the idea for a while, going back after you found yourself considering it again.

“I wish I had a more interesting story, but mine lines up pretty well with that,” you replied around a soft chuckle, “Minus the foot in the door, but I had a couple people push the idea after drifting around a bit after high school.”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty common,” he remarked.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way,” you said after a beat, “You could have left it at a ‘that’s too bad’ and let me sort it out, and I wouldn’t have been mad.”

“Eh, it’s nothin’,” he said, glancing toward you for a moment, letting out a small sigh through his nose as he looked back out at the road. “Don’t have anythin’ waitin’ on me back home, anyway.”

You hummed, nodding your head lightly as he seemed to let the conversation fall again at that. You noticed the tightening of his hands on the wheel for a moment after. The written words of that little note sat in your mind a moment--more about crossing lines. Really, you found yourself wanting to ask how he was doing with all of that. You had noticed the phone calls had become less, Arthur’s energy picking up a little but it was hard to tell sometimes if he really was doing alright. Still, if he wasn’t going to expand on that, you weren’t going to push it.

Really, the weight of the day seemed to press down on you a bit, making it hard to keep up with heavy conversation anyway. You watched the scenery roll by, familiar at this point. Eventually, you could pick up on the landmarks that suggested that your neighborhood was coming up. You directed him around the turns until the familiar building came into view, Arthur pulling up into the driveway.

“Well, this is it,” you said around a somewhat tired sigh, “Thank you, again.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” he returned.

You paused a moment, knowing you should just open the door and get out. However, his little offhand comment seemed to sit in your mind for a moment, making you bite the inside of your cheek. You knew you were going to leave it be, yet--

“You, um...are you going to be okay?” you asked, meeting the somewhat confused look he had been settling you.

“Oh--yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he returned quickly, waving a hand. “Not even sure why I said that, just slipped out. I’ve been...gettin’ used to it again, you don’t need to worry.”

“Well...in the vein of saying things we maybe shouldn’t say, I do find myself wondering about how you’re doing anyway,” you replied, “But alright. I’ll see you after the break.”

You opened the door at that, stepping out into the cold spray of water before shutting the door. You knew your last words were bold, but you had found yourself saying them anyway. Perhaps a part of you wanted him to know that someone did care. However, you didn’t get to linger too much on that thought as Arthur’s voice cut across from the driver’s side of his truck.

You paused as he lowered his window, stepping back toward him as he leaned against it somewhat.

“I...you’re free to forget I even asked, but you doin’ anythin’ for the break?”

You blinked against the slight sting of rain in your eyes for a moment before shaking your head with a shrug, feeling the wetness starting to soak into the neck of your shirt and jacket.

“You want to...I don’t know, get coffee? Have a meal?”

“...Is this as friends? Colleagues?”

“Well...I wasn't quite thinkin’ of it that way,” he remarked, almost lost to the sound of the rain around you. You could feel your heart thud, a shiver ripping through you from the cold as you felt the rain soaking the top of your head but you could feel some heat touch your face.

“Alright, sure. Why not?”

The relieved grin that touched his face was almost enough to make your night. You knew there was a part of you that would question this, already feeling that pulling at the back of your mind as you put your cellphone number into his phone. He just went through a divorce, you didn’t want to deal with this if he was just looking to use you to sort through all of that.

However--well, it was just a meal. You could figure that out from how that goes. It wasn’t enough to quell your excitement, at least.

You would have laughed at the idea all those years ago that you would be willingly going on a date with professor Morgan, bane of your existence, but the thought left a smile on your face for the night anyway.

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader

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hockeyblogg · 4 years

Text

age (ch.2) - f.andersen

Author’s Notes: Part Two to my rewrite of ‘Age,’ I really like the way it’s coming along, and I’m hoping you all are too.

Warnings: slight angst, sad Freddie :( & slightly bad writing.

It all happened so fast; taking Fred to your parents, him telling you that you both needed a break, finding that ring.

Shortly after you read Steph’s message, you put the box back in another pair of shoes before grabbing the suitcases and leaving the apartment.

Steph helped you put your stuff in the trunk of her car and while on the way there you explained the situation, “…and then he left, telling me that he could stay at Auston’s, but I didn’t feel comfortable with that so I texted him that I would leave, and here we are.”

Steph rubbed your shoulder before turning back to face the road, “I’m sorry that this happened, in all honesty I didn’t think he would actually break.” You furrowed your eyebrows at her words, “What do you mean by break?” Steph shrugged, “You know, how he always felt just a little more on edge with everyone’s comments about you guys? Mitch told me that him and Fred would talk about it sometimes, how Freddie was slightly caving under all of it. I just didn’t think it would get to this point.”

You thought it was impossible to feel any more guilty than you do now, but after hearing this new information, how Freddie hadn’t told you any of it, how you didn’t even realize, didn’t even ask, or consider his feelings about it, you felt like absolute and utter shit.

You take a glance at her and cast your eyes back down, “There’s something else…” Steph nods and you continue, “I found a ring.”

Steph swerves a little and waves a little sorry to the car next to her, “You found-where? Did you tell him?” You shake your head, “How can I tell him that? And it’s probably not even an engagement ring, could have been just a gift.” Steph hesitates but against her better judgement, she holds off on telling you, deciding that Freddie should be the one to talk to you about it, “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s important, and I think you and Freddie need to talk just a little bit more.”

You nod at her words and you both fall into a comfortable silence, both lost in each other’s thoughts.

Flash forward two weeks later and you’re still staying at Mitch and Steph’s, having trouble finding an apartment at the moment, not that it bothered them. Mitch and Steph have been nothing but supportive, allowing you to take up their guest room and making sure not only you, but Freddie as well, are doing okay, even though you’re probably sure that you won’t be, at least for a while.

There are so many unanswered questions, so many things to discuss and so many things left unsaid, that it’s almost impossible for you to even think about anything else. You’ve texted Freddie, called him, even got Mitch to speak to him on your behalf, but nothing. He won’t even speak to you.

Part of you feels angry at him, you want to go over to the rink and pull him out of the locker room yourself, drag him back to his apartment just so he can finally talk to you and so you can finally say and ask what you need to. But there’s another part of you that puts yourself in his shoes and realizes that he’s only letting you go because he feels like he needs to. He feels like he’s kept you from your own freedom for so long, feels like that’s what everyone has been trying to tell him this whole time, for almost four whole years, and now that he has, he’s not taking any chances to have you back. And that hurts you.

Mitch has been trying his hardest to get Freddie to just speak with you, to give you anything. He always thought you two were such a power couple, with him and his own girlfriend looking up to you two. You two were always so captivated with each other, showing such unconditional love toward one another, no matter who was around to see it. You both kept your relationship private too, never allowing anyone to know when and if you guys fought, or what you fought about, and if Mitch was honest, he’s convinced you two have never fought about anything, always mature enough to talk about whatever was bothering you.

Nobody knew anything about your relationship, and it always confused Mitch whenever someone, even a teammate, felt the need to comment on it. No one did that with him and Steph, or any of the other guys for that matter. So, why with you two? Was it just because Fred was older, and you were younger? Was it because you were a university student while Fred was a big shot hockey player? Was it because you kept your relationship more private? Whatever the reason, it didn’t give anyone the right to judge you both.

Mitch walked down the hall to the dressing room, stuck in his thoughts. He’s feeling quite sad and helpless in this situation, he was close with the both of you, what with all the double dates and movie nights you’ve all had, and he hated that his two best friends and best couple weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

Mitch sighs as he enters the room, going straight for his cubby and getting ready for practice, catching Freddie’s glance but quickly breaking eye contact.

After practice, Mitch is just getting out of his shower when he sees Freddie sitting in his own cubby, staring at the floor. Going about his business, he finishes getting dressed and carries his equipment bag to one of the trainers, making his way out the door. As he’s walking back down the hall, he hears his name being called and he turns to see Freddie walking up to him.

Once he catches up, they both walk quietly beside each other all the way out to the parking lot and just as Mitch is about to go his separate way to his car Fred stops him once again, “Hey Mitch…” Mitch pauses and waits for him to continue, and as a couple of their teammates pass by, Fred decides they’re very much in the way of everyone and gestures to his vehicle.

They stand by his vehicle and Mitch is getting impatient, “How’s um, how’s Y/N?” at that question, Mitch huffs, “I don’t know, why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s been trying non-stop to get in touch with you.” Fred looks away, “It’s not that easy Mitch, I can’t just-” Mitch doesn’t let him finish, too impatient and too fed up with seeing you so upset, he raises his voice, “It IS that easy man, talk to her, COMMUNICATE with her, tell her how you’ve been feeling because I already know that you hadn’t told her shit about any of this, you haven’t expressed to her that the comments, the stares, everything has been bothering you. Maybe she would have helped you, could have told you otherwise, but no. You let it get this far, and it’s no one’s fault but your own.”

They both stand there after Mitch’s little outburst, he hadn’t meant to yell at Fred, or make him feel worse about the situation, but he just had to try and get it through Fred’s head, that him staying silent about all of this is making everything worse.

“If you want to give her that ring, then I suggest you call her.” Mitch leaves after that, walking back to his own car and driving off.

Fred stays in a stunned silence, thoughts running wild in his head. He didn’t forget that he had the ring, but he hadn’t given it any thought at all when he broke up with you. And now, taking in Mitch’s words, he’s hopping in his car and driving in the same direction as Mitch, like a man on a mission.

And well, he kind of is.

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen imagines #freddie andersen imagines #freddy andersen imagines #Frederik andersen x reader #freddie andersen x reader #nhl x reader #nhl writing #nhl imagines #my writings

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vivithefolle · 3 years

Note

“Oh great, it’s the Harry stans again” I’m a wolfstar stan my dude

“So Harry’s desire is a family” yes, and what comes with having a family? Love, also Harry didn’t have his found family yet, just a few friends, and he can have his found family and still want his parents

Fred and George don’t bully him, they tease him like all big brothers do. And Ron went to them when “Scabbers” “died” so he doesn’t hate being vulnerable in front of them

“Let’s think deeper than just “hurr durr rawn wants powur” That is why though. Even at the end of DH he says “the unbeatable wand, Harry?!” Meaning he wants it for its power and is shocked Harry doesn’t

Also, Harry didn’t tell Ron to go with him to save Malfoy, and he only wanted Ron to come to the Ministry because he didn’t want to put his friends in danger. The only reason he was ok with Ron going is that Ron said he would. Why do you think Harry and hermione are selfish and don’t deserve him? That ain’t true

Harry got glimpses in to Voldy cause thats influence. Harry can’t be controlled because he is so full of the “force (Voldy) detests”. It is said multiple times that’s why. And he is so “purely and strongly” associated with love. It’s what makes Harry, Harry. Despite what he’s been through, he remains “pure of heart” as Dumbledore put it, he sacrifices himself and it sets off a protection charm for everyone, he tries to save Voldy, etc. and we do see it shown from him more than Ron. I could bring up countless examples but I’ll just leave it at: Harry felt bad for Hagrid when Aragon died and wanted to be there for Hagrid, despite Aragon nearly eating him. Ron did not. I love your blog btw, I just don’t agree with you on this lol

[Previous]

I’m a wolfstar stan my dude

Ah yes, Wolfstar, the pairing where one guy weaponized his friend’s most important, life-changing secret in order to play a “prank” that could have ended in manslaughter, because the one guy gave his friend’s feelings as much consideration as a plastic bag’s. Also said guy later believed that said friend could be a traitor. A love story for the ages surely.

Yes. And Ron’s desire is also tied around love. Because Ron believes that he needs to accomplish things to stand out and be “worthy” of loving. That’s his whole thing during the entire books, that’s what drives him to sometimes put his foot in his mouth up to his thigh and make stupid mistakes, because he’s trying to earn love, he’s going out of his way to earn the love of his friends when they already love him but are just pants at showing it.

Fred and George don’t bully him, they tease him like all big brothers do. And Ron went to them when “Scabbers” “died” so he doesn’t hate being vulnerable in front of them

Fred and George absolutely bullied Ron. That’s just fact. Look at Order of the Phoenix, look at how they treat him through the books. Fred and George may be popular characters but as big brothers they are AWFUL.

And who’s to say Ron went directly to them? We see them “““comfort”““ Ron but maybe Ron was just sitting with Harry and Ginny and lamenting Scabbers’ death then Fred and George came in and decided to add their five cents. Also in spite of how horrible Fred and George can be to him Ron still loves and admires them greatly - case in point, how he still trusted them about the bogus spell to turn Scabbers yellow.

Yeah, because Ron’s pragmatic still. Imagine what you could do with such a powerful wand. What’s the point of the Invisibility Cloak when you have a super-powerful wand that may cast the best Invisibility Charm ever? How about enchanting stuff with that wand? What of that wand’s ability to heal people? Imagine all you could do if you had that thing up your sleeve.

Also, Harry didn’t tell Ron to go with him to save Malfoy

No he didn’t. Ron turned back of his own will. Because Ron loved Harry and was willing to endanger not only his life, but also the one of the woman he loved, to save Harry from a fiery death trap. Ron chose to go back because he knew Harry was gonna try to save everyone like the idiot martyr he is.

he only wanted Ron to come to the Ministry because he didn’t want to put his friends in danger.

You greatly overestimate Harry’s niceness.

Harry’s eyes met Ron’s. He knew that Ron was thinking exactly what he was: If he could have chosen any members of the D.A. in ad-dition to himself, Ron, and Hermione to join him in the attempt to rescue Sirius, he would not have picked Ginny, Neville, or Luna. - Order of the Phoenix

He’s not thinking that because he’s nice and ~doesn’t want to put them in danger uwu~: he’s thinking that because he thinks Ginny, Neville and Luna aren’t good enough to rescue Sirius. To be fair, that’s also quite pragmatic: Neville has indeed great trouble with magic due to his father’s wand, and Luna has never participated in an adventure to fight Voldemort, while Ginny’s participation was that of his victim.

Why do you think Harry and hermione are selfish and don’t deserve him? That ain’t true

Because yes, that’s true. They’re fundamentally self-absorbed. Part of it is teenage immaturity, of course, and Ron can be similarly self-centred, but Harry is often going around thinking “me me me”. Like, when Arthur Weasley got bitten by Nagini he was thinking about how he was going to look crazy if he said he dreamed he was the snake, what the fuck Harry.

Similarly, Hermione often prioritizes herself and her feelings above Ron’s. She treats Harry very delicately because poor wee Harry is a poor orphan and that’s so sad but she has no such qualms with Ron since she doesn’t realize that his baggage amounts to a little more than just “I feel overshadowed by everyone that came before me”: it’s legit “I feel that nobody will ever love me because who’d care for a loser like me when there are all those great people around me?”. To be fair Hermione is not a psychologist, and she’s not under obligation to help Ron cope with his feelings, but when you’re friends with someone you usually try to support them a bit.

Look at how Harry and Hermione reacted to the bullying campaign against Ron in OOTP. Not. One. Fucking. Thing. Ron left to trudge alone in the snow for maybe hours after his first match, and they didn’t fucking try to find him, they stayed holed up in the common room, just staring at each other and feeling sorry for themselves. I don’t know if it’s a Brit thing to leave a friend alone with their own dark thoughts for company after a terrible public humiliation but it’s certainly not a good friend thing.

Yeah because bullshit plot device magic blah blah blah, really it ain’t shit. It’s mostly an excuse. Because how offensive it is to imagine that had Harry just gone to Voldemort a bit earlier, then the “““Love Charm”““ would save everyone? Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, had Harry moved his fucking ass and just surrendered he’d have saved them all. Hell, when you already consider that the Battle of Hogwarts happened at Hogwarts because fucking Harry absolutely HAD to be the one to get one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes you see, couldn’t have summoned Kreacher and asked him to search the place, couldn’t have remained hidden and entrusted the other students with the search, nooo, absolutely HAD to go to Hogwarts aka the place where every child is held hostage by a fascist government that could decide to kill them all for “hiding Undesirable Number One in their midst so they deserved their fate”... Genius move Harry, truly. +50 people dead thanks to you, fucking dumbass.

he tries to save Voldy,

Um, not really, he just told Vold to try and feel some remorse. Then bullshit space magic about the Elder Wand so Harry is technically not a murderer because he just Disarmed his opponent, you see, he’s still pure yall, cause killing someone quickly and painlessly (= Avada Kedavra) is worse than torture (= Crucio), ysee?

Harry felt bad for Hagrid when Aragon died and wanted to be there for Hagrid, despite Aragon nearly eating him. Ron did not.

............................... um, no.

“Hagrid!” cried Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. “What is it?” “It’s...him...” gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. “It’s...Aragog...I think he’s dyin’...He got ill over the summer an’ he’s not gettin’ better... I don’ know what I’ll do if he...if he...We’ve bin tergether so long...” Hermione patted Hagrid’s shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. Harry knew how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster fancies: the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwelled deep in the Forbidden Forest and which he and Ron had only narrowly escaped four years previously. “Is there — is there anything we can do?” Hermione asked, ignoring Ron’s frantic grimaces and head-shakings. “I don’ think there is, Hermione,” choked Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of his tears. “See, the rest o’ the tribe...Aragog’s family...they’re gettin’ a bit funny now he’s ill...bit restive...” “Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them,” said Ron in an undertone. “...I don’ reckon it’d be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo’,” Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. “But thanks fer offerin’, Hermione...It means a lot.” After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more. - Half-Blood Prince

Then

“Excellent,” he said. “Really excellent. Right...I’m going down to Hagrid’s.” “What?” said Ron and Hermione together, looking aghast. “No, Harry — you’ve got to go and see Slughorn, remember?” said Hermione. “No,” said Harry confidently. “I’m going to Hagrid’s, I’ve got a good feeling about going to Hagrid’s.” “You’ve got a good feeling about burying a giant spider?” asked Ron, looking stunned. “Yeah,” said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. “I feel like it’s the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?” “No,” said Ron and Hermione together, both looking positively alarmed now. “This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?” said Hermione anxiously, holding up the bottle to the light. “You haven’t got another little bottle full of — I don’t know —” “Essence of Insanity?” suggested Ron, as Harry swung his cloak over his shoulders. Harry laughed, and Ron and Hermione looked even more alarmed. “Trust me,” he said. “I know what I’m doing...or at least” he strolled confidently to the door — “Felix does.” - Half-Blood Prince

Harry doesn’t want to go to Hagrid’s out of the goodness and lurve of his heart. He’s going because it’s convenient. Because Felix Felicis.

Harry really isn’t anything special. Anyone with basic math skills can realize that dying to save possibly hundreds of people is better than you living and possibly hundreds dying. That’s nothing to do with purity of the heart or shit, that’s just math.

#harry potter #harry potter series #vivi answers #ask #harry potter critical

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bbq-hawks-wings · 4 years

Note

hey! I've seen a bunch of posts on how HPSC is slightly corrupted and all, could you explain if you understand this? They're (die hard villain fans) usually using this as a justification to slam the heroes for raiding the army. I'm quite confused sorry

I’d be more than happy to, friend! I have a strong feeling it’s going to be a key detail in the story moving forward so it’s good to go back in reviewing everything we know now; plus, it gives me the perfect chance to offer up my theory that ropes in Aizawa, Midnight, and Present Mic. Buckle up, though, because this gets a little long.

The HPSC tells heroes what to do.

The Hero Public Safety Commission is a pocket of the Japanese national government in this universe, sort of like how the FDA is in America.

It’s important to note that HPSC is a separate entity from the heroes. They’re the ones giving out licenses, disciplining rouge heroes, overseeing hero training, acting as liaison between heroes and law enforcement, organizing cooperative efforts with multiple heroes across different regions, and managing the general image of heroes with events like the Hero Rankings Billboard.

Heroes have to obey directives given by the HPSC and hero schools have to align with guidelines set by the HPSC, but heroes don’t usually get a say in these decisions and often only get to complain about how things are done and are stuck doing it anyway. If someone is caught heroing without a license or not in hero uniform, you can be fined and/or jailed. If a hero doesn’t keep up with paperwork or runs off and does their own thing they can also be fined and have their license suspended. If a hero goes AWOL or completely flips out they can have their license permanently taken away and be jailed.

It’s actually even more important to note that way heroes are allowed to operate and answer to the government is actually closer in line to a militia than a police force. In fact, while heroes are allowed to make arrests and use their quirks, they are more restricted in what they can and can’t do on their own than the police. If a hero wants to work with other heroes on an investigation, they have to use the private network (administrated by the HPSC) or communicate in person. In the case with the Shie Hassaikai or looking for Kurogiri and the LoV where police cooperation was necessary to carry out the investigation and bring in the gang right away there was no choice but to be transparent with the HPSC.

However, the HPSC doesn’t have to be transparent with the heroes.

They require heroes to give up all their information to keep working as heroes, but they don’t have any accountability for themselves and have notably dodged scrutiny up to this point with public backlash almost always falling on the heroes who have little to no say in how they run things.

Starting back at the beginning of the series with the USJ incident, it understandably garnered massive media attention - it should have. Dozens of unknown, random two-bit villains poured into the most secure, prestigious hero school in all of Japan undetected and resulted in the serious injury of two teachers and could have included the students as well if All Might had not been there to fight and subdue the inhuman monster - the Nomu - who had up to that point had never been seen before.

It’s not unreasonable that UA initially got the blowback from this as it could have been chalked up to complacency causing a lapse in security that the HPSC absolutely wouldn’t have been accountable for. It’s treated like a one-off event and despite investigations going nowhere on it, it’s ultimately downplayed and checked out in the background while continuing with the Sports Festival in high spirits. However, things get worse.

After passing their semester exams the Hero Course first-years head off to do practical training in the mountains with a hero team named the Wild Wild Pussycats. Remember, because this is a hero training initiative between a school and a hero team, the HPSC is likely involved at least on some administrative level in regards to granting permission and securing the patch of mountainside to use even if this detail is not acknowledged in the series. Despite efforts to only include the staff, teachers, and heroes involved word somehow still gets out - resulting in more student, hero, and teacher injuries, and most importantly the kidnapping of one of the students.

This can no longer be swept under the rug. A lot happens in the secret hideout raid revealing lots of stuff with the plot, including All-for-One’s direct involvement, but it doesn’t add anything more to our notes besides the fact UA is once again blamed and heroes are thrown under the bus instead of the organization overseeing them.

Fast forward to the Provisional License Arc. This is the first time we see the HPSC acting explicitly. It’s noted that they passed significantly more students this year than previously. Yokumiru Mera, the tired proctor, is overworked. The HPSC has a reason to urgently pump more students into the “working force” now than it had before, though at the moment it’s written off as a result of All Might’s retirement.

During the Shie Hassaikai arc the only suspect detail we get is the fact that the raid on compound is inexplicably compromised, and somehow the yakuza knew the heroes and police were coming. We’ll come back to this and to the leaks in UA again later.

Skipping the remedial courses and school festival arc, we get to the Pro Hero Arc. Big lights, pomp and circumstance, and a massive powerful Nomu attack that nearly kills the freshly crowned #1 Hero. From this point forward, what we get of the HSPC is mainly through Hawks and his experience with him. After the fight, we get a flashback of the President of the HSPC herself telling him to ignore civilian casualties in his mission to infiltrate the LoV, that he has to do it solo, and that he can’t tell anyone. Briefly in the next chapter he says that despite his objections he can’t actually tell them no.

Hold up!

Did a government agency just tell a hero to secretly get in with the villains no matter what, and when he objects and asks whether he’s just supposed to ignore collateral damage in the process is told, “You can and you will”?! (That’s a verbatim quote from chapter 192.) I thought this agency was supposed to hep people and keep them safe!

We get smatterings of interactions between Hawks and the HPSC, and though we don’t get anything from there side we’re getting that every questionable or deplorable thing Hawks does or needs to get on the LoV’s good side is acknowledged and endorsed by the HPSC. “I’m in contact with the shady guy who loosed that monster in the middle of the city with no warning. He wants me to kill the other top hero who just recovered and to join the definitely-dangerous doomsday cult, and maybe THEN he’ll let me in on what’s going on.” Ok, sure. Nothing morally questionable about any of that...

Jump to chapter 267. Up to this point, this note about Hawks’ past has been hinted at, but is here finally confirmed with a chilling detail. Kids who enter hero work may get special coaching by their families when they’re young, but the threshold for entering formal government-regulated training isn’t until 14/15 years of age in the last few years of their education. Chapter 267 shows a little Keigo Takami no older than about 8, at best, being told by the HPSC that he doesn’t get to call himself by his own name anymore. From now on, he’s going to be a hero, and only a hero, and it’s going to long and hard. Back in 192, two mysterious figures promise the same boy, shown at the same age, that his family will be taken care of.

Whatever circumstances led Keigo’s family to end up in the situation they did, they accepted an offer from a government agency, the HPSC specifically - you can see their headquarters in the flashback - to take away their very young son, take away his identity (and implicitly his family), and groom him to be government tool for the rest of his life - a commitment he had no true say in and that he could not understand at the time.

And it gets worse.

Endeavor works with the HPSC regularly as all heroes have to, but his relationship with them and what they’ll let him get away with gets put into greater question the longer we look at it. He turned to eugenics to create a hero he couldn’t be and surpass All Might for the sole purpose of satisfying his own ego. He bought a girl from her family and forced her to have his kids, then subjected those kids to cruel training - passing over each one until he got to one he felt he could work with -, beat his wife as well, and some kind of action he was involved in lead to the death of his oldest son. While the domestic abuse could be hidden, the death of his child cannot. What’s more, shortly after (very shortly if timelines add up), his youngest son received a permanent burn scar on the heat-resistant side of his face and his wife was locked away in a mental institution for a decade.

And the HPSC never bats an eye. They could take away his license. They could call the police. They could have exposed him to the public or at least ordered an investigation. But they didn’t. On some level they knew, and they did nothing.

But it might be even worse.

I skipped over this detail chronologically, but it’s the linchpin for just how corrupt the HPSC might be if all this lines up. Looking at the Endeavor Agency Arc, we get a seemingly random confrontation with a guy called Starservant (chapter 243) who prattles off a prophecy about the Dark Lord returning and his Dark Stars conspiring against humanity which will bring the world to ruin. He calls out Endeavor specifically as the shining light that beckons the darkness, but this sounds an awful lot like the deranged wailing of some crazy old man, right?

Let’s jump over an entire series now to the spin-off serial Vigilantes. This series takes place in the same universe at an earlier point in the timeline of the main story - and take an extra little note that there’s an underlying subplot about unusual drugs meant to enhance quirks (that often result in mutating the user) and that someone may be using them to clandestinely run experiments on humans from the shadows.

In chapter 59 we get flashbacked to Eraserhead, Midnight, and Present Mic’s childhood experiences at UA, and we’re also introduced to Oboro Shirakumo - their fellow classmate and dear friend. We get a few chapters establishing their relationships and their goals and dream for the future until chapter 63 where things make a drastic turn in tone. On what should be a routine hero training exercise as third-year seniors a giant, monstrous villain shows up and attacks while the UA kids are escorting a class of preschoolers around town.

In the scuffle, though Aizawa is able to single-handedly come out victorious, in the fight and debris Shirakumo is struck in the head by falling concrete as he tries to lead the children to safety and dies on the scene. Go back to main series, chapter 254-255, the villain Kurogiri is detained but the police are having no luck questioning him. They get a sliver of a lead and call in Present Mic and Eraserhead to interrogate him, and it’s confirmed that Kurogiri was a human experiment of Doctor Ujiko - the mad scientist bio-engineer responsible for the Nomu and outspokenly faithful servant of All-for-One - created from the corpse of their dearly departed Oboro.

Here’s the kicker, though, in Japan they don’t often bury their dead. Funerals next to never include an open casket - the loved one is cremated first, their ashes placed on an funeral shrine with their picture, and the loved ones mourn there. That means Ujiko needed to get to the body before it was cremated - which requires some fast work; but that’s not even the worst of it. Jumping one last time to chapter 270, Ujiko recognizes Mic as a friend of Shirakumo and boldly admits the entire time he was after Aizawa for his quirk.

That attack more than 10 years ago was premeditated. This goes back a long ways. How did he find this information - about their quirks and their movements and where to find them? How did Ujiko get the body out of the morgue without anyone catching him? Could it be the same way his fellow servants of All-for-One were able to get into the USJ? And the Training Camp? And the Yakuza raid? All-for-One has a lot of connections for his faithful servants to move about freely in this world of heroes despite every effort being take to stop them.

Somehow, these shining lights can never seem to outrun the dark no matter how hard they try, as if there’s a conspiracy against them. But a conspiracy of that level would have to come all the way from the top! If you wanted to get poetic about it, you could even say the stars themselves are conspiring against us. But that old man was crazy, right? If he wasn’t crazy - if he was right at all - then no matter what way you slice it:

This is bad.

#I'm not the first one to comment on this meta #but that old man looks a little less crazy every chapter #bnha meta #mha meta #mha manga spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #hpsc meta

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, leninille!

For @leninille. These are the first three chapters and a complete story within a new storyline I've got several chapter outlines for. All of this came up during development of this Secret Santa Exchange gift, and as more familiar faces are revealed, the tags will be updated accordingly.

Read On AO3

*****

Health Tonics and Love Gardens

Chapter 1 - The Stiles In The Garden

Stiles has been working on this garden for months. It is colorful now, with tiny bushes he'd groomed into shape and the better airflow they get without the other plants strangling the light and air from the garden. He's been restoring this garden to what it might have once been, and tried to keep remembering what his mom told him about the garden back home.

"These flowers may look nice, but they can also cause healing or harm." He thought in his mother's voice.

This specific phrase stuck with him, and usually when he's daydreaming and not paying attention to what he's saying, he'll speak the words and try to recall the exact details of the garden as it was when his mom was caring for it.

"Why?" he again remembers asking, and he says the same thing aloud every time this happens.

The details of the answer vary, probably because his child mind wasn't really any better at staying on target for even half the time his adult brain can do now. That means that his mom's voice answers the questing with different words, and the theme generally was: "Sometimes a little of a plant can help a person heal from an injury. Give them too much, and they will suffer, may come to harm, and could die."

It's the stinging nettle that his mother is indicating to him today. He looks at the plant in the present and gives it side-eye.

"A good cook can turn this nettle into a healthful tea."

Little Stiles can feel himself interrupt her. "I've made tea, mom. It's easy!" He used to be so excited about stuff. He was what... maybe eight years old when this happened?

He favors his mother's memory by having her always say something that humors the younger him.

"Yes! You can make very good tea. And thank you for doing it! But some teas we can make require very good care. A good cook like me knows how to prepare the stems, or the flowers, or pieces of the root all cut up into tiny pieces of any of these plants." She makes tickling fingers at him and he smiles at the recollection.

"What if the cook uses the wrong pieces?"

"Then instead of healing, maybe nothing will happen. But with some plants, you can make someone worse. They can be hurt forever, and might even die."

Little Stiles did not want to make that kind of tea, and he considered not ever being near tea again.

"Promise me, Stiles, that you will not try to make tea from anything that comes from this garden."

That was an easy promise to keep. The Stiles in his 20s, having these memories, appreciates how well his mother understood how he thought. Under her brief guidance, Stiles cultivated a voracious curiosity and analytical mind. He got over the worries about tea, eventually, but it wasn't until after this gardening thing started that he want and tried to learn more about exactly what were these plants in the plot and what kinds of tea could be made with them.

As he found out later, after many hours and days of looking through cookbooks and materials online, he started to feel like this was a medicinal garden instead of an herb garden for actual cooking.

"And never make tea with anything outside the garden without talking to me first, okay?"

Little Stiles nods again. At that age he loved strawberries, and he thought he might not worry so much about tea if he had some of the best tea with his mom right now. "I want to make the strawberry tea!"

"Oh! That sounds good."

Little Stiles helped Claudia put the tools away and gather the strawberries and lemon and sugar from their places in the kitchen. They talked about his day at school, and the memory always fades from there.

It is well more than ten years since that day and it's one of his favorite memories of his mother. Many memories stick because they sucked, or because he thinks about them so much he can't tell if they're real or if he made them up.

He does think it's odd that every week, at least once a week, Stiles is at this old burned house in the Beacon Hills Preserve, working on this garden, talking to himself to review what he's learned about these different plants, and making threats at the plants who he still can't identify or which are giving him troubles that day. He's still just as wary of the nettle, but they've got a grudging agreement not to bother each other. For the rest? He'll unlock their secrets soon enough.

It's fair to say that he lets his guard down at this point. Nobody's ever been around here. He expected there would be graffiti on the house or whatever, but no, it's just been the house and this garden, and Stiles taking care of the latter.

He clips a sprig of lavender and adds it to his bag with the rosemary, adds some heather blossoms, and mutters "Calluna" as he snaps them. It's their genus, and they're in the same family as rhododendrons. There are two of those in the yard, not close to the house.

His thought withers as he turns to the house and takes it in with a slow breath. It always seems like the house is watching him, but not seeing him. It's never felt threatening, just... omnipresent, he thinks.

This house was full of the potential of these many lives. The family suffered, and in his investigation into public records and police records ("Heya, daddio... Can I ask you a question?" being only the most direct route to the files, and not the only one he took), he had learned that the family's absence left some big holes in the town at the time.

Curiously, it was hard to find photos of any of the family members. Even social media didn't have much. The kids weren't in school yearbooks he could get hold of, and he's gone through everything he could find in the school archive, even the old student newsletters.

He had found a photo of Talia Hale. She was the mother and as far as he could tell, the kind of person everyone in town seemed to know and most respected. He had no idea that Talia's spouse looked like, having seen only the name "Blake Hale" and having no idea who that was.

The dusty family obituary Stiles found in the paper printed after the fire listed several dead. But the count doesn't match what the police logged, and that doesn't match the fire inspector's. The insurance company itself gave a third number in a quote taken by a reporter.

The situation didn't make sense to him, and it bothered him that nobody seemed to know what really happened here. How many Hales were impacted by the fire? Did any escape? The body counts ranged from fewer than ten to the low 20s. Nobody knew if there was a party that night because despite all the fresh vehicle tracks at the scene, there were very few vehicles in the driveway. So where did those other visitors go? The firefighters' work destroyed the scene and they couldn't find any tire tracks that might lead them in a useful direction.

And weirdest of all: He's still not found anything that even hints that his mother and the Hales were affiliated. So this garden and the exact matching one at home, which Stiles and his dad have somewhat neglected after many years of close attention, Stiles still doesn't know why he cares so much about this plot at the Hale house.

He'd explored the ruins many times in his months of gardening. The house sits still and aging, creaking wearily in the winds as it always does. The only trespassers seem to be him and the squirrels.

He tugs a threatening vine away from the garden and trims it back. It's probably a volunteer left by some bird.

On his first day here he didn't go in the house, but walked slowly around it, walking his blue bike as he walked the perimeter. It was coming around the back of the house when he caught the scent of a familiar combination of herbs and he discovered his garden out here in the woods.

It is exactly the same layout as at the Stilinski house, but these plants were overgrown and struggling, and the vines were getting close. As he got on his knees and started his first concerted effort at gardening the plot, he started trying to find answers to these two questions: "Why does this garden layout look identical to ours at home?" and, given that the garden does exist in both places, "How did the Hales know his mother?"

Derek doesn't know how to respond. He had never been an alpha, and would never be, so he'd mostly ignored those lessons when his mom and Laura talked about them. His alpha and sister in one being swore to him years ago that no matter how much they'd already lost, they'll always be near each other.

"Are you alright? Did you hear me?" she glances at him and pokes him. She feels the sensation of being mentally stunned, then gives him an annoyed look. "Why is this weird for you?"

He blinked at her. "You don't think it's weird that for years we've not even talked once about Beacon Hills and now you say that you've spent weeks fighting an unidentified and suspicious pull to return home for a few weeks?"

"No, I said a few months. Three or four, maybe. Who cares? It's still a calling."

Derek looked at her and asked the obvious. "Couldn't this be hunters?"

She shook her head. This wasn't aggressive magic, and she wasn't sure how she knew that. It was more than intuition, though... it was certainty. Werewolves are often sensitive to many kinds of magical activities that may happen around them or to them, and her enhanced abilities told her that this just wasn't like any of that. She considered an odd possibility.

"Maybe it's my wolf?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "We are werewolves, Laura. It's a gift of a greater life, not a spiritual possession."

"Hey, I know that there's no separate little spooky spirit inside any of us beyond what most people seem to think they have. But this is like..." She searches the room until her eyes land in the opposite corner. She points at the TV and clarifies, "It's like I'm getting a new channel, and it's focused on the wolfish instincts, not the human side. Can't you feel it, too?"

He shakes his head. There has been zero sensation of compulsion in Derek to return to Beacon Hills. He would be happy to never return. It was once a beautiful place, but that's lost with everything else and he doesn't want to find any of it again.

"Can you check the pack bond and tell me what you see?"

He glares at her, already tired of this conversation. The alpha sees different things in pack bonds than each member sees. Laura likes to learn what Derek sees, and tells herself that it'll come in handy when she's got a bigger pack. They haven't even tried to connect with any werewolves despite there being many free-roaming supernatural family hanging around. The Hales are a duo that nobody can mess with.

She's persistent, so he focuses and listens with his inner senses and finds the same pack bond with her that he's seen for years. It's identical to how it was before. Nothing new, nothing seeming magical beyond the usual. It's hard to believe her about this when he's got no evidence it's happening.

"Damn. I hate this. I wish I had an emissary to ask."

Derek doesn't know what to think about emissaries, and leans toward not-in-favor since theirs failed to protect them from the hunter assault that lead to his family's near-annihilation. This emissary was newer, replacing their former emissary who had died of a normal, terrible cause like brain cancer. Derek met the new guy once and hated how he smelled of animals and cleaning supplies. The man's day job was as head veterinarian at the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic.

Last time they talked about him, Laura recalled that he was mostly a quiet man, didn't like giving full answers, and Talia mostly found him annoying, though useful at times.

Derek stewed on the fresh thoughts of the vet being partly responsible for what happened. Now he's feeling some kind of pull to return, to demand answers, at the very least.

Magic, as far as Derek was concerned, has been far more bother than it's worth.

"I never liked Deaton, but he's all I know." Laura suggested.

"Oh, then all of this was your fault," Derek said in an attempt to lighten the mood. It took a second to realize that he just accused the emissary of letting the family come to harm because he and Laura didn't get along.

"No emissary and no wolf was responsible for what happened, Derek." That left only the implication of the hunter woman he'd let get too close.

With regard to that person, Derek only ever harbors stabbingly angry thoughts about what should happen to her. She'd lied, she'd taken advantage of his life inexperience, and in the end of it all, she failed to murder him with everyone else, and he simmered deep inside from a wound that hadn't healed. His eyes flash.

Laura doesn't look away. He's upset, and he's not great with expressing himself on the best of day. She doesn't flash her eyes back at him. She's not angry, she's sad that he keeps blaming himself.

Derek reads this on her face and understands. "Fuck!" he mumbles a disappointed apology. "It wasn't your fault." He punctuates the air more softly with a mumbled repeat of the exclamation.

"Derek." She has come to a conclusion and in that tone she's warning him to prepare himself for something he is going to dislike. "I think we need to go back. We'll be careful," she says as he gives her an irritated and skeptical. "We'll stay in another town, sneak in as wolves and investigate the Preserve and the house. Maybe check out Beacon Hills and," she said, conspiratorially, "get some donuts before we leave."

"Leave?"

"We don't have to stay. I just need answers."

He considers this. It's not a demand or a request, it's just what she's going to do and she knows he's coming with her. But the confectionary he'd not thought about in years comes back to him. "I forgot about the donuts! And because of you," he glares at her, "now I have to have one."

"Perfect!" she says. He makes a good show at faking indignation, but he's heading into his room and looking around. They weren't likely to come back, so he shoots a message to his boss about a family emergency and he starts packing.

She's looking from the main room at his back as he starts sorting things out. He's always the scaredywolf, and she starts to pull snacks together that they'll want for the long drive.

Chapter 2 - These Wolves Are Here To Play

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii've been working on the raaaaaaaaaaailroad!" the man shouts. "All the live-long daaaaaaaaayGAACK!" Choking sputters and spitting follows the interruption. The approaching wolves still and listen.

"What the crap?! I'm working on your stupid habitat here!" A triple spitting sound. "Leave me alone you big dumb m-moth!"

The wolves glance at each other and share a look that says, "This guy's got worse problems than his big, stupid voice."

Laura steps ahead, leading them closer, keeping the shrubs and other undergrowth between them and the person in the distance. This guy doesn't scream "Threat!" to anyone but himself, but even well-meaning people can lead to tragedy. It would be best, of course, if the guy happened to take off before they got near him.

But if he did, she warns herself, that could mean he knows they're coming. That would make him either a super or a magic user. If he stays for too long, they'll need to scare him out of there so they can take a look around.

Derek made a subvocal growl. He's always preferred the hostile approach to any conflict and she nudges him with a low-pitched growl of denial.

Derek huffs. He actually huffs at her.

What a whiny puppy.

"Rodzina," Stiles says to the wolf the second he realizes he's not alone.

And then he slaps his hand over his mouth, uncertain why he's speaking Polish. The wolf regards him, unflinching. "It's Polish for family." This creature is huge! Larger than any dog he's ever met, and it's broad and got a defined mane around its neck. It's a really beautiful and terrifying wolf. Oh, oh god. It's a freaking wolf.

The wolf glances at his chest and tilts its head at him. She seemed to know that word, somehow. How could that even happen? Well, he's happy she hasn't been all growly and dipping her head down and being mean.

"I'm sorry, but there's no food here, and I can't take you home and get you any." With real sorrow, since having a wolf pet would be totally awesome, but a really bad idea, he adds, "You're beautiful, but I can't can't have a pet."

The wolf chuffs at him.

What? A chuff! That's practically falling over with laughter in wolf terms, as far as Stiles is concerned.

"Hey! Don't chuff at me!" He's wiggling a finger at her. It's 10% aggression and 90% cowardice. He focuses on forgetting everything except that 10%. He nervously walks through his thoughts aloud because he can't help his mouth moving of its own accord at this moment.

"Okay, so fine, let's see... I'm gardening here, that's legitimately all I'm doing. No looking for secret treasure at the house or anything. You're coming here passing through or whatever, even though there haven't been wolves in this part of California in decades. I know you understand me, and you're pretending not to. But why don't you talk back?"

He is looking directly into her eyes before consciously realizing he's taking her measure. This is a specific thing he definitely remembers promising himself he'd never do if he were being challenged by a large predator in the wilderness. And yet, he's challenging this alpha wolf—

"You're an alpha wolf? How can there be alpha wolves when the whole scientific hypothesis was proven to be wrong?" He wants to ramble the name of the research article on the subject, and about the way the article was written, but manages to catch hold of his thought trains and redirect. "That's not important right now. It's crazy enough that I somehow know you can understand me clearly."

She's a smart wolf. Human-equivalent intelligence, for sure. She tries not to tilt her head in an approximation of doggy confusion, but it's a projection. Odd how that he's here gardening and along comes this alph—

"WEREWOLF?! You're a werewolf?!"

Stiles describes this later to his father as, "when all hell breaks loose."

The alpha wolf lifts her lips and growls at Stiles, who is immediately cowed. She's joined half a second later by another large wolf, slightly smaller than her as he is a beta, but he's also got very long and sharp and they're massive and this is a very bad place for him to be right now!

"Shit! I'm not delicious! Don't eat me!"

The alpha stops growling again, and seems to be shaking. The other wolf snarls at her. She snarls back.

Of fucking course! "You're siblings?" Okay, that's it, you need to tell me who you are. Between cautiouswolf and hyperprotective wolf," indicating the alpha and the beta in order, "who the hell are you?"

The beta keeps growling but defers reluctantly to the alpha. She studies Stiles, looking at him and not laughing wolfishly anymore. There's no hint of threatening demise, just curiosity.

It would be too far to say it's quite trust, but it's the recognition that the confusion is mutual and that there is no threat.

Stiles also looks at this as another opportunity to try to talk himself out of the situation. He gives explaining himself another try.

"I was here by accident the first time, and then I found the garden," he waves over to it, easily seen from where all three wolves stood. The beta wolf didn't take his eyes off Stiles, but the alpha regarded his handiwork without apparent comment and resumed studying Stiles.

"Keep talking," was the obvious implication. Order. It was definitely an order, and Stiles agreed that he should continue.

"My mom planted a garden exactly like this one at home. So finding such a unique one out here, at the site of," he looks at the house and murmurs, "really bad stuff is just weird." He feels his cheeks tighten and get heavy and a tear slips down his cheeks. "She died before she told me what all the plants are for. As far as I know she didn't even know the family." He turns around, letting embarrassment at his own emotions put his unguarded back at risk of wolfish sneak-attack.

There's a shuffling noise behind him that tugs his attention back and he wipes his face. It's blotchy, and gross, he's sure, but he's looking at the wolves.

Something quiet happened here while he was turned around. The male wolf is looking almost... ashamed in some way, and the alpha turns back to Stiles after a staredown with the beta and seats herself a step closer to Stiles.

He decides not to mention that moving closer is just as terrifying than all of the other scary things they've done because the seated pose is probably just a ruse to get him when he's vulnerable, but...

Thump.

That was a tail. He looks around her sitting form as if trying to find her tail. Her expression reads as, most likely, "You seriously need to chill." Off to the side, the beta just looks mean as ever and ready to chew on his soft and fleshy neck.

He pulls his phone out and texts his dad. He holds up a finger to the wolf who'd risen to her feet again.

"No, just a minute. My dad's expecting me and I need to let him know that I'll be a little late. I'm not telling him about our little one-sided conversation, which you really should join, by the way." The wolves seemed mollified, if not satisfied with the answer. Neither rises to the bait and starts speaking, so the beta keeps his ears rotating around, listening for danger, and the alpha's ears are firmly oriented in his direction.

"Do you know this place?" The ear flick of the alpha and the glance at the house let him connect some dots. "The Hale family lived here and you knew them."

For the next several minutes, Stiles explains what he has learned of the Hales from his look into the school archives, the police and fire reports, the insurance report he'd acquired through a friend of a friend who shall all remain nameless. He tells of the obituary and the news stories and the details that don't make sense.

He's speculating and journeying down educational, if difficult to follow sidetracks, and mentions one detail that catches the wolves' complete attentions. It was about the catatonic John Doe found a few days later a short walk from the highway.

"Oh? Uhh, I just think maybe there's a connection between that John Doe and the Hale fire. There's too many weird details, things that haven't happened at any other time in this town or probably any town. It's tidy and messy at the same time. I don't trust that."

He's been looking at things on his phone that are pictures or notes or scans of things he's found and looks for the rest of what he discovered about that John Doe.

"Look," he says as he flips the phone toward them. "I found evidence that— Oh, I don't know if you even see in color, or if you can read this in your current shape. Hopefully you're better than other canines about that but you're not answering questions right now, so we'll park that for later.

He reviews the notes and continues.

"I snuck into the hospital and I think this guy really could have been a family member or friend of the Hales. He was scarred badly, as if from a fire, and though he wasn't near the Hale house, the paramedics estimated he'd already suffered two days in the cool air in probably this very state."

The sad whine of them both went unnoticed through the racing thoughts of the human.

"I still think he looks like an age-progressed version of the Beacon Hills basketball team player I found in this picture."

He makes the face as large as he can. It's just a face, and it's blurry.

The first wolf shifts back to human. She says, "Who is this?"

Stiles gasps and then tries to pretend a wolf didn't just shift in front of him to human form and start asking him questions.

"This is a picture of Peter Hale."

She turns to the other wolf. "Derek!" and she motions at him to stand up, but the wolf Derek declines. It wasn't an order, but a move of cautious excitement. Derek's keeping a wary eye in the human's direction even as his sister looms closer to the phone and examines the picture.

"I'm sorry, madam alpha, or whatever is the right title, but you appear to have no clothes on and I am not prepared to um... talk with you in this manner at this time. And stuff."

She looks at him, and then herself, and shakes her head. "When it comes to werewolves, clothing is as optional as it gets."

"Oh, your kind can't transform your clothing when you shift?" Something subconscious snags his attention. "Are you sure about that?"

She looks at him. Her hair is a little wild, and she's strong even in this form. "I know more about werewolves than you do."

He tucks his phone in his pocket.

"Okay, look, fine, you want to talk in the nude. You do you, but I really am just going to need to leave right now and clear my head and then I can... I can come back tomorrow, yeah?" He's not sure why he's excited to return. They did nearly eat him several times in this conversation, based on the number of flashes of teeth he caught in the last several minutes.

"Fine, come back tomorrow, but do not tell anyone we were here."

Stiles nods, distracted, and takes a few tries before he gets all his gardening things stuffed back into his bag and gets himself situated for the ride out of the preserve.

"I'll be here just after five tomorrow, alright? I've got work, but I'll be here, and I'll bring some stuff you can look at. Please try to get some clothes or this is going to be awkward and I am really out of awkward for the day.

"You're really not," the alpha says. Stiles sputters.

"Hey!"

"Hey, family man," she says, referring to his Polish of earlier. "I'm Laura. Who are you?"

"I'm Stiles Stilinski."

The other wolf looks at him and hruffs, almost laughing.

Cripes, these siblings are already annoying him.

"Hey, asshole, it's my name. You'd break yourself trying to pronounce my first name, so be thankful for my gracious manner."

Stiles leaves slowly, trying to go faster, but it takes a while to get his body to let go of the anxiety enough to punish his legs on the pedals and fly as fast as he can without crashing.

Kind of a tall order, some days.

"I cannot believe I just promised I'd come back to chat with those man-eaters!" He gripes at himself. "Do they eat people? How do you even ask someone if they eat people? Especially if they can change shapes and have fangs and sharp pointy parts?" He listens to his intuition. Of course they're not cannibals. Or maybe they are if they're not considered humans. "UGH! They are gonna answer so many questions tomorrow or else!"

Derek has followed him silently for maybe half a mile, listening to the bewildering blitz of self-talk ranging from werewolves to garlic naan bread and Derek just gives up and heads toward the house, where Laura is waiting for him.

Chapter 3 - The Interposing

The sun is low now, shining bright fingers through the shattered window frames and vacant doorways of the shell of this old house. By coincidence of timing and place, Laura stands in a sunny shape on the decrepit porch. Derek listens to her adjusting her stance and watches as her fingers push through a beam of sunlight and trace the crackled texture of the carbonized door frame.

"You didn't stop him and make him tell us where Peter is."

She catches his meaning immediately. "Yeah, there's something at work here keeping me from chasing him away."

"You failed," he says, gesturing broadly at her exposed form. "He can't handle this much woman."

"Well, Derek, I've got the supernatural hookup. We all do. He's going to have to get used to all this." She looks at the smudges on her fingers. "But why didn't you stop him?"

"I don't know. And I only just realized it when I said it." Now Derek looks as confused as she had been. He wasn't even feeling hostile toward the Stiles, and that is the most irritating thing about this.

She shifts her hand through beta shift and to full wolf, then back again. It's a difficult transition, but since she could just focus and do it, Derek just observed as she shifted from human form through partial beta and partial full forms, and then back to full human.

Derek was curious what she was doing, and noticed her smile as he held her fingers up.

Every finger still had dirt.

"I've never thought about how we take dirt and things with us through the shift, but not our clothes."

"Are you suggesting that he can teach us to take clothing or tools into our shift?"

She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. The pack bond resonated with satisfaction, and he rolled his eyes.

"We don't know anything about him."

"I know, but if you could feel it, you'd know that this place needs us, Derek." She looks into the house from across the threshold. "And gardener Stiles is part of whatever is going on here." They were all called here. It's magic that bound them, brought them together, and seems to be managing their introduction.

"Is he the magic user?"

"There is ample potential. Surely you could feel that by the time he left."

"I hate magic," Derek grumbles as he thinks about it. Yes, he could tell Stiles was ignorant of his own potential and that worried Derek more than the fact that this stranger happened to suddenly be part of their lives in a way that captivates his alpha.

Laura snaps her fingers. "Yo, how could you not have heard me?"

Derek raises an eyebrow in defiance. Not his best move, but now it's her turn to roll her eyes and she repeats herself.

"Let's go find Deaton. If he's around, maybe he can help us figure out who this is and what kind of magic is being worked here."

"Can we pass the hospital, too? I'd like to see if we might find uncle Peter."

She nods. That matters a lot to both of them, too. She resolves that before 5pm tomorrow, they'll have gotten at least one answer to the question of what's going on. She leans into a full shift and Derek follows, chasing her as they race into the forest for the long route to the vet's office.

"My dad is going to kill me when he finds out I was talking with werewolves at the Hale house." He nearly skids to a stop and releases his clenched brake. He isn't a Hollywood stunts expert and he would not have recovered well from a solo crash on the pavement. His ego would be only one of his many bruised parts.

He considers 14 different stories that seem plausible enough, dismissed half of them outright as abominations, and spend the next minutes thinking up some 40 more before settling on the best candidate.

He parked his bike along the side of the house and walked quickly to the front, nearly crashing into his patient and curious father on the porch.

"Hello Stiles. You didn't say why you'd be late, but—"

"I was watching the sunset!" he interjected. Dad glances toward the sun now, indicating that the sunset isn't done yet.

"Nope, you weren't. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"

"Yes!" he squeaks, and then rushes his dad inside with a glance over his shoulder that lacks any essence of subtlety. He's checking the few houses in view to see if anyone in a homes or yard or car or suspicious van might be spying on them. He closes the door quietly and pointedly locks it.

"Are you sure this is necessary, Stiles?"

"Dad, my world has been supernaturally rocked tonight, and what I'm about to tell you will do the same for you."

#leninille #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

Reunion - DAY 4

Pairing: none. Just Snape

Word Count: 1,828

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: After years of not speaking to them, he visits his parents.

Warnings: none

A/N: Day four! My own challenging prompt for October again! HAPPY SPOOKTOBER! :D

Posted: 10/4/20

Masterlist

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Severus looked at the letter in his hands and reread the address, turning up to analyze the decrepit state of the house before him. There was tall grass all over the lawn, weeds growing between the stone slabs of the walkway, ivy growing up the rotting fence in spirals; it was depressing. He’d thought, when he received notice that his father had transferred their Spinner’s End house over to his name, that they’d done so because they finally had the opportunity to take all their saved up money and moved into a new house far away from him.

This house looked worse than the state of their old – now his – home. This run down shed was far from the city of Cokeworth, hidden deep in Muggle society where no one could have found them. His tired brain couldn’t fully comprehend how worth it had been for them to leave him behind without a note or trace in order to live in a moldy shoebox like this.

Severus pulled up his hood against the autumn wind and stuff the letter in his pocket. He stepped over the fence – broken to ankle height – and made his way down to the door, kicking through spider webs weaved between the tall fescue. He pulled his hood down as he reached the door and knocked cautiously. The letter was in his mother’s writing asking him to come at once, and he didn’t know if his father was around – or if he even lived.

The door opened and his mother – shorter than he remembered with long white hair the texture of straw – opened the door. She still had that sullen look about her, with drooping eyelids that seemed so harshly uncaring.

Severus opened his mouth to speak – Does she recognize me? – but she quickly turned, leaving the door open for him to close on his own. He stepped through and looked around. Newspapers littered the floor, falling off stacks by the walls. It wasn’t just Muggle papers, but Wizarding ones as well. He raised a brow. Father must be dead then, however the coughing in a different room told him otherwise.

He looked up and saw his mother, thin and frail, waiting for him across a small living room. He shut the door and that’s when it hit him. What’s that smell? It reeked inside the house. It smelled of decaying animals, by the dozens. He stepped into the living room and almost retched, feeling the carpet sink an inch under his weight. There was slime oozing out of the fibers, staining his shoes. Foul.

“Wh – ” he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word. This was all too much. He hasn’t seen his parents in eleven years, has lived in his childhood home alone, unaware if they were alive or dead, and he finally gets a letter asking him over and they live here? Look at the state of things!

“Think the house’s infested,” she said tartly.

He plugged his nose with his fingers and spoke nasally. “With what?”

She looked around and pulled back a box of empty bottles and cans with the toe of her shoe. A slimy green, eight-eyed sludge creature scurried away under a hole in the wall. Severus gagged and stared at the old woman before him. She shouldn’t look so old, and yet her skin sagged with wrinkles, outlining her unpleased eyes. “Bundimums. An infestation.”

“Why have you asked me here?” Severus backed away from her. “I haven’t seen you since I left for my seventh year of Hogwarts and you finally contact to – what – ask me to help you with a pest problem? Y-you don’t think I deserved – at the very least – some sort of note from you? You think one letter from the bank detailing the transfer of your house to me was enough?” Severus let go of his nose and gagged at the smell. He pinched it again and shut his eyes, trying his hardest not to cry.

“You left us, Severus,” she spoke quickly, as if it were a waste of breath. “We didn’t give you that house until you were twenty-one. Until we saw who you were involved with.” She shook her head in disappointment.

He scoffed. “You thought I’d come looking for you? Thought I’d come to kill you? I should have! After what you – and especially what HE put me through! You never cared when I left! You didn’t even try to owl me!” Tears seared hot on his skin. “If you’d known me at all you’d’ve known you were perfectly safe in that house!”

“Well I thought I did know y’better. I thought I’d taught y’better than to join that Muggle-hating cult.” She looked around again, pulling strands of white hair behind her ear. “But go if y’want. I won’t hold you here. Not like a’ever could.”

He hands balled into fists but he didn’t move. Her words stung more than they ever had before. He felt like a disappointment all over again. But she’d wrong. She taught me nothing but hate. I taught myself to fight against it. He breathed out calmly, fixing his composure. “Where’s Da?” For a second he wasn’t sure what to call him, ‘father’ or what he always did as a child. The accent he had now – taught to him by Lucius and other like him, rich and upper class – didn’t allow for the easy pronunciation. They always preferred to say ‘father’.

“Resting.”

He nodded and looked into the hallway. There was an open door with a bit of light shining out. “H… How is he? …I heard him cough.”

“Sick. With something. Doesn’ want t’go see a doctor.” She moved more boxes and stomped the life out of a bundimum, breathing heavy with age. She wiped her soles on the wet carpet and turned to him. “D’you want tea?”

“No.” Severus shook his head and moved more boxes, following the scampering slimes to their nest with his eyes. “They’re in the walls. It must be too crowded. They’re starting to spill out and over take the floors.” He dropped a box over a slime and winced as it splashed onto his trousers. “I’ll be ‘round tomorrow with… Bloody hell, I don’t know. Something. Goodbye.”

She opened the door for him and he gasped for fresh air as he exited the house. He shook his head and walked around the corner and ducked behind some bushes to apparate away.

~ * ~ * ~

He came back the next day with buckets of halophyte powder he’d gotten at discount in the apothecary. He knocked on the door and this time it was his father that had answered. He was hunched over and held pill bottles in his hands. His hair was cut short and a balding spot shone plainly on the crown of his head.

He no longer towered over him with muscles and bulging veins. He looked weak as well, and a little confused to be seeing him. “What’re you doin’? Why’re you here?”

Severus rolled his eyes and pushed the door open, watching his father shuffle out of the way. “Where’s Mam?”

His father wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brows. “Out in ‘er devil garden.” He moved into the kitchen and took down a glass, filling it with tap water.

At least the water looks clean. Severus followed him in, curious to see him so indifferent to his presence. He set down the heavy buckets. “How long has,” – he looked around at the dripping slime oozing from the walls, “… this been going on for?”

His father shrugged, gulping down several thumb nail-sized pills. “Few years?”

Severus gripped the counter. “Years?” He left his father and headed out the back door to the small garden of firethorns that his mother was tending to. “Your house has been infested with bundimums for years?”

She wiped her hands on her patched apron and nodded, looking up at him.

“Why? You’re a witch! You could have taken care of this yourself years ago!” He looked into her eyes and found something about them had changed, or, something in him had. He’d always feared his father, but his mother especially. He feared the possibility that she didn’t love him, or care for him. But in that instant he didn’t see a scared boy reflected in her dark eyes. He saw himself annoyed at her stupidity. She had always been a fool. He just hadn’t realized it before.

He turned on his heels and headed back inside. His father was still in the kitchen, struggling with his pills, trying not to tremble as he carefully tilted the bottle. Severus sighed and gritted his teeth as he reached for the bottle.

“You give that back!” His father gripped Severus’ collar but was too weak to shake him properly.

“Which ones do you need?” was all he said to his father’s act of aggression.

His father let go and made a large circle with his fingers reluctantly. “The big ones.”

Severus tipped the bottle enough to stick a slender finger in and pull out one of the large pills from the back. He handed it to his father and helped him with the glass of water as well and when he was ready to put the lid on the bottle he did that for him also.

Severus picked up the buckets and got to work on the house, pouring it along the walls and into vents. He made holes in the walls and poured the powder inside, hearing the bubbling sizzles of the sludge creatures as they died.

It took two days to get the whole house done, and only an hour to clean out the house with a few spells invented for the very purpose of bundimum messes. On the last day he repaired the holes in the walls with ‘reparo’ when his father wasn’t looking. The house was decent and all they needed to do was air out the place.

He grabbed his coat from their hanger by the door and called out to his parents. “I’ll be passing by weekly. If you need anything send me a letter.” They didn’t respond but he knew they both heard him. He shook his head and rolled his eyes to himself, knowing if they truly didn’t want his presence, they’d’ve done more than just complain under their breaths.

He closed the door and apparated behind the house again.

~ * ~ * ~

He reached the Hogwarts gate and locked it up, glaring at the few students who eyed the gate mischievously. He walked up the lawn and nearly slipped on some mud at the entrance. He steadied himself and looked up to see Minerva at the stairs on her way to dinner.

“How was your visit?”

Severus joined her. “It was… better.” Something deep in his heart mended, and he felt more whole.

Minerva gave him a warm smile and led them to the high table.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

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Day 4 Prompt: Swarms + bundimum (green many-eyed sludge-like pest known to infest houses; recognized by a foul smell of decay)

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General Taglist:

@severuslovebot @bionic-otp

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#my own snapetober #pro snape #october 2020 #severus snape #severus #snape #eileen snape #tobias snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #snape fan fiction #fanfic #one shot #fan fiction

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kaweeella · 3 years

Text

To Be The Best Me

Name still a work in progress.

Chapter 2- The Legality Is Questionable, So Don’t Ask Questions

Place your bets for Tsuzuru’s pokemon now, folks.

~~~

At the end of the day Izumi closes the book she was teaching from.

“I think today was pretty productive.”

“Yeah!” Sakuya puts his notes into his bag, his eevee yipping in agreement.

Izumi realizes something.

“What is it?” Sakuya notices the look on her face.

“Well, I wasn’t planning on staying here very long…” She admits. “I don’t have a place to stay.” And plane tickets are hell to cancel.

“Don’t worry! The school has a dorm!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda small,” To be expected, there’s only one classroom and only so many people can be legally taught in one room. It’s a fire hazard. “Mr. Matsukawa said that there’s a room specifically for the head teacher, which I guess would be you.” Considering she’s the only teacher? Yeah, probably.

“Alright, lead the way.”

They arrive at the dorms. In the common area Isuke is doing paperwork. He gives them a smile and wave.

“Ms. Tachibana,” Sakuya starts. “If you were only planning to stay a little while, why’d you bring so much stuff?”

“I don’t know, I thought maybe I could go sight seeing for a while before heading home. Plus I’m a cautious packer.” She then also realizes there are things she’s going to need to grab from her house. She wouldn’t be canceling the flight yet, and one ways are cheaper. Before any of that, though, she needs to find a substitute. Maybe it’s the fact that the school was on the brink of demolition when under his care, but Isuke doesn’t seem like the best choice.

“Alright, tomorrow we’ll be looking for more students and teachers.” Pokemon training isn’t required education, and the building looks a little worse for wear, so it’s understandable that people wouldn’t be jumping at the opportunity to sign their kids up.

“Why?”

“Sakuya, this can’t be a school with only one student and teacher. That’s just a tutoring session.” And she promised a full functioning school.

“Okay, it was getting a little lonely here.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?”

“Matsukawa, he needs to socialize with other kids his age.”

Their talk is interrupted with the sound of a gurgling stomach.

“Sorry…” Sakuya mumbles.

“I suppose that’s my cue to start dinner.” Isuke gets up and heads to the kitchen.

Izumi can see the light in Sakuya’s eyes die a little.

When Isuke is done, Izumi stares in horror at the plate in front of her. It hardly looks edible. But looks aren’t everything, right? Maybe it tastes better than it looks.

No, it’s just as bad as she feared.

“Alright, I’m cooking.” She grabs up the food and takes it to the kitchen. She can work with this. She’s worked with worse.

She quickly whips up some curry using the food and some stuff she can find in the kitchen.

“Here it is!” She says, putting the pot on the table.

“This is really good!” Sakuya says.

“How did you prepare this so fast? Did you use roux?”

Izumi laughs, but stops when she sees she’s the only one. “Oh my god you’re serious. You can’t make good curry with that store bought stuff. I didn’t see any in the kitchen, but if you have bought them, I’m throwing them away.”

“Right, of course.”

When they’re done eating Sakuya shows her her room. He and Isuke also help bring up her suitcase.

She lets out spinda and pachirisu to get used to their new home while she unpacks.

“So how do you guys think we’ll attract students?”

Pachirisu shuffles and a pink heart appears.

“No, Patch, not like that…”

“Spi spin!” Spinda calls, stumbling around.

She thinks. “Maybe I could use the advertisement as a lesson, as well.”

The next day she takes Sakuya out to a public battle area.

“Alright Sakuya. Today will be your first battle!”

“Really?”

“Yep. I’ll only be using spinda, so don’t worry about that.”

They get into proper position, Izumi lets pachirisu watch nearby.

“Alright Sakuya, give it your all!”

“Right!”

“Spinda use tackle!”

Spinda lunges towards eevee, almost missing, knocking him back.

“Eevee! Use covet!”

Eevee runs towards spinda and swipes at her.

“Good job, Sakuya!”

“Thanks!”

“Now, spinda use copycat!”

Spinda stumbles forward and slashes at eevee in a similar manner.

“What’s that?”

“Copycat allows the pokemon to use the move the opponent used just before it.”

“Cool! Eevee, use sand attack!”

He kicks up sand as the wind picks up, sending it at spinda.

“You know what to do!”

Spinda lunges forwards to tackle, but misses.

“Tackle!”

Eevee hits the spinda and she stumbles. The spinda pushes back, hitting eevee.

“Woah, you didn’t even tell her to do that!”

Izumi looks away and rubs the back of her neck. “Yeah, it’s not all that impressive.” She only knows two moves.

“Sand attack!”

Eevee kicks up dirt and spinda tackles him. After some back and forth, Sakuya comes out victorious.

“Congrats on winning your first battle!”

“Thank you!”

She hands him some money.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s customary for the loser to give money to the victor.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“No, you earned it.”

“Ah, thank you.” He sheepishly takes it.

They turn to grab their stuff when Izumi notices they drew someone’s attention.

“Hey! Are you interested in joining our trainer school?”

“Do you work there?”

“Yep! I’m the main teacher.”

“Okay.”

“Good to meet you, I’m Izumi Tachibana.”

“Masumi Usui. I love you.”

Izumi lets out an awkward laugh. “What?”

“Oh hey Masumi!” Sakuya runs over.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, we went to the same school before. He’s a year behind me.”

“So Masumi, do you have your own pokemon?”

“No…”

“That’s alright, I’ll help you catch one!” Masumi perks up. Well this’ll be an experience. “You saw spinda, and this is pachirisu.” The little squirrel climbs up to get a good look at him. He grabs him and holds him out.

“Ah, be careful-” Before she can let out a proper warning, pachirisu discharges, causing Masumi to throw him.

The three of them run after him.

“Hashiru!” They hear someone yell. Suddenly patchiru is grabbed out of the air by a machamp.

“Thank you so much.” Izumi takes back pachirisu, who skitters onto her shoulder.

“No problem.” The man smiles.

“Sorry…” Masumi says.

“No, I should be the one apologizing. It’s not your fault.”

“Machamps are pokemon that evolve through trade, right?” Sakuya asks.

“Yeah, I got him from my brother to help around the house.”

“You have a machamp… just to do house chores?” Izumi looks at him.

“Well it’s good to have an extra pair of hands or two, but we also play soccer.”

A machamp… to play soccer…

“We met him when he was a machop and when he saw us playing he wanted to play too. He’s really gentle. I also have a leavanny but I leave her at home.”

“You see, leavanny makes sense to take care of kids.” She thinks for a moment. “So you’ve had these guys for a long time, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to teach at my school?”

“W… what?”

“Do you wanna teach at my school? We have some rooms if you wanna use one. Free meals.”

“I don’t have any experience.”

“That’s fine! You seem to know a lot, and I’m gonna be heading out in a little while and I’ll need someone to watch the class. You don’t need teaching experience to be a sub.”

“I guess… sure. Can I meet the class?”

She steps to the side. Sakuya is smiling and Masumi is glaring at him. “Here they are.”

The man thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure what I was expecting from someone willing to hire a stranger off the street.”

“Izumi Tachibana! I hope you enjoy working with us!”

“Tsuzuru Minagi.”

“Alright. I was just planning on heading back, and I need to show Masumi around, wanna come with?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Oh, I should mention,” She turns to Masumi. “If you wanna stay in the dorm you’re gonna need permission from your parents.”

“You do?” Sakuya asks.

“Yes…” She looks at him. “Sakuya, please tell me you got permission to stay in the dorm.”

…

“Oh my god this has been a kidnapping.”

“It’s not kidnapping if I-”

“How old are you?”

“17.”

“It’s a kidnapping, Sakuya. We’re getting permission for you.”

“How do you not know this?” Tsuzuru asks.

“I only started working there yesterday!”

“And you’re allowed to hire people?”

“You should’ve seen how I got hired. Not important right now. Come on, we’re going back to the dorms and calling your parents.”

“I’ll give you my guardians number.”

“You probably won’t get an answer.”

When they get back to the dorm, Izumi nearly knocks the door off its hinges.

“You didn’t contact his guardians?!”

“Ah!” He jumps.

“Matsukawa that’s a crime! Why didn’t you?”

“He told me not to worry about it!”

“Oh yeah, that’d hold up in court!” She grabs the phone and starts to dial. “Hello, am I speaking to the guardians of Sakuya Sakuma?”

The person on the other end sighs. “Yes. What about him?”

“I’m a part of the Mankai pokemon school, I was wondering if it’s okay if he stays in our care, we have a dorm-”

“Yes. Keep him.”

“Okay, have a good day.” She hangs up. “Alright Sakuya, you’re good to stay.”

He gives a small smile and a thumbs up.

She dials the number Masumi gave her. They don’t pick up.

“Hello, I am Izumi Tachibana, the head teacher at Mankai pokemon school. Your son, Masumi, wants to join our school and stay at our dorms. I need your permission for it, so call back when you can!” She leaves a message.

“I told you he wouldn’t pick up…”

“Regardless, I still needed to ask him. At least now he knows and can call back.”

“So who’re they?”

“This is Masumi, our newest student, and Tsuzuru, our newest teacher.”

“Good to meet you.” Tsuzuru says.

Masumi just looks at him.

“So now let’s start the tour!” She starts to show them around before pausing. “Matsukawa, start the tour!”

“What? Why me?”

“Because I just got here yesterday. You know the place better than I do.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

#a3!#a3! sakuya #a3! masumi #a3! tsuzuru #a3! act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #act addict actors au #pokemon au #a3! fanfic

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thedroidsyouarelookingfor · 3 years

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The absolute worse thing about the High Republic so far is

setting up a 15 year old Jedi Knight, then introducing a 14 year old Padawan who greatly resents her...and then making them Master and Apprentice.

I will rant more about this under the cut because my thoughts have to go somewhere and I want to scream about how dumb it is!

First of all, I like Light of the Jedi and I’m still excited for all the High Republic stuff coming out, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I CAN’T RANT ABOUT THE DUMB THINGS THEY DO

Just because you can pass the trials on your first try does not mean you are ready for the full responsibility of being a Jedi Knight!

It’s like... those kids who are smart enough to take college classes when other kids their age are in middle school...no one says that just because a child can take college classes that they can also do your taxes, or adopt children, buy a house, or drive! lol

We are told Vern is a prodigy, but A Test of Courage did not show me anything to make me believe it. Instead, I very much get the sense that she is immature. You can read my review of it here. But the point is, by no stretch of the imagination should it be acceptable to put a 14 year old padawan with a 15/16 year old Jedi Knight. It doesn’t matter how “great” the older one supposedly is. They are fundamentally less qualified due to lack of experience. And having someone under you so close in age is a recipe for disaster. He tried to kill her already, mind you.

It’s not great for that Padawan either! He deserves someone who knows what they’re doing! I mean, Obi Wan was in his mid twenties as a padawan! How would you like to have a Master who is a year or two older than you? I wouldn’t like it very much! World building in Star Wars is a disaster, but there should be some rule in the Order that someone has to be a Knight for a certain amount of time before taking on a padawan. Good students on Earth don’t immediately become teachers. They have to train to be teachers first! But Vern was a padawan like two seconds ago herself. The whole thing is so dumb.

It is such a bizarre and ridiculous choice that I find myself feeling quite wary over any future High Republic books that feature the two characters.

#high republic spoilers #just Star Wars thoughts

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getalittleclosey · 4 years

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100k+ larry fic rec

hi! i’m becca and i read...so much fic. these rec lists are an accumulation of fic that i’ve read or reread and extra loved from 2016-now. there’s a wide range of stuff here and i think there’s definitely something for everyone!! i divided them up by length so you can check out all those categories below!

please make sure to read tags and warnings on all these fics!! the only things i think i can guarantee is that these are all larry, there’s no non-con, no age play, no eating disorders, no mentions of bg, they end happy, and they’re mostly aus. oh and they’re all on ao3 and some are locked so you’ll need an account! anyway i hope y’all enjoy!!!

under 5k

under 10k

under 25k

under 50k

under 100k

☆ with a whimper by kitundercover 133k

Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger. ---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

☆ never be by cherrystreet 118k

Monica: You've got to see her again. Ross: And why do you care so much? Monica: Because! You could get to live out my fantasy! Ross: You had fantasies about Emily? Monica: No! Y’know, the fantasy! Meet someone from a strange land, fall madly in love, and spend the rest of your lives together.

The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.

☆ that sounds fake but okay by dancingontheceiling 113k

Harry Styles is a rookie journalist forced to work the gossip desk at a major New York magazine. Louis Tomlinson is the A-list actor who doesn't appreciate Harry or his articles.

☆ if it kills me by you_explode 111k

Harry and Louis have worked together in a difficult office environment for six years. They're best friends; Louis is the bright spot of all of Harry's days. But Louis is in love with Harry, and Harry's engaged to someone else. And that's only the beginning.

The Office AU. More or less follows the first five seasons. A lot of pining and misunderstanding the depth of feelings and rejection and angst, until there isn’t.

☆ shake me down by agreatperhaps12 209k

Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

☆ love is a rebellious bird by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews 135k

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

note: i fucking love this one. my current car is named thunder because of it (all the cars i’ve leased over the last 9 years have been named after vague larry fic references)

☆ one more time again by orphan_account 232k

Harry looks down to where Louis is cradling his hand between his own. Louis' hands are slender, the bones delicate, the nails bitten short. The 2-8 on the backs of his fingers is gone, but the faded scar from a skateboarding mishap in Year 7 is still there.

Harry's hand is awkward, knobby-boned and naked, no rings, no tattoos. It's too big for his wrist and his wrist too big for his arm. Yet it still somehow fits in Louis' in the painfully perfect way it always did.

He blinks back the sting in his eyes.

On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right.

A canon-compliant fix-it fic (sort of).

note: there’s a 15k second part

☆ soft hands, fast feet, can’t lose by dolce_piccante 113k

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

note: there’s a 5k second part to this

extra note: idk if this is an unpopular opinion but i’ve always preferred this over escapade or rntm

☆ paint me in a million dreams by green_feelings 113k

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

☆ walk that mile by purpledaisy 150k

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

☆ landslide by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona) 143k

The year is 1976. In November, Jimmy Carter will take control of the White House. Americans are meeting Laverne & Shirley at their apartment in Milwaukee. Hotel California diverges from the reign of Kool & the Gang. And the FBI is still reeling from the repercussions of Watergate, the tragedy at Wounded Knee, Operation Family Secrets, and the strategic terrors of the anti-cult movement.

That's what Special Agent Harry Styles has been told is the basis of his mission to an abandoned farmhouse in rural New Hampshire.

With his hair grown out long and his shirt untucked, he's going undercover to do reconnaissance on suspected cult leader Louis Tomlinson, who has led a group of people out into the middle of nowhere, leaving no record of the life he'd had before. All Harry knows is what the agency gave him: Tomlinson's name, and instructions to figure out what he's doing with the eleven people he brought with him.

In the year that Harry spends undercover and under Louis Tomlinson's wing, he learns more than he ever expected.

note: i will rep this fic until the day i die. even my mom knows how much i love landslide

#fic rec #one direction #larry stylinson #mine #longgggg fics #11 of these!#fic masterpost

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