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skellebonez · 3 years

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okay i know you probably have lots of prompts already but. listen; 28 and 41 with my Phantom Thief MK AU (well its more of a phantom thief everyone au but yeah)

So I maaaaay have been a smidgen inspired by one very specific post you made about this AU and Sun Wukong's first successful heist... I couldn't resist, it was just too funny.

You call this luck? No, this is all skill./Can you teach me how to do that?

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

The question wasn't an unusual one between the two of them. MK had asked this of Sun Wukong on more than one occasion as successor to the Monkey King as the Monkie Kid himself.

No, what was unusual was that the question came from the opposite person.

"Teach you... what, exactly?" MK asked, trying not to feel too smug about the swap in roles between mentor and apprentice. After all...

Someone had to teach Sun Wukong the finer points of Phantom Thievery.

"You know what," Wukong said with a half scowl, gesturing to way that his student (or, for the moment now that the question was asked, his teacher) was rolling an large pendant between his fingers. "Not the... you know, what you're doing now, but what you did with the pendant on your last heist where you threw it at a guard and it kind cracked in the middle with the smoke and light and stuff."

"OH," MK laughed out, tossing up and catching the coin in his opposite hand. "That's not really a trick or anything, just some incredibly strong flash paper, and other stuff, that's activated when you open it the right way."

In demonstration the young Phantom Thief did something in the way he held the pendant and one end slipped up with a soft cracking sound. Then he did something else and it open like a clam shell. He held it out to the elder, letting him see the inner workings and how it had latches and some kind of folding wall between the two sides.

"Opening it causes a chemical reaction between the two compartments. The real trick is getting everything inside without accidentally activating it on yourself, practicing the opening motion, knowing when to open it, and aiming it just so that it blinds your target at just the right moment. You know, this is probably just the right time to teach you how to use lines to keep this stuff in your sleeves and retract them too! So..."

As MK launched into a lengthy explanation on how this particular bit of his Phantom Thievery repertoire worked he failed to notice the slowly growing smirk on the Monkey King's face.

"What, uh... what ya got there?" MK asked, very obviously trying to keep an impassive and non-judgemental expression. And failing.

"... smoothies," Wukong answered, absolutely not hiding what he was holding in his tail behind his back as he offered one of the two drinks in his hands to the younger.

It was a poor attempt at lying, which was odd because MK knew that Sun Wukong was pretty good at lying. He had managed to convince the other that he had no idea his successor was a phantom thief for so long after all. But why in the world he seemed to be hiding a... pillow of some sort behind his back was anyone's guess.

"Why'd you bring smoothies?" He chanced asking instead, and he watched as the other's face lit up in pure victory and jubilation.

"They're victory smoothies, Bud!" Wukong exclaimed, shoving one at MK until he took it from the other. "I just completed my first successful heist! And I did pretty well, if I do say so myself." The Monkey King smirked, puffing out his chest in a show of confidence as he took a sip of what was obviously a peach smoothie. "Oh yeah, tastes like a job well done."

"Really!?" MK exclaimed, his own pride welling up knowing that he had a hand in this since he was the other's mentor in thievery. He'd told the other to start small, something that would be missed but not something that would gather immediate attention from the whole city just in case something went wrong. "That's great! What did you steal?"

"I'm not telling."

This made the younger pause, raising a brow as the elder not so subtly tossed the pillow into a nearby bush.

"... should I be concerned?" MK asked, knowing that with Wukong's reputation... he may have bitten off far more than he could chew. This was the immortal who went on a spree through Heaven that ended up with him eating a ton of immortality peaches, drinking immortality alcohol, and taking immortality pills. Among other things.

"No way!" Wukong assured, chugging more and more of his smoothie with seemingly no regard for the possibility of brain freeze. "Trust me, bud, this went off without a hitch. You have nothing to worry about."

Those words came back to to bite Sun Wukong in the ass.

Or, rather, they came back to throw Sun Wukong through MK's window at "way too early for this o'clock" in the morning right after he had finished sleepily getting ready for another day at work and accidentally nodded back off on his bed.

The weight of an immortal stone monkey slamming into you was much more effective than any alarm clock he'd ever used before.

"WHATWHOWHERE!?" MK wheezed out once the Monkey King climbed off him, looking around in confusion until his eyes finally fell on a third party in the room. "M-Macaque!?"

"Where's my couch you wanna be Phantom Thief!?" Macaque yelled, completely ignoring the person who's house he had just inadvertently broken into. He brushed bits and pieces of broken glass and window frame out of his fur with a scowl of anger. "I actually paid for that."

"You really think I would tell you where I stashed it?" Wukong snarked back, smirking wide as he crossed his arms. "A Phantom Thief never reveals the location of their treasure trove to their marks."

"Wait wait wait-" MK said, holding up his hands and finally grabbing the attention of the two fighting immortal monkeys. "You just crashed through my window... because... You were his first heist mark... and Monkey King's first successful heist was your couch?"

"Got it in one, Bud!" Wukong said with a laugh, not seeming to care that Macaque was slowly stewing in more and more anger and frustration. "I wouldn't have even been noticed if he hadn't come home part way through either, he's normally out later than that."

"You sent me a calling card you dumb ass!" Macaque yelled, falling into a fighting stance. "Just because you got lucky enough to get away last time-"

"You call this luck?" Wukong yelled back with a laugh, smirking as he pulled something out of his sleeve and tossed it at Macaque. "No, this is all skill!"

MK barely had time to register what happened before Wukong grabbed him and covered his eyes and a tiny explosion and a pained yelp sounded behind them as they jumped out his broken window.

"SUN WUKONG YOU GET BACK HERE BEFORE I CAN SEE AGAIN OR ELSE!" Macaque yelled, right before another pained yelp was heard. "Holy shit, Kid, why do you have so much stuff on your floor, who lives like this, I can't even WALK in here!"

MK never got to answer or be offended at the immortal before he was tossed over Wukong's shoulder as he made a break for it running through alleyways at breakneck speed before Pigsy's Noodles was no longer even in sight.

They stopped eventually, the immortal monkey putting MK down before looking around to make sure they hadn't been tailed by the other immortal. After a couple minutes it was clear that Macaque had either not followed him due to the blinding effects of the flash paper or had not been able to catch their trail. The two of them each breathed a sigh or relief, looked at each other...

And immediately burst into laughter.

They couldn't help it! It was just... so ridiculous! All that over a heisted couch. Pigsy was sure to be upset at the damage to MK's apartment but given Mystic Monkey Business and all he was certain that the fact it was only a broken window this time would be a decent balm on the damage.

"Macaque is going to get you back for this," MK managed to get out through laughs. "We lost him and now he's going to find another way to get you back, I know it."

"What's he gonna do, steal my couch?"

"HE STOLE. MY COUCH."

"How'd he even get to the mountain?"

"HE. STOLE. MY. COUCH!"

"I think you're missing the bigger issue he-"

"HESTOLEMYCOUCH!"

"I KNOW STOP YELLING!"

MK slapped a hand over Wukong's mouth, only barely cutting off and muffling the scream of disbelief and frustration that the Monkey King let out at the state of things.

"Why are you focused on the fact that Macaque stole your couch and not the fact that he somehow got into the part of Mount Huaguo that we have to let someone into, BROKE INTO YOUR HOUSE. and for some reason he ONLY stole your couch?"

"Oh, he's broken in before," Wukong answered once he pried MK's hand away from his face. "But I can't believe that asshole! I stole his couch as a joke, stealing mine back is just petty."

"What do you mean he's broken in before?" MK continued, voice tense and high and totally not at all feeling suddenly very anxious about this new knowledge. "Macaque's just been able to come and go as he pleases this whole time?"

"Yeah, kinda. Not exactly as he pleases but he can just come in I guess."

"These are the kinds of things you need to tell your student- I thought we talked about proper communication as one of our first lessons!"

"... oops?"

"When did you get a new couch?" Red Son asked with a raised brow, watching as the immortal monkey lounging on it swished his tail back and forth in contentment.

"Heisted it," Macaque answered with a smirk. "Totally worth it. But next time I'm stealing Peach's tv too, this is so comfy I could use some proper entertainment."

"YOU STOLE SUN WUKONG'S COUCH???"

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #phantom thieves au #gen fic #sun wukong #monkey king #six eared macaque #mk #qi xiaotian #humor fic #fanfic #prompt fill #this was WAY too much fun to write #i based the pendant partially on something from an episode of detective conan #not a kaitou kid episode though just a regular one #as well as some magic tricks I've seen close up magicians perform as well

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the-al-chemist · 2 years

Text

Artemis Hexley and the Portrait of the Vault

Chapter 3: Trials and Tribulations

A/N: Artemis helps Jae Kim make some sauce and a first year make a friend. Professor Rakepick takes her first lesson of the year, and Orion Amari holds tryouts for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. This chapter features my goddaughter Lizzie Jameson, who belongs to @lifeofkaze. Warnings: discussion of Unforgivable Curses and Jae Kim’s jokes.

The first week of term passed by in a blur, and for the fifth years, it was not a fun week at all. It seemed as if every lesson, the teachers kept mentioning the importance of the exams they would be taking at the end of the year. By Friday, Artemis was sick of hearing about the O.W.L.s.

“I don’t even care about my Arithmancy grade,” she muttered to Rowan after their first Arithmancy lesson of the year, which Professor Vector had started with a fifteen minute speech on revision techniques. “We all know I’m going to fail it.”

Rowan, predictably, had already made a timetable for her revision, and was studying every single night in the library. In the interest of being responsible, Artemis had taken to joining her and doing the same, until Friday night, when she had her first detention in the kitchens.

When she arrived, she realised that she was not the only student there. Sitting on a low table was Jae Kim, a Gryffindor boy in her own year.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, hopping up onto the table next to him.

“Got caught smuggling ever-bashing boomerangs into the castle in my trunk,” Jae said. “McGonagall sent me here as punishment. Apparently she got the idea from Sprout. What about you, what are you in here for?”

“Let’s see,” Artemis started to count on her fingers, “sneaking out after hours, flying into the Forbidden Forest, breaking into Filch’s office, directly disobeying Professor Dumbledore...”

“You really are a funny kind of prefect.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Jae Kim! Artemis Hexley!” a high-pitched voice called out. Artemis turned around to see a house elf, clad in a pillow case, standing on the bench next to her. “My name is Pitts, Sir and Miss, and I am in charge of the kitchens. Follow me, please and thank you.”

Artemis shrugged at Jae, and the two of them followed Pitts the house elf to large stove, a sink, and a pile of pots and pans.

“There is pots and pans to be cleaned, and food to be cooked,” he told them. “Professor Dumbledore tells me you cannot use magic!”

“Do you want to cook or clean?” Jae asked, after Pitts had walked away.

“Don’t mind, really. Maybe cooking?”

“Are you any good at cooking?”

“I’m alright. My mum sometimes isn’t well enough to cook, so I learnt how to make some things.”

“Like what?”

“Eggs on toast, beans on toast, marmite on toast...”

“What a wide and varied repertoire,” Jae said, sarcastically. “Can you make anything that isn’t toast-based?”

He smirked at her. Artemis thought for a moment, before grinning back at him.

“Rarebit,” she said, proudly.

“That’s just cheese on toast.”

“Fine, I’ll clean.”

It turned out that Jae was quite the chef. Artemis watched over the top of the dishes as he threw ingredients around, occasionally stopping to dip a spoon into his concoction and taste a small amount, frowning slightly before reaching across for something to add. After an hour and a half, both he and Artemis had finished their respective tasks.

Artemis wasn’t sure what Jae had made exactly, but it looked like a sauce of some kind, and it smelt good. She wiped her damp hands on the front of her robes, and leant over to dip her finger into the mixture.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jae said, slapping her hand away. “Use a spoon, you animal!”

“But then I’d have to wash up the spoon!”

“I don’t care, you are not sticking your grubby little fingers in my cooking. Godric knows where they’ve been.”

“They’ve not been anywhere!”

“Oh yeah,” Jae sniggered. “Forgot which Hufflepuff prefect I was talking to for a minute there.”

Artemis rolled her eyes at him, and fetched a spoon from the draining board. She dipped it into the sauce, and placed it in her mouth. The sauce was rich, warm, and densely spiced. It was delicious. She went to put the spoon back into the sauce, but this time, Jae grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her arm back.

“Hygiene, Artemis!” he said. Artemis sighed, and washed up the spoon.

Pitts dismissed them, after a brief inspection of Jae’s sauce (“Jae Kim has put in too much pepper!”) and Artemis’ dishes (“Artemis Hexley has missed a spot!”), and the two of them started to walk back to the Great Hall.

“I didn’t think you put in too much pepper,” Artemis told Jae.

“Thank you. A compliment like that really means a lot, coming from a culinary mastermind such as yourself.”

“Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“My grandma taught me.”

“She taught you well. You must be brilliant at Potions.”

“I’m alright,” Jae nodded. “The problem with Potions is that Snape makes you follow a recipe. I’m much better at just making it up as I go along.”

“Can you do that with Potions?”

“I do. Nothing’s gone wrong yet.”

Artemis nodded slowly. The year before, Jae had made and sold bottles of Beautification Potion in the lead up to the Celestial Ball. From what she could remember, the results had been unreliable, to say the least. She made a mental note to never buy a potion from Jae.

In the Great Hall, she took a seat with Rowan, Penny and Tonks, and food appeared on the table. She helped herself to a large portion of Jae’s cooking.

“Trust me,” she told her friends, “it’s really good.”

As she was eating, a first year girl with a round face and even rounder glasses approached her.

“Um, Artemis,” said the girl, in a timid voice. Artemis swallowed.

“Yes, um...”

“Elora. Elora Dunn.”

“What’s up, Elora?”

“Well, you said at the start of term feast that when you were in first year you got bullied.”

“Well, not really. My friend Ben got bullied more than me, but I did almost get murdered,” Artemis told Elora. behind her, Rowan tutted and Penny sighed. “What? I did.”

“There’s a boy in my year, and he keeps calling me names. Because I’m Muggleborn.”

“Right,” said Artemis, laying down her cutlery and standing up, “where is this boy? I’ll deal with him”

“Please don’t! He’ll only be worse if I get him into trouble.”

“You can’t let him get away with it,” Artemis said, but Elora shook her head. She looked as if she might cry. Artemis softened. “Elora, what do your friends say you should do?”

“I don’t... I don’t have any friends,” Elora said, miserably. “I just don’t fit in with the other girls in my dormitory.”

“You know, I thought that too, when I first came to Hogwarts, but look at all of us now,” Artemis gestured to Rowan, Tonks and Penny. Looking at Penny gave her a sudden idea. “Tell you what, Elora, let’s find you a friend, and then I’ll talk to this boy’s prefect. Hey, Beatrice!”

Penny’s sister’s little blonde head popped up over the top of the row of students, and she peered at Artemis like a meerkat. Artemis beckoned her with her hand, and she came over to where Artemis was standing with Elora.

“Beatrice, this is Elora. After dinner, I want you two to go into my dormitory, take the box of Gobstones off the bookcase, and take it to the Common Room to play games. You can stay up as late as you like, I don’t care. Just keep playing until you’re friends, okay?” the two girls nodded, and so did Artemis. “Good. Now, what house is this boy in?”

“Slytherin.”

“Fine,” Artemis said, and she stormed over to the Slytherin table, where she stood, bearing down over Merula Snyde, hands on her hips. “Oi, Merula!”

Merula looked up at her, slowly, a disinterested look on her pale, pointed face

“What do you want this time, Hexley?” she drawled.

“I want you to control your bloody first years, that’s what I want.”

“What are you on about?”

“One of your students has been bullying one of mine.”

“Maybe one of your students just can’t take a joke.”

“Oh, no. Don’t you give me that,” Artemis said. She hadn’t realised that her voice was raised, but by the number of people sitting nearby who were now openly listening to the conversation, she must have been talking rather loudly. “This is serious. I know you had no problem being a bully in your first year, but you’re a prefect now. Get your act together, and put a stop to it.”

“How do you expect me to do that, Hexley?”

“I don’t know, Merula. You’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, you figure it out.”

Artemis and Merula glared at each other, before Merula made a disdainful noise and returned to her food, scowling. Artemis turned on her heel and strode back over to the Hufflepuff table. On her way past Beatrice and Elora, who were chatting away to each other, she bent down and muttered to them:

“If that boy gives you any more trouble, you tell me, okay?”

The two girls nodded their heads, and returned to their conversation.

Skye Parkin approached Artemis in the common room that evening. She didn’t look any happier than when Artemis had seen her with Professor Sprout.

“Amari is nae going tae budge, the tadger,” she said to Artemis, who squinted at her as she tried to understand what she meant. “So, it looks like yer going tae have tae try out like everyone else. Including the team.”

“Right,” Artemis nodded. “When are the tryouts?”

“Next Sunday. Are ye still keen?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Smashing. See ye then, hen.”

“Did you understand a word of that?” Tonks asked, as Skye walked away.

“Not every word. But I knew what she meant. Can I borrow your broomstick next Sunday? I promise I won’t take it into the Forbidden Forest.”

There was one other thing Artemis needed to ask permission for before she could attend the Quidditch tryouts.

“Madam Rakepick,” she said, approaching her new teacher before the start of her first Defence Against the Dark Arts Lesson.

“Professor Rakepick,” the former Curse-Breaker corrected her.

“Professor. Yeah, of course.”

“I doubt that you came here to quibble over my title, Miss Hexley. Say what it is you have to say and take your seat so that I can start my lesson.”

“Right, well, I know last year we had our Curse-Breaking sessions on Sunday mornings, and I wanted to know if that’s going to be the same this year, too, and if so, could I miss this Sunday?” Madam Rakepick said nothing, she merely raised one eyebrow at Artemis, who continued, “It’s just that the Quidditch tryouts are then, and I really want to try and make the team. As Chaser. So I can’t come to Curse-Breaking on Sunday.”

“First, you asked me if you could miss it. Now, you’re telling me that you won’t be there. Decide whether you’re asking or telling me, and stick to your decision.”

Artemis frowned, and nodded her head.

“I’m telling you, Professor. I’m not going to be there,” she said.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Rakepick smiled curtly. “Now, sit down.”

Artemis took a seat in the front row, next to Tonks. Madam - no, Professor - Rakepick stood at the front of the classroom and watched in silence as the class chattered quietly, waiting for the class to begin. The noise faded away as one by one, the students noticed Rakepick regarding them with a disinterested expression.

“Three minutes,” she said, once the class was silent. “Three minutes you have been sitting and talking, when you could have been learning. Next time you enter my classroom, you will be ready to start immediately.”

It was an order, not a question. Several of Artemis’ peers shared apprehensive looks. Rakepick continued, ignoring them.

“Judging by the quality of your previous instruction in the subject - or, more accurately, the lack thereof - I would have expected you to have realised that you cannot waste single moment of our lesson time on idle chitchat. You must know why these classes are important,” she paused, and raised her eyebrows. No one dared speak. Rakepick tutted. “I am waiting for one of you to give me the reason.”

“Because we have our O.W.L.s this year,” Rowan said.

“What an incredibly puerile answer, Miss Khanna. No, I have absolutely no interest in getting you to pass exams. I am here to teach you to defend yourselves against dark magic, not how to jump through hoops for the Ministry of Magic. However, as arbitrary as the Ministry’s testing may be, I am still expected to cover the syllabus. With that in mind, let’s start today’s lesson. Be sure to pay attention. Listening to what I tell you could save your lives one day.”

The class shuffled in their seats uncomfortably in their seats as Professor Rakepick leant against her desk.

“The curses we are covering today are three of the most dangerous and dark spells known to wizard - and witch - kind. They are collectively known as the Unforgivable Curses, so called because the use of any one of them is enough to legally justify an Azkaban sentence.”

“And ethically, too,” said Tulip, her almond-shaped-eyes narrowed at the Professor. Rakepick blinked.

“I don’t take kindly to interruptions, Miss Karasu,” she said, shortly. “If I want someone to speak, I shall ask a direct question, or at least pause and indicate facially that I wish for verbal contribution. Do I make myself clear?”

Professor Rakepick cocked an eyebrow at Tulip, who glowered back at her in silence.

“Now, that was a direct question, and I did pause and indicate facially that I wished for you to make a verbal contribution. Let’s try that again, Miss Karasu. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Tulip said, grudgingly, her face still tense. Rakepick pursed her lips, and Tulip added, “Professor.”

“Good. Perhaps you would like to tell the class about one of the Unforgivable Curses. I understand your parents both work in the Ministry of Magic, you must have some knowledge on the subject.”

“The Imperius Curse,” Tulip suggested. “It gives someone total control over the victim. Turns them into a magical slave.”

“Indeed it does. Does anyone else know any Unforgivable Curses?”

Unsurprisingly, both Rowan - who knew everything about everything - and Tonks - whose favourite subject was Defence Against the Dark Arts - both raised their hands. Professor Rakepick nodded her head at Rowan.

“There’s the Cruciatus Curse,” Rowan said. “It causes intense and unbearable pain in the victim, and is used as a form of magical torture.”

“A textbook definition if ever I heard one,” Rakepick flashed an insincere smile. “Two down, one to go. Mr Winger, the last curse, if you please.”

At the back of the classroom, Talbott Winger broke his usual silence to answer Professor Rakepick.

“The Killing Curse,” he said, slowly.

Artemis bit her bottom lip. She knew that Talbott’s parents had been killed by Death Eaters during the war, but had never considered how. She tried to meet Talbott’s eye so that she could give him a reassuring smile, but his eyes were firmly forward, and he was determinedly not looking at anyone.

“Precisely. You should all be able to guess what the effect of the Killing Curse is,” Rakepick said, seemingly not noticing Talbott’s discomfort. She stood up, and waved her wand, and writing appeared on the board behind her. “Open your books. You’ll want to take notes on this.”

Artemis listened, enraptured, as Professor Rakepick discussed in detail the history, effects and detection of the Unforgivable Curses. The former Curse-Breaker was direct and engaging, and she ruled over the classroom like an imperious queen. Not one person spoke out of turn for the whole lesson, and as the class packed their bags, having been dismissed by Rakepick - not by the bell - there were general murmurs of admiration.

Not everyone had warmed to their new instructor, however.

“She’s awful,” muttered Tulip, as she walked back to the Great Hall with Penny, Tonks, and Artemis. “So full of herself, like she’s the only person to have ever dealt with dark magic before.”

“Well, she is very respected in her field,” said Penny. “Bill says she’s going to get him an interview with Gringott’s Bank.”

“Is she?” Artemis asked.

“Oh, yes. She’s really trying to help him with his career. She has the power to do that, after all.”

With Rakepick’s consent to not attend the Curse-Breaking meeting, Artemis - Tonks’ broom in hand - made her way down to the Quidditch pitch on Sunday morning, feeling more excited than nervous. Around twelve or so students from various years were milling about, all of them holding broomsticks. She caught sight of a glimpse of blue hair, and walked over to Skye, who grinned at her, despite looking more tense than usual.

“Hullo, Hexley. Are ye ready tae try out?”

“Yeah,” Artemis nodded. “Who are we trying out for, exactly?”

“See over there, by McNully?”

Murphy McNully, the Quidditch commentator, was a blonde-haired, broad-shouldered boy in Artemis’ own year. She caught sight of him in his wheelchair, next to a tall boy who must have been a year or two older than herself, with a tanned complexion, shoulder-length dark hair and dark eyes.

“That’s Amari. Orion Amari,” Skye informed her, with a scowl. “He’s the new captain. This whole bloody faff was his idea.”

“Why’s Murphy here? I thought commentators were supposed to be impartial.”

“Aye, but Amari trusts McNully’s opinion more than anyone else. If ye want tae make the team, ye will have tae impress him an’ aw.”

Artemis nodded, and Amari strode into the centre of the pitch, positioning himself in the middle of the scattered students.

“Greetings, everyone. Thank you all for your presence,” he said. He didn’t raise his voice, but it still carried through the air, “and thank you for your understanding. I know that many of you had misgivings about trying out for your previous positions, but this is a new year, and a new beginning.”

Beside Artemis, Skye was growing restless. Artemis heard her make a quiet but unmistakable noise of contempt.

“Let us begin with a warm up,” Amari continued. “I shall lead you through some stretches, and then we shall attempt to find balance.”

Skye groaned loudly. Orion Amari taught them all to stretch, before making them all hover above the ground, standing on their broomsticks. As they wobbled in mid-air, trying not to fall, he started to make his way around the group, talking to them individually.

“And who might we have here?” he said, as he reached Skye.

“Ye ken bloody well who I am, Amari. We’ve been teammates for four years, though that does nae seem tae count for anything wi’ ye now that yer the captain.”

“In Quidditch, we are all equals, on and off the pitch. It does not matter whether you are the captain, a chaser, or a new player. Everyone deserves an opportunity to try and make the team, which means holding fair tryouts for all of us, including myself.”

“How can it be fair if you are trying out and you’re deciding who makes the team?” Artemis asked Orion Amari.

“I will not be making the decision. The fate of each and every one of us will be in the capable hands of Murphy,” he smiled serenely. “I do not think that we have encountered one another before.”

“We haven’t. I’m Artemis. Artemis Hexley.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And have you considered which position you would like to try out for?”

“Yeah,” Artemis nodded. “I quite fancy Chaser, actually. Like Skye.”

“And like myself. You will be our sixth potential Chaser today. But as I said, this shall be a fair tryout.”

Artemis hadn’t known what she had been expecting from a Quidditch tryout, but this hadn’t been it. After balancing on their broomsticks, Amari had them fly laps around the pitch, and in turn complete a bizarre obstacle course. In turn, the potential players weaved around the goalposts, threw a Quaffle over a strip of ribbon floating in the air, swooped under the ribbon to catch the ball again, before flying up to the stands and throwing it into a waste paper bin. Once the Quaffle was in the bin, they had to dive down from the stands to the pitch to pick up a wooden bat and use it to hit a brightly coloured ball the size of a grapefruit (each of which had the name of the person hitting written on it) as far as possible.

Murphy McNully scribbled notes throughout the tryouts, and after everyone had completed the obstacle course, wheeled over to the where the colourful balls lay on the ground. Having examined each one, and collected them, he wheeled over to Orion, and the pair of them started to whisper to one another over the top of Murphy’s notebook, occasionally throwing glances towards the other students.

Artemis walked over towards Skye and one of her friends, a pretty girl with a friendly face and wavy light-brown hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“That was no bad, Hexley,” Skye told her, “no bad at aw.”

“Thanks,” said Artemis. “Dunno if it was good enough, though.”

She didn’t feel as if she had flown particularly well. She had completed the obstacle course faster than many of the other fliers, but there were definitely things she could have done better. She had managed the weaving, and had flown under the ribbon quickly enough to catch her own Quaffle, but she had missed getting it into the bin in the stands by a matter of inches, and although she had no problems diving down to pick up the Beater’s bat, she had hit her coloured ball a much shorter distance compared to most of the others.

“Don’t worry about too much,” the girl stood next to Skye smiled at her. “We’re all in the same position as you.”

“Aye, but some of our spots on the team are safer than other’s, Lizzie. After aw, not everyone has the benefit of being the captain’s girlfriend.”

“That’s not fair, Skye,” Lizzie chastised, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Orion’s not even the one choosing who makes the team. And even if he was, he wouldn’t be biased like that.”

Skye pulled a doubtful face, and Orion Amari and Murphy McNully returned from across the pitch.

“That was fantastic flying from all of you,” Murphy said, enthusiastically nodding his head. “We only have seven positions to fill, sadly, so I’m afraid not all of you will be able to make the team itself. However, it is always a good strategy to have reserve players - just look at the Gryffindor team - so Orion might contact you in the future if you’re needed,” he cleared his throat, and opened his notebook. “Amari, Jameson, Parkin, Gwithers, Bean, Willows. Congratulations.”

Artemis felt her heart sink. She really hadn’t done enough.

“I would like to talk to the new team in the changing tent shortly,” said Orion, calmly. “If you could wait for me in there, I have one more matter to deliberate with Murphy. Everyone else, thank you for your time, and your efforts. I do hope that you are not too disenchanted, and that we shall not return to being strangers now that we have at last become acquainted.”

The students began to clear the pitch. Disappointed, Artemis started to follow them, but she stopped in her tracks when she heard Amari calling out her name.

“Artemis? Would you mind lingering here a while longer?”

Frowning, Artemis walked back over to the Quidditch captain and the commentator.

“You were probably able to tell that I only called out six names,” Murphy said. Artemis nodded, although in truth she hadn’t been counting. “Sadly, no one wanted to try out for the position of Seeker. Generally speaking, Seekers are the smallest and fastest players on the pitch. You’re the smallest of everyone trying out, and you were one of the fastest at completing the obstacle course. What do you think?”

“You’d like me to play Seeker?”

“I think you should try out for Seeker,” said Murphy. “Can you show us another dive? One from a higher position?”

“I guess,” Artemis shrugged. “How high, and how steep do you want the dive?”

“As high and steep as you can.”

Artemis mounted her broom, and started to ascend, far above where the boys remained on the ground, higher than the hoops of the goalposts, as high as the flags on top of the towers of the stands. From her position in the air, she could see out over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Remembering how she had been taught to dive in order to land in the forest safely, she moved her hands forward, took a deep breath, and pushed downwards, flattening her body against her broom as she plummeted, accelerating towards the ground at a steep trajectory. As she neared the ground, she pulled upwards with all her strength, coming out of the dive and hovering a matter of feet above the heads of Orion and Murphy. She swooped down to the grass, and jumped off her broom once she was a metre or so from the ground.

“See?” Murphy said to Orion. “She flies like a Seeker.”

“She’s right here,” Artemis muttered. “And I was wanting to play Chaser, not Seeker.”

“Sometimes, we have to accept that who we are, and who we are meant to be, is not necessarily who we envisioned,” Orion mused. “Murphy is right, you fly like a Seeker. You should embrace that.”

Artemis sighed, but nodded her head. It hadn’t been her first choice, but it was better to be on the team as Seeker than not on the team at all.

#artemis hexley #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #hphm #jae kim #rowan khanna #penny haywood #nymphadora tonks #tulip kasaru #patricia rakepick #orion amari #skye parkin #murphy mcnully #lizzie jameson #merula snyde #beatrice haywood

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sugar-petals · 3 years

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Hey Caro ☺️ I just took your super m quiz - thanks for making such a fun quiz, I feel like it helped me get into super m! I know nothing about them yet but I thought it fit soo well that I got Kai bc I’m a full time dancer - now you have me super curious about him 👀👀

KAI :: INTRODUCTION MASTERPOST (dance focus)

so you wanna know about the god of k-pop choreo? oh yeah, i’ll talk to you about fucking kai! if you dance, this guy is the #1 must-know. once you see him move, there’s no going back. i don’t exaggerate: kai is the gold standard. brace yourselves, i’ll show you why.

kim kai aka kim jongin (27) is a solo artist and super m’s plus exo’s main dancer — est 2019 and 2012 respectively — heading either group with a passionate, hyper-physical style that roots in his early practice of of jazz dance and ballet. the influence definitely shows.

learning choreography, he’s become the gorgeous fusion of emotional grace and explosive power that unites both tension and extreme accuracy. while at the same time: never sacrificing his interpretation. and HOW MUCH HE BLEEDS FOR HIS CRAFT. he enjoys it so much.

and he’s communicating it 100%, jongin’s dance is so interactive and raw, luring. i swear to god, put the seatbelts on for this one. it’s never just him, it’s you as well. you’ve never seen this before. he’s like “yes, i meant you, i’m looking at you”:

he’s even gonna modify the choreography to point right at you to underline that very thought. he’s so good, he can learn it, ace it, epitomize it, and do his own thing anyway. even the person in the last row will get whatever point kai wants to make. this is dance that belongs on the biggest stages.

even when he films without a crowd, it’s like you’re literally standing opposite to him. he focuses on two people: his moves, and the viewer. he has it look like you made him smile and self-aware, or you made him determined. INCREDIBLE. he shows his charisma, BUT he also shows your own (!) impact on him. it’s a duet. he wants you to join him on the dancefloor. this is from exo’s call me baby mv where kai does his famous come-hither:

he flirts and he encourages. he values the audience and wants them to be confident as well. i think it’s the reason why he’s so outstanding and addictive, kai thinks beyond himself. it’s a tango he involves you in with his eyes and how he opens his body, interprets a lyric.

it’s not about imposing himself going one way. instead: he plays the back and forth ALL. THE. TIME. in any context. whether it be frivolous, or fun, or gloomy, or sweet. even with a simple little smiley wink it’s happening. and he acts like you had a reaction to it. there’s literally just a camera.

this guy’s physique, strength, elegance, feeling for the beat, character portrayal (!), and control is unbelievable. he’s destroyed it in every fancam out there. he can’t switch it off even if he tried. your eyes would go toward him in the largest group formation still. put him in the center, that’s his spot, he showcases it.

because he doesn’t just show learned moves, he makes it radiate something dynamic and animalistic (he embodies superm’s ‘tiger inside’ all the way).

jongin’s dance says: i love this, you love this, let’s do this, the feeling is right. he makes bodies and unrestrained touch the opposite of wrong, he pronounces it a source of having fun and being instinctual. and he never breaks the tie with you throughout, and uses his shoulders and lips to put the oomph into it.

he uses innuendo and a ‘we both know’ sentiment perfectly as an invitation rather than just going through his routine. that’s how he can make each move fascinating. you can tell kai knows exactly how to make everyone scream their lungs out. i bet somebody held their breath just reading this post already.

exo’s most famous choreo is ‘monster’ (kai focus linked) with good reason: jongin can turn himself into nothing short of a roaring beast. it’s one sharp, complex move after the other. kai can bend any gravitational law he wants to show any feeling and pose he wants. a glimpse:

now, how to spot him in general if you’re new to him? here are some pointers. kai’s execution is clean, fast, and powerful. those are two decades (!) of experience showing. kai is an all or nothing dancer, he plays no games. he treats every group and solo stage like his best and last. his work ethic is beyond words. yeah, he’s a capricorn. his style is direct as can be, working every axis.

as you can see, jongin is hard to overlook anyway: he’s a 182cm giant made of steel. he strives to acutely visualize impact in his style and it is always successful. in fact, it’s his signature. it’s like he creates invisible objects and pushes through them. boom, he just burst another bubble.

when the song gets to his part, i guarantee you won’t miss him and all the boldness and expression he brings to enrich the performance. hell... he carries it. jongin can handle the center, i’m telling you. (look how fast he rotates here)

talking features — this is what to look for when he dances in a group setting: you can recognize kai’s face by how wide, bluntly structured and sensual it is. jongin is a sight. he has such an aura, serious, sultry, and smiling alike.

with a very recognizable silhouette (like... holy hell!):

he’s very cute as well ♡ the fandom and kai himself have an adorable analogy going on. jongin calls himself a teddy/nini bear and we joined in on it. (i made a thread about it here, it talks more about his offstage life) — hence kai’s fans are called eri-gom, eris as in exo’s fanbase and gom meaning bear.

and i mean. look at him. what an attractive guy. he’s that handsome. strong brows, teddy eyes, square jaw, swept hair, glorious lips, tan skin.

now yes, something important concerning his appearance and a serious topic: i don’t want to list you the endless instances of colorism that kai has to endure but it has to be mentioned. jongin has been called every name in the book and people agonize him over his skin incessantly. it goes on and on and on. every day a new terrible comment about him emerges because some pitiful person thought it was funny and would elevate them.

he’s had to deflect, ignore, reframe, defend, remotivate, assert, harden, prove, denounce, and push himself, protect his confidence, decline skin bleaching constantly, laugh along, dance and practice thrice as hard to get the respect, and still see his dignity torn to pieces all day. i’ll just give it to you straight, that’s all fucked up. kai’s skin is perfect, he’s amazing and wonderful.

in his own words:

— exactly right. say it even louder.

having him at the bottom of every joke is weird and messed up. this man is an utter beauty and nothing has to be fixed. it is up to him to define himself rather than get called ugly for his skin’s appearance by default, and get whitewashed at every opportunity. it’s been going on for 27 years, he scrunitizes himself all the time and doesn’t look at himself fondly because he hears these beatdowns daily.

it’s heartbreaking that this happens literally with no end in sight (’kai is just a stripper!’... ‘he has bad vibes’... ‘darkest guy jongin!’). for his skin, and how he decides to show it, too. jesus christ his skin looks fantastic, end of debate. they just can’t handle him, kai couldn’t be any more immaculate.

♡

jongin has vigorously protected fans from discrimination, bullies, and shaming himself whenever it came up. in a very straightforward and deadpan manner because he knows exactly how it damages you. (”J” in the subtitles = jongin, he’s wearing the plain white top at the very back)

we need to protect and praise him that way right back. it’s important.

so, needless to say. all in for jongin getting the center stage he deserves. because he has the wow factor in every regard. kai usually opens an MV because there’s no better way to get people’s attention with that level of presence. with kai, you can’t go wrong. if you get the center in a an all star group like superm, you are the king.

being part of that presence, kai’s stage alter ego has reached levels of infamity you can’t even imagine. it’s great to see him being sovereign without apology.

and it doesn’t stop there. he shows time and again that acting, props, and commanding the audience has to be mastered to be an exceptional dancer. kai owns his sex appeal. sometimes, he even dances a portion of choreo with his eyes closed because he’s feeling it so much.

he is a pro in using his surroundings as well, superm’s stages are a glorious opportunity for kai to show how he comfortably ‘lives in’ the 3D space around him.

which makes the viewer do the same: watching kai makes you feel amazing, energized, but also serene and enjoying the moment.

there’s always balance. it’s the magic of it. e.g. he comes along with so much impetus and decisiveness but eventually, he halts to offer himself. here i am — take me. i’m yours. closed arms, open arms. walking, kneeling. looking down, looking up.

kai goes every extra mile there ever was and makes each eye contact count. involving the audience, one grin at a time. it works. it’s about establishing contact. he connects to the onlooker with so much nuance.

kai’s smirk is notorious and you can see why it’s so raw and real: he makes it linger. it’s such a duality since his dancing says i’ll come over, while his message is come and get me, i know what’s on your mind.

with a hilarious twist – kai expertly uses humor. you don’t get that in many dancer repertoires. i love it. all those quick expression changes. his smile! 😊 what a man.

so — what makes him so good and known: yes, his style doesn’t deny that dancing and eroticism are one in his business. that takes courage. kai has it. iconic performances have been his reward. point dance/killing part: exo’s love shot choreo.

that suit has swept the nation. what’s more: kai shows you it’s more than just good hip movement that a good dancer needs. he does everything at once, he puts the pleasure on his face, all his limbs are following the template he chooses.

the thing is. kai couldn’t be any shyer, but when the music starts he becomes a oscar-winning madman. he emotes constantly (!) and stays in character. this is gold.

jongin always plays it up. he knows how to use that face and does a lot of power posing. this is how visceral looks like. he’s interpreted exo’s aggressive concepts to a T.

and he has so. much. fun. it propels him. on every beat.

past every hurt, heartbreak and injury, man. if you know about his genre you knew this was coming, kai does all of that with 4 herniated discs. since debut days, never recovered. every gif in this thread, he dances with a battered spine. wheelchairs, stage collapses, relapse-recovery-schedule tales, the dilemma of injuries being inevitable, limping, kai falling into depression during breaks, constant pain killers, countless tears on stage, we’ve seen it all, the extreme end of it.

kai works out like hell to literally keep his body from falling apart. but it doesn’t help the nerves in his back that are impacted. doing choreo you can sometimes literally see the pain kicking in and he pulls himself through with force for the last minute. once you know how strained his back is, you can see it.

at the end his expression goes fuck now it’s coming when the adrenaline fades. he takes every second-pause he gets to rest but still finishes each move. even when he holds back, he keeps it together and executes each turn. sometimes, he has to restrict himself and soften his movements to protect his health (especially in hard choreographies such as lucky one which is universally disliked by exo — still jongin makes the very best of it smiling bright and dancing so hard his sleeves come off).

he frequently states he ‘dances in any case unless his legs are affected by something’. all torso injuries are fair game, this guy is hardcore. and people claim he’s just pretending. chen (a fellow exo member) says not a single part of jongin’s body is intact. he has paid every price to get this far to follow his love. he’ll step on stage with crutches. he works SO HARD.

that being said: exo being called the official nation’s group, i say kai is the nation’s dancer. period. he has had his great moment at the korean olympics flawlessly dancing in a hanbok with traditional instruments and fulfilling his dream.

i love the tension and drama he can bring. he can also thrill with slow, vulnerable movements alike.

kai’s is called a legend, he’s all that and even more. the facial expressions alone are feared by any kai stan because they hit home.

this guy is a sex icon and goes off like a gun, messing around was never kai’s incentive.

while at the same time being incredibly nuanced and so, so descriptive with his movements.

point dance: baby don’t cry. yep, kai has danced in water. must-watch.

this man loves what he is doing. he said he wouldn’t regret to die on stage because dancing is his destiny. boy, it shows. this guy has found his purpose. he can tell any story he wants. he’s a complete artist.

he’s perfectly portraying his incentive and he couldn’t look any more like a god on earth.

long story short, kai is dance and motivation goals. if you dance professionally, you can easily look toward him for the right words.

if you want to further your study and knowledge: he released a self-titled solo album recently. highly recommended. he worked forever on it, and he’s really dishing it on there. you get to hear his soft voice plus sizzling footwork. and he isn’t even getting started yet. you’ll hear from kai, i promise. he constantly achieves new levels of artistic perfection.

a last remark. jongin is amazing for a myriad of reasons that go beyond what i show you here given the post focuses on his work on stage. but the point stands, while other people have tried to break him, he broke through every barricade instead and stood up for himself. we can be extremely happy to have him and witnessing his unreal dance is an exceptional pleasure. here’s to jongin continuing his passion and confidence, healing, and getting the sweeping respect and acknowledgement that is his.

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postmodernbeing · 3 years

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Shingeki no Kyojin Headcanons: Paradis Soldiers, drunk edition

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. So, I have been re-reading SnK manga due its 4th and final season. And chapter 123 really inspired me into writing this headcanons. I wrote them thinking in some Morden AU, but I believe that they could easily work for the canon universe. I hope you like this as much as I did.

IMPORTANT: I kept some canon elements that I read in a few posts from interviews to Isayama. // For obvious reasons, all the characters are 18+. // I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin. // This post does not exhorts the abuse of harmful substances such as alcohol. // English is not my first language, so I appreciate your patience.

Eren Jaeger

Isayama himself has mentioned that Eren has a high tolerance to alcohol. I'd like to respect that fact (although I'm not 100% sure about that since I read it somewhere around internet). I do imagine that Eren is the friend that ends up taking care of everyone when they're totally wasted, but he also finds the time to have fun and drink because he doesn’t really like watching over every single one of his friends or counting all the shots that they take.

His behavior doesn’t really change a lot when wasted. I picture that he might speak a bit higher than usual due the deafening effect of music and alcohol. Also, he takes a bit of time before replying a question, etc.

Apart from that, do not expect him to dance like crazy over some table. He would agree to some karaoke, though. Or even to compete in a videogame/party game if Jean challenges him enough. Usually, Eren likes to keep his cool and watch everyone have a good time. Eren’s a simple man.

In some AU, he would be the designated driver if no one else offers (cough Armin cough), or in case that all his friends are totally wasted. Eren also makes sure that his pals arrive home safely before turning the engine again (so thoughtful, aw). In case that everyone takes a taxi or some uber, Eren would ask them to send a message to their group chat before going to bed just so he’s sure everyone is safe. Even if he knows some of them will forget or fall asleep immediately after arriving home.

Mikasa Ackerman

This girl rarely gets drunk, let me tell you. And not because she doesn’t drink, she drinks a lot. Mostly because she follows Sasha into all she dares her: beerpong, shots, you name it. Even though, Mikasa prefers traditional beer, she’s into trying new things such as different tastes and alcohol levels (she’s fearless). I do imagine that Mikasa realizes she’s drunk when tries to stand from anywhere she was sitting, rather for going to the kitchen for a glass of water or to the toilet (she knows drinking water is important in order to keep her body hydrated and avoid hangover).

First thing she notices, besides the dizziness, is her face utterly blushed. She smiles almost immediately, Mikasa is more open with her body language albeit her use of words remains limited. She knows how to stay rational.

She’ll never admit how much she enjoys being invited by Sasha to have some drinks. Mikasa’s happy that she’s able to be her partner in beerpong, even if Sasha makes her lose from time to time. Her favorite game secretly is “Never have I ever…” because all her friends end up sharing too much, or some truly funny anecdotes that feed her little laugh (please, protect smiley Mikasa).

Mikasa has been designated driver only a couple of times since she keeps falling asleep after getting wasted. Nevertheless, she never fails into leaving a good night message to her friends when arriving home. Mikasa thinks that’s the perfect way to thank the squad for the great moments they shared.

Like Eren, she prefers casual reunions or stay-in-home parties. But if she’s noticed that the rest will attend to some bar/club she’d rather be there, protecting them (just a little before passing out too).

Armin Arlert

How do I say this politely? Please, keep him away from alcohol. He gets so drunk, so fast it’s almost funny. Definitely, he starts feeling a bit sleepy because he feels so relaxed. But if Armin keeps drinking sure thing, he’ll start feeling more energetic and perky. He’s the first one that gets into the karaoke thing, although he likes to share stories from the books he reads too, Eren is the one that listens to him with the most attention (and soberness).

Armin also laughs a lot being drunk, you could tell him any nonsense and he’ll burst out laughing. Sometimes he also tries to make jokes but fails funnily enough, he can’t make one coherent sentence. That’s a good sign most of the times, for he’s reaching his limits and his friends cut his consumption (which it’s really not that much).

That’s why it’s common that Armin offers himself as designated driver those nights that he might had a beer or two. He’s very responsible when he acknowledges there won’t be a chance to stay the night (for they are partying at a club or a stranger’s house). Armin is used to take his friends till their front door, he might be small, but he wants to be sure everyone will be alright and safe.

Against all odds, he enjoys a bit more of pubs since he became with time, less aloof than his childhood friends. Although, he’s not that meticulous with the remedies against hangover. Giving him the result of headaches for the next 24 hours at least.

Jean Kirstein

Jean has a higher alcohol tolerance, and he even tries to avoid excess of said substances. However, he always fails colossally 80% of occasions. He’s not precisely awkward or a bad drinker, but it’s definitely hard to keep up with his energy and enthusiasm when he’s drunk. Jean’s not the most responsible drinker neither but he manages to stay rational enough. One could say that he becomes more reckless with what he does and says.

…Such as climbing up a table and dancing like crazy. He would absolutely spend most of the night dancing and he’s not bad actually. The thing is, that his ability comes from the drunk effect rather than actual skill. When there’s no music to be heard, he likes to organize the games with Sasha and Connie. Jean also yells a lot more, and he doesn’t admit it but he runs out of patience faster if his friends aren’t excited to follow the flow of the games (we know he refers to Eren most of the times).

Therewith, he keeps his cool and sincere attitude. His friends know that Jean doesn’t need to be drunk to be open and honest, so they trust in his drunken words too. Which leads us to the next point, Jean loves bigger and more elaborated parties. But only because he knows all his friends could engage in activities that they actually enjoy. From screaming and running to keeping it quiet in a sofa.

He doesn’t worry easily, but if someone asks him to take care of them, he will offer his help without trouble (those are the 20% remaining of occasions in which he doesn’t get that drunk). Jean got the designated driver role only one time, for his friends decided that he sucked at following the GPS and spend too much time taking ‘shortcuts’ every three blocks. It would take the rest of the night trying to get to their homes.

Sasha Braus

Like Jean, Sasha has a medium tolerance to alcoholic beverages, but she tends to mess that up when stuffing her mouth with snacks and junk food. She insists in eating before drinking (and after too), so it’s not unusual to watch her running into the bathroom at the middle of the night because of nausea. To everyone's surprise, she has a wide knowledge of different drinks. From the best wines and its respective cuts of meats, to the strangest (and cheapest) mixtures for the sole purpose of getting wasted.

Even in sober state Sasha isn’t shy at all. So, beware for she’s the mastermind behind the party games. Sasha always promises tranquil reunions but deep down everyone knows shit’s getting down every-single-time. She knows the basic games such as beerpong, “never have I ever”, “truth or dare”, and she has a talent at asking the most awkward questions. But her real potential reveals when she dares her friends into weird and dangerous challenges.

Sasha definitely becomes more direct and energetic. She has let her real accent show a few times before and even if she gets a bit embarrassed she’s too drunk to care (Mikasa is the first one that shuts their mouths if they try to make fun of her, canon of they being the best friends ever, yay).

She loves to dance and sing, making a disaster of the house/club they’re partying at. Connie tries to calm her down before anyone else, but fails because just like her, he’s delighted with the jokes and pranks they pull together. Sasha knows that Connie stays close to her in case she’s feeling more dizzy than usual and she’s forever thankful for that. Lastly, she has never offered herself into that designated driver role, and that’s what her friends are thankful for. So, everything’s reciprocal, one could say.

Connie Springer

Connie has just a bit more of tolerance to alcohol. It’s common that Sasha, Jean, and Connie end up drunk at the same time. They laugh when they realize this. The first signal into Connie’s drunk state is him talking about everything that passes through his mind, from conspiracy theories to the most absurd yet profound questions. And finishes his quasi rational speech with bad jokes, although he doesn’t really need alcohol to tell them.

He promises himself every single time that he’ll take care of Sasha but ends up following her into all her dares and extreme games (some of them almost illegal). Connie is the first person than anyone runs to if they want to throw a bigger party. He feels flattered to this, he’s truly popular and a great company to anyone. Seems obvious at this point, but I'll say it anyway: Connie really enjoys club parties.

I already mentioned that Connie gets along with anything that Sasha comes up with. But Connie himself has a repertoire of anecdotes and pranks. He can recommend you the best pubs and the cheapest (and interesting) clubs. He doesn’t admit it, but this also strokes his ego. Maybe he does have some genius in him, at least for these topics.

Connie is also the most chaotic drunk, all he does (or tries to) is funny. He has the craziest anecdotes. Like that time when his friends found him asking for directions to a public trash can, or that one night when he had a fight with Jean because he didn’t accede to shave his head to match with Connie’s. Or Sasha’s favorite, she’d dared him into smelling Eren’s arse for some bet they had about his smell. Mikasa was not happy.

Sincerely, this boy brings life into the parties if he desires so. Howbeit, he got his friends’ backs if they have a problem with aggressive drunken guys. Connie has jumped into fights just so he protects his friends (Armin, more than anyone else due his big-smart mouth). Truth to be told, Connie fights quite good when drunk. His protective side is a wonder, y’all give him lots of love.

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

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Beg for me || Jurdan Dom-Sub One Shot

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 1

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: M

Summary: “I need you.”

“Then say it. Beg for me.”

Masterlist • AO3

Thank you so much @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 for helping me betaing this, even when you’re sleep deprived, I have no words! 🧡

“Look at me, love”

Kneeled before him, Jude lifted her head slowly, her breath coming out in faltering huffs. A prickling sensation ran over her swollen lips. Surely a reaction to the punishing kisses he’d given her just seconds before. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity she saw there sent an anticipatory pulse down to her stomach.

“Do you know why I am doing this?” He said, cocking his head to the side and arms crossed over his chest. His words were low and honeyed.

Oh she definitely did. Yet, she tugged her lip between her teeth.

Arching an eyebrow he hauled the little chain that connected with the leather band around her neck, his movement soft but firm. Answer me, it said.

The corner of her lips quirked up a bit. The only sign of defiance she’d allow her body to show, or at least that’s what she tried. “Because I misbehaved… sir.” She quickly added at the change in his gaze.

He chuckled. “I might not be your boss at this moment, but I would appreciate it if you still minded your manners.” With another tug to the chain he signaled her to stand. “On the bed, dear.”

Heat creeped up her cheeks at the appreciative hum that left his mouth at the full sight of her. Black lace that barely covered part of her body, combined with high stockings framing her long legs. She’d bought it knowing he’d like it, but couldn’t get used to how much skin it showed.

It was almost unfair that he could keep his clothes on. However, she couldn’t really decide if she liked her boss better when he was completely naked, or just like he looked in that moment: bare feet, black trousers and loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms. More than ready to play with her for hours.

The soft mattress sunk under her. Jude lay down, her pulse rose as he walked towards her.

“Hands up.” He commanded. A familiar clang reached her ears from the drawer he was rummaging in, sending a shiver down her back.

She swallowed before obeying. He had plenty of punishments in his repertoire, but only few include that artifact in particular. That narrowed the options.

Cold metal kissed her wrists and Jude gasped. With a small movement she felt the chain of the handcuffs firmly secured to the bed’s headboard. Her chest rose and fell with elaborated breaths.

She was officially at his mercy.

Turning her head back, she watched him loosen his tie and take it off. Popping the first buttons from his shirt open. His carefree movements, along with those mischievous eyes of his always took Jude off guard.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked.

“You know I do, sir.”

“Hmm.” Her boss purred. “Too bad it has to end.” At that he gently coiled his tie around her head, covering her eyes. He tied it tightly to keep it from falling but not enough for it to hurt.

Pulling away, he left her there, aroused and disoriented. Jude tried to sense where he’d gone. Focusing all she could on-

Jude yelped when something soft caressed her torso. A low chuckle came from the left.

The thing about being sight-deprived was that her other senses intensified in a terrible yet exhilarating way. And he knew it very damn well.

Whatever object it was, probably a feather, he used it to roam over every piece of uncovered skin. He trailed it down her arms, her neck, between her shuddering breasts. Dropped kisses here and there, nibbling at her sensitive spots. The sensation was too much and yet not enough, Jude was quickly losing all coherent thoughts. Every time he sucked low moans escaped from her throat.

She breathed his name as his mouth moved down to her hips. He continued his ministrations, carefully avoiding that hot and needy spot between her legs.

“Are you going to defy my decisions in front of my coworkers again?”

Of course she would, they were both aware of that. Especially if it lent to more sessions of this. It was all part of their game. She was brilliant at work, with her intelligence and sharp temper she had everyone around her finger in no time. And he, a promising talent on the rise, did everything on his power to conquer her. Even when it implied hiding it from the whole company.

It felt so good to quarrel in meetings. But it was better when he gave her that look, the one that signaled he would use that same argument against her later. Alone, and naked.

Jude opened her mouth to answer but felt as if her mind had forgotten how to form words. Fuck, she should be doing better than this, she scolded herself. Focus.

He sucked down on her inner thigh, really close to where she desperately wanted him and she cried out, arching her back. The handcuffs rattled against the board. That damned sound always remained to haunt her in her deepest dreams.

Hot breath caressed her core as he spoke again. “I asked you a question.”

She licked her lips. “No sir, I won’t.” He hummed, using his thumb to play with the lace of her panties and pulled them down just a fraction. Then he seemed to change his mind and dragged his hands up her sides earning a protest from her.

Jude felt the mattress shift under his weight, then hot bare skin pressed flush against her as he stretched on top of her. He still wore his pants and even with them, his hardness was evident. She tilted her hips up seeking some friction, but a strong hand held her hips still. She whined one more time and his fingers now grabbed her with enough force to leave bruises.

“What was that again?” His gruff voice was now against her ear.

She moved to put her arms around his neck but a metallic sound and a yank to her wrists reminded Jude of her position. She almost said the word she knew he wanted. But held back, huffing in frustration. “I need you.”

“Then say it.” He groaned, nipping her earlobe. The hand holding her down moved once more, soft fingers positioning on the edge of her underwear. Please, the word was there on the tip of her tongue. With a torturing pace, he slid them under the thin fabric. “Beg for me, Ember.”

“CUT! Excellent, I think we got it. Good work everyone!”

Voices burst around them.

Jude sighed, the air wavering. Seconds later cold air hit her skin as he moved away from her.

The tie was taken from her eyes and the bright light blinded her a moment. The handcuffs shackled again and were off a heartbeat later.

“Hey.” She turned to find Cardan, stripped down to only his trousers, with the offending artifact on his hand. “Are you okay?”

She blinked and sat up, taking in her surroundings. Filming set, not suite room. And Cardan, her co-star, not her boss. Sometimes she really envied Ember, her character. Getting the chance to live the excitement of a forbidden romance. A hot, forbidden romance.

At her lack of answer, he sat next to her and cupped her face. Worry filled his voice. “Jude? Did I overstep?”

“No, no.” Shaking her head, Jude grinned. “You were perfect, I’m just recovering my breath. I tried to put myself more into it this time.”

“I noticed,” Cardan chuckled. “If I’m honest, for a moment I almost forgot we were acting.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Me too, she almost said. Instead she just looked at him. Even out of character there was something in his eyes that captured her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. He was kind, funny and incredibly respectful on and off of the set.

Jude couldn’t help the real fluttering in her stomach in every scene they shot together.

She knew romances weren’t unusual in their line of work, but since she was relatively new, this tv series her first leading role, she was still terrified to ruin it. Most of all, to ruin the friendship she’d built with Cardan in all those months.

Coats were given to them, observations from the director and the screenwriters too and at last, they could leave for the day.

Cardan walked her to her trailer, telling another of his weird experiences he’d had while filming. Tears fell from her eyes from all the laughing.

“I trust you’re laughing at the situation and not actually at me.” He teased.

“Oh I’m definitely laughing at you, no need to ask.”

Making an offended sound he ruffled her hair, Jude shrieking and pulling away.

“Jude,” He said, his tone more serious than before made her stop her mocking too. “Are you sure everything was okay with the scene?”

A blush covered her cheeks. “It was. You know I’m relatively new to this. I guess I’m just getting used to all of it.”

He nodded.

“But, thank you.” She added. “For making sure I’m ok, and...for all of your fun stories that make me relax after. It is...really nice from you.”

Cardan’s wide smile almost left her breathless again.

“It’s nothing.” He hesitated for a second. “I have more stories though… We could... go buy some coffee and I could tell you all of it. If you want to, of course.”

She stared at him, not quite believing his words.

He bit her lip and gave her an apologetic smile. “Think about it, will you? I’d really like to...go out with you someday.”

Jude smiled gradually, feeling her heart nearly jumping out from her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She said softly.

“Let me know.” He walked backwards and winked at her. “And Jude… just for the record, I enjoy being tied up too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @tessas-herondales

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you) please let me know!

#jurdan smut week 2020 #jurdan smut week #jurdannet #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #judecardan #jude x cardan #tess writes

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hansoulo · 4 years

Text

partial to the cavatina - pt. 1 (sheet music)

pairing: javier peña/fem!reader

warnings: cursing and F L U F F >:)

word count: 1.27k

A/N: didn't feel like writing angst (shocking, i know) and i've been playing a lot of piano lately so have this instead. also inspired by the disney short "paperman"

playlist

Javier didn’t really know about music or theory or any of that other shit. There was probably some technical term for it, some way of articulating how hearing it made him felt, but even if he did know, they still wouldn’t be able to do it justice. It being you, the woman across the street. The one who played piano with the window open.

His building was mostly Embassy employees and their families, but the complex that you lived in was popular with expats - worldly, transient kids who shelled out some extra cash so they didn’t have to stay in hostels while they waited for life to blow them wherever. Loose types, a mix of trust-fund babies globetrotting on their dad’s dime and backpackers who lived off of smuggled pot. Javier couldn’t place you, though. Not that you’d ever really met.

You were probably a teacher. He’d seen you walking through the neighborhood, carrying workbooks and juggling school supplies as you reached for your apartment keys. You were younger than him. Pretty.

He knew that you played scales in the mornings before you left. He knew the way you'd play fast when you were excited about something, how you'd force yourself to slow down before giving up and letting your fingers fly again. He knew that you tried your hand at composing, discordant little melodies that got stuck in his head for weeks. All these things he knew about you, but he didn't know your name. He would like to know your name.

It was springtime, bleeding into summer. In Texas school would be nearly out but here in Colombia terms started in January. Javier was sitting in his apartment on one of his rare days off, musing on how much more reasonable that was, when his attention was called to the sound of lilting keys. Smiling slightly, he ducked his head as he reached for the files littering on his coffee table. He knew your repertoire pretty well by now, which songs you pulled out from the backlogs when you felt nostalgic. It was a light kind of day, and he could tell you were happy. That was always nice.

Sometimes it was soft, your fingers melting onto the notes and leaving his chest tight. Other times it seemed like you played to let something out, something angry and fast that made his hands feel sore just listening to it. He always listened, though. The small stack of vinyls and the record player sat in a corner of his apartment covered in a thin sheet of dust, Javier never having the time nor the desire to enjoy them, but he always listened to you.

He glanced over at your side of the street, your form obscured by gauzy curtains. The upright piano was wedged up against the sidewall, offering a hazy view of your profile as you leaned over the keys. You played at night a lot, and if it were anyone else he probably would've filed a noise complaint. That'd be a dick move, though, considering it was the only thing that helped him sleep sometimes.

You stood up a few moments later, seemingly done playing for the day, and Javier found the apartment achingly quiet in your absence. Distracting himself, he caught the cap of a pen between his teeth and let it hang from his mouth, leafing through the stacks of field reports in front of him. It was near dusk and the sun was washed out, orange and pink.

A warm breeze made its way through his living room and something fluttered near the side window, crackling and catching itself on the parted glass when a stronger wind blew by. It was a piece of yellowed paper, dried glue on the edges where it was torn out from somewhere and black notes scribbled over with pencil markings. Sheet music. Yours, probably.

Should he yell? Should he just walk over and knock on doors, hoping he found the right one? Should he say anything at all? You would probably notice if it was gone, so keeping it as some sort of weird memento was out of the question. Not that he’d do that. That’d be…. weird.

He was still standing by the window, trying to decide what to do, when he heard a voice he assumed was yours. Leaning against the edge of your small balcony, you held a stack of loose, aging papers that matched the one he had.

“Just throw it over!” you shouted, miming a paper airplane with your free hand. Javier raised an eyebrow and pushed his window up farther, the frame jamming slightly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice raised slightly to carry over the distant din of traffic. You nodded, resolute. Fuck it. He could make a paper airplane, right?

A few minutes later and Javier had produced a serviceable, albeit a bit crooked, paper airplane. He felt bad about creasing the paper but it had seen better days and you didn’t seem to care much, so he shoved his guilt aside as he tried to remember the last time he did this. Probably high school, launching them at the back of Chuck Presby’s head during A.P Gov when he didn’t feel like doing the worksheets. High school. God, he was old.

Part of him knew how unbearably cheesy this whole thing was but honestly, he didn’t really care. It was nice, humoring these sorts of things. He could pretend he was normal for a bit.

He walked back over to the window to see you drawing your curtains open, humming the song you’d been playing earlier. You turned when you heard his footsteps, readying yourself with a wide grin. “Go ahead!”

He missed.

Really, what was he expecting? It was kind of funny though, so Javier managed an apologetic smile as you tossed your head back, eyes crinkling with a loud laugh. It sounded like bells. Like music.

Your expression was still amused when you left your balcony, down to the street where the paper airplane fell onto your front stoop. You waved good-naturedly to him from the ground, holding the sheet music victorious in your hand. Javier nodded back. So that was that.

He tracked your retreating figure out of the corner of his eye as he tried to appear busy, fussing over nothing and straightening files that had already been sorted, when he heard you call to him again. “Hey!”

Bemused, he watched as you scribbled something on the sheet-music-turned-paper-airplane, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in a way he found impossibly endearing. You launched it back at his window. “Catch!”

It was a straight shot, only faltering when it struck his chest and fell to the floor beside his feet. Javier could see your phone number on one of the crumpled wings, your handwriting messy and the graphite streaking against his fingers as he read the note on the other side.

Sorry you have to hear me play all the time. I promise I sound a lot better without all the traffic. Let me make it up to you?

You really had nothing to apologize for, but he smiled at your words all the same. You signed your name at the bottom and he squinted at the scrawl, testing how the letters tasted in his mouth. Grabbing a pen from where it lay on the table, Javier turned the paper over and prayed his aim would be better the second time around.

You don’t need to be sorry. Dinner?

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch

part two

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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kessielrg · 3 years

Text

[Kingdom Hearts] Of Memes and Regrets

Summary: In which Lea has a guest star for his YouTube's next Let's Play, and she perfectly steals the show from him.... again. [oneshot][platonic LeaxOC (AxelxOC)]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,412 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

Lea glanced at the timer placed by his monitors and nearly tisked at the time.

She was late.

With a rather tired sigh, Lea started to work on making sure his software was still working right. Maybe while he was fiddling around with stuff, Sabrina would join the video chat so they could get a session done. He knew he should have asked Roxas to join again. Xion would be great to bring in too, if she wasn’t too busy working on her next article for her school’s paper. But alas, his subscribers had spoken, and they wanted Miss Priss and her insatiable need to annoy everyone. Especially him, apparently.

Not that he could blame them, she was great on camera.

Lea hummed as he booted up the game they were going to play. It was a review copy he had gotten a few days back, and he was actually looking forward to bumping it. He would be the first to admit to not being a big fan of the original franchise, but the graphics were crisp and the controls were smoother than butter. He knew Sabrina would have an appreciation for it too; as far as he could tell, the female characters were dressed sensibly- not at all designed just for the male gaze. They could have some fun talks about it when she got here. If she got here.

With the game running as expected, Lea started screen recording. He got a few minutes down before turning on his webcam as well. His face appeared on the screen to his left, with the game and recording software on the right. It was a good time to adjust lights while he was at it. Once that was settled, he began recording from the webcam as well. Lea admired himself in the webcam feedback for a moment. It was always better to overshoot, even if you weren’t really doing anything more than vocal warmups and adjusting your lighting.

Lea cleared his throat a bit before going through with his intro. He kept his tone bright and energetic. It was bad form to go in this early at full blast, but if Sabrina wasn’t going to remember their agreement, then he’d have to make due.

“Hey everybody, welcome back to AxelotlGaming! I’m Axel, and we were going to have a guest. Turns out she’s not coming, because at this point, we are well past being fashionably late.” Lea moved a bit away from the mic before grumbling, “It would’ve been nice if she actually bothered to tell me when she wasn’t coming. Could’ve been halfway through a recording by now.” He grimaced before remembering that he was still recording, so he turned back to the camera with a wide grin. He realized he was going to cut out a lot of his annoyance in editing later if he kept this up. The show always goes on, and whatnot.

“With or without our guest,” he went on to say to the webcam, “We’ve been sponsored to play the new-”

He hated to admit that he jumped when the ping for someone joining the video chat chimed. Lea quickly ended his recording softwares and accepted the newcomer. A new face appeared on the same monitor he kept his webcam feedback on, and he grimaced at seeing them.

“You’re late.” he huffed. He swiveled his car a bit just to glare at her feedback directly. Lea then almost proceeded to get knocked out of his seat looking at her.

Sabrina was a natural beauty and knew it. She was always light on her makeup regimen unless she was going to be seen on video or photograph. Today she did not plan on disappointing; her lips were painted a deep red, her cheeks the faintest of pinks to give the illusion of being an absolute sweetheart, and even the color around her eyes make them look more expressive. It was rather impressive- she must have worked on that for a good hour just to make sure she didn’t look like a raccoon.

“And now you realize why I’m late.” Sabrina smoothly told him, folding her arms with a smirk on her face. Even through the webcam, she looked so in control of everything. Lea didn’t know if it infuriated him, or was genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a wave of his hand. “But know this, princess; just because I have an arguably easy job on paper, it doesn’t mean I don’t keep a schedule too. Got it memorized?”

“Just hire an editor.” she told him in the least of caring tones.

“No way!” he argued back. “I’ve got a certain method to my madness, and I’m not going to have someone else get their fingerprints all over it.”

“What a funny way of saying that no one else is as deranged as you.”

“Enough talk,” Lea then said to her with a clap of his hands, “We should be halfway through a session by now. Start up the game and make it snappy.”

Sabrina gave him a little wave of her hand before doing as she was told. She must have known how late she was- usually when someone told her to do something, her instinct was to react with the opposite. As she did that, Lea also went over his recording equipment and made sure he was recording as well.

“I’m ready when you are,” he decided. “Are you recording everything on your end?”

“Looks like it.” she agreed. Her eyes looked elsewhere for a moment- likely to check if everything was running smooth enough. When her eyes went back to the webcam, she settled back a bit in preparation for the next hour or so of recording.

“Are you doing the intro today?” she asked, gently placing a hand under her chin.

“My show, isn’t it?” Lea smirked. Knowing that she was ready meant it was time to start recording again. About time, too.

“Alright princess, put on your video face.” he warned her. “We’re getting serious in three… two…”

Both of them shifted in their spots slightly to appear more presentable. Lea gave them a few more moments of getting comfortable before going through his intro.

“Hey everybody, welcome back to AxelotlGaming! I’m Axel, and today I’ve got a very special guest. Special guest, why don’t you introduce yourself. Not that you need it, of course.”

“Of course.” Sabrina smoothly agreed, even twisting a piece of her hair. She looked at the webcam before giving a double wave to it. Her voice carried a perkiness never seen before as she said, “Hey guys! You asked for me, so here I am! Your favorite Lady Sabi here to show up, ah, I mean, play with Axel today.”

“So humble.” Lea playfully retorted. Sabrina only gave a wide -rather smug- smile in return.

“What are we playing today, Axel?” she cheerfully chirped. For a moment, Lea wondered if he was friends with a bubbly airhead instead of a pessimistic downer.

“We’ve been sponsored to play the new Blue Bomber MMO called ‘Renegade Chaser.’” he said, gesturing his hands to the side. He’ll edit in the box art during post. “Designed with old and new fans alike, Renegade Chaser can be played online and off with both multiplayer and single player modes.”

“Sell out.” Sabrina coughed into her hand.

“Yeah, well,” Lea mused, “Not all of us get free stuff just by looking pretty on Instagram. Of course, with almost a million followers at PrincessSabiAes2012, you’ve almost got enough influence to carry this channel on your own.”

“Nice plug.”

“Why thank you.”

“Bad rep for you though.”

“Why thank you.”

Sabrina let out a genuine laugh at his misfortune. But this was the kind of repertoire his subscribers enjoyed between them. Just hearing her laugh gave him a vision of a future comment along the lines of ‘hearing Sabi laugh at Axel adds 9,999 years to my life.’ Too bad the actual object of Sabrina’s -disguised- affection wasn’t on YouTube much, let alone have an account. Which was all for the best- he didn’t want to admit it, but Ventus got jealous real easy. Embarrassingly easy, depending on who you asked.

“Now that you’ve harassed me and we’re not even a minute in, how about we pop into game and see what we’ve got?”

“Let’s.” Sabrina agreed with a sweet little nod.

Lea stole a look at her as she adjusted some things on her end to make sure her game footage was being recorded. Lea chastised himself for being so focused on her. He needed to stop getting distracted by her Clark Kent-ing her onscreen persona. But the switch was just so… uncanny, to put it in the nicest terms possible. There’s no wonder that despite her near million followers, Sabrina had yet to be recognized by any of them in person.

Lea shivered before continuing with his show. Two minutes of recording down, another 58 to go.

. . .

You could tell Sabrina was having a hard time getting used to the game because for ten straight minutes she did nothing but harass Lea instead. Not that it wasn’t to be expected- she was a puzzle girl, not a shoot-em-up girl. That being said, once she figured out the controls, she was nigh unstoppable. She even managed to figure out the special weapons before Lea could. Of course he called her a cheater for it. As long as it was in good fun, who really cared- right?

Another disorienting thing about Sabrina; she kept going from her usual snark to bubbly sunshine in mere seconds. The true (or as true as she wanted to be) part of her came through when she was at her most frustrated. It was yet another thing that his regular viewers came to appreciate of her. A lot of viewers really hated her bubbly self, even though it was arguably when she dished the most one-liners. Lea knew she was actually having a good time when she let the side of her he usually saw come through. That little lady knew how to be a savage and thrived in it.

One such occasion happened during this session. While the two were playing around with the various modes the game had, Lea had found a one-on-one free-for-all that the two took to immediately. Sabrina got so into beating him that he had to talk directly to her or else all commentary would have gone flat. Every word that came out of Sabrina’s mouth was straight from her mind, with no conscious censoring in the slightest. Lea feared so much for her that he intentionally threw the match. He did put up a fight- but it was definitely one of their shorter matches. Sabrina didn’t seem to notice as the victory screen appeared for her.

“Yes!” Sabrina gleefully declared, slamming her hands into her desk before giving her chair a spin. As the chair slowly came to a halt, she threw one of her hands over her head and gave an absolutely satisfied expression.

Lea knew right away that the moment his viewers saw that reaction, there were going to be memes of it. He could practically see them now- a really poor screenshot of that slightly worrying pose she was making, Impact font saying stuff like 'when bae buys you tacos without asking' or 'when Lea's such a moron and makes winning easy.' He'd have to ask her for her footage. He could emphasize the moment to help make some of those insufferable jpegs look slightly better.

It wouldn't have been so bad, but Sabrina was already the source of one of his channel's memes. 'Scrub my feet, peasant' was a line uttered during one Monopoly match that did not go in Lea's favor. Sabrina had also made a rather memorable pose in her chair, coupled with a rather smug face. It became so popular that Lea had to get her permission to make it into a t-shirt. Both Sabrina and his viewers had yet to live it down; Sabrina wearing the shirt anytime she knew the two of them would be in the same room together, and his viewers still made comments that referenced the line.

Good thing she was more of an Instagram queen and not a YouTuber. Lea would probably lose half his subscribers the moment she actually posted videos of her own.

“Heh, I let you win, my lady.” Lea boasted. This realization came to Sabrina with a slow grimace.

“You did.” she said in disappointment. She then smirked at him (not at the camera, but him directly on the screen), before spitting, “There are other ways to flirt with me than making me look superior to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Lea snorted. “Like what?”

Sabrina then smirked like she was taking on a challenge.

“Oh Axel,” she purred into her microphone. Almost immediately, Lea could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “If you wanted a mistress to teach you how bad of a boy you are, you could have just asked. This doesn’t have to be hard.” She paused for a moment, just to make it dramatic. “Unless you want to be…”

Lea was dead certain that his soul left his body for a hot second. His face absolutely betrayed him, though. He looked away just to hide how red it was.

“Oh well, just look at the time.” Lea decided, already reaching for the keyboard key to finish the recording. “We’re all gamed out for the day. Thank you for watching!”

“But Axel, we still have ten-”

“Thanks for watching!” he loudly declared before smacking the keyboard key. Not long after, his head hit the desk in both relief and frustration.

“Are you alright?” Sabrina questioned, a teasing smirk still on her lips.

“God I hate you.”

“You gonna be alright with that nosebleed?”

“Shut up.” Lea whined.

Sabrina just laughed at him. To rub salt into the wound, she ended the video chat mid-laugh. It was far too effective in leaving a phantom image of her on his mind. Lea let out another groan as he thought about his viewers’ reaction. This was going to be an episode to remember, he had no doubt about it. It was likely going to fuel even more rumors that the two had the hots for each other- which was the last thing he wanted.

He really needed to stop inviting her back.

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ahh-fxck · 4 years

Note

ok but i just saw this AU "My incredibly stupid cat just jumped out of my apartment window after a bird and you caught her in your arms like a baby and looked up, stared me dead in the eye and said "I think you dropped something" and this is geraskier y/y? :D?

Yes! Yes I love this so much! So much that I accidentally wrote five pages about it!

Please enjoy :D It is also here on ao3.

(Also please pardon the no beta, I will come back and edit this but I got excited and wanted to post it!!)

Also also- The song I quote is a real Ren Faire song and is pretty fucking funny if you’re into that kind of thing.

Also also also- Holy shit I am the kind of nerd that will spend two hours researching 500+ year old slang for pussy because I wanted to make a throwaway joke in a fic.

And finally: Yes! I am willing to write more of this if enough people are into it. :) Let me know!

~♡♡♡~

Jaskier threw his leg up on the couch, strumming his lute and singing his heart out. He had just gotten his first shitty apartment for the summer between college semesters, and he was massively behind on practicing for the Faire. August was only a month and a half a way, and he had at least twenty more songs to memorize into his repertoire. It was his first summer as an adult, and he’d finally been allowed to act as one of the wandering bards.

If all of the girls were bells in a tower

And I was a clapper, I'd bang one each hour

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

If all of the girls were fish in the ocean

And I was a wave I would teach them the motion.

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

The young bard-to-be resumed striding around the room, practicing his struts and flourishes. Nothing less than perfection would do. If he didn’t impress the first week, he would be relegated back to the fairy chorus again, and the fucking leggings itched in the August heat.

If all of the girls were little white rabbits

And I was a hare, I would teach them bad habits.

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

If all them young ladies was up for improvement.

I'd give them some help with a ball-bearing movement.

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

As he paced back and forth, he tossed his head to throw a sweat-sticky curl of hair off of his forehead. The merciless summer heat had started early this year, and by June it was in full swing. The windows of his little apartment were wide open, and a standing fan was turning back and forth, stirring lazy eddies in the arid air. Nearby, his elderly cat grey cat, Pipkin, lazed in the cool shadow of the table.

If all them young ladies was little white kittens

And I was the tom cat, I'd give them new fittin's

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over-

As he spun with particular exuberance, he landed wrong and staggered onto the cat’s tail. Flailing backwards, Jaskier flew one way and the cat flew another. He hit the floor near the ratty couch with a crash, all the breath rushing out of his lungs. Nearby he heard a ‘bang!’ and then a howl of fury and fear as the ancient screen gave way under her considerable weight. Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Pipkin!” He screamed, scrambling over to the window and looking frantically downward. As he scanned the sidewalk for his cat, he saw a man with white hair and golden eyes staring up at him. His hammering heart did a complicated skip as the man locked eyes with him and smirked, gesturing with something in his arms.

“I think you dropped something,” he called up, his voice a gravelly baritone. In his arms was Pipkin, who had such a look of shock on her face that it was almost comical.

Despite his terror, Jaskier gave a slightly hysterical titter. Oh shit, it was his drop-dead gorgeous neighbor. “I can’t believe you caught her. Oh Melitele, thank you!” No such goddess existed anymore, but in his upset he had forgotten to drop out of character and used the ancient name.

Below him, his neighbor’s eyebrows went up. “It’s fine,” he said, but he sounded a little thrown. The cat, recovering from her shock, began to struggle in his arms. She gave a surprisingly deep snarl for such a tiny animal. Lashing out, she spat at her rescuer and tried to claw him. Dodging easily, he fixed his eyes on the little animal and gestured in the air above her. “Hush,” he said, though Jaskier could barely hear him. With a slow blink, the little cat settled down in his arms.

Jaskier gaped at this exchange from above. When the stranger’s compelling golden eyes returned to him, it sparked him suddenly back into motion. “Sweet goddess are you ok?” Leaning out of the window, he peered down at Pipkin. “Pipkin, you be good! What is wrong with you?! I’ll be right down.”

The big man holding his cat smiled a slow smile, shaking his head. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d better bring her up to you. She’s not going to be very happy when I let her go.”

Jaskier blinked at him, puffed, and then nodded. He wasn’t expecting guests and his apartment was a mess, but he imagined his neighbor was right. It was odd to see her so quiet, though. Feeling a stir of unease, he called, “Okay! I’m in 503!”

“I know,” the white-haired man replied with a crooked grin. He walked around the side of the building to the entryway and vanished out of sight.

Struck by a sudden panic, Jaskier slammed the window closed and flew away from it. He began frantically cleaning his apartment. Pizza boxes in the trash, empty soda cans in the recycling, oh sweet goddess his socks were everywhere. “Why am I like this?!” He groaned, running a pile of dirty laundry across the apartment and flinging it into his bedroom.

He’d watched his blisteringly hot neighbor move in less than a month ago to the apartment next door, and since then had become a little obsessed. Not only was he gorgeous, he had some weird habits. He kept odd hours. Sometimes he’d leave around twilight one evening and not show up until noon next day, limping into his apartment with a long, dark jacket on, even in the heat of summer. Others, he’d be out at dawn with a large pack of some sort on his back. Then he’d come back in the middle of the day, looking like ten miles of bad road. Sometimes Jaskier could swear there was blood on the carpet, but every time he’d go back to look later, it had vanished- scrubbed away, or never there?

He never seemed to mind the noise Jaskier made, either. While other philistines railed at his 3 AM renditions of “Roll Your Leg Over,” banging on the floor and wall of his apartment. On one memorable occasion, they had even sent an exasperated police officer to bang on his door. Never the white-haired stranger, though, no matter how loud he was being.

Just then, knocking interrupted his frantic cleaning. Dropping the lute onto the couch and swearing, Jaskier ran to answer the door. It was only after he had flung the door wide and the white-haired man had stepped inside that he realized he was still only in his boxers. Mortified, he froze to the floor as his neighbor slipped around him and punted the door shut with his foot. He hadn’t even cleared away all of the empty soda bottles, and he’d forgotten his pants.

The big man glanced at him as he entered and smirked. Cradled in his arms, no doubt getting his black jacket all furry, was Pipkin. She had a vague, dazed expression on her face, but her tail swished calmly as he turned to close the door. When he released her on the floor however, some sort of spell seemed to break. She blinked, spun around yowling, and whacked the man’s thick calf-high leather boot three times in quick succession. Then she sprinted away into the recesses of Jaskier’s apartment, vanishing in a trice.

“Pipkin!” Jaskier gasped, the shock of seeing his usually friendly cat smack the man jarring him into motion. “I am, so sorry,” he quavered, grabbing a yellow, furry jacket off of the coat hook near the door and wrapping it self-consciously around his waist. “She’s normally very sweet, I promise. Are you all right?!” He looked down at the unharmed boot and back up into shocking golden eyes, bright and intelligent, glittering with amusement.

“I’m fine,” the stranger drawled, removing silver-studded black leather gloves and putting them into his jacket pocket. Closer up, it was possible to see that he carried something bulky under the black duster, strapped to his back. What it was, however, was unclear.

“That’s… that’s good, I’m glad to hear it,” Jaskier bubbled awkwardly, at a loss. He couldn’t just bolt for his trousers without introducing himself first, but he didn’t want to introduce himself without trousers. Dithering, he clutched the jacket to his waist and stared with wide blue eyes at the black-clad vision in front of him. Tall, white hair, long black jacket, some sort of… was that biker’s gear? The pants appeared to be leather with thick plates sewn into them, perhaps to protect from road rash. He also had some sort of sturdy leather vest or something peeking through the opening of his jacket. A tingle raced across the back of Jaskier’s arms. Whatever he was, this was no normal neighbor.

“Want to go grab some pants?” A dry voice cut through his dithering. “I’ll wait.” Bright eyes tracked across the fluffy yellow jacket, the smirk widening slightly.

“Oh thank you,” Jaskier gasped, fleeing before he even had a chance to think. “I’ll be right back!” he called over his shoulder, vanishing into his bedroom. He blindly grabbed for the first pair of pants he could find in his drawer and staggered into them. They were a pair of high-waisted blue trousers that tied at the back- part of one of his Faire outfits.

Then he peeked under the bed for Pipkin, who he found in the closet. She was hiding in an empty shoe box, and emitted a peevish growl when he gently fished her out, cooing softly to her to calm her. Once he had satisfied himself that the struggling creature was uninjured, he gently returned her to her nest. Then, too flustered to grab a shirt, Jaskier bounced back out into the living room.

His guest greeted his return with a slightly stricken look, though it was hidden quickly behind a look of guarded amusement. He eyed Jaskier up and down, taking in the thatch of chest hair, the bare feet, the blue trousers. “Cat ok?” He asked, his voice a deep, pleasantly gravelly baritone.

“She’s fine,” Jaskier shuffled awkwardly, then stuck his hand out. “Thank you so much for being there to catch her. Um. Gosh, I wish I’d met you under better circumstances, you’re really um… I mean.” He stopped, swallowed, catching his breath and reeling himself back in. “My name is Jaskier, it’s nice to meet you.”

The man eyed his hand for a moment that was slightly longer than Jaskier was actually comfortable with, before grasping it firmly. “Geralt,” he introduced himself. “Geralt z Rivii.”

His hand was warm and held a truly surprising amount of strength; Jaskier very rarely felt someone deliberately being gentle with him, but he could tell the big man could crush his fingers like bird bones if he wanted to. It made Jaskier’s bones feel like they were melting like butter, to feel that strength. “Wow…” he said, eyes wide, then mentally kicked himself. “I mean, uh. Nice to meet you,” he burbled, before trailing off awkwardly into silence, kicking himself the entire time for sounding like an idiot.

The corners of Geralt’s eyes crinkled as he squeezed Jaskier’s hand delicately. “Nice to meet you too.” Turning, he scanned the apartment, his expression unreadable. “Why did you name your cat Pipkin? That’s… an unusual choice.”

“Uh… Well, funny story…” Jaskier blushed. Normally, he loved telling this story, but somehow it seems silly and small under that bright gaze. “It’s sort of a play on words. People call their cats ‘pussy,’ so I named her… uh… another word for pussy. An old word. Pipkin.” Damn. He hadn’t even managed to make it funny this time.

“That joke’s more than five hundred years out of date,” Geralt noted, tipping his head to the side and fixing him with a warm, amused look.

“How- How do you know that?” Jaskier sputtered, astonished. The slang was from the 17th century, no one outside certain academic circles had any business knowing that. “Are you… do you do the Faire?”

Shifting the pack on his back, which concealed two swords- one silver, and one steel, Geralt snorted. “I really don’t.”

#ahh-fxck writes #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher #the witcher

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fanfictionaries · 3 years

Text

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 15 - Feelin’ The Same Way

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

What happens when two people try way too hard to act normal?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

Hi all! Thank you so much for being SO patient. I definitely expected to have this up at the very latest yesterday, but alas that’s no he way the universe intended it to be. HOWEVER, expect the next chapter at my normally scheduled time (I have a little fun something planned for next chapter)!

I hope you enjoy and as always feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 14

And I'm feelin' the same way all over again Feelin' the same way all over again Singin' the same lines all over again No matter how much I pretend

“Now, why is it I’m not surprised to find you here?”

A deep and boisterous voice jolted Hermione fully awake. Sitting ramrod straight in the old squatty armchair, the pieces of parchment previously spread across her lap slid off, floating to the floor in all directions. She’d been dozing, stuck in a perpetual state of semi-consciousness since three in the morning. Never fully asleep. Never fully awake. Glancing at the old grandfather clock in the corner she saw it was nearly seven. Bringing a hand up, Hermione ran her fingers through the nest that was currently her hair, grimacing when she met several tangles and knots. Looking around her with bleary eyes, she found Sirius Black standing before her, arms crossed as he stared down at her in curiosity.

“Sirius, I—” she began to apologize, realizing only then that perhaps she wasn’t allowed to freely roam the house as she did the Burrow. But Sirius cut her off, giving her an amused look.

“Relax, kitten. You’re fine. I should have known you’d find the library before long. It’s lucky that you brought your own reading material though. Remus and I haven’t finished clearing the shelves for cursed books,” said Sirius casually, bending down to pick up one of the many pieces of parchment that lay at his feet.

Hermione stood, crossing the space between them, and snatching the parchment from his hand before scrambling to pick up the rest of the loose papers. She didn’t know how much Fred and George fancied sharing their inventions – even if it was with someone as innocuous as Sirius Black. “Cursed books?” she asked, hoping the question would distract the older wizard from her suspicious actions.

Whether it truly did or not, she couldn’t be certain. But either way Sirius took the bait with good humour, sitting casually on the couch in front of the library fireplace. He settled into the old cushions with a contended sigh, kicking his leather-booted feet up onto the coffee table and spreading his arms wide across the back of the couch. He sat with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal. Apparently, twelve years in Azkaban and another two on the run did nothing to quell his aristocratic upbringing and all the self-assuredness that came with it. The expensive material of his dark green button up shirt matched the extravagance of Grimmauld Place well, Hermione thought, – even if the house still held a generous layer of cobwebs. The Sirius Black that sat before her was nothing like the Sirius Black she’d known before. Even after observing him for quite some time the night before, his appearance still threw Hermione for a loop. He looked good – healthier. No longer was he the gaunt, crazy shell of a man she’d met a year and a half ago. Instead, he looked like he’d gained some weight back, the shadows under his eyes were nearly invisible, and there was a spark to him that was previously missing. Clearly his newfound freedom had done him good. Although, from the sounds of his heated statements at dinner the night before, you’d think he was still locked up in a cell. Sirius was none too pleased about being stuck in his childhood home. Hermione, while sympathetic, felt the very muggle sentiment of ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ come to mind.

“Yes, cursed books—” Sirius twisted his face in a mixture of disgust and disdain “—meant to cause harm to anyone who touches them if their blood isn’t completely pure. Dear old mummy was many things, but tolerant of those unlike herself was not one of them. Of course, that shouldn’t surprise you. You had the pleasure of meeting her likeness yesterday.”

Hermione’s face twisted as well thinking about the horrible portrait and the vile insults the woman had screamed. That had been Sirius’s mother? Suddenly his disdain for the Black family home made a bit more sense. “Yes, I remember quite well. She seemed lovely,” her words dripped with sarcasm as she dropped the pile of parchment down onto the coffee table and sat on the opposite end of the couch. She pulled Fred’s cardigan tighter around her body, fighting the slight chill of the early morning. It may have been the end of July, but last nights storm was still wearing off.

Sirius let out a barking laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh yeah. Real saint of a woman.”

“I can’t imagine how idyllic your childhood must have been.”

“Sunshine and rainbows my dear.”

“Does that mean you did, in fact, get the pony you always wanted for your fifth birthday?”

“Just one pony? You clearly underestimate the generous nature of my family.”

“Oh of course. How silly of me.”

The pair chuckled lightly, sending fond smiles in each other’s direction. It truly was good to see Sirius in better circumstances and in better spirits, thought Hermione resolutely.

“So, what are you doing this early in the library? Hoping to do a bit of early morning reading?” asked Hermione, putting an end to their clever repertoire.

“No, I was actually taking a morning sniff around the garden and a certain furry feline mentioned you were in here,” said Sirius with a wry grin.

“I was wondering where Crooks had gone. I haven’t seen him since last night when Kingsley Shacklebolt nearly toppled over him on his way to the loo,” giggled Hermione, remembering the way the large authoritative man had nearly fallen straight into Emmeline Vance’s lap.

“Yes, he’s been staying out of the way since. I sent him up to the attic to keep Buckbeak company for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“I’ve learned it’s not really up to me to decide the comings and goings of my cat. The most I can do is make sure his food dish is full and offer the odd scratch behind the ear when he fancies it,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, that’s not unheard of for Kneazles – even part Kneazles like Crookshanks,” sniffed Sirius.

“Buckbeak is here then?”

“Yeah! Wish I could give him room to spread his wings a bit more. He had loads of space last year when we were on the run, but Dumbledore thinks it’s best if I stay put here. No matter how vile it is. Apparently, I’m the Ministry’s number one scapegoat.”

“Lucky you.”

“I know. It’s difficult being so popular—” Sirius smiled wryly and brought a hand up to rub at his neatly trimmed facial hair “—I’d set him free of course, but I worry the ministry might catch sight of him. That and we’ve become rather attached.”

“Shall I start drafting the marriage license?” Hermione asked, giving Sirius a cheeky look.

The older wizard’s shoulders shook as full body laugher racked him. “You’ve gotten funnier,” he observed.

“Bad influence,” Hermione responded, thinking fondly of Fred and George and her time performing mental gymnastics the previous year. Everything was a joke with the Weasley twins. Everything was a witty comeback, a good one-liner, a clever repartee.

“Not my godson’s, surely?”

“No, Harry’s not nearly as funny as me.”

“Hah! Now that I don’t believe. He’s too much like his father.”

Was he? Hermione wondered. Everything she’d heard about Harry’s father lead her to believe that he was more like Fred and George than Harry. Sure, Harry was good at quidditch, didn’t care much for schoolwork, and had a special fondness for sarcasm, but despite his best efforts he tried his best to fly under the radar.

“How is he, by the way? My godson that is.” Sirius shifted, turning towards her, and taking on a more serious tone.

“Okay, I think. Last I heard from him was a week or so ago. He’s miserable at his aunt and uncle’s but that’s to be expected—” she paused, considering whether to say the next part “—Dumbledore told Ron and me not to write to him too much. At least not about anything serious. He doesn’t want to worry him after…well after everything that’s happened.”

“That’s a load of dragon shite,” scoffed Sirius. “He’s old enough and Merlin knows he deserves to know what’s going on more than anyone.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Sirius wasn’t wrong. Harry did deserve to know the truth. Glancing again at the clock, she saw the large hand was now pointing decidedly south. People would start waking up soon.

“Well, I’ll have to pay Buckbeak and Crooks a visit sometime today—” Hermione stood, picking up her stack of parchment and stretching. The muscles of her back ached in protest; sleeping upright really did nothing for her spine “—perhaps my cat will pay me the kindness of putting up with my presence.”

Sirius laughed again, standing himself but lingering behind as she made her way to the door. Hand on the large brass handle, Hermione paused. There’d been something on her mind since the night before. Sitting around the table as order members chatted and filled themselves with Molly’s famous roast dinner, the overwhelming darkness of their situation slipped through the cracks of mild-mannered joviality. She couldn’t ignore the whispered snippets of conversations carried over from the Order’s meeting or the way they looked at each other as each member left for the evening – as if the weight of some grave responsibility rested upon them; as if it might be the last time they saw each other.

“Things are different now, aren’t they,” she murmured the words, still staring down at the handle in her grasp. She knew Sirius would be honest with her. He was always honest with Harry – to a dangerous level in her opinion. Somehow, he didn’t see them as children the way everyone else did. A fact she was both hesitant about and grateful for. The room was quiet, almost too still, as Hermione waited for him to answer. Surely, he expected her to say something. How could she not? What was going on, this war, it affected her differently. Certainly not in the way that it did Harry, but still. As a muggleborn, as a…mudblood, she was more vulnerable than most and she’d certainly done nothing in her life to fly under anyone’s radar.

“I’m afraid so, kitten,” Sirius sighed, and she didn’t need to turn around to know that his shoulders were no doubt slumped in exhaustion. War was a tiring thing.

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Sirius answered, too quickly for Hermione’s liking. “The only thing you should be worried about right now is continuing to outwit every poor sod at Hogwarts.”

Hermione turned then, looking over her shoulder and giving the older wizard a reproachful look.

“Hogwarts is the safest place for anyone these days, Hermione.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Hermione left Sirius with the question hanging in the air, turning, and exiting the library with haste. She knew the statement was entirely out of character. Perhaps Sirius was unaware of that, considering he knew very little about her. But she couldn’t help but be shaken by her own doubt in Hogwarts and the abilities of their headmaster. She had a bad feeling about the upcoming year. Maybe her endless nightmares were turning her sour and cynical. Maybe she’d read too many bias-ridden articles in the Daily Prophet. Or maybe it was watching her best friend cry over the dead body of a fellow student.

“Wotcher, ‘Mione,” called a voice in surprise as Hermione collided with a tall, unyielding body. Bringing out a hand to stabilize herself, she was met with the shock of damp skin. Once her vision focused, she realized in even more shock that she was currently touching the bare expanse of a pale and freckled chest. Wide and firm, the muscles flexed under her fingertips. Please don’t be him, please don’t be him, she chanted in her head before looking up slowly. Drats. Of course, it was Fred’s chest she was currently groping. She should move her hand away. She really should. But she couldn’t. He was unfairly handsome with his hair freshly washed, droplets of water running from the wet strands at the nape of his neck down his shoulder and meeting her hand in heavy rivulets. He smelled good as well – warm and spicy and fresh like soap and myrrh with just a dash of peppercorns. Damn him.

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” joked Fred, stepping around her and walking backwards towards his room. “Where’ve you been this early?”

“Just looking over your notes.” Hermione held up the parchment and watched as Fred’s eyes lit up.

“Wicked! Want to go over them before breakfast?”

“Um, sure. I just need to go and change.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your time. Do all your girly stuff and meet me and George back in our room when you’re done.” Fred smiled and it took everything in Hermione’s power not to drool. It should be illegal to walk around this house in nothing but your trousers.

Still, she was going for normal. So, she opted for letting out a very unladylike snort instead. “Girly stuff?”

“Sure—” Fred shrugged “—you know. Hair, makeup, outfit, terrorizing small villages—whatever takes you lot so long to get ready.”

“Are you under the impression girls need to strike fear into the hearts of innocent people before they can drink their morning cuppa?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. You certainly scare me,” said Fred, widening his eyes teasingly.

“Hmmm good. Give me ten, alright?”

“Only ten?!” cried Fred disbelievingly as he turned away from him.

“It’s a nearby village!” Hermione called after him, earning herself a loud guffaw from the Weasley twin.

She tried not to let Fred’s laughter go to her head. Sirius had just been stroking her ego in the library; Fred’s reaction was nothing but equal to that surely and she didn’t get all flustered from Sirius’s compliments. However, only five minutes later Hermione caught the sight of her stupidly pleased grin in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She rinsed her toothbrush and set in down to dry. Gripping the sides of the porcelain sink in her hands she braced herself against it and stared hard into the mirror.

“You can’t have him Hermione. He has a girlfriend,” she told herself quietly feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. “An incredibly tall, gorgeous, talented girlfriend that you don’t even hold a candle to. Why would he want you? He probably likes her because she spends all her free time doing cool things like quidditch,” said Hermione, voice taking on a woe is me tone.

Continuing to stare into the mirror, she assessed her appearance. George had been astute in his assessment of her the day before; she had gotten taller. Her father remarked that this was probably the tail end of puberty making its mark as she now surpassed her mother’s height by two inches. Her mother agreed with this statement when Hermione begrudgingly admitted she was in desperate need of new bras. It wasn’t just her body that had changed either, she mused staring hard at the angles of her face. She’d lost some of the roundness to her face, the softness of adolescence melting down to sharper angles. The cut of her cheekbones was more pronounced, her jawline was harder, and her chin had more of a point to it. Despite the changes, Hermione couldn’t help but still feel very plain. Sure, she was much prettier than the year before and even more so than the years before that, but she didn’t compare to the other girls at Hogwarts. She didn’t have Lavender’s pretty blonde waves, Pavarti’s smooth flawless skin, Fay’s high cheekbones, or Emmy’s sparkling blue eyes.

And those were just the girls in her year, sulked Hermione as she exited the bathroom and popped back into her bedroom to drop off her toiletries. There were the older girls too. The ones with more confidence and more experience. How was she supposed to compare to someone like Angelina Johnson? The Gryffindor seventh year had a good four inches on her, and it was all leg. Not to mention she was about as athletically fit as a girl could get. Hermione’s body wasn’t awful she thought, she had gotten more curves over the last few months and she was considerably thinner these days. But that was due more to the lack of sleep and stress. She didn’t have lean muscles from hours working out of the quidditch field.

“I could play quidditch if I wanted,” Hermione said petulantly to herself.

“Hah! Good one.”

Hermione turned in surprise to see Ginny entering their room. Great.

“I’ve seen you on a broom Hermione and while I love you dearly, you’re completely rubbish,” said Ginny very sweetly but honestly.

Hermione sighed.

“Why is it so bloody cold in July?” asked Ginny. The younger girl gave an exaggerated shiver and dug into the contents of her dresser before pulling out a thick pair of socks.

“I’m sure it will wear off soon. The weatherman said we’re due for a heatwave soon before I left home,” Hermione informed her, grabbing her wand, and tucking the stack of notes under arm.

“Weatherman? Like on the television?” asked Ginny curiously. Ginny had chosen Muggle Studies as one of her electives – really to please her father than for her own amusement. Hermione had been helping her and she was picking things up surprisingly well.

Hermione nodded, looking down at her own sock ladened feet. Reaching once again for Fred’s cardigan, she stopped herself. He did say it was hers now, but wearing it so often felt a bit like overkill. She was supposed to be acting like she wasn’t in love with him. So, instead Hermione dug into the wardrobe and pulled out one of her new jumpers – a green knit pullover that fit well over her t-shirt. She paused to put it on before heading for the door.

“Where are you off to this early?” asked Ginny, sitting down on her bed, and pulling out a copy of Seeker Weekly. She flipped through the pages casually.

“Summer homework,” Hermione lied.

“Have fun,” Ginny called after her, although her intonation implied that she thought nothing about doing summer homework sounded fun.

Hermione crossed the hall, knocking on the twins’ door lightly.

“Come in!” one of the twins called from the other side. Hermione turned the doorknob, cautiously entering the room. Her eyes darted back and forth for any signs of suspicion. You never knew with Fred and George. Hermione always had to be on her guard. During their time together at school, she found they were respectful enough to keep her out of their pranks as she was helping them. But that didn’t mean she was exempt from the odd exploding ink bottle or charmed book.

“Guard down, Hermione. You’re here on business – no pranks today,” said George in good humor.

Hermione relaxed a little, stepping fully into the room and crossing to where Fred and George sat on their bed.

“So—” she began, slipping into the business-like manner she usually took when she worked with them on their inventions “—I’ve read through your notes and I have to say I’m quite impressed boys.”

“You read through them all? Already?” asked George in disbelief.

“Are you that surprised?” snorted Fred. “Go on ‘Mione. I believe you were saying something about us being devastatingly handsome geniuses?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat on the bed as well, crossing her legs and sorting through the parchment. “Alright, walk me through it.”

The pair of them looked at her in confusion, side-eyeing each other before responding in unison, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sensing a theme in some of these products. So, walk me through it. What’s your elevator pitch, so to say?”

“Our what?” asked Fred, scratching the back of his head.

“Honestly, and you two call yourselves aspiring businessmen. An elevator pitch is a short speech you give to explain your idea or product. For example, imagine you’re in a lift at the ministry and an investor walks in and you only have the few minutes during your ride to convince them to give you money for your product. Elevator pitch,” Hermione explained, watching at understanding washed over their faces.

“Brilliant, these muggle things,” smiled Fred, looking to George.

“Right, well how many times have you wanted to skive off class or get out of a meeting or event but didn’t have a proper excuse?” began George, putting on all the airs of a professional showman.

Hermione’s opened her mouth to say that she’d never once considered skiving off class, but Fred cut her off.

“We’re speaking to the general public here ‘Mione. Keep your personal biases to yourself, please.”

Hermione snapped her jaw shut, screwing her mouth to the side.

Fred smiled smugly before picking up where George left off, “You wished you had the excuse of a sick day, but your acting skills just aren’t up to scratch.”

“Instead of agonizing over how you’re going to properly convince Madame Pomfrey you’ve got a pounding headache—”

“—or prove to your boss that you really have been on the toilet all day—”

“—try a sweet from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ Skiving Snack Box!” cried George.

“Fever Fudge.”

“Fainting Fancies.”

“Puking Pastilles.”

“Nosebleed Nougat!”

The pair were really getting into it now.

“All you’ll need to get out of any class, appointment, or event—”

“—with none the wiser.”

They ended their speech with wide smiles, clearly pleased with themselves. Hermione looked at them for a moment. As much as she didn’t agree with the implied usage of the products, she couldn’t deny that many students would want them.

“How…how do you like it?” Fred asked, looking nervous as Hermione considered them.

She smiled. “I think you’re going to sell out before you’ve even finished making them,” Hermione answered honestly. “But—” she continued, putting a pause to their mounting excitement “—we have a lot of work to do before then. There are large gaps, and it looks like the only one you’ve made any progress with is the nosebleed nougats.”

“Yeah, about those—”

“You haven’t figured out how to stop the bleeding, have you?” Hermione asked, cutting George off. Although, the question was really more of a statement.

“How did you know?” asked Fred.

“It’s all in the notes, Frederick,” said Hermione exasperatedly, jabbing a finger into the pile of detailed drawings and messy handwriting. Merlin, this was going to be a long morning.

“What about banewort?” suggested George, an hour later. They’d put as much brainstorming into the Nosebleed Nougats as they could for the time being, finally settling on ground mustard root as the best possible clotting agent to stop the bleeding. Now they’d moved onto Fever Fudge.

“Only if you want to kill your customers!” exclaimed Hermione, shooting George a look of exasperated disbelief. She paced the floor of the bedroom, wracking her brain for what could possibly induce fever without causing permanent harm…or death.

“That’s nightshade mate,” she heard Fred whisper to George.

“How was I supposed to know that?” George whispered back.

“I don’t know, maybe five years of potions classes?” said Fred sarcastically.

“You’re the one that got an Acceptable in potions!”

“Yes, but I failed Herbology!”

“Can you two please shut it for just a second? Please?! I’m trying to think…” Hermione continued to pace, feeling her hair growing in size. It always did when she was frazzled.

“Oh! Hermione!”

“I said shut it!” Hermione growled, spinning on the spot, and glaring a hole through Fred.

Fred stared back at her in surprise before crossing his arms and sitting back. “Fine,” he said with contempt.

Hermione immediately regretted her outburst. “What is it Fred?” she asked with an exhale.

“Nothing.”

“It was clearly something.”

“Yes, but then you yelled at me.”

“You’re being a child.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Just spit it out Frederick!” Hermione picked up a pillow from the empty bed and hurled it towards Fred, knocking the petulant expression off his face. It was immediately replaced by a mischievous smile and Hermione’s blood ran cold. Before she could even take a step, Fred had leapt from the bed and lunged for her. In the last second, Hermione darted out of his way bounding onto the empty bed and landing on the other side, so the distance of a mattress lay between them. She picked up another pillow and held it defensively in her hands.

“Go on, throw another pillow. I dare you,” challenged Fred, leaning lighting on the mattress in front of him, fingertips steepled on the dark grey duvet.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Hermione said back, feeling her blood race through her veins, heart beating loudly in her ears as she stood light-footed, waiting for Fred to pounce.

“Throw the pillow.”

“Tell me.”

“Throw the pillow!”

“Tell me!” shouted Hermione, swinging the pillow back and chucking it across the bed with all her strength. Unsurprisingly, Fred caught the pillow easily and Hermione let out a shrill scream. She turned, darting for the door, but Fred vaulted the bed and reached her just as her fingers brushed the brass of the doorknob.

The burly ginger’s arms wrapped themselves around her middle and hoisted her up into the air as she kicked and yelled, “Put me down Frederick!”

“Such a violent little lion! No wonder they sorted you into Gryffindor! Is that the best you can do?” asked Fred, throwing her down onto the bed. Hermione bounced, the mattress surprisingly springy for its age. Huffing, she blew the hair out of her face just in time to see Fred swinging a pillow down at her. She brought her hands up in front of her face, blocking the strike and grabbing hold of the pillow tightly. With a hard tug, Fred came toppling down over her, but still the fight was on. In a mess of knees and elbows they grappled over the pillow, laughter bubbling up from their chests. Soon the real reason for their confrontation was forgotten and instead each party fought simply for the sake of winning.

“Aha!” Fred exclaimed triumphantly as he successfully pinned both of Hermione’s wrists down on the bed. Hermione breathed hard, glaring up at Fred and realizing she’d been bested. She gave one last effort to break free, bucking and twisting her body, but remaining weighed down by the boy above her. Hermione let out a groan of frustration.

“Now, now. Don’t be such a poor loser, ‘Mione. Maybe this’ll teach you to not start fights you’re no match for.”

“In case you’ve forgotten I terrorized an entire village this morning before I got here. You’re barking if you think I’m frightened by you Frederick Weasley.”

They both laughed, hearty full body guffaws, at the inside joke until their sides ached and they simmered down into small giggles that forced past their lips. In that moment Hermione was struck by just how full Fred’s bottom lip was. She stared at it, unwillingly, before her eyes flickered back up to find Fred looking down at her. He looked at her very much the same way he had the night of the yule ball and then again in the hallway the night before.

A throat cleared from inside the room and their heads snapped to the side to see George still sitting on the other bed, looking at them like he’d just witnessed a unicorn walk through the door on its hind legs eating a bag of crisps. Hermione looked back up at Fred and then at their bodies closely pressed together with sinking realization. Fred jumped off of her, nearly toppling onto the ground as he did so. Hermione in turn, half scooted, half crab walked across the bed until she was flush with the headboard. She could already feel a brilliant flush forming on her face as the room stood silent, Fred staring hard out the window, George smiling widely in scandalous amusement, and Hermione glancing nervously between the two and the door. It was on her third pass over the door that it swung open, revealing a very annoyed Ron.

“There you are! Come on, mum’s got breakfast ready and then she has a whole list of chores,” grumbled Ron, leaning against the doorframe giving the three of them an odd look. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing! Let’s go down for breakfast, I’m starving.” Hermione scurried off the bed and towards the door, thanking Merlin and those who came before and after him for Ron’s impeccable timing.

What was that?! she asked herself as she descended the stairs, letting Ron’s whinging over chores fill the space her thoughts could not. Her body felt hot and flushed. She reached for the bottom hem of her jumper and lifted it over her head, extricating herself from the suffocating layer. Suddenly the day wasn’t so chilly. In fact, a cold shower sounded quite swell.

Ron may have given her a perfectly timed exit from the room, but there was no escaping the self-satisfied grin on George’s face at breakfast. Of course, he found the whole thing amusing. It was only her pitifully pathetic crush on his brother and her complete lack of self-control when it came to Fred pushing her buttons. She should have never thrown that pillow. Surely, they both knew now. At the very least George knew. At worst Fred knew. It was most likely why he wouldn’t look at her. Why he sat at the opposite end of the kitchen table. She could kick herself. Barely a day with the Weasleys and she’d made an absolute fool of herself. Good going Granger.

Fred was mortified to say the least. Barely a day with Hermione and he had completely lost his mind. What on earth had possessed him to manhandle her like that? And in front of George no less. He’d never hear the end of it now. He could already hear his brother’s self-righteous words in his head: What about Angelina? What about Ron? I thought you said you didn’t have feelings for Granger. Lying to your twin brother now, Freddie?

What an absolute nightmare. He couldn’t even look at her, too afraid of the reproachful stare she was sure to give him. She must think him a real tosser now. Fred Weasley, the boy with a girlfriend, wrestling around with his little brother’s girl? She isn’t his girl though, said a small little voice in the back of his head. Yeah, but she’s as good as and once again I have a girlfriend, Fred answered back. He could do with a hard pillow to the head now, he reasoned – anything to get his mind off the way Hermione’s body had felt under his. The softness of her as she laughed sweetly below him, hair fanned out on the mattress. If he thought the memory of their kiss last Christmas was hard to forget, then this might as well be permanently branded onto the inside of his skull.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding her, choosing the chores on his mother’s list that were sure to keep him the busiest and furthest away from the bushy-haired fifth year. Unfortunately, that meant he was pruning the overgrown Shrivelfig tree in the garden and mucking out Hippogriff dung in the attic. They were tasks that would have taken him easily no time at all with magic, but he decided to leave his wand behind seeing the hard and nasty work as both a time consumer and a strange form of penitence for his previous behavior that morning. Maybe if he wore himself out, he wouldn’t be so bloody horny.

“Alright there, Freddie?” asked George, tinkering with a spitting teapot when Fred finally emerged from the attic and back in their room.

“Piss off,” Fred grumbled. He was tired, sticky, and smelled like Hippogriff dung. The last thing he wanted to hear was the bout of teasing George had undoubtedly been saving up since that morning.

“Someone’s in a mood again. I thought maybe all that physical exertion would have left you in better spirits.”

“You know, surprisingly, spending the day knee deep in Shrivelfig juice and Hippogriff shite really hasn’t left me too chuffed,” Fred bit back. He pulled his filth-covered shirt off and threw it on the floor before searching for his towel.

“Now brother, you and I both know that isn’t at all what I was referring to,” said George condescendingly. He placed the teapot down on the desk and gave Fred a knowing look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” responded Fred, finding his towel underneath a pile of brightly covered packaging. He gave it a good shake before slinging it over his shoulder and making his way to the door. He needed a shower.

“You can’t avoid this forever!” George called after him.

“I said piss off!” Fred called back, only earning him a great roar of laughter from George as he slammed the door behind him.

He saw Ginny in hallway as he stormed towards the bathroom. The poor girl became another victim of his bad temper as he lifted two very rude fingers when she’d wrinkled her nose and told him he smelled like Bubotuber puss on a hot day. She called him a berk in return which Fred allowed, because she was right. Why couldn’t George just leave it alone? He’d been dogging Fred for nearly a year now about Hermione and it was grating on his nerves more than ever. No matter how many times he told his twin he didn’t fancy the girl, he still pressed on. It’s because he knows you’re lying, thought Fred irritably. Twins – they knew too much. Although Fred reasoned if George truly knew everything about him then he’d know well enough to let it be. Fred was dating Angelina. Ron liked Hermione. Hermione liked Ron. End of story.

The cold water did nothing to simper Fred’s foul mood. He carried it with him all through dinner, snapping at Ron twice and earning him a sharp dressing-down from his mum. So, when dinner was over, he opted to skip dessert and head upstairs instead, shooting George a look that said, ‘If you follow me, I’ll kill you’. Thankfully, George heeded his warning and left Fred to do as he pleased. He spent most of the night making fake wands. When he finished with that, he attempted to see how long he could balance items on top of each other using a simple levitation spell. His best time was thirty minutes and twenty-eight seconds, levitating the desk, a chair, and three books all on top of a single galleon, before they toppled over in a large crash. His mother’s scolding yell traveled all the way up from the ground floor and put an end to his little game. Finally, when the sun had set for the day, he reasoned he could go to bed. Maybe a fresh start would set him right. But the world was cruel and so sleep evaded him like the plague. Sitting up after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, Fred threw back his covers and grabbed his notebook and a few books from the desk before storming out of the room.

To his great relief the library was empty when he entered. The clock in the corner told him it was nearly ten at night. Everyone was probably in bed or headed there. George of course had been nowhere in sight when he’d left their room, but he was probably listening to one of Sirius’s old war stories. Turns out Sirius Black had been quite the prankster in school as well – much like Fred and George, though not nearly as committed as they were, Fred thought. Sitting down on the couch, he grabbed the moth-eaten afghan from the back and draped it over his lap then opened his book and began to read. Fully immersed in a chapter on boils and their healing droughts, Fred failed to hear the library doors open.

“Oh!” a startled voice broke him from his concentration, and he looked up to find Hermione standing before him. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this late,” said the witch bashfully.

Fred glanced to the clock again to see the hands pointed to nearly one in the morning. Had he really been reading for that long?

“I can…I’ll just go,” stuttered Hermione, turning to exit the library.

“No,” said Fred a bit too forcefully before clearly his throat and evening his voice. “I mean, I can leave if you want the space to yourself.” He made to rise from the couch.

“Oh, don’t do that. You were here first. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t,” said Hermione, chewing on her bottom lip in an irritatingly distracting manner.

Fred swallowed thickly. A small part of him did care. It cared very deeply. But he needed to act normal. Friends could read in the same library as each other. So, he put on his best impression of calm and unbothered when he answered, “Not at all.”

He relaxed back into the couch, surprised when Hermione seated herself on the other end. Maybe he hadn’t offended her as badly as he thought he had. If he had, he assumed she would have taken the chair instead.

“It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Want me to light a fire?” Fred asked.

“Could you?”

Fred nodded his head, reaching for his wand only to realize he’d left it in his room. “I don’t have my wand,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s alright,” responded Hermione, curling her legs underneath her and opening her book.

Fred glanced down at the blanket covering his lower half. “Do you want the blanket?”

Hermione looked up from her book. “Wouldn’t you be cold?” she asked hesitantly.

Fred shrugged. Probably, he thought, but the least he could do is put up with a bit of cold for her.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said flippantly.

“Just take the blanket. It’s no big deal.”

“Really, I’ll be okay Fred.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it.”

“I’m not!”

“At least take part of it,” cried Fred, internally groaning when he realized what he’d said. Why did she have to push his buttons so well? It made him forget himself.

“What? You mean like share it?”

Fred hesitated. He was balancing a thin line. If he backtracked now then it would make it seem like he had some reason for not wanting to share the blanket, but if he pushed too far then it might imply some ulterior motive.

“If you want. Blankets big enough for two.” He shrugged nonchalantly. Hermione stared at him and then the afghan for a few moments, most likely weighing the pros and cons of sharing a blanket with her friend’s creepy older brother. Finally, she scooted closer on the couch, having made her decision. Fred sagged in relief, untucking the blanket from around his legs and draping it across Hermione’s lower half as well. They were closer now but not too close, the space under the afghan heating up quickly from their combined body heat. Fred had to admit, it was nice – being warmer that is. It was quiet as they read. Or at least as Hermione read. Fred couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the witch besides him, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing his cardigan again. It hung on her in an unfairly attractive way. His mind drifted to images of her wearing his cardigan and nothing els—stop, he scolded himself. Looking back down at his book, he tried to focus on the words in front of him but instead all he could think about was the uncomfortable tension between them. He needed to do something to put things right again.

“Pigeon berry,” he said, breaking the silence.

“What?” Hermione looked up from her book in confusion.

“For the Fever Fudge – pigeon berry.”

“Really?” said Hermione in surprise, but not in a rude way – in the way she always sounded surprised when a thought was brought up, she had not previously considered. Fred had come to know the tone quite well the previous year.

“Yeah, it has similar effects as nightshade but it’s not nearly as dangerous.”

“It can still be lethal though,” countered Hermione.

“I thought of that—” Fred closed his book and placed it on the coffee table, reaching instead for his notebook and opening it to the notes he’d made earlier that night while the thoughts were still fresh in his mind “—if we concentrate it to get an exact potency and then use small amounts, diluting it with Moondew, we should be able to get the side effects without it being dangerous.”

Hermione scooted closer, looking down at his notes in hard concentration. After a moment, she looked up at him with a wide smile. “That’s brilliant Fred,” she breathed.

Fred shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot that day. One would think he was trying too hard to act cool.

He fully expected Hermione to move away from him once she’d had her fill of his notes, but she didn’t. Instead she stayed nearly glued to his side, their legs and arms touching under the blanket as she returned to her book. They read on for a while longer until Hermione broke the silence with a large yawn. He watched her bring a hand over her mouth and then shake her head back and forth, blinking rapidly as she tried to stay awake. She should go to bed, thought Fred. She looked bone tired. The shadows he’d seen hints of since she arrived were more prominent than ever under her eyes and there was a desperate bloodshot look to the whites of them.

“Why don’t you go to bed ‘Mione?” he suggested lightly.

Hermione shook her head. “No. I can’t.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about ready to pass out any moment.”

Hermione shook her head again. “I can’t…I-I don’t want to. I’ve been…I’ve been having nightmares again,” she whispered her admittance, staring through her book now more than at it.

“Do you wanna’ talk about it?” Fred asked hesitantly, remembering their conversation in the hospital wing the year before and how she’d told him about her nightmares then too.

Hermione was silent and Fred waited patiently as she mulled over his invitation.

“I’m scared,” she finally confessed, closing her book, and laying her head on his shoulder. Fred stiffened for a second, surprised by the intimate action, but then relaxed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and comforting her as best he could.

“To tell me about your nightmares?” he asked dumbly.

Hermione gave a small hollow laugh. “No, about everything – You-Know-Who, Harry, the war.”

“Everyone’s scared, ‘Mione. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Really?” questioned Hermione, lifting her head from his shoulder, and looking up at him with those large Firewhisky eyes.

“Anyone with good sense is at least. Probably why Percy’s not. He’s not speaking with mum and dad right now actually. Did Ron tell you that?” He didn’t know why he felt like that was the moment to share his family drama, but it seemed to work as a good opening up point. Hermione relaxed further into his chest.

“No. Why?”

“Well, Percy’s in full support of the Minister. Thinks Dumbledore is barmy and thinks mum and dad are equally as barmy for continuing to support him. He told them as much too. It caused a big row. Mum and dad try to play it off to the rest of us like there’s nothing to worry about, but we’re not dumb. I know they’re worried about what’s going to happen now that You-Know-Who’s back. I’ve walked in on them arguing in the kitchen a couple times already this summer.” He could still remember the seething voice of his mother and the tired expression on his father’s face before they both smiled at him, mum asking if she could get him anything.

“Dumbledore asked us not to write Harry about this place and what we’re up to. He thinks the Ministry is going to start intercepting mail.”

“Hmm,” responded Fred, not surprised by that at all.

“It feels strange to be going back to school while all of this is going on. Everyone’s always said the safest place is Hogwarts and I’ve always believed that, but it’s getting harder. I just can’t shake this horrible feeling that things are about to take a turn for the worst.”

Fred didn’t know what to say, which was odd because he usually had something to say about everything. But in that moment, he was at a loss for words – mainly because he felt the same way. He tried not to think about it, but it was always there sitting at the back of his mind. They were quiet for a while, both staring into nothing in the quiet stillness of the library. The lamps were getting low now, the light becoming dimmer as time ticked by and the oil burned down. The weight of Hermione’s head on his shoulder became heavier and he glanced down to see her eyes closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were parted as she breathed deeply.

“Hermione,” he whispered softly, rubbing her arm, and giving her a gentle shake.

“Hmm?” she roused slightly, crinkling her nose in sleepy irritation.

“Time for bed,” Fred whispered, trying again to softly wake her.

“Just a little longer, please?” Hermione mumbled, turning her face, and snuggling into him further. Fred sighed. He was strong, but not strong enough to say no to that.

“Okay, ‘Mione. Just a few more minutes.”

The room was considerably lighter. That was the first thought Fred had upon opening his eyes and taking in the library around him. Sitting there, Hermione snuggled into his side, his own eyes had begun to droop heavily. He had closed them for only a second and then next thing he knew he was horizontal on the couch as the sun peaked through the tall, galvanized steel windows. He blinked, bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. The weight and warmth of a second body brought him fully to consciousness and he looked down to find Hermione snuggled between the back of the couch and his side. Fred lay on his back, Hermione still tucked under his right shoulder, her arm circling his waist and head resting on his chest. Her brown tresses spread around her in a wild nest, a single loose curl tickled the underside of his chin and he brushed it aside with his free hand. Their lower halves were a tangle of legs and blanket, her shorts riding up to show bits of bare leg peaking through the afghan. It was very intimate, and Fred thanked Merlin he wasn’t sporting his usual morning salute to the day.

He should get up. It would be easy to slip from Hermione’s grasp and slide off the couch. She’d wake up alone and figure he’d gone to bed and left her there for the night. But he didn’t move. A small, selfish part of him, the same selfish part that convinced him to kiss her all those months ago, made him stay. He might not get another moment like this and he wanted to relish in how nice it felt for just a few uninterrupted seconds. His eyes traced the freckles on the bridge of Hermione’s nose and the line of her parted lips. Merlin, she was beautiful, and he was fully and entirely undeserving.

Even if he weren’t with Angelina, what would Hermione Granger want with him? She was the smartest witch of her age and he was the bloke who’d barely gotten three OWLs and planned to make jokes and pranks for a living. She was going on to change the world or something close to it. Why she even bothered to be friends with him and George he couldn’t understand half the time. He didn’t really understand what she saw in Ron either. He was barely better than him. Ron got better grades and he’d done all the same heroic stuff her and Harry had. But still, he didn’t deserve Hermione one bit either. No one did, he thought in a moment of clarity.

He sighed, trying not to focus on the way his heart clenched in his chest when Hermione tightened her grip around his middle and snuggled further into him, letting out small breathy sighs in her sleep. The moment was almost tranquil and if he had it his way, he’d lay there forever. But, as Fred found, it was usually moments like that, that were meant to broken in some of he worst possible ways.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Chapter 16>>>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

#fremione #fred weasley #hermione granger #fred x hermione #slow burn #romance #fanfic #fanfiction

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angelatmidnight1 · 4 years

Text

You Got Out-Witted

I got the inspiration for this fic from this video plus my love for bad jokes and puns :D.

Summary: Mirage wants the last donut and sends his decoys on a secret mission to get it. He didn’t realize that Wattson already beat him to it and they spend the rest of the morning telling each other corny jokes. Mirage is a trickster for a reason, and believes that his jokes are funnier than Wattson’s, only to come to realize that there’s one joke that she knows about that makes everybody laugh.

“Bamboozles for the foozles, haha...oh boy.” Mirage chuckled nervously to himself as his decoy ran in front of him and, instead of running in a straight line, face-planted into the wall beside the kitchen. Ever since his gear got a huge update, Elliott was spending the better part of the morning learning how to better control his decoys. He was normally perfect at it because, well, he is perfect after all, but for whatever reason, he was having trouble getting the decoy to walk through a doorway. This would have been fine if there wasn’t something on the other side of said doorway: a warm, freshly baked vanilla frosted donut sitting all alone in a nearly empty box up on the countertop. Lifeline had gone out even earlier in the morning to surprise her fellow Legends with donuts from a nearby bakery and bought enough for everyone to have as many as they wanted. Gibraltar ate most of them, Caustic only had one, Bangalore opted out, and Revenant and Pathfinder, for obvious reasons, left theirs untouched. Loba didn’t have one since she hadn’t woken up yet and, since Octane managed to snag extra ones before making a mad dash out of the room, only one donut remained. “Anyone touches this donut whose name isn’t Loba,” He remembered Lifeline saying with her shock sticks drawn, “will be my new drum set!”

Mirage shuddered at the thought but shook it out of his system, his plan was foolproof. Not only was he getting in some practice with his decoys, which he totally didn’t need, his plan was to have the decoy go into the kitchen in his place to make sure the coast was clear. If it was, he’d go in afterwards and grab the goods before anyone could catch him. Then, if and when Lifeline found out that the donut was missing, he’d be in the clear, and he’d have one extra donut to celebrate his victory. And who said he couldn’t work on his killer quips while he was on this secret mission? Just as he sent out another decoy, which was good looking, if he did say so himself, he heard someone giggle behind him. Elliott practically jumped out of his skin and spun around with his hands up, the decoy following his lead. He expected to see Lifeline standing there ready to use his beautiful, beautiful face as a cymbal, but saw Wattson instead.

“Foozles...pfft, I like that one.” Natalie giggled as she took a bite of the donut between her fingers. Elliott looked at her, then the donut, and then back at her, the disappointment falling on top of him like a ton of bricks.

“Where’d ya get the donut, Nat?” Mirage tried to ask as casually as he could, feeling his lower lip quiver as the engineer pointed over his shoulder.

“Mademoiselle Ajay brought donuts for everybody this morning. They’re délicieux~ (delicious).”

She responded happily , munching away at the treat until it was nothing but crumbs. Noticing the way he was looking at her, her face fell and suddenly took on a guilty look that tugged at the trickster’s heartstrings. “Didn’t you get one?”

“Oh, nah, I didn’t...but, don’t worry! Don’t worry. I’m not supposed to eat sweets anyway ‘cause, ya know, carbs and all that. Gotta stay fit for the ring.” Mirage reassured her, perking back up to toss his hair and put his hands on his hips, which made her smirk. “So, ya like foozles huh? Came up with that myself.”

This made Wattson giggle again as she brushed the sprinkles off of her hands, nodding. “Oui, it is very clever. Oh! Let me tell you a joke I heard. Maybe you can add it to your repertoire.” She offered with an excited clap of her hands which made Elliott grin.

“I don’t know, my jokes are pretty septact--setpact, setapcul---er, amazing. Show me what you got.” Elliott answered, following the engineer to the common room’s sofa and having a seat.

“Okay! Do you wanna hear a joke about paper?” Wattson grinned, chuckling at the confused expression on his face. “Never mind, it’s tear-able!”

Mirage blinked, then snickered, then finally laughed when he caught up to the punchline. “Oh I get it, tearable paper but it sounds like, hahaha, that’s funny.” He chortled as Natalie joined in on the laughter. Unlike his smooth laughter, Wattson’s was light and kind of squeaky. Once the two calmed down, Wattson gently pushed his shoulder and smiled at him eagerly.

“It’s your turn! Tell me one of your amazing jokes.” She demanded, swiveling her legs in an attempt to contain her excitement. Elliott smiled, Wattson was adorable, and he brought both of his arms up and hooked his hands behind his head so that he could properly lounge.

“Alright, hey did you know spring was here? I got so excited I….wet my plants.” He quipped with some added finger guns for good measure. Wattson burst out laughing and crossed her arms against her torso, her nose wrinkling from how hard she was laughing. Elliot chuckled, finding her laughter contagious, and watched as Natalie wiped her eyes and beamed at him.

“You mean they were soiled?” Natalie wiggled her eyebrows and it was Mirage’s turn to split his sides.

The pair’s dorky laughter filled up the common area of the dropship and found its way into various nearby rooms. After dishing out some more jokes back and forth, Natalie accidentally snorted and covered her face with her hands, hiding her bright pink face.

“Say it again, say it again!” Wattson laughed, her voice muffled by her palms and Mirage, his ego soaring, sported a wide grin.

“Okay, okay. What did the pirate say on his 80th birthday?” Mirage smirked, watching Wattson’s shoulders shake with contained laughter. “Argh, Aye Matey.”

Natalie shrieked with laughter and sunk into the side of the couch, letting another snort slip as she hid into the cushions. “You’re so funny, Monsieur Witt!”

Elliott chuckled and shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m good, I'm good. But there’s two of me, so I’m good twice! Boom, check out that math.” He grinned as he summoned a decoy, fist bumping it before it immediately disappeared. Natalie’s laughter came to a halt and she turned to face him, blinking away her tears of mirth and raising a brow.

“Are you saying your jokes are better than mine?” Wattson pouted as she crossed her arms against her chest.

“No! Well...actually, yeah. But I mean, look at you! I’ve never seen someone turn so pink.” Mirage teased as he poked at her cheeks and laughed when she pushed his hand away.

“Arrête ça! (Stop it!) My jokes were just as funny as yours,” She whined. Mirage put his hands up as if surrendering but didn’t stop smiling.

“Alright, how about this: I’ll say your jokes were half-good. They did make me laugh...a little bit. Okay?” Mirage replied and Wattson, still pouting, suddenly offered him a smile of her own.

“Okay, Monsieur Witt. Maybe my initial jokes were ‘half-good’ as you say, but I have another that’ll make you laugh way more than a little bit. Wanna hear it?” She asked in a sort of a sing-song voice, scooting closer to the trickster with the bright look of mischief in her eyes. Mirage eyed her curiously yet didn’t back away even when she closed the distance between them.

“Sure, oh and you can call me Elliott. Keeps away the gray hairs.” He chuckled, flinching when Wattson suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. Mirage blushed and was thankful that she couldn’t see it but was now more confused than curious. Wasn’t she supposed to be telling a joke? “How do you make an octopus laugh, Elliott?” Wattson whispered. Mirage furrowed his brows and fidgeted in her grasp but she didn’t budge.

“Uh, I don’t know. Sounds like that’s the sity-four, uh sixty fort….ugh, the million dollar question.” He stammered only to let out a surprised shout when she suddenly pushed him backwards. Since Wattson had already trapped Mirage’s arms to his sides when she hugged him, she had no trouble pinning them beneath her knees and keeping them there. The engineer dramatically lifted her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers with a huge smile on her face.

“You give it ten-tickles~!” She cheered before reaching under his arms and wiggling her fingertips against his armpits. Mirage dropped a high pitched squeak before dissolving into frantic laughter.

“WHAHAHAT THAHAHAT’S NAHAHT A JOHOHOHKE!” Elliott screamed as he writhed against the cushions in a tickle-induced panic. Natalie beamed, happy that she caught the trickster off guard, and swiped her nails up his arms before tickling under his chin and the sides of his neck.

“Yes it is! And it’s pretty funny, don’t you think?” She asked innocently, to which Elliott responded by whipping his head around and ruining his immaculate curly hair.

“NOoohohohoh it’s NOHOHOHohohoht! THIHIHIHihihihs ihihihihs cheheheheatiihihihihng!” The trickster yelped, his laughter taking on different pitches as he tried to trap her hand between his neck and shoulder. Natalie wasn’t having it and moved her wiggling fingers to his sides, where he started bucking like a bronco and dipped into heavier laughter. Damn whoever made him so ticklish.

“I’m not cheating, tickling is a part of the joke! And if the joke isn’t funny, why are you laughing?” Natalie smirked and, since he was wearing more casual attire (excluding his holo tech), she was able to reach underneath his shirt and squeeze his bare sides. Mirage flung his head back and convulsed with desperate laughter, kicking every pillow within reach off of the couch. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHP NAHAHAHATHAHAHAH STOHOHOHOHP!”

Natalie paused and, after pretending to think about it, she shook her head and went back to squeezing the trickster’s sides. “I have a better idea,” She replied, having to raise her voice over the sounds of his wild laughter. “Either you stop laughing at my terrible, unfunny joke, or admit that my jokes are just as good as yours!”

“BAHAHAHAT I’D BEHEHEHEH LYHIHIHIHNHGAHAHAHAH!” Mirage wailed before falling back into a fit of laughter, barely hearing Natalie gasp and put on a mock offended look.

“How dare---you know what, fine! Then laugh it up, mon amie!” Natalie commanded, suddenly twisting a finger into his navel and delivering playful pokes to his abdomen. When she switched spots, Elliott’s laughter calmed down to giggles and he sputtered when she decided to alternate between poking his stomach and scratching at his bottom rib.

“NAHAhahahahahteheheheh cohohohohohme ohohohohon! Truhuhuce! Leheheheht’s cahahahahall it a draaahahahahahw! Ah! I wahahahahnna truuhuhuhuhuhce!” Mirage snickered uncontrollably and flinched as she kept on poking, snapping his head upwards and searching her eyes for even the smallest ounce of mercy. Natalie shook her head, she was resolute, and she paused again to hover her hands above his sides.

“Non, no truce. Either stop laughing at my bad jokes, or tell me that they’re funny!” She demanded, smirking as he arched his back whenever her hands got too close. “Do it, or I’ll tickle you until you’re as pink as I was!”

Mirage didn’t answer her, too preoccupied with gulping down as much air as he could. Natalie waited for him to catch his breath and give her some kind of answer but, when he didn’t say anything, she narrowed her eyes and resumed tickling his sides. Mirage jolted and, since he nearly tossed Natalie up in the air, she reached behind her and squeezed the trickster’s thigh to balance herself, unknowingly causing him to finally dip down into hysterics.

“NOOOHOHOHOHOHOH! NAHAHAHAHAHAHT DOHOHOHOHOHON’T! DOOHOHN’THAHAHAH!” Mirage screamed and kicked his legs against the cushions, his eyes shining with tears of mirth. Wattson looked at him, then his legs, before grinning and turning around so that she could face them.

“Don’t what? Don’t do….this?” Natalie tilted her head and squeezed the trickster’s thighs eagerly and giggled as raw, unfiltered laughter spilled from his lips. “Or maybe this? Is this what you don’t want me to do?” She continued as she spidered her nails underneath his knees before returning to attack his thighs.

Mirage tossed his head side to side like a crazy person as he laughed and laughed, his kicking fruitless as Natalie’s fingers kept on squeezing and wiggling against his hypersensitive legs. Natalie pinched the spot where his thigh and hip met and he bucked with a snort, causing her to join in on the laughter.

“That’s a funny sound! Let’s see if we can make it again.” She smiled, continuing to lightly pinch the spot and laughing harder when he did snort again.

“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH NAHAHAHAHAHTTHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA SAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Elliott shook with hysterical laughter with tears streaming down his cheeks. Natalie looked over her shoulder and stopped tickling, poking his thighs and knees at random intervals to keep him giggling.

“So? What do you think of my jokes, Elliott?” Wattson questioned, her nails finding the underside of his knees again and gently scratching. Mirage coughed out a giggle and breathed heavily, blowing loose curls out of his face.

“Hehehehe...y-you’re jokes are gohohohood. So gohohohood, mahahybe eehehehven behehetter than mihihihne.” He gasped, letting out a sigh of relief when she climbed off of him and pulled him up to give him another hug.

“Merci, Elliott. I’m ex-static that we could agree, hehe~!”

#apexlegends #mirage #elliot witt #elliot witt apex legends #mirage apex legends #wattson #wattson apex legends #natalie paquette #natalie paquette apex legends #ticklish!elliot #ticklish!mirage #ticklish!elliotwitt #ticklish!witt

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thunder-the-ranger-wolf · 4 years

Text

Training Days

@ibelieveinahappilyeverafter here’s the story I said I would write. It’s not what I thought it would be but I hope you like it regardless!

Shouta had trained plenty of kids. Had to, since he’d been teaching for… Goodness, had it really been almost a decade? Between having them in his homeroom and working with special cases on the side, he’d say he was an andequate mentor. He’s personally coached the occasional kid who was having a bit too much trouble with their Quirk. Midoriya was hardly the first case, though he was the most unique that Shouta had encountered by far. His class was full of them. It’s literally why he was the one teaching them. Shinsou Hitoshi was nowhere near the first kid he’s done one-on-one training with.

So why is this case different?

He asks Hizashi what he thinks after a particularly difficult session. Shinsou is very much not getting the point of having a repertoire of moves when he can simply order someone to do what he wants. Shouta found out the hard way that he wasn’t immune to the boy’s Quirk, and it had taken a few days to wrap his head around the fact that his mind was no longer his own for about three minutes.

That’s not to say he was scared of the kid or disgusted, like the boy’s peers seemed to be. No, it would be interesting to work with Shinsou if the kid could just get with the program-.

“You’re trying to train him like you did.”

The words that dropped out of Hizashi’s mouth were quiet, yet they slammed into Shouta with all the force of a bullet train.

“What?”

Hizashi flinched at the flat icy tone that his voice took and a small part of him thought Good. He should know better.

He shook that away. It did no good to dwell on the past, but he couldn’t fault anyone else for bringing it up. Especially not Hizashi, who had been there and likely still wasn’t over it.

Granted, Shouta knew that he himself would never be over what happened during his second year.

“It’s… I don’t know, Sho. It’s like you’re trying to push him the way you pushed yourself. Like we’re back in Gen-Ed and the Sports Festival was our only chance.”

“It is his only chance.”

“There’s a difference!” Hizashi snapped out. “He’s not you. You can’t train him to focus on the things that you did because he won’t respond the same. It’s not the same situation at all.”

“It’s the exact same situation. UA hasn’t changed.”

“Okay, but this is a different kid. He’s not dealing with the same things, he doesn’t have the same emotions or coping mechanisms or even the same problems that you did. The chance to get into the Hero Course is the same, but that’s all that is.”

“So… what now?”

“You have to teach him like you would any of your Hero students. Run him through an obstacle course or two. His abilities can’t end with his Quirk, and he doesn’t seem to know that. Show him why you’re in charge of 1-A. Run him the way you run them and make him prove he has what it takes to keep up.”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t train him the way I trained.”

“You’re not. He has the motivation, but he doesn’t fully get what makes a Hero Course student. Teach him that, and he’ll be ready for the Sports Festival.”

Shouta chewed over what his friend said for the rest of the week, and when the weekly training session came back around, he had something of a game plan.”

“I’ve been going about this wrong.” He admitted to his student. “You’re not the first student I’ve mentored one-on-one, but you are the first transfer student. It, uh… hit harder than I thought it would. But you’re not me, and I don’t need you trying to be. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

Shinsou was positively livid as he received the new training plan. He would race through the obstacle course day after day, and each training session, something new would be added.

“You can stop someone in their tracks and make them do what you want, but I guarantee you, that will only keep you safe for so long. You have to know how to back up what you make them do.”

Hitoshi was no slouch. He ran the obstacle course, even if it took him a while to get used to the boulders trying to drag him down or he slipped from sets of rings that clearly belonged to a gymnastics class.

Someone was set to monitor him every day because even the Hero students couldn’t use their obstacle courses without a chaperone or two. If it wasn’t Shouta, it was Hizashi or Nemuri or Kan. Yagi stopped by once, to use some of the equipment for himself, and was willing to watch the boy run the course and even gave pointers.

This went on for ten days, and Shouta was the one to show up for the last few days.

“What, not going to pawn me off on another teacher?” Hitoshi scowled.

“Observing your surroundings should be next on the list.” Came the familiar-by-now voice of Present Mic as if through a speaker. “Up here, Little Listener!”

The man sounded like he was laughing and it made Hitoshi tense up. The look on his face was telling enough, and Shouta figured that it’d be funny to see if Hizashi let the kid get a few hits in.

“He’s a kid, Mic, he’ll grow into it.”

“Right!” Present Mic crowed with a sarcastic edge to his words as he leaned over the railing of the platform above them. “Because you did that so damn well.”

“It’s like you said, he’s not me.” Shouta called up, annoyed. What was Hizashi playing at? “He’ll get it.”

“Sure, sure. Just wondering how much time he has. There are only two more Festivals.”

“And plenty of chances between them.” Shouta snapped. He wanted to wring the other man’s neck but Hizashi was too high up. If his goal was to annoy Shouta, he was doing well enough.

Shouta turned to his student.

“I need to not strangle that bastard and you’ve surpassed my expectations so far. Feel like getting some food?”

Hitoshi agreed eagerly enough and they were off.

The cafe they went to wasn’t originally a Cat Cafe. A few train stops away, Shouta would always remember it as the hole-in-the-wall where he got his morning caffeine fix. And they always seemed to remember him.

“Hey, Aizawa-kun! I was hoping you’d stop by today! You know Rakki had her kittens last week?”

“Did she? How’d it go?”

“There are five. I don’t know how we’re going to manage this litter.”

“I keep saying you can always give one to me. Mochi loves company and loves kittens even more.”

“With all your busy-work I wonder who would handle them more, you or your cat!” The owner snickered.

A nice older man with a wife and two grown children, Shokora Akebi had run this shop since he was a child. The cats were a recent addition. His oldest ran a rescue shelter elsewhere in the city and these were a few of the pets who never found a home. They had attachment issues, so Shokora extended the shop. He did his best to ensure the space and the people in it were safe, and his youngest was qualified to run the cat portion of the cafe in much the same way his oldest ran the shelter.

Shouta explained all of this to a wide-eyed Hitoshi as one of the cats plonked himself into his lap and stretched.

“Looks like Tora is feeling friendly.” A nearby patron snorted, amused, as the orange mackerel tabby arched his back and rubbed against Hitoshi’s shirt.

A gasp hushed the shop as something nudged Shouta’s ankle. The Hero looked down to find that a tortoiseshell held a kitten in her mouth, tail lashing. Shouta looked behind him to make sure nothing blocked his way before pushing his chair back and allowing the mother cat to nestle on his lap. The kitten mewled for all of two seconds before it burrowed in his mother’s fur. Rakki pawed at Shouta’s shirt sleepily before curling up around her kitten.

“Well, we’re stuck here for at least an hour.” Shouta snorted, amused.

“They’re so cute…” Hitoshi mumbled, eyes wide.

“Yours is gnawing at your hand.” Shouta informed him.

The kid didn't seem to mind, too enamored with the fact that it had curled up in his lap without a care in the world.

Shouta snorted at that. Rakki pawed at his capture weapon and he wound a bit around his wrist for her to bat at. The kitten squirmed as she flipped onto her back and stretched out for the strip of cloth.

"Ah, she's feeling playful!"

“She’s lucky this is a practice cloth.” Shouta yawned. “I can afford to replace these and she wouldn’t hurt herself trying to get at them.”

They didn’t stay long at the cafe and their drinks were prepped to go.

“What are we doing next?” Hitoshi wondered.

“I’ve got a few training ideas I want to implement, but I think you’ve earned the rest of the day off. I’m dropping you off at UA and you’re free from there as long as you don’t get in trouble.”

Hitoshi seemed disappointed at the prospect of being on his own and if Shouta was honest with himself, he wasn’t quite ready to let the boy go off on his own. Not yet, at least. But he needed to confront Hizashi about just what the hell that performance of his was supposed to be. Why have the kid run the obstacle course if Shouta was the one monitoring his progress and Hizashi was just playing puppet-master? What did the Voice Hero plan that he wasn’t telling? If it was just to get a look at how he was teaching Hitoshi, he would have said. But there was something else. Something missing.

“Sensei?” Hitoshi prompted.

Aizawa blinked, realizing that he’d been lost in thought as the train they took passed the last stop before UA. It was time to get off. He nodded to the kid to show he was aware and they exited the train and eventually the station. UA wasn’t far, but it was getting dark so Shouta instructed his student to stay close and call for him if they got separated. Scream, actually. He insisted. This wasn’t his first time out with a student and he told every kid the same thing. Shouta was just more agitated for some reason. Hizashi had thrown him off-kilter in a way he wasn’t sure about.

“Are you and Mic-sensei having a fight?” Hitoshi wondered aloud.

If there was anything in his mouth, Shouta would have choked on it in his utter surprise. As it was, he stopped and turned to address the kid.

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s been weird. Outside of class, I mean. I actually see him pretty often, I’m learning sign-language with some of the Gen Ed kids. We formed a club.”

Hizashi would happily run a club like that and was likely over the moon to be asked about something that was important for him specifically.

“How long would you say he’s been weird?”

“What, do you not pay attention?” Hitoshi scoffed.

“I have my estimate. What’s yours?”

“Almost a month.”

That was a good guess. There were several anniversaries that made Hizashi fidget. He could also be strange when reminded of something from the past, whether Shouta knew of the event or not, he was usually able to pick up on this. The Sports Festival coupled with watching Shouta train Hitoshi must have felt like repeatedly getting punched in the face. Shouta had originally chalked it up to USJ, but that was a brand new trauma, all fresh and shiny and likely complete with nightmares.

“What’s your reasoning?” Shouta wondered.

So Hitoshi explained how the teacher came in early and stayed late, which was the norm for them, but he never seemed to slow down. In fact, he seemed to speed up with each passing day, as if the mere thought of slowing down would stop everything in its tracks.

“I’ve seen people do that. My dad used to do that before he got the new job that moved us here. But the thing about Dad was… he had to slow down or he’d crash. He did crash. And he took Mom and me with him. We moved because the job was running him into the ground, but he didn’t know how to stop. So Mom made him.”

“And you think Mic will eventually crash.”

“If he hasn’t already.”

“Good eyes, kid. You’re not wrong.”

“But I missed something.”

“Just context. You’re right that he’s got more to deal with at work, and there are a few events in his personal life to add to that.”

Shouta refuses to think that Hitoshi’s training is one of them. Hizashi wouldn’t ask him to stop training the kid, and might honestly hate him if he caught on and the training ended. But something had to change and Shouta wasn’t sure what.

“I hope he gets better at slowing down,” Hitoshi mumbled. “Do you think he’d like to see the Sign Language Club more?”

“It’s worth a shot. You can’t solve all his problems, but he might be grateful for the outlets he already has.”

“I’ll call an emergency meeting, then. At the very least, he can do something he likes while figuring out whatever this is.”

“Empathy, observation, and creativity. Hone those and you have the makings of a fine Hero.”

“Thanks!” Hitoshi beamed. “Y’know, I think if Mic ran the obstacle course with one of us, he’d feel better.”

“We’ll see.” Shouta mused. “Let’s not push him.”

The rest of the walk was quiet, at least between them. Shouta had some ideas on how to move forward and Hitoshi was slightly more enthusiastic about the prospect of training with Mic. Whatever problems came up next, they could be solved.

#boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #shinsou hitoshi #yamada hizashi #training days the mentor with problems fic #thunder's tv and cartoons and anime collection

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