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libellule-ao3 · 5 months

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HC: Ominis, his eyes and his experience as a blind wizard

Picture Credits: @deathlysallows [link]

Hello,

I was talking to someone recently about Ominis' eyes, and it gave me the idea of publishing these HCs. 🙂

Please note that the ideas and interpretations presented in this post are my 'headcanon', some of which are mentioned/explored in my fanfictions, but not all. I respect and appreciate the different opinions and interpretations that others may have.

My intention is to share my thoughts, not impose them... I'd love to see yours btw. 😊

Approximately 1,560 words at present. This could increase with possible future updates.💚

☆ Ominis’ eyes do not have pupils to let light enter his eye and reach the photoreceptors. As a result, he has no light perception and is totally blind. This lack of pupils, a phenomenon unique even among wizards, is the result of the marriage between his family's consanguinity and Dark Arts, which they practise shamelessly. (Quote: Ominis was born blind and no spell could reverse it)

☆ Besides this absence of pupils, his eyes are distinguished by their density of pale blue radial streaks, which start from the centre of the iris and radiate outwards, against a dark blue background. This pattern gives his eyes a fascinating, dynamic look. Ominis’ eyes are not opaque, milky or cloudy. These descriptors are so often associated with cataracts or glaucoma (i.e. Eye diseases Ominis does not have in my HC) that I avoid using them.

☆ Even when taking on the appearance of a sighted person thanks to the Polyjuice Potion or using Legilimency, Ominis remains unable to see, as his brain does not know how to interpret visual stimuli.

☆ If the Polyjuice Potion had worked, Ominis' parents wouldn't have hesitated to kidnap a child of the same age, sequestering him so that Ominis could take on his appearance, proceeding in the same way as Barty Crouch Jr did with Alastor Moody.

☆ Using a Pensieve does not negate his blindness either. He therefore perceives the memories consulted by this means in the same way as he perceives his everyday environment.

☆ Ominis has a well-developed sense of touch and smell, and his hearing is very acute. However, the acuity of these senses is not superhuman. He has only learnt to maximumly use his sensory compensatory means to make up for the visual deficit.

☆ During his childhood, his parents and siblings, who struggled for a long time to cure his blindness did not value his existence. As a result, Ominis tends to see himself as less valuable than a sighted person, despite what his Aunt Noctua says.

☆ Ominis has never let his blindness stop him from doing what he really wanted to do. On the other hand, as a good sneaky snake, he doesn’t mind using his blindness as an excuse not to do what he refuses to do or... to justify getting physically close to his heart’s desire. "I can’t work with my wand today, can you guide me to the Great Hall?" How can you say no to him when you know his wand [HC link] is so fickle?)

☆ When not using his echolocation spell, Ominis relies on his other senses to understand the world around him. As a result, surprise contacts can be disturbing for him as they abruptly disrupt his sensory perception. This generates anxiety, as he cannot anticipate the contact. But when this is done by people with whom he has no emotional bond, Ominis experiences it as an additional violation of his personal space, which can make him angry.

☆ Before she disappeared, his Aunt Noctua used to embroider hangings for him, which she would then hang in his bedroom. Ominis loved to run his fingertips over the raised patterns and different textures. Even without seeing them, Ominis could appreciate their creativity and aesthetics through touch. He still has a strong taste for embroidered fabrics from this period.

☆ Without concrete sensory experience of colours, his perception of colours remains a mental concept for him. At Hogwarts, he used to ask Sebastian if his clothes matched properly until he was familiar enough with fabrics to recognise them by touch.

☆ Before Ominis got his wand, he had to learn to organise his living space so that he could be as independent as possible. As a result, Ominis is very tidy and always puts his things away carefully so that he can find them more easily and navigate safely. Even in the most intimate moments, he folds and tidies his clothes before attending to his lover... firstly out of habit, and secondly because he finds it very exciting to play with their patience.

☆ For the Gaunt, the family’s image and reputation were of crucial importance. Having a blind child was a source of shame, as it could be interpreted as a weakness in their lineage or a sign of failure. When they gave up hope of curing him, they convinced themselves that a Gaunt could not be born deprived of sight without obtaining a compensatory magical ability, such as the gift of clairvoyance... Reality soon caught up with them.

☆ This umpteenth disappointment, combined with Ominis’s repeated refusal to adhere to supremacist ideals, or to practise dark arts, reinforced the hostility of Ominis’s parents towards him. As a result, the abuse escalated until the terrible episode recounted in the game (negative emotions + intolerance + misunderstanding + social pressure formed a detonating cocktail)

☆ His echolocation spell allows him to navigate independently, but it will never replace sight.

☆Capable of taking initiative, his wand has a will of its own that sometimes comes into conflict with Ominis. When this happens, it is very difficult for him to work with his wand and he may sometimes ask someone to guide him to where he wants to go. If he turns to you in this case, it’s a sign that he has a great deal of trust in you, something he doesn’t grant easily.

☆ The fact that people avoid certain words (see, or look for example) in his presence, or are embarrassed when he uses them himself, metaphorically or simply as a linguistic convention, amuses him and he doesn’t hesitate to play them up.

☆ If he’s not serving himself, he discreetly feels his plate to find out where the food is.

☆ Ominis is very concerned about his appearance because he wants to blend in with society to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Also, he feels more confident with having an impeccable appearance. His obsession: getting a stain on his clothes that he can’t detect. He used to ask Anne to check his outfit several times during the day.

☆ Although many classmates have asked him to touch their faces so that Ominis can “see” them, he has always flatly refused, as he finds it too intrusive. Sebastian and Anne are the only ones with whom he has allowed himself this familiarity... until his fiancée.

☆ Aloof and reserved by nature, Sebastian, Anne and his lover are the only people he accepts hugs from. These have enabled him to obtain information about their appearance, height, weight, hairstyle, morphology and much more...

☆ Wizards of their background were often evaluated on their elegance and their ability to fit into the society at the time. In addition to the classic upbringing of a member of the illustrious Gaunt family, Ominis’ parents insisted he acquire good social skills and impeccable manners, which was not always easy for Ominis.

☆ For he had “automatic, stereotyped and repetitive” gestures (blindism). Swaying his body or turning his head, or repeatedly rubbing his eyes were very severely punished, as were the various postural disturbances inherent in his blindness (head in profile because that’s the ideal listening position, shuffling gait to keep his 2 feet anchored to the ground maintain his balance more easily etc...). As a result, Ominis has become very aware of himself and his body language.

☆ Always with the aim of meeting their standards, his parents imposed a strict education on him, ensuring that he was fully educated in the history of Magic, that of his ancestors, that of the great pureblood families, the evolution of the bonds governing them and the dark arts for which the Gaunt are so renowned.

☆ In Victorian times, professional prospects were rather limited for blind people, even in the wizarding world, and even with the best education. What’s more, the family safe at Gringotts was just a leaky basket, so Ominis’s parents forced him to play the piano hoping he would become skilled and renowned enough to bail them out. As a result, he plays the piano very well, but he is not a prodigy. This skill is the result of long efforts and painful constraints. All washed down with tears.

☆ At Hogwarts, potions classes are the hardest for Ominis to grasp. Too much simultaneous olfactory stimulation, a method of learning ill-suited to the blind as the recipe steps rely on the precise colouring of the brew.

☆ When he's not using his echolocation spell, Ominis hates it when people leave him after a conversation without telling him they're leaving.

☆ Braille appeared in England in 1861, and Ominis learned about this Muggle system of reading and writing from his Aunt Noctua, who was much more open to the Muggle world than the rest of the Gaunt family, who refused to hear about it. He learned it on his own, with the help of his aunt and the house-elf who provided him with reference books.

☆ When he has to use a knife for cooking or in potions class, Ominis demands a perfectly sharp blade that offers a more precise cut with less effort, reducing the risk of slippage and injury, unlike a dull knife, which is potentially more dangerous as it requires more force to cut, making control more difficult.

☆ He doesn’t cut his fingernails, he files them to make sure he doesn’t cut himself.

(These last 2 HC are from anecdotes heard about my paternal grandmother, whom I never knew and who became blind because of cataracts that were inoperable at the time because of certain medical history)

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt headcanon #ominis gaunt #ominis imagine #polyjuice #blindcharacter #headcanon #fanfic ideas

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startanewdream · 3 years

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Five Stages of Starflower

Summary: James is oblivious, Lily is mostly okay with her unrequited love and Sirius has a few plans about this situation. For @keepingupwithpotters,@sunshine-marauders, @cellularphoneexplosion and @zephyrcove who all gave me the most Jily prompt of all time (“Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”) and for @magixbeans (“I refuse to stop irritating you until you give me attention.”). Thanks for helping me celebrate this day ❤

Warning only for a few f-words every now and then (Lily curses when she is upset).

Sirius knows it.

Sirius fucking Black knows it.

Lily had been careful ever since last semester when she started to realize the signs of those things. She’d tried to back away, to avoid more contact despite the fact they had exchanged letters through Summer (just normal conversation, talking about what was going on and their families and discussing their friends – it didn’t mean anything), and that they had seen each other (they just happened to be on Diagon Alley on the same day to shopping, which was smarter and safer—and also didn’t mean anything), and Lily had convinced herself that her feelings for him were entirely friendly and would remain so—if only they hadn’t become Heads together.

There was no way her feelings could remain amicable when she was required to stay together with James Potter for hours at a time, alone in the Prefects Room as they worked and planned, their hands brushing against each other sometimes; or when they would run away to share a hot chocolate at the kitchen, enjoying the fact that as Head Boy and Head Girl they could ignore a little more the curfew, and he’d make her laugh and would help her wipe off the chocolate out of the corner of her mouth.

Lily had fancied someone before, and she knew how to identify the signs, as pale as those previous signs seemed when it came to James. Still, she knew what meant the way she would shiver whenever he’d touched her, or how her heart would skip a beat when their eyes met without planning and he would grin deviously at her or how she would sit closer to him than she needed, just to catch a sniff more of that wonderful scent.

She was falling for James Potter and the worst part was that she’d totally missed the timing in which he fancied her back.

Because all those signs she saw in herself were unfortunately absent from him. James had apparently mastered the art of considering her as nothing more than his friend, because when he’d touched the corner of her mouth—and she had blinked to him, she really had, a blink that said we are alone now and you are touching my mouth can you just kiss me?—James had done nothing but smile nicely, friendly, drawing away.

And she absolutely knew he was treating her as just his friend when the very next week he’d asked her if she didn’t mind changing her Friday patrol rounds with Leanne Diggory. Fridays were the day they patrolled together until late in the night. Fridays were the days where they would go to the kitchen and share a drink and talk about life and it was their moment.

‘Sure,' she had said, acting as if she didn’t understand what his request meant for them. ‘Any particular reason?’

James had flushed then, his hand automatically flying to his hair like he did when he was nervous and after a moment he glanced at Leanne across the Prefects Room. Lily had followed the direction of his gaze; Leanne was smiling back at James and Lily understood even more.

‘Well,’ she said then, keeping her voice carefully light even as a crushing weight had taken residence in her chest. ‘It’s a pretty reason.'

She couldn’t fault James for not being interested in her anymore, but she couldn’t also just stop feeling that thing for him, not since there was no way for her to avoid him completely. So she resigned herself to having a platonic crush on James Potter, one that she administered very well until the day of the first Quidditch game of the season.

Lily had been so diligent that none of her friends had noticed her feelings for him—and she knew that because there was no way Mary or Dorcas would keep it silent if they suspected. She had been careful not to gasp when they were on the grounds and James had been dropped at the lake by Sirius, stepping out of the water and taking off his shirt to dry himself (but she had taken that memory to her heart and lost herself in dreams about him); she had not frowned when she saw James leaving his group at the last Hogsmeade trip to go talk with Leanne, flashing that dangerous grin of his to her (but she had punched her pillow in anger lately, wishing James had come to her).

And then there was the first Quidditch match and Gryffindor had won and in the post-game euphoria, Lily had made the tiny mistake of hugging James and keeping that guilty longing smile on her face when they had broken apart.

That’s when her gaze had met Sirius, and he had widened his eyes in surprise, taking in all that her smile meant—by the time Lily had rearranged her face into a normal expression, Sirius was smirking knowingly, that moron.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He knows. Lily knows he knows. Sirius knows Lily knows he knows.

It could be worse if it were any of other James’ friends, she reasons dismayingly. Remus would have come to talk to her and urge her to share her feelings with James; Peter would spill the word to James, unable to keep a secret from him.

But it doesn’t look like any of these other scenarios is really worse as she sees Sirius’ eyes shining with a predatory look, like a wolf that knows it got his prey.

She considers running away. But Lily is no coward, there is no place for her to go permanently and she believes in keeping her enemies closer, if Sirius could be considered as one, at any chance. That’s why she keeps her ground, pretending everything is nice and not at all bothered when she sees James is near the fireplace talking with Leanne Diggory.

It won’t fool Sirius, but Lily can keep her dignity at least.

And remaining alone at the drinks table allows for him to get closer to her, which is important for her to check how much damage she did today.

‘Enjoying the party, Evans?’

Lily nearly sighs. Nearly one year of friendship with the Marauders told her they only call her by the last name when they are in full teasing mode.

James calls her a lot by Evans, though, but it sounds nice and she rather likes it.

‘Same as always. Nice party.'

‘Oh, I thought you’d be feeling… too crowded.' Sirius throws a glance towards the fireplace and Lily doesn’t need to follow the direction of his gaze to know what he is talking about. ‘Maybe you wish you were at one of those Head meetings.'

Lily pretends to be amused. ‘Heads can enjoy parties too.'

‘One of the Heads is certainly enjoying the party if the party is happening back at the throat of Leanne Diggory—’

She can control her eyes enough to not look in their direction to confirm how literal Sirius is being right now, but she cannot stop the grimace on her face fast enough; it is a spasm of hurt and anger and jealousy, and it becomes obvious that Sirius saw all these emotions when his grin just increases.

Well, too late to still save her dignity.

‘Good for him. Now, if you excuse me—’

‘Oh, I don’t,’ he replies gladly. ‘Why, you seem a little green to me, Evans.'

‘It’s my eyes, maybe you didn’t notice their colour before.'

‘Well, I never particularly cared, but I remember a young bloke reciting that your eyes were pure emerald bestowing grace upon that poor bloke’s heart.'

‘Jade,’ she corrects before she can think better of it. ‘He compared them to jades.'

Sirius’ grin is criminal now. At least, it’s making her want to murder him.

‘My, Evans, for someone that threw a hex at him you seem to have memorized his words.'

‘He kneeled to recite that poem to me in the middle of the Common Room, what else could I do?’

‘Snogged him?’ Sirius suggests, arching one eyebrow when Lily shakes her head. ‘Just imagine, if you had snogged him back then, he might not be snogging someone else right now.'

It’s a fair assumption, but this time Lily doesn’t have to disguise any particular emotion. She doesn’t regret not going out with James before; they were far too different back then. He matured a lot since those days when he would ask her out when he would be so infatuated with her that it was annoying mostly…

Unfortunately, in the list of things he changed since growing up, his feelings for her were included.

That makes her frown.

‘He is free to do whatever he wants,’ she says, a safe mid-term.

‘Or whoever he wants.’

She closes her fists, wanting to punch something; most likely Sirius’ face, though she will settle for her pillow too.

‘Are you here for any reason or you just want to piss me, Black?’

‘Mentioning that James’ hands are all over Diggory’s bum would piss you?’

‘Ah, fuck off, Sirius,’ she says, not bothering anymore to pretend anything.

He laughs—a loud carefree sound that seems like a dog’s bark to warn that something is happening; in this case, that Lily Evans is making a fool of herself.

‘I will leave you alone—if you just admit it.’

‘Admit what?’

'Are we really playing this game, Evans? Let's not go through the five stages of Lily Evans' acceptance of her undying love for James Potter, shall we?'

Lily blinks, fighting not to splurge over her drink.

'I have no idea what you are talking about, Sirius.'

'Have it your way then. I just thought you should know, I was kidding. James' tongue is carefully kept inside his mouth.'

And he indicates the fireplace. Lily looks at it now and, sure enough, though James is still talking to Leanne, he is fairly apart from her, hands untouching, in a friendly stance.

When she looks back, Sirius is not there anymore, but wherever he is she knows he is smirking, that prat. Continue reading on AO3 :)

#Jily #Jily Fanfiction #Canon Jily #Sirius Black supports Jily #sirius and lily #this is all self-indulgent #written as a love statement to Sirius and Lily's friendship #And also because Sirius was the original Jily shipper #and he called them Lames no question about it #posted now because somewhere in the pacific is already my birthday #and since I am half-japanese I can post in Japan Time #it is known

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suguwu · 3 years

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i do not know how to act anymore. dad!nanami. i swear.I SWEAR MY HEART DID A FLIP THING LORD CAN YOU IMAGINE. nanami with a little baby girl who has his hair colour and your face and the entire night sky shining in her eyes (nanami swears the last part is objectively true and honestly, you can't disagree)

dad!nanami coming home to see you in an apron, dancing around the kitchen w your baby in your arms, humming softly. all because you've seen him do the same and you've seen how it soothes your child.

but your baby doesn't really like your voice as much as she likes her papa's and so when she sees him, she starts wriggling in your arms, almost falling out, trying to get to her father. nanami responds to his baby's outstretched arms as he takes his daughter from you and kisses her nose, laughing when she latches on to his nose with her tiny little hand.

you look at your baby and your husband, the two loves of your life, and wonder what you'd done to deserve this goodness. it's such a heartwarming scene, so domestic, that you nearly forget your daughter's betrayal: her obvious preference for her papa's voice.

that night, after your daughter's asleep in her crib, you lay in bed, nanami's head on your chest and legs tangled with his. you ask him to record his singing. just in case he's gone for a long mission and his daughter misses his voice (you would miss his voice, too, but he doesn't need to know that – he already has enough ammunition to tease you). he agrees, of course — it's hard to say no when your hands run through his hair so softly and your chest vibrates as you sing to him. he loves his baby with all his heart, he does, but he has to disagree with her. her mother's voice is the best thing on hell, heaven, and earth. but he does record a little song the next day and sends it to you.

it is the only sound that echoes throughout the house after he's taken from you. from his daughter. of course, she doesn't really understand that papa's gone and he's not coming back. she keeps looking at your phone, hearing her father's voice sing to her, waiting for him to come and take her in his arms. she's been fed and burped and all you need to do is put her to sleep. you really should. she's been crying for three hours now.

she does tire herself to sleep and you get up to put her in her crib. or you try to, at least. but all you can do is sit on your bed, the one you shared with him, with your child asleep on your chest, and hum along with your husband.

when the phone dies, a little part of you does, too.

haha :)

it's the anon who sent in the husband!nanami ask a while ago (the one with the holster kiss) i saw you being good in your answer and had to restore balance. anyway here's a link:

https://youtu.be/5LxQMCU39WQ

the first 10 seconds is what i imagine nanami would sound like singing to his baby at night, voice low enough to not disturb your sleep. she'd giggle and try to sing her along before her dad's voice lulls her to sleep.

this was kind of inspired by that nanami + baby yuuji art you'd reblogged so you only have yourself to blame </3 (i'm kidding i'm a sucker for angst)

(i've also been thinking of making a jjk blog bc i have so much to write about nanami and i don't want to spam you lol)

husband!nanami anon!!! hello hello hello thank you for once again blessing my inbox ✨

i also do not know how to act anymore when i say i have spent the last three days thinking about dad!nanami i mean it with all my heart and this has not helped at all!! i'm so skldjflkjdf pls

dad!nanami with a lil baby girl has my whole heart i simply cannot handle this—and do not get me started on her preferring his voice

this is so good and so sweet and also oof it hurts in the most realistic way. phone recordings are such a comfort and also such a wound. and you caught that so well. that last line,,,

don't ever worry about spamming me, pls i love hearing from folks! but you should def make a jjk blog if you're thinking about it!!!

#🪴.ask #jjk spoilers #just in case #long post #seriously thank you for this i love dad!nanami and i love angst so them combined is so chef's kiss #dad!nanami #angst tw

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not-sewell · 3 years

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The Pride Week at @wayhavensummer has begun and i guess i'm throwing in my hat too. 😬

belonging.

prompt: first pride (+ belonging)

pairing: Agent Morgan x f!detective (Arzoo Shafri) ft. Farah Hauville, Nate Sewell

word count: ~1200 words, phew.

rating: G

summary: Arzoo's choice to stay back with Morgan instead of going for Fun Timez at the Pride parade slips into a discussion about what pride means to Arzoo and why forgoing the parade it isn't as big a sacrifice as Morgan's made it out to be.

Farah is certainly...keen on attending the Pride celebration in the big city today. Morgan's not sure Farah's slept a wink since Tina mentioned it over a week ago. It's not like she needs the sleep but Morgan cannot help but give her a look of concern every so often.

"Will there be music too?"

"Ye—"

"What kind?"

"Oh, well—"

"You're coming too, right?"

"I—"

"Should I wear this? How do I look? Is this enough? Should I add more rainbows to my outfit?"

"You look grea—"

"You're coming, aren't you? Wait, will there be dancing? Are there going to be any carnival floa— can I get on one?"

"I don't remember seeing anything about that—"

"Oh no, wait, really? But you're coming along, aren't you?" Farah finished finally, looking between Arzoo and Morgan.

Morgan winces almost imperceptibly at the number of times Farah has asked that question. Almost . Morgan looks up to look at Arzoo and finds her gaze pass over her briefly. Huh.

"Actually," Arzoo begins to reply, "I don't think so." She speaks almost hesitantly. Like she's tasting the words before they leave her mouth.

"Not this time. I'm fresh out of my social battery," Arzoo explains at the sight of Farah's frown, punctuating it with a little, soft laugh.

Morgan catches her glance again. Okay, no way is this the whole truth now.

[find this on AO3 too!]

Farah lets out a groan in reply. "But Arzoo! We—"

"Will miss you thoroughly! But we understand if you don't want to join us. Right, Farah?" Nate slips in seamlessly, evidently having overheard the conversation. As always. The strained smile on his face attempting to communicate what he has to say about where this discussion is headed.

"We- we do! Yes!" Farah catches on quickly. "I'm so excited about this, though! So many years here, and you'd think I must've gone for one of these already. But there's always been something. The first year, I was obviously only just getting a hang of things here. I thought I should've been able to go, but people at the Agency didn't think it would've been such a good idea. And then the second year..." she continued, in an attempt to change the course of the discussion.

It is amazing how they think Morgan cannot see what they're all doing. And if she were being honest, endearing , even. She really wouldn't have minded being left alone for a while. She'd have taken a smoke on the roof for most of the time anyway. Arzoo shouldn't have to stay back for her...it's bullshit.

"We'll get you all the goodies though!" Farah's exclamation manages to catch Morgan's attention.

"You too, grumpy ," she utters the nickname purposefully, throwing in a nearly infuriating smirk for good measure. Morgan's discontent must've shown because Farah barks out a laugh before waving goodbye. Nate waits back a moment to cast a glance at Morgan, his smile slightly strained still. She only barely contains the spark of irritation it makes her feel.

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

"Seriously? You thought of packing your little painting set over a few more sets of clothes?" Morgan asks incredulously. They're making their way to the Warehouse roof, Arzoo carrying a box of art supplies as Morgan carries a heavier box; it contains pebbles, apparently.

"Not that I mind, though," she adds almost too quickly, a slightly forced smirk pasted on her face. Not even that seems to be able to defuse this odd...tension that Morgan senses between them. She knows what has caused it. It's quite unlike her but she cannot bring herself to address it. Not yet anyway.

Surprisingly, Arzoo doesn't seem to notice the strain in Morgan's words. A chuckle escapes her instead, and she swats at Morgan's arm.

"I only came over for the weekend, remember?" She looks over her shoulder before looking ahead. "And there's something about the view on the roof that I like."

Morgan lays her box down as they settle. "And you want to paint that on these pebbles?"

It's...not unheard of, but it's not really something that she thought Arzoo would enjoy doing. It's nice learning new things about her, though. She wants to do more of it each day she spends with her.

Arzoo only shrugs at the question. "The world is my canvas," she says with a smile.

Morgan watches as Arzoo begins to paint wordlessly. She watches the colours connect with a smooth pebble. She watches as they blend, unbothered. She watches as the colours meet the water in the old mug, finding their place there too. She watches as the colours transform every inch of the surface they touch, as though they belong there.

She watches Arzoo give in to painting. She's probably never sounded this relaxed. There is an ease about her movements that Morgan has never truly witnessed before. It's almost infectious, the calm. And something in Morgan itches to disturb it.

"You should've gone, you know," Morgan finally murmurs weakly. "It's something you've done for a while now and I think it's fucking stupid to sit back here because I find everything so prickly."

She huffs out a breath, and with it, leaves the weight she had felt all this while.

Arzoo looks up, a little taken aback – perhaps by the way Morgan chose to word the way she felt. And she frowns.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's clearly important to you. You may not always show it, but I know what it means for you to find a community," she explains, quoting Tina. "Isn't that what they always keep talking about anyway?"

"And what makes you think I don't find it here? With you?" Arzoo raises an eyebrow. She doesn't seem too bothered with the silence that follows either, choosing to search Morgan's face instead.

"Pride has been a lot more than simply finding a community to me," Arzoo begins with a sigh a few moments later. "That really simplifies what it means to me. It has been about belongingness – standing at the edge of the crowd and still feeling very much a part of it, about finding a place for yourself. It's the shared understanding and acceptance of each other. It is the way you feel connected with someone from this understanding. It is...like blending with and finding yourself in something so much bigger than yourself - without truly losing sight of yourself and the role you play."

She reaches out to hold Morgan's hand, a soft smile creeping on her beautiful face.

"More importantly, it is about finding comfort – comfort to accept yourself, comfort to just...be, to be unapologetically yourself." Arzoo's eyes twinkle, as though in anticipation of what she's about to say. "And I find all of this with you, Morgan. I am not giving up something when I'm with you. Not today. Not in this matter."

"And," she continues, with a smile that's now quickly becoming a smirk, "while it is true that I stayed back to keep you company, it is also true that I've run out of my quota for social interaction. But it's cute that you are so considerate of my feelings."

Morgan groans at that. "It's not cute ," she says, rolling her eyes, prepared to argue over it (and blissfully unaware of Arzoo's action of dipping her fingers in paint). "I'm not cute."

Arzoo gently runs her three fingers – dipped in pink, yellow and blue – snorting at the look on Morgan's face, whatever it is.

"Sure, you're not. Happy Pride, sunshine," she whispers, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

A genuine smile makes its way onto Morgan's face too, who leans in further to press a quick but soft kiss on her lover's cheek. "To you too, sweetheart."

#i have been itching to write Something #and an attempt was made #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #wayhaven summer #pride in wayhaven #agent m #agent m x detective #agent morgan x detective #morgan x arzoo #f hauville #farah hauville #n sewell #nate sewell #twc fic #queue #no proofreading we post bs with our whole chest

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pathofcomet · 3 years

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look at what you taught me

fandom: bridgerton series

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: Colin and Penelope have never been awkward with one another. Except for this one time. (AO3) (book spoiler ahead)

In the beginning, when he travels, Colin can think of nothing else but the present moment: a ship under his feet, the lull of a carriage, the wide expanse of the world all around him. Whatever destination is coming next, if he is certain enough – if not, he’ll just make it up as he goes. The furious scribbling of his quill against paper, as he races to put down in words all his eyes take not but a second to admire. It feels like everything he never knew he wanted to do so desperately. It feels right.

Then, it becomes more difficult to return home, the more he travels. But soon enough, the travel starts to wear him down. He begins to look forward to when he’ll return home: despite his own mother’s incessant remarks, despite the brotherly arguments, despite having to see another sister married off. Even the most loving mamas trying to marry off their daughters to him seem somewhat adorable, if he is gone long enough. But the need to travel comes back, like an itch that won’t go away unless he scratches it away. He makes promises to his sisters – so that he can stay as much as possible, but he goes insane with anything more than a couple of months. He likes to believe that by now his family simply made peace with his many eccentricities, and simply paid the cook more when he was around.

He treasures the pockets of familiarity he gets when in London as much as the breathes of fresh air he gets when he’s away. He imagines he drives his mother wild, with all his coming and going across the continent. He knows what Lady Whistledown writes about him as well, and he’d strangle the woman himself, for alerting everyone of his return so punctually. Ambitious mamas are hard to fend off when you’re a young man, and it only gets worse the older he becomes, because the expectation of marriage dawns ever closer.

***

“You must agree, Colin,” his mother says, and at the mention of his name, he straightens in his chair, because it’s a terrible thing to be singled out in a conversation by Violet. “Penelope is quite an agreeable young lady.”

Colin agrees, both because he truly believes so, and because while his mother doesn’t need his confirmation, she’s kinder when she has it. Benedict, from the other side of the room, leans closer in his chair, so he can hear better whatever commentary their dear mother is about to impart with them.

“I dare say she’d make quite a suitable bride for you, really.”

All hell breaks loose. Benedict drops his foot to the floor with a loud thud, while Colin drops his sandwich, eliciting a swear for which he’s reprimanded by three of his sisters. And then.

“Mother!” Eloise shrieks, quite offended – which Colin finds surprising, considering that the two of them are best friends. “That is entirely too daring!”

Colin agrees, but he is too busy desperately trying to cough away the piece of sandwich stuck in his throat. Eloise, though still quite shocked, pushes her cup of tea in his hands, just to get him to make less noise. He downs it in one go, grateful to not have died of this particular cause. His heart, quite in override still, might provoke a heart attack soon enough if his mother does not change the subject.

“I believe you misremember your ABCs, dear mother,” he jests, because he does not want to take the idea seriously. “There’s one son for whom you haven’t found a bride quite yet.”

Benedict shifts in his seat, suddenly finding his newspaper way more interesting. But this time around, Violet doesn’t rise to the so delicious bait of teasing her second, not when her brain is so set on match-making her third.

“I don’t see why not. Isn’t she a friend to all of us?”

She stops, waits for a nod from each one of her children currently engaged in eaves-dropping on the topic.

“She’s polite, witty,” she continues listing reason after reason, all to which Colin is entirely familiar and now that he thinks about, has noticed himself, several times over, in Penelope. “And quite darling.”

He imagines darling is what girls who aren’t called beautiful get stuck with by kind mothers. He never actually stopped to even consider Penelope in any of these ways: she’s always been there, ever since he was in short pants – and that’s almost already half their lives. A fixed presence by the side of his younger sister, and a favourite of his mother, despite all the awkward wallflower tendencies in Penelope. But he doesn’t recall ever trying to pick apart her character, find her individual traits, even consider her as a… woman.

Colin is suddenly shamed by his wilful, manly indifference. Violet arches her eyebrow at him, clearly still expecting an answer.

“Mother,” he adds with a sigh. “I can promise you most certainly that I am not marrying any time soon.”

“One never knows,” she murmurs, though she allows him his momentary peace, and returns to her embroidery.

***

Only that his mother doesn’t stop with her comments, and they seem to grow in number each time she meets Penelope, which unfortunate for him, is often enough. The next morning, as she returns from shopping, she comments on how nice she looked in a dress of her own picking, and not her mother’s own distasteful choices. Each time any married sibling sends a letter, or comes visit, her efforts in getting Colin to marry are reinforced. She jabs at him with comments: morning, afternoon and evening.

And suddenly, Colin can find that there’s nothing else much that he can think about, but Penelope, and how exactly this insane idea came to live in his mother’s mind. So he starts paying attention.

He supposes parties would be generally more enjoyable if he didn’t have to attend them with his family, as much as he loves them. He can physically feel Violet’s eyes drawing across the room, and then settling, decisively, on his back, a list of eligible ladies for marriage already compiled in her mind, alongside one for dancing partners. Colin can already guess what her mother is about to tell him.

And he is right. She pokes at his elbow with her fan, nodding to the edge of the ballroom, where Penelope Featheringston stands, card empty and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, at least they do have that in common.

“Colin, darling,” and really, that’s all that Mrs. Bridgerton has to say to any of her children for them to do her bidding.

He makes his way across the room, trying his best to avoid getting roped into introductions by mothers or old friends alike. The faster he’s getting this over with, the faster he can return to the appetizers, and to a reconnaissance of the room of his own.

“Pen,” he says, and she startles, turning around to him with the widest of eyes, and the shyest of smiles. Huh, maybe she does look quite darling.

“Colin!” she exclaims, smoothing down a hand over her dress, and while it’s a gesture driven by nerves, it looks quite adorable.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

He extends out his arm, which she takes – an answer without needing one. And it’s quite a shame, to all the other men in the room, because Penelope is a wonderful dancer, and a most attentive conversationalist during them. She asks him of his most recent travels, destination known through the letters he sent to Eloise, most likely. He’s received his fair share of foot stepping and the occasional elbow in his side, but never with Penelope.

She animates with each step, blushing at his hand around her back, smiling at a spin. He never considered how soft her body feels under his fingers, underneath the thin material of her dress, but now he is acutely aware of her warmth seeping through. He asks of the books she’s been reading, which he knows are plenty.

And at the end of the dance, he finds that maybe dancing with Penelope Featherington is not such a tedious task, after all. And at the end of the night, he’s quite certain she’s been his best partner.

***

Art exhibitions are not really Colin’s thing, really. His interest lays in a world painted in words, not in colours. But considering the fact that one of Benedict’s pieces is to be exposed to the world for the first time, of course his entire family must be present. He is proud of his brother, for having found a path in life, having chased it so full of determination.

Colin’s good at chasing as well. He’s just been proven, more and more lately, that he chases only things that cannot last, which displeases him greatly. It doesn’t mean he is not entirely supportive of his older brother. What other reason he’d have to be present here, at all?

“Penelope!” Eloise shouts, gathering the attention of her friend.

Penelope spins around, red curls jumping with the movement, and she blushes. Colin is pretty sure she’s done this every single time he’s seen her, though maybe he now begins to understand why. She nods her head in their direction, all Bridgertons replying in kind. Eloise lets go of his arm, rushing instead by her best friend’s side, hands entangled in a most obvious display of friendship and affection.

Colin knows Penelope’s family – and so he knows there’s no such camaraderie between her and her sisters, as it can be so easily observed between himself and his own siblings. He’s glad these two have each other then: a friend is one’s most fearful champion.

He walks by his mother’s side, going through the gallery, the two girls just a few feet ahead. Eloise is the taller one, yet both their heads are bent together as they discuss, such an air of ease and comfort about them. His sister says something, and suddenly Penelope turns a bit more to the side, laughing: a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and the loveliest pull at her mouth. Now, Colin finds himself quite taken with her mouth, staring because he finds it impossible not to. The soft pink of her lips, as she’s worried at them trying to come up with a comment about this and that painting. The white of her teeth, as she smiles. Her tongue, wetting her lips, from time to time, as the rooms grow hotter, with all the people passing around.

He’s lucky that the art pieces all around are distracting enough that Penelope herself doesn’t notice. His mother does, though.

“Quite darling, no?”

And she looks at the exact same person that he is, and most certainly not at the painting of a fruit basket in front of them.

“Mother,” he warns, a slight squeeze around her arm.

“Oh,” she sighs. “You can’t blame me for caring enough to try.”

Maybe not. But he can blame her for opening his eyes to something that he, like everyone else – he begins to realize - didn’t really know was right there.

***

So Colin Bridgerton, like a true hero of his days, leaves for Wales. And like the caring gentleman that he also is, he uses one of his friends as his excuse. It helps – it’s quite a useful distraction, for a while, walking over the hills, staring out at the sea, spending evenings eating hearty meals with someone that knows him well enough, but not too much. And he writes in his journal, of his quiet passing days.

By contrast, the nights are not so quiet. While he tries so hard to forget the society back in London, at night there are no distractions: and even so, while asleep, he cannot really control his unconscious mind.

So Colin dreams: at first, the most innocent of shadows, people that he can vaguely make out. Then the visions get clearer, and longer, and more tormenting. It starts with Penelope’s smile, and that mouth of hers, which in a dream he can admit to wanting to desperately kiss. Which, in a dream, he has leave to do. He knows, upon waking, that whatever taste lingers on his tongue from his haze, it certainly has nothing on the reality, and hates himself all the more for it. Then her body, close to his, the press of her bosom hard against his chest, the roundness of her bottom in his palms. The next morning, he is in need of a change of bedsheets, like he is nothing but a horny teenager.

He is sure his mother must have cursed him. The dreams continue, sweet haunting that only makes the guilt rise in his throat. She’s his sister’s best friend, for heaven’s sake, and here he is, conjuring her up in his dreams with no respite! It’s like his body has decided to take an entirely different path from his mind.

Colin is miserable on a travel, for the first time in way too long.

***

Maybe that’s his excuse. He lacks sleep, and for him, the most pressing issue is, obviously, still the one of his marriage. Violet Bridgerton is popular for many things between her children, but her cutting words and sharp mind are not necessarily one of those, especially if used against one of them. Colin has found himself at the receiving end of exactly that for weeks and months now, so he is apprehensive when he is summoned back to London.

But if his mother has need of him, then he must make haste. Of course, the real reason is simply the news of Daphne’s new pregnancy, which is incredibly happy. Colin loves to be an uncle way better than he likes being a younger brother.

Especially since right now, Anthony and Benedict have taken the liberty to pick up with the teasing where their mother stopped.

“You left in the middle of the season,” Benedict remarks, and Anthony clasps his back in a way that only eldest brothers can do, when they require an immediate answer.

“Oh, very well,” and Colin actually scowls. “I needed to get away. Mother has been incessant with this bloody marriage thing.”

And because they’re his brothers, of course they joke and jest more, at his own expense. Everyone in their house knows that his mother has her eyes set on Penelope, and everyone in their house is already tired of her insinuations, Colin most of all. That doesn’t mean that Anthony, or Benedict are going to pass up the opportunity to rile him up on the subject. It’s been a while, after all, since they’ve had reason to laugh at him in particular.

It’s the damn lack of sleep, and all of these comments, which are entirely unwarranted and so overwhelming, despite his protests, that make him throw all decorum out the window.

“I am not going to marry soon, and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!”

“Oh!”

The softest sound, really – feminine and delicate and belonging to the single person that he didn’t want to see right this moment. With much slowness, burning red with shame, Colin turns around to look at Penelope Featherington. And he knows: by the expression on her face, the haggard breathing with the desperate rise and fall of her chest, and her eyes, that he just broke her heart.

What he says right there on the spot, he cannot truly recall. A fumbling of stupid, empty nothings, apology too small, too unfulfilling, because Penelope draws herself up and protects the little bit of her dignity left.

And she leaves, so fast that he doesn’t have the time to do what he wants: follow her to clear up things.

Benedict punches him in the arm, quite terribly hard. It still doesn’t feel as bad as the gut-wrenching guilt building up inside himself, or the self-loathe that he so much deserves. Because just as he was beginning to make up his mind regarding how dear, truly, she has grown to be for him, he has done the worst thing a person who cares about another can do: hurt her.

***

He shows up at the doorsteps of her house the following day, surprised to find Penelope alone in the drawing room.

“As you might suspect, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says, when he inquires after her mother and sisters. “Many men before you have made the same declaration, though maybe in more private settings. I am afraid any hope of marriage left in this household falls upon my sisters.”

It is the fact that she doesn’t use his name that stings the worst, and makes him understand exactly how much harm he’s done with his extremely horrifying comment.

“Penelope, I am so entirely sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. You must believe me when I say I did not mean to offend you in any way.”

“Must I?”

He stops, opens his mouth: no words come out. She looks the picture perfect of peace, and maybe this is what should worry him the most. It is his first time seeing her as more than a blushing young woman, and suddenly maybe he realizes why she is Eloise’s best friend: she’s made of tougher stuff than what he’s been led to believe so far.

“What I said, the way I’ve said it. I’ve hurt you… It’s entirely intolerable and I apologize for the situation you’ve been put in because of me being an ass.”

Situation that she handled entirely fine, given the fact that he so singled her out in a market of numerous others undesirable young ladies. She sighs at his curse, something that sounds like Colin, that has the tiniest of fondness in the tone. Something in his chest tightens with fondness of its own, for this woman in front of him, who has been nothing but a most beloved friend, to his entire family – and to him, as well.

“I…” she stops, taking in a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I already told you, no feelings were hurt. You’ve made no remark that wasn’t already obvious to everybody in the ton,” she says, and she waves in the air the latest number of Lady Whistledown.

Of course, even when he misses it, his sisters and his dear mama are quick to fill him up on the happenings of the season. In today’s fresh paper, Whistledown has written down that were the two of them ever to get married, she’d have to give up writing altogether – such an unfitting match never having been seen before.

“You can’t possibly believe those writings,” he says, suddenly offended at the paper, though he’s not quite certain on whose behalf anymore.

“I didn’t, until –”

Until he has reinforced them all the more, with his declaration. Colin suddenly feels himself flush from head to toes, at being so openly chastised. His brother Benedict has already told him, that he has cruelly overstepped most demands of polite society when he lost his temper in that way, in such a public place.

“I really do apologize, Penelope.”

He hadn’t realize how much he enjoys saying her name until now, when he so desperately wants her, needs her to say his own. A sign that things between them can be mended, move from the terrible awkwardness between them.

“Pity doesn’t feel that nice to those who already know how pitiful they are, Colin.” His gaze snaps up at her, and finds her already smiling at him – quite charming, even if so utterly self-depreciating. “Though you are forgiven.”

He bows at her in thanks, lower than he’s gone in months, if not years, just to show how entirely grateful he is. Of course, Colin is yet too young, rich, handsome and charismatic to know the meaning of her words, and too stupid of a man to try and understand where she is coming from.

But he will, in due time.

For now, maybe his favourite sight to see during his travels becomes the shores of England, when returning home. Because home has just started to mean just a tiny bit more.

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #colin/penelope #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton ff

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tazwren · 3 years

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My two cents on the devolution of fandom spaces...

As a former mod of a fandom space and a woman of colour, I do not feel safe.

Seeing what has been done to so many in this fandom, by a particular group of white American women, in the name of moral policing is both abhorrent and demoralising. As it also is to repeatedly see the same narrative being shoved at everyone as the gospel truth.

A narrative that very conveniently either becomes about fic or has nothing to do with fic, depending on how people want to swing things. A narrative that will accuse a person of Jewish heritage of anti-Semitism, a person of colour of racism, a practising Muslim of being an Islamaphobe. A narrative that will define for you and me and all of us comprising this myriad of multitudes in the world what generational or personal trauma includes and what induces the same.

Those of you who know me, know what I’ve been dealing with the past few days & why I haven’t spoken up before now. Before I logged out a couple days ago, I saw what looked like more of the usual nonsense by the same group of people I’ve kept my distance from once their true colours were revealed. What I didn’t expect is that they would think themselves so above the norms of human decency and accountability that they would go after not one but two women of colour this time around in their rabidity. And many others who spoke up, as it turns out.

It hurts to see what these women, that I know of, have had to endure and to see the passivity of the community, save for a few voices, in sitting back and letting the circus rampage through town. It hurt when I was at the receiving end of it and it hurts now.

Why? Because it shows me a microcosm of the world that I don’t really relate to, that makes no sense to me with the values I was brought up with, and which reduces basic human decency to a commodity to be trampled upon and for you to be seen as weak for having. Because people who willingly laud you for your art / writing / wit, meet you with effusive claims of love and affection and friendship, who have no qualms in taking your help when it suits them, will throw you under the bus and let the wolves ravage you when it doesn't.

Before I get into that, let me talk a little bit about what has transpired over the past few days to a week, and what has been systemically taking place over perhaps the past year in this fandom.

One thing is that everyone who makes a statement about anything suddenly has people in their mentions demanding they show what gives them the right to hold that particular opinion. A critical thing people forget about fandom is that it is a place where people hide their identity for a variety of reasons, all valid, and this approach to fiction and conversations where everyone has to reveal every part of their past and identity as a means of establishing their "credentials" in order to present their views comes in direct contradiction with how fandoms operate. It violates people's rights to privacy.

The other is that there has been an increase in the voices that purportedly stand up to “speak for” the marginalised, the abused, those discriminated against and those who belong to minorities who “need to be protected / kept safe”. An admirable sentiment, to be sure. If it weren’t for the fact that none of these groups of people needed saving, speaking for or the protection of this particular group of voices.

Voices who only want to define and use these people as "model victims" to hurt other white women and establish their supremacy over both them and other POC. Voices that will present their "truth" as they see fit and sans context or present you with screenshots of snippets of conversations held in supposedly secure spaces that they have no qualms in violating in the interest of the "greater good" and claim offense / silencing if the misdemeanour is pointed out or action is taken against them, Voices that will conveniently categorize you as a "token POC" or "white adjacent" when you do not support or align with their narrative. Voices that belong to a predominantly white American group of women, whose real agenda, as is evidenced by their modus operandi, has nothing to do with real altruism or a drive for justice or indeed to right wrongs.

No, their agenda is purely power.

To hold sway over groups of followers, to shepherd them as though they are sheep who cannot think for themselves, and to set themselves up as white saviours who call out those who step out of line, or are deemed to be problematic and toxic and unsafe. To be the owners of the only "safe spaces" in fandom and to drive other groups and spaces to be boycotted or worse.

Now, I've long wondered, who indeed are these women to decide that for anyone? In a world comprising multiple cultures, religions, groups, subgroups, genders and which contains multitudes, who are these women and what gives them the right to foist their puritanical standards on everyone, very conveniently disguised as concern for the moral well being of everyone and the consumption, of all things, of fiction?

Certainly, there are many things in this world that people regard with justifiably equal dislike / horror / sadness. At the same time, there is much that is not shared, that is particular to a culture and to a person’s background. There is a multitude of perspectives that make the whole. And the white women of the United States of America have not cornered the market on what those are, or indeed even own any curatorship or censorship of the same. They cannot, because each person’s culture and background and joy and trauma is their own, as are their ways of dealing with it all.

That being said, let’s talk about their pack behaviour and the devolution I’ve witnessed on social media as basic human decency is bartered for clout.

I’m all for standing up for someone who doesn’t have a voice or a platform, or maybe afraid of repercussions to voice dissent. I’m all for being there for our fellow human beings as they face struggles of often unconscionable and unfathomable proportions. I’m all for holding people accountable for their negative behaviours as they impact the larger community.

What I am unequivocally NOT for is treating such situations as an opportunity to preach, to virtue-signal, to shame and to put on blast the alleged wrong-doers. I say alleged because that’s what most accusations are on these platforms—allegations to do with things that disturb our sense of balance or make us wrinkle our noses or that we deem bad, and therefore make the accused deserving of the full force of the community’s misbehaviour and censure.

I ask you if you were found guilty of a crime in real life—you know, the one away from your phones and keyboards—would you not have an opportunity to retain a lawyer, to plead your case in a court of law, to acquit yourself? Or, if found guilty, would you not have the opportunity for correction and rehabilitation? Yes, you say? (If you say no, then that explains the spate of state-perpetuated injustices across the USA, but that is a different matter).

Why then are people treated so abhorrently in this court of public opinion? What gives you, me, any one of us the right to judge people so vilely and with a metaphorical gun to their heads? What gives anyone the right to say you better agree with everything I say, retract everything you said and grovel for it or we will eviscerate you in public, shame you, force you to change or delete the content that offends us and still ostracise you and in some cases even threaten you with bodily harm or death, or doxx you?

Why is there no grace in how people are approached or dealt with? Whatever happened to allowing people to learn from their mistakes, where applicable, or hearing them out and giving them a chance to explain their side of something we may not fully understand?

Why is there no accountability for such behaviour on the part of the accusers?

What makes the rest of you sit back and allow this to happen? What makes you think this is in any shape or form okay to watch? Today, it is a virtual stranger at the receiving end, one you can distance yourself from quite conveniently saying Oh, she just mods a group I am in, or I only read their fics a couple times or I only followed them for their art or jokes or whatever flavour of excuse you choose. Tomorrow, it will be one of your own - or it may very well be you. And you'd better hope there's someone left to speak up for you.

The irony is you will have allowed it to happen by letting the wolf in the fold. By letting these white women manipulate you, and the community you claim to be a part of, so unapologetically, so maliciously and so unashamedly that before you can do anything about it the cancer has taken hold.

If this was happening in the world outside of social media, they would have to follow due process, to present real evidence based on facts (not based on emotions, rumours or perceptions) and would have to allow the person they are accusing to present a counter-argument, to defend themselves or be defended. Failure to do so is a miscarriage of justice and, depending on whether this is a professional or legal proceeding, they would either seriously risk their jobs or have the case thrown out of court. If not face action themselves for attempting to derail the process of justice.

Why then are they permitted to range so freely through the landscape of fandom, snarling and biting at who they please, or who displeases them?

I have no shame in saying I was at the receiving end of their behaviour for defending a friend they put on blast and I will tell you right here and now, I am a woman of colour who feels unsafe and attacked by these so-called self-appointed white saviours of your social media experience, these so-called upholders of the common morality—whatever that means—who will fight for you the evils of problematic and toxic writers who dare to have an opinion not aligned with theirs and who do not bow to their clout. Not that they care, so long as they can ignore this fact since it doesn’t fit their narrative. So long as they can ignore what has just been done to so many people in the name of cleansing the fandom.

If any one of these women were truly interested in alleviating the troubles and pains of the discriminated, the marginalized, the trauma-affected, I invite them to please come roll their sleeves up and help in the multitudes of troubles that wrack this world, not just in the backyards of their minds. My country is amidst a struggle for the basics of human life in this horrific pandemic and, prior to that, for basic constitutional rights for religious minorities. Do not patronize me and lecture me on trauma and racism and discrimination. Do not marginalise me in your attempt to pontificate and set your pearl-clutching puritanical selves above the rest, or assuage your white guilt.

A largely American audience or fanbase in this fandom is purely a function of access and interest—other cultures have vast followings for things you couldn't begin to fathom—and it doesn't mean you are entitled in any shape or form to be spokespeople for the rest of the world. We have no interest in being colonized again by white oppressors.

If you disagree with what I have said, I congratulate you on being a part of their coterie and wish you much joy in being the sheep in their fold. Kindly unfollow or block me on the way off of this post.

#fandom #fandom culture #bullying #gaslighting #gatekeeping #minorities #people of colour #real talk #toxic people #problematic behaviour #problematic authors #problematic fiction #fanfic #reylo #reylo fanfic book club #reylo fic recs #trauma #safety #accountability

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samadiw · 3 years

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"BLACK MAMBA"

Part 01 🔥

This might actually turn into a lengthy fic.

After Voldemort's defeat, his fathers well deserved imprisonment and mother's house arrest, Draco finds himself alone without any guidance.

Living in the Manor where so much blood was shed is more than he can bear, Draco decides to leave the Magical world behind.

He desperately needs to find himself.

His mind is in a continuous state of unrest, to rid himself of the burden of his dark past he seeks refuge with The Buddhist monks of The Shaolin Temple in China.

From his many readings about the world beyond their own, Draco knew meditation was a way to calm oneself and tame inner demons.

The journey by no means is easy, but he welcomes the hardship, he deserves the cold air beating around him and sinking into his pores, he deserves the cracked lips and bloodshot eyes.

Draco quickly learns that meditation and realization of his actions is the only way that he will be set free from the heavy burden he carries.

Nightmares plague him daily, he sees many dead faces, they plead with him to help them escape persecution but he does nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines as Voldemort slaughters them all.

Children, wizards who displeased him, magical creatures, The Dark Lord spares no one.

The Abbot is sceptical at first, he takes in the dark circles under the young wizards eyes, his ashen skin colour, thin tall frame but mostly the troubled and disturbed eyes.

It is the pain and suffering he sees swirling in the clear grey mist that convinces him to help the foreigner.

The kindly monks share their wisdom and ways of the world with him, the boy who never lifted a finger to do anything grabs hold of the broom handle and sweeps the centuries old stone stairs.

He washes empty pots and clothes till his skin is reddened and raw, he uses no magic, his wand has lost its appeal.

He finds his work oddly gratifying, the monks know his abilities, there is not much you can hide from them.

After two years of seeking refuge, the keeper of the temple requests his presence.

They drink herbal tea in silence and Draco wonders whether he has overstayed his welcome.

The Abbot starts to speak.

A : "Mr Malfoy..."

Draco flinches, it's been years since anyone referred to him by his surname.

D : "Yes..."

A : "Has your time here been beneficial, have you found the inner peace you seek?"

Draco smiles and nods.

D : "Not yet, but it is certainly getting there."

The Abbot regards Draco intently.

A : "Do you still have nightmares?"

Draco's lip trembles, he looks down in shame.

D : "Yes, there's so many people I could've helped."

The Abbot shakes his head and slowly sips the hot tea.

A : "Ah, there was little you could've done to save them."

Draco hisses through clenched teeth.

D : "I did nothing, I am a coward."

The Abott sighs.

A : "You are wrong and I have a proposal for you, young wizard."

Draco bows his head respectfully.

D : "I will do anything you ask, master."

The Abbot smiles warmly.

A : "It is my wish that you learn the ways of Kung fu."

The old man had seen the troubled youth stare at the younger monks training and learning with an intense hunger in his eyes.

Draco can barely hide his surprise, he always watched in fascination as the monks practiced diligently and even took to trying a few memorized moves in the darkness of his small room.

He bows his head again.

It is a rare privilege, the ways of Kung fu are not taught to all.

D : "You honour me."

The Abbot smiles and nods.

A : "It will aid you greatly in your journey to peace and fulfillment."

D : "Thank you, I cannot express my gratitude."

A : "In time you will be able to perform magic without the aid of a wand."

Draco raises a brow.

D : "Wandless magic?"

The Abbot does a fluid motion with his hands and a fiery ball of red appears out of thin air before them, Draco widens his eyes in shock.

A : "Yes, I will show you the way."

For the next 6 years, Draco trains, meditates and becomes one with the temple and the monks within.

He gives up all worldly needs and wants and at long last, he finally reaches the state of inner peace he craved all his life.

To everyone's surprise, the pampered boy takes to Kung fu like a fish to water, he practices day and night and in next to no time becomes a formidable opponent.

They give him the name, "Black Mamba" it's fitting as his blows are fast, accurate and deadly.

He hardly needs a wand, as his skills in martial arts improved, his magic became stronger and he was able to wield, use and bend it to his will.

The fluttering of large wings distracts Draco from his meditative state.

He reluctantly gets to his feet and let's the large owl in.

The owl is known to him, Draco strokes the majestic birds feathers and takes the sealed letter out of the owls hooked beak.

He opens the letter, his striking grey eyes take in the beautiful hand written words and blotches of ink where tears had fallen and stained the parchment.

His fingers numb, the letter falls to floor and stares at him accusingly.

Dearest Draco,

I hope this letter finds you well.

My son, your father has succumbed to his prison term in Azkaban, it is a kindness that he passed away with his mind still intact.

His funeral wasn't the lavish affair he always wanted but an intimate gathering of myself and the house elves.

I am well aware that there was no love lost between you both, but he is your father despite his shortcomings.

I need you, Draco.

There is much about the family business and Manor that I do not understand and none to trust with it.

It is time for you to come home.

Love always,

Your mother.

Draco closes his eyes, his hands ball into fists at his side and a dark blue hue surrounds his clenched fist.

The magic in his blood rises to the surface and surrounds him whole.

His many demons put to rest, Draco opens his eyes with renewed purpose.

He was no longer the aimless, helpless boy that arrived at the Temple gates, he was now a 26 year old man with much to offer the world.

Mother was right, it was time to return.

#dramione #draco and hermione #draco x hermione #draco lucius malfoy #dramionefandom #dramionefanart #draco #martialarts #dracomalfoyfandom #dracofanart

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darkobssessions · 3 years

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Coping Tips for Autistic Women

I am compiling a list of resources for aspie women along with tips to manage symptoms and navigate the world. Regretably, most of my personal experience comes from living undiagnosed and unaware about this for the last 27 years. There was a giant elephant in the room with everything, and I have only recently worked it out. This means that most of my habits prior to this point were ones attempting to cope with a giant unknown, the limits of which were unclear. But they more or less worked, because, as I am realising, there’s always been something they are attempting to address.

With other diagnoses and ways I attempted to explain and understand my difficulties, there were finite causes and treatments. I should have been improving if I tried x, y, or z. And I did improve my symptoms in many ways, but there was something missing from the picture. That is that autism is my personality, my state of being, how I process and view the world. And no tool, medication, process or treatment was ever going to change who I really was. Being misdiagnosed (or being missed and failing to receive the autism diagnosis) means that I have been trying to correct something that you cant ‘correct’, and shaming myself for something fundamentally me.

Some of the tips I learned over time, from how I am as a person, without the framework of reference of neurodivergence or autism:

Sensory:

My sensitivity has always been a big waving flag. I felt and saw things others didn’t. I felt more deeply. I sensed the microeffects and changes in everything. I responded harder and faster to any chemical, environmental shift, any positive or negative event, As we all do on the spectrum, we attempt to navigate our sensory environment. And we come up with coping mechanisms, good or bad, before or after we realise we are on the spectrum. For me this was a strong aversion to the things that upset me, that disturbed my senses. It was an orienting of myself in a way to avoid the disturbances, going inwards, withdrawing and even shutting down. I learned that I could not and did not want to handle crowds, loud places, supermarkets. I lived in a giant simulation attempting to minimise and avoid as much as possible the things that hurt. I learned that I was extremely sensitive, no one else seemed to be, and I just had to manage it. Since discovering autism in the last weeks, I am able to embrace the fact that sensory overload is a thing, and I really do feel pain in my body when things are too much and too loud, and just wearing earplugs has mitigated so much of this. I was gas lighting myself before about feeling a certain way because there was no explanation, that I was aware of anyway.

Physical:

I have had so many problems over the years, since I was a young girl. I used to get food poisoning symptoms really easily. I had hidden allergies. I remember a lot of my childhood spent doubled up with stomach pains, or having a fever. My family didn’t know any better and fed me and treated me as they did every other member. I was not the same, I did not feel the same, but I took it all in. By the time I was in my early teen years, I had cemented my aversion to certain foods, taken the only control I had at the time against an encroaching and controlling mother and turned it into anorexia. I avoided things I didn’t like, again, and set up a system of control that made more sense than the gaping wounds and confusion within me. Starvation triggered bulimia. And a viscous cycle of malnourishment and dysregulation unfolded. I didn’t learn until many, many years later that my system was so sensitive and damaged that if I tried to go back to how I used to eat as a child, I would get terrible symptoms. So my coping tips as I have healed from the eating disorders and become more aware is to figure out what the triggers are, what hurts, and to avoid it. This along with adding in nutrient dense foods and working on the deficiencies has done wonders for me. I’ve done tremendous work on my autoimmune conditions, gut problems, sensitivities and inflammation levels and the difference is like night and day. That I can induce psychotic symptoms by deviating or introducing foods I am intolerant to is no joke. The tip I can share is elimination diets truly do work, the keto diet is recommended, and eating the carnivorous way saved my life. My eating disorders for almost 15 years INCLUDING the 7.5 years I was a vegan, mostly high raw and fruitarian depleted my nutrients so badly that every symptom was enhanced 100% and I was eating pretty much ONLY food I was actually intolerant to. Ahem, plants, I’m talking to you. The peace I feel, the nourishment and rest on a nervous system level having eliminated them is unreal.

Social:

I have always known I was different, in a deep, visceral way. How the adults in my life answered questions was inadequate. I saw through people and things. I was far too intense and serious. I learned to watch and observe humans and pick up cues so as to attempt to fit in. I spent the majority of my life masking, something I am only now finding out about and unraveling. I kept notes on the human experience, and saved colours, sounds, feelings, because I felt like I couldn’t communicate the truth of myself otherwise. Over the course of my life there have been inexplicable (until now) events. Lost friendships and relationships, strings of broken promises, people not acting on what they say, confusions and miscommunications, and many dangerous situations and predatory bonds. I made what sense I could of it from whatever lens I could find. It was the trauma, it was my soul contract, it was what I deserved, it was being targeted- all close, but not quite within the realm of being so naive, open and fundamentally different as you are on the spectrum. I just always assumed everybody was like me. I had to learn the very extremely hard way that not everyone felt and thought in the same way, nor had good intentions. I still struggle with the fact that humans don’t tell the truth. It is of no relevance whether they secretly know it. Most people are more comfortable with illusions. I always knew this, but the diagnosis gives me a lot more peace around it. It’s allowing me to accept the fact that if I look around the majority of the people I see are not walking around processing and over-analysing everything, feeling sounds, decoding patterns and obsessed with hacking the code of reality. Less pressure that way, and more in the way of what can be viewed as natural interaction on my part. I will solve the mystery of the universe out loud otherwise, and get the blank looks and the discomfort. I have found my people, a tribe of likeminded individuals, I have gathered friends over the years that didn’t run from my weirdness. But I am mostly content to be on my own, knowing that I can only use what is around me to try to convey how I feel and who I really am. And that will probably be a book, a movie or a work of art, much better than a 2pm rendezvous when I can’t stop talking about the hidden signs.

Emotional:

With the intensity of my emotions I have developed borderline personality disorder as a means to cope with being autistic and not knowing. I have been diagnosed with both that and bipolar because I have intense stints of emotions. They come and go in waves, lasting hours, lasting days and weeks. I consider it to be an energy management system to cope with the demands and stressors of modern day living. Creatives always withdraw and hibernate, and come out with new insights and art to share. The way that I feel and view the world is special. It’s at the basis of my writing, what I choose to engage with and how. My emotions make me who I am. I feel intensely, I share passionately about how I feel. I snap, I break, I shutdown, I come out again and I am a bright, shooting star. There is an excited little animal that lives within me and it is the strongest most passionate thing known to man. I thought that my negative experiences or trauma killed it, but this is before I knew it IS me and cannot die. So I have stopped trying to cram these emotions in or explain them. Stopped trying to attribute them to whatever script people were following when they dealt with me. Throwing me into the depressive, anxious, panic stricken, eating disordered basket case category. The missing piece now makes so much sense. The ways I responded to being autistic were coping mechanisms, such as developing a personality disorder, to deal with the pressure. My psyche splintered under the weight. My tip here is in embracing your inner life and world, embracing that you are different, so that all of the mental and emotional acrobatics needed to attempt to explain the issues or fit in can be put to rest.

Spiritual:

Being different and feeling differently means I naturally saw and expressed things in quite a strange way. I was convinced of a secret world to reality, behind reality, living on behind a paper shell, so to speak, that would rip if only I could reach out and tear it aside. That conviction was rewarded as year after year my awareness grew, my gifts multiplied, and the experiences I had revealed to me the hidden hand of god. There was very much design to the universe, a pattern, weaving through all things. And i was a part of it, not some discarded afterthought or simple byproduct that had no place. In the early years, I kept my convictions to myself, nursed them with experience. I died a thousand deaths in dark nights of the soul, crashing against the turf of my ignorance. I broke open, and everything I had been so sure of as a child was revealed to me again and again. I was convinced I had a purpose, I could feel the deep tides of human emotion and motion, could feel into the genetic sequence that had birthed me. I felt like an alien, but that slowly over time the map of my operation was being revealed to me. This is what it feels like so many years later to stand here and find out about being autistic and realise that how I felt in my soul all these years was real, and that I can begin to truly fulfill this mission now, to share my experience in words I know others will understand because they feel the same way too. It was the challenges that I never understood, while the gifts were the reason to stay alive. My message to myself and others now is that there is a point, a reason to persevere and understand yourself more. The suffering reveals so much of the true state of things, so that we can protect our tender hearts and build new things that honour who we really are, our souls.

Resources, movies, literature to follow. I just wanted to share something of a summary now of my realisations since coming home to myself.

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yurimother · 4 years

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Interview: Shilin Huang, Creator of Amongst Us and Carciphona

Shilin Huang ( @okolnir )is a Canadian freelance artist and comic creator, known for her long-running series Carciphona. She has a Bachelor of Music in Performance from the University of Western Ontario. Carciphona is a long-form fantasy story set in a world where demon-magic is forbidden. The series follows a young sorceress named Veloce, and the mythical assassin assigned to kill her, Blackbird.

Shilin’s newest book, Amongst Us, based on the webcomic of the same name, is an alternate universe comic that reimagines Veloce and Blackbird as musicians and girlfriends in the modern world. You can support the physical release for Amongst Us book 1 on Kickstarter today.

The first book of Amongst Us is coming soon. How do you feel about the release?

Eager and relieved!! I had worked for so long to make the web format viable for print format, as well doing all the extra drawings that were necessary--like covers--that I had to keep under wraps, it felt great to know that that part is finally done and I can release my child into the wild. I was very worried too before the launch of the Kickstarter, because though I am the one who made this story, I am not quite a slice-of-life type of person myself, and it was hard for me to see value in this mundane, not-plot-driven kind of story as a printed book. But I was very lucky to have that worry dispelled!

What drew you towards creating comics and artwork? Was it a dream of yours?

I’ve been drawing since before elementary school because I enjoyed it, and somewhere along the way, I wanted to create my own characters, and then I wanted stories for them. It was always just me doing what I felt like doing, more so than something that I aspired towards achieving consciously. If I had to analyze the allure myself, maybe it was because people and the world are so interesting, I’ve always loved thinking about their nature and circumstances, and art/storytelling was the best way for me to explore and share those thoughts.

Could you briefly walk us through your creative process for making a page of Carciphona or an episode of Amongst Us?

Carciphona is a long, plot-driven story, and so the scale of preparation required before the page eclipses the actual drawing of the page itself. [A] small moment has some larger impact in the plot, character development, and accuracy of world-building. So I usually spend about half a year or more writing out an entire volume, read it over many times over the course of the years, before I do the same thing with sketching the entire volume on the computer, rearranging pages and panels and entire scenes for best delivery, before I finally commit to drawing out each page in detail on the computer.

Where Carciphona is like an elaborate set course where I chop up and measure ingredients and time their cooking with a careful game plan so everything can be served as they should, Amongst Us is more like an omelette that I’m making to taste. There is still planning and writing ahead of time, but each episode is much more self-contained, and I do more of the planning of the episode within the episode itself, adding and taking away details as I see fit before I feel like it reads naturally enough for me to fine line, colour, and paint.

You talk about being a self-taught artist, how did you learn to create artwork? What are some of your favorite educational resources?

While I did come across many tutorials, they were mostly short ones here and there made by my peers, so I don’t have any favourites in my mind that I can share ): . I learned by just looking at the art of my peers at the time and drawing a lot myself, thinking about what I could learn from each time I see something great, and what I could try next time to make the next drawing look better to me. When I had just started drawing digitally, the internet was quite new, drawing tablets expensive and uncommon, with no social media to share art or find resources. Over time, I did try to learn more properly by doing studies and seeking out professional tutorials, but I found that I hated it and decided that I’d rather learn and make mistakes at my own pace and be happy than to commit to effective and efficient learning and make myself dislike drawing.

Amongst Us is, of course, an Alternate Universe comic featuring characters from Carciphona. What inspired you to put your characters into a GL slice of life work?

Back in 2006, when I started drawing Carciphona, I had no plans of this frenemies dynamic for the two main characters, Blackbird and Veloce, and when the thought had occurred to me as I continue to tweak the story, canon GL relationships were still rare and rarely accepted. I was even told on many occasions by readers that they hope the two do not end up with some couples dynamic, or they will no longer be interested in the story. Ultimately, Carciphona was a fantasy story about an entire world, and I wasn’t going to risk the story’s reception over a small detail like whether or not Blackbird and Veloce sleep together, so I just played with the ideas of their relationship on the side, in paintings of many different AUs. Eventually, all that did was make me become so attached to the idea that I decided to say, screw it, I need someplace where they could be together, and I’m drawing an AU for real.

Where do you draw inspiration from for your work? Both Amongst Us and Carciphona.

I love a lot of things, feelings, aesthetics, and I eat up all of that and take it back out in the form of my stories. The inspiration is everywhere, from beautiful imagery I witness in pictures and in real life, to [the] lives of people that I hear about or experience firsthand, to the ethics and structures of professions from mechanics to medicine… In feelings, knowledge, and perspective, there’s an infinite amount of things that makes me think, and that thinking is what creates AU and Carciphona, whether or not that line of inspiration can be clearly drawn back to the root of the thought.

What are some of your biggest challenges or fears creating Amongst Us? Was there any realization or advice that helped you overcome those difficulties?

My biggest fear is always in relatability because it’s a difference between me and the reader that I do not and cannot have a solution for because it involves another person. In such a relatable genre as slice of life/comedy/romance, where the readers have more experience and therefore more varied but stronger expectations of a version of life that is relatable to them, I know that even if somehow I become a master writer, I still would not be able [to] say whether I could story that others would get or would be interested in, especially because I am aware I am an oddball when it comes to how I think, how I live, and what I value. What helped me the most was simply seeing that there were readers who did enjoy the stories for what it was, and reminding myself that I’m telling the stories to find those who might enjoy it, not to avoid those who might not. It’s a different perspective, rather than a solution, so the worry constantly resurfaces, but I hope it becomes easier over time as I am proven wrong more often!

Amongst Us readers have gotten to see Veloce and Blackbird as an established couple, and now we are witnessing flashbacks to how they first met. Where do you hope to take the series in the future?

I intend to tell both of these timelines concurrently, so as the couple timeline ended at episode 20, I intend to end the flashback at around episode 40, and then switch again at episode 60, and so on. While this kills the momentum for each arc, I made AU so that I can have the cake and eat it too--I want both their back story and a happy ending at the same time without having to wait 10-20 years for it, like I do with Carciphona’s plot haha!

What is one dream or aspiration you would like to accomplish? Even if it is unrealistic.

My only dream right now is just to finish both Carciphona and AU before my time’s up! Funny how unrealistic is specified, it made me realize that I rarely consider unrealistic dreams/aspirations as worth thinking about as they are unlikely to happen when there are so many other things I want to do that are actually possible. Most of my unrealistic dreams actually revolve around music, a profession I had left behind with an aching heart. I dream to play a concerto with an orchestra someday, or even learn to conduct, but for now, drawing my dreams out feels enjoyable and fulfilling enough a compromise!

What advice do you have for people wanting to create artwork and comics?

The true challenge these days I feel like is rarely in the work itself; there are so many readily available free resources that anyone who is capable of working hard and thinking critically will sooner or later be able to master skills they acquire to some degree. What is truly challenging is finding, and then accepting, what paths work for you. Someone might find great joy in working in a studio with a group on something big, while someone else might only enjoy drawing what they feel. Both, in this current climate, will be compelled to adhere to the standards of drawing what others want to see in order to gain recognition and financial stability, one will thrive, one will not.

I think the most important thing to keep in mind is understanding what you want out of drawing/creating, and why. Understanding yourself is often not as straight-forward as it may seem, everyone has different circumstances that subtly motivates them to sometimes misdirect energy and misinterpret what it is they truly want. Some people need to be understood, some people want an excuse to execute, and some people want fame, money, recognition, validation. Whatever it is, and all valid, understanding and accepting your own motivations to create can tremendously help you find the path forward that is suitable for you, not anyone else, even if it might mean following an impractical path that no one else recommends.

Finally, after the release of the first Amongst Us book, what is next for you? Anything special your fans can look forward to?

My game plan through the decades has always been to just keep going. I did choose long-form projects such as the comics that I draw, and the best thing I can do is to just keep it up and reach those exciting points of the story that I’ve always worked towards, no matter how uneventful that may make my work routine sound. However, I do have a little side thing with a(nother) recurring theme that I’ve been doing here and there for fun whenever I had time, people who keep up with my social media art posts may have noticed. If I ever accumulate enough material, maybe there will be some bonus snacks for my readers on the horizon!

Read Carciphona and Amongst Us online now and be sure to support the physical release on Amongst Us book 1 on Kickstarter today. Also, be sure to follow Shilin on Twitter @Okolnir.

#yuri #news #essay #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#queer #gay #shilin #girls love #gl #wlw #essays #interview #art #artist #comics #indie #carciphona #amongst us

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tepkunset · 4 years

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@avatarfandompolice is a blog that likes to misuse progressive language in attempt to make ignorant, racist posts sound more intelligent than they are. While most of their blog consists of arguing about ‘zutara,’ (which I recently learned is a ship name for Zuko and Katara from an anon), there is also a large number of posts and reblogs under the premise of being “hot takes” on how unfair it is to address racism in fandom and in media.

Avatarfandompolice is very sensitive about people pointing out that Avatar: The Last Airbender is not, in fact, flawless. That a show made by two white men featuring Asian and Indigenous characters and influences is fully capable of getting things wrong. That their western colonial views are influences all on their own, and it shows. Rather than listen to fans of colour point out things like these posts for example: [Link] [Link] [Link], avatarfandompolice has decided that such things must simply be fake, and has made multiple posts complaining it. This is not just regular ignorance, this is wilful ignorance. The dismissal of critique simply because they cannot fathom not everyone being able to handle the amount of issues they are freely educating others on, or people holding the ability to like something overall while also pointing out where it could be better.

It is my firm belief that you should never absorb media with an uncritical eye. If this was the case, if people just accepted everything given to them, then we would never see any progress. We need to be able to look back at something and say here’s what we did right, and here’s what we need to do better with.

The argument that A:TLA was made in 2012 and therefore should not be analyzed with a modern understanding of the world is downright hilarious, too. As if we aren’t taught to write literature analysis on books and plays that are centuries old in school. In particular regards to the whole cop thing... if anyone reading this seriously thinks that hate and fear of the police is just a 2020 trend, you can meet me in the pit. I was four years old when I learned how terrifying cops are. If your experiences differ, let me tell you that does not make them universal. And as for all the 20-somethings talking about it today, well, gentle reminder that as said by avatarfandompolice right here, the show aired in 2012. Little 10-year-old kids don’t have social media, (at least I hope they don’t,) and unless they grew up experiencing first-hand police terror, probably were not aware of it at that age. I do not know why avatarfandompolice insults people's ability to grow and learn. I can only guess it’s jealously from their lack of ability to do so.

Now let’s address their defences of whitewashing, which is easily the most backwards reaching I’ve seen on this issue in a while. Primarily their defence relies on four repetitive “points” —

Fake minuscule percentages to downplay the high prevalence and extremity of whitewashing in the fandom

Deflecting the addressing of whitewashing with rapid-fire fake scenarios and claims of “reverse racism” / “blackwashing”

Claiming whitewashing isn’t real because people only care about it with Katara

Claiming that calling out whitewashing in fandom is wrong because it hurts artists

I have only so much as dipped my toes into the A:TLA fandom, and even I have seen a lot of whitewashed fan art. If you do an image search for fan art, I guarantee within the first couple rows of results, there will be in the absolute least, a few examples. The idea of these artworks not substantially lightening skin is also just plain inaccurate. Just from a quick Google search, this is literally the first result for ‘Avatar The Last Airbender Katara fan art’:

Avatarfandompolice is also hyper-focused on the lightening of skin, and seems to be under the impression that this is the only component of whitewashing. I come to this conclusion because when someone pointed out the equal prevalence of depicting these characters of colour with Western European features instead of their actual eyes, noses, etc., they rip a giant turd out of their ass and scrawl the words “but stereotyping” over it. No, not all Asian peoples and Indigenous peoples look the same. The original poster made no such claim of this at all. Avatarfandompolice jumped to this conclusion all on their own... (which really says a lot in itself). It is entirely unrelated to the point. The point being the erasure of how these characters look, in favour of giving them whiter features. And guess what? This does hurt. But I’ll get to that below.

The lack of understanding of whitewashing is on full display when avatarfandompolice talks about “blackwashing”; the idea that colouring characters with darker skin is just like whitewashing. Firstly, there is no such thing as “blackwashing.” “Blackwashing,” “brownwashing,” etc. does not exist because it is a false equivalency to whitewashing. It is a false equivalency to whitewashing because white people are not even in the slightest loosing representation when a white character is re-imagined as a racial minority, whereas when racial minorities are re-imagined as white people, they are taking away from what is already very little representation for us. If we lived in a world where the statistics of representation were not so drastically disproportionate, then there would be something to talk about. But if you are really wanting to support equality, you should focus on equitably supporting those who actually need it, not white people. As for specifically depicting characters like Sokka and Katara with darker skin than what they have in the show, the same applies, (so long as it’s not racebending them as we really shouldn’t be taking representation away from each other, and the artist avatarfandompolice ridicules above has done no such thing,) because colourism also exists within nonwhite communities as well.

As for the fake questions about cosplaying, the answer is really simple: Cosplay however you want, but don’t make pretending to be a different race part of your cosplay. If you want to cosplay Katara, you can do it without painting your skin darker, aka brownface. If you want to cosplay Zuko, you can do it without editing yourself to look East Asian, aka digital yellowface. The racist history behind this is an internet search away, but I suppose that is too difficult for avatarfandompolice to do.

Avatarfandompolice has made multiple claims that people must not really care about whitewashing if they only call it out for Katara. It is laughable at best, and sad at worst, that this is the conclusion they come to, and not the fact that unfortunately Katara just happens to be subjected to more whitewashing than other characters. I assume this is from a mix of her popularity as well as being a WOC and not MOC. This is not to say that whitewashing does not exist with male characters—not in the slightest. Half the images on this “10 fan art pictures of Sokka that are just the best” list from CBR are whitewashed. Only that across fandoms, whitewashing is more prevalent in female characters, by my observations at least.

Finally—and this one pisses me off the most—avatarfandompolice claims that whitewashing is no big deal, but calling out whitewashing is too harmful to justify. How fucking dare you put the feelings of artists who can’t handle critique of their work (that they publicly share) over fans of colour, who are constantly subjected to seeing our identities and looks not being worth respecting. As if it doesn’t imprint on your mind from a very young age how only villains ever have your facial features, because they’re ugly and I guess that means you’re ugly. As if there is something wrong with you. As if respecting you is regarded as extra effort, and not just common courtesy.

Whitewashing is a form of colourism, which is a form of racism. It is the favouritism, unconscious or not, of white features and the erasure of visible characters of colour. It is not fandom drama. It is not being too lazy to focus on “real issues” because it is part of a real issue. It is yet another part of why fandom spaces are so uninviting to POC. We live in a society that favours lighter skin. Corporations make fortunes from selling products to bleach your skin, products to contour your features away or go as far as surgery, all to meet beauty standards set by and influenced by white colonizers. That does not exist in A:TLA, and that’s called refreshing escapism. But it’s hard to escape that when the fandom constantly reminds you otherwise. It is a perfect example of how the classic “just let people enjoy things” complaint is nothing but disguised racism, because it’s only ever said regarding white fans’ enjoyment, at the expense of fans of colour.

None of the characters in A:TLA are white. Redesigning them and recolouring them as if they are, be it out of accident or intent is wrong. If you get called out for it, apologize, learn from the experience and do better going forward. You’ll also improve your art this way.

Beyond excusing whitewashing, avatarfandompolice has overt racist posts as well. A Black fan said they like to headcanon Katara as being partially Black; “I swear Katara was a sister. Im convinced there ain't no way she didn't have some black in her.” Avatarfandompolice jumps in saying “She's literally an Inuit but ok” as if being an Inuk person means Katara can’t possibly also be Black. The OP never claimed Katara was not Indigenous, simply that they also saw her as Black. Black Indigenous peoples exist. Black Inuk peoples exist. It is overtly anti-Black to say otherwise. But what even is the point of talking to avatarfandompolice about that? You know, you would think in trying to put such a front up of caring about the Inuit, they would do the most basic learning of the proper grammatical use of Inuit and Inuk. (As is the case with a great many Indigenous Nations, Inuit is both the Nation and plural. Inuk is singular. “An Inuit” / “Inuits” as avatarfandompolice has used just makes their dressed-up racism all the more pathetic. It’s similar to as if you said “Chinas” instead of “Chinese”.)

But all this is nothing, nothing compared to the worst post I had the displeasure of seeing. In a single post, avatarfandompolice manages to squeeze in insult against low income people, Mexican people, Jewish people, and Black people in a mockery of financial help posts. Absolutely disgusting, childish behaviour from a place of privilege. As someone who has had no option but to make such a post before, more than once, let me fucking tell you that the embarrassment and desperation when in that situation is unparalleled. It is not done lightly. It is done when you are at the last resort of having nothing but hope that the combined generosity of others will be enough to save you and your family. And what adds a whole other level to the odiousness of avatarfandompolice’s post is that they specifically targeting low income minorities to boot. Because we’re all poor beggars, right?

All in all, for someone who prides themselves in calling others ignorant, avatarfandompolice has to be one of the most obtuse fandom blogs I have ever scrolled through. They are as vile as they are pathetic, and my sincere sympathy for anyone who has been unfortunate enough to interact with them. It has been a while since I so strongly recommend blocking someone.

#avatarfandompolice #atla #atla fandom #racism #whitewashing #long post #fit for a queue

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rason-rodd · 3 years

Text

The Bat-Review #3

This is the last part of the two issues-run by Martinbrough and Akins, closing Red Hood’s Rebirth Chapter and possibly his adventure as a main solo character due to rumours of cancellation spread on the internet and Red Hood absence in the comics scheduled for March after Future State. So do they end it well?

Last month, I left you all by sharing my opinion on Red Hood #51 which was Martinbrough and Akins’ first time at writing and depicting Red Hood. Well, I will try not to rant so much but let’s say I hope it’s the last time.

Yes, I may be harsh and I can admit that my expectations are probably too high, making me a type of reader that is hard to satisfy. But for me this run is a failure in many points.

First, I really really really disliked the rhythm. Issue #51 took a lot of time to introduce the scenery and the new characters, putting aside Jason and all sort of action to do so. And as much as it was an understandable decision when reading issue #51, after Red Hood #52 this comes out as a mistake. Indeed, you cannot build an entire new story and create new characters if all that is given to you are only two poor issues. Two issues are not enough to introduce new characters, develop a complex plot and end it properly. It is as if you were trying to make a 20 pages novel. It doesn’t work. And you can definitely feel it while reading Issue #52. Everything is rushed. The characters and the story have no room to evolve and all the main revelations lose their tension and suspense (for exemple, Dana being Strike and revealing herself to Jason). I don’t necessarily blame Martinbrough for this. DC has its share of responsibility as well and it is very likely the writer would have done a better job had he been given two or three more issues to tell his story right. But again, when you know you only have two issues to tell a story don’t make the story too complex. Last week, Nightwing #77 did a better job at telling a good story in one issue by remaining concise and simple than Martinbrough with his Red Hood two issues-run.

But the problematic rhythm is not the only cringy stuff in Red Hood #52. Both Martinbrough and Akins (also joined by Moritat) fail at using and depicting Jason and leave the reader wonder if they even know the character. (nb: judging by what I read about them on the internet, they apparently don’t) Jason is made a secondary character in his own comics, being completely overshadowed by Dana who takes the limelight in his place. Everything revolves around her and her thirst for justice as well as her family situation and Jason is made the witness of all her drama and almost her sidekick. Again, this issue gives us no insight on Jason’s line of thoughts or feelings, making him almost unrelatable when there was definitely room to articulate his character to so many points, ‘family’ being the focal of this run and a theme that is central to Jason Todd’s character. There was a possibility to link him to Dana, to link him to Tommy Maxx by connecting his personal experience to theirs but it was never really done. Too bad.

But, I have to admit I kinda liked Dana and her fiery personality. She reminded me of a young impulsive Jason Todd and I believe that she could have been a good way for Jason to evolve and mature had we had more issues to read. I could have definitely pictured a nice tutor/pupil relationship between the two (and not the sexual/romantic one we were hinted at), giving Jason the opportunity to put himself once again in some teacher’s shoes (in Bruce’s shoes?) that suit him so well.

I will finish talking about the story by quickly mentioning Tommy Maxx and say “What was the point of this character?” All this time spent building a story around him to be taken down like some second-rate criminal. Seriously? He was lame and lousy and I don’t need to say more than this. (ps: also why talking about Black Mask if not to use him?)

And finally, the art. For this run Akins worked with Moritat and the change of drawing style when you turn the pages is, to me, rather bothering. Plus, I don’t like how Jason is drawn. He seems way older than he is supposed to be, almost looking like Bruce’s clone and the way he dresses is ugh. I mean look at that tank top in the last pages and tell be Jason doesn’t look like a village people, I dare you! Also, no one is going to talk about the problems linked to perspective. The frame showing the diner from outside is honestly disproportionate. But at least the colours look rather beautiful.

So, to sum up, Red Hood #52 is the definition of problematic rhythm and shows what happens when you ask a writer to write an original detailed story in two issues. Plus, it fails at using Jason Todd as a main character and at linking him to new ones. A disappointment that leaves me bitter considering this was probably Red Hood’s final issue.

#Jason Todd #red hood #dc comics #red hood 52 #bat-review

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darkherolovercroissant · 3 years

Text

Holiday Torpe

Torpe (n.) : a man who is desperately in love with a woman, but cannot admit his feelings or approach her.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Masterlist

Warnings: pinch of angst, but mainly fluff.

———————————————————————

The Christmas music was playing through the compound and if anyone was the most excited it was the ladies who’d be screaming their heads off about Christmas constantly. However, some men shared in on the excitement and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. With every year that passes, the avengers became the closest they possibly could around this time.

You and Wanda were twirling around in the common room while Nat & Carol decorated the tree. Steve shook his head laughing as Nat and him joked around about you and Wanda’s mental state.

“They’re just Christmas sluts.” Carol joked

“Amen, sister!” Wanda cheers

“I think they’re pretty normal.” Tony says as he struts in through the doorway.

“Define normal, Stark!” Sam taunts which he received the middle finger from a very unimpressed Stark.

One person who was absent was, Barnes. The man struggled with talking to you, you weren’t stupid by any means. You knew it was because he liked you, but you weren’t rude either and going to force him to do anything until he calmed down.

Bucky was always terrified of your power after it was revealed that you were a goddess and not an everyday human. You were the goddess of wisdom, poetry, art and war strategy. Yeah you were Athena the daughter of Zeus. You kicked Thor’s ass numerous times and you literally butted heads with Loki and never failed to make Steve blush like a little school girl when you came up with the plans.

Bucky had fallen right on his face when you shook his hand without a second glance at the metal appendage that was in your grasp. Call it weird, but Bucky had numerous fantasies about you and him and whenever you two were assigned together in missions, you two always had the job done in record time.

You were a badass and you loved to put people in their place, but spending time with the avengers for so long, you developed a more human side of you. You were the girl of Bucky’s dreams, but he struggled to talk to you for all the times you made him seem stupid after trying to understand all your fancy words and big ideas, but this man was your idiot. He would look at you with those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to sparkle and that adorable smile of his whenever he heard something funny.

However Bucky was in his room and just finished a notebook of poetry that came from his heart which was beating way too fast for it to be normal, but he wasn’t normal, this man was crazy about you. Poetry recounting the days since he first met you, to that very day, he was in deep and he loved it. He only wished to dig deeper into the feeling. Wrapping it up and sitting it on his dresser, he took a deep breath of air and looked in the mirror. His hair which was cut by Carol herself, made him look like his old self before falling off that train.

You liked his haircut and when you confessed that, he became like a little guppy out of water. His mouth kept opening, but nothing came out and the poor man panicked and bolted. You were determined to win him over, but you also wanted to be respectful too.

——-

Christmas came and people rushed to unwrap presents and Tony almost choked on his coffee when Bruce had given him a jar of melatonin gummies.

“Now I want you to eat them all and hibernate for three years.” Bruce had joked

Tony almost fainted, but none the less had accepted it. Carol didn’t wish for much, but she really got excited when she was given her favourite candles and a hand knitted sweater for goose.

Bucky had Steve holding him down on the couch due to his anxiety flying through the roof. Sure enough, everyone filed out of the room to relax before dinner had to be started. Bucky looked at you before handing you a gift.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You were honestly shocked he got you something.

You open it and see it’s a notebook with “what I wanted to say, but couldn’t” written on the front.

Opening it and seeing the date you first met the avengers, you were shocked at how fast that man really fell for you.

With verses like:

You manage to make the strongest soldier weak & that’s a lot to say or so to speak.

It’s often frustrating not having the words in my mouth or mind, but I’m not gonna lie, you understand me better as if we were intertwined.

I used to understand my feelings and used to be so strong, but how are you supposed to speak, when the music plays in your head but you can’t sing the song.

“I hope you don’t hate me for this. I’ve never been this nervous around anyone.” Bucky says after finding a new found confidence.

“For finding a way to finally communicate? Hell no! I really love it. If this is how you expressed yourself to me, then this is the best way to express yourself. I’m proud of you, Bucky.” You smile

“Oh thank god.” He heaves out a deep breath making you laugh.

“And just so you know, this is easily going to be my favourite book, Bucky. Thank you for everything.” You say as you place a kiss to his cheek.

Bucky’s face flushed the same colour as his red henley shirt making you chuckle. He took a breath and pushed his lips to yours in a deep kiss making your heart melt.

“YES TIN MAN! You still got it!” Sam chants from across the room.

You two pull away and he takes your hand in his and places a kiss to it before taking you to his room to cuddle and hear your thoughts while reading your present.

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #MCU #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fluff #holiday one shot #christmas story #oneshots #romantic #goddess reader #sebastian stan

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violet-knox · 4 years

Text

Third Wheel

Year 7 - Chapter 57

Summary: An unwanted guest joins your study session and Severus is less than enthusiastic about it.

Word count: 5422

A/N: I didn’t expect this update to come so late, I’m so rusty but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I honestly cannot wait to get to the next part in this series and I wish I had the time to power through year 7. Good news is this is my last semester so once finals are over in a few months, my schedule should be a lot more predictable.

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

(Y/H/C) = your hair colour

“Why would you invite him?” Severus couldn’t have reacted worse when you’d broken the news to him about the additional invitation you’d extended to a certain Ravenclaw without so much as consulting him first. Then again, what more would you expect from the person who’d been nagging you almost every day for alone time these past few weeks, claiming you were spending too much time out on the field and not enough time in his arms.

“He said he’d been struggling to keep up with Slughorn so I thought, what would be the harm if he joined us?” You looked up at him with the most apologetic eyes you could muster, realizing just how betrayed he must have felt when he’d heard mention from your own lips of another boy intruding on what was supposed to be your time alone as a couple.

“Do you know how hard it was to regain Slughorn’s trust?” His voice rose, his hands dramatically flaring about in comparison to his usual collected self.

“Severus-” You’d stopped him in the middle of the empty corridor at the agitated tone he gave you. It hadn’t even crossed your mind the trouble he had gone through securing the empty classroom from that walrus of a man. But Severus had brought it up yesterday as if it was no big deal, like it was as easy as flying a broom on a clear and still day. You’d never imagined the situation looking as bad as it did to him when you’d invited Connor, and the more Severus went on, the worse you felt for what you’d done.

“I was looking forward to an entire day alone with you.” He looked down at you with a frown you thought you’d never in his life cause and it broke your heart to know a choice you made upset him to this degree, the annoyance hidden in his tone making you wish you had the heart to tell Connor to leave when you got to the potions classroom.

“I’m sorry Sev. I should have been more considerate,” you said, taking a step towards him, your fingertips gently sweeping across his hairline, pushing those long black strands away from his face. You’d love more than anything to see that frown transform into that sweet smile he’d always give you right now. “Let me make it up to you later?”

You wrapped one arm around his neck, letting the other cup his jaw as your thumb swiped his cheek. Looking into your eyes, he saw them soften, matching that gentle smile that always had his heart racing knowing, it was all for him. His own lips couldn’t help but curve to match yours as he melted into you.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispered, biting his bottom lip and eyeing yours with a mischievous look.

“You tease!” You let out a crooked chuckle, lightly pushing both your hands on his chest, letting them rest there as he tightened his grip on your waist. Maybe he wasn’t as mad as you’d imagined after all. “What did you have in mind?”

The soft melody of your voice disappeared down the narrow hallway where he stood pressing himself closer to you, trapping you between his body and the wall. Severus let the corridor settle into complete silence, grasping onto your voice as it travelled away before responding.

“We’ll, I wouldn’t mind waking up next to you again.” He teasingly nudged at your nose, whispering his desires to you, trusting you with his heart. He knew you’d understand, that you’d feel his desperate need for your presence weighing on his chest and eventually give him exactly what he wanted.

“That can certainly be arranged,” you whispered, pulling him closer, feeling the buckle under the jumper he wore press into your stomach. You gave him a little smirk, unable to keep your excitement down any longer. You had to tell him. There was no delaying this any longer. He deserved to know and besides, this little secret project you’d been trying to find the right time to share with him could very well help with his desperate need to spend every waking moment of the day with you.

You nudged back at him and let out a small giggle as you both danced around the idea of a kiss neither of you would ever deny. You smiled, feeling the light brush of his breath against your lips. Weaving a hand through his hair, you tangled your fingers between his locks, gripping them tight as you held your place, millimeters away from his lips.

Severus had no intention to give you that kiss he knew you craved, and he didn’t have to wait long before he felt your teeth grazing his bottom lip, your hands gripping him tight, pulling him flush against you. He grinned at your evident desire for him, taking a few steps forward, pressing your back against the concrete wall. You arched your back as the cold stones nipped against the thin fabric of your top, threatening to steal the heat building between you and Severus.

You’d barely been together a year and he already knew how to take your breath away, teasing you, pushing you into his arms as you always seemed to find your heart begging for his touch. Finally, you gave in and pressed your lips against his, soft, loving moments passing by as you cherished every bit of his taste. Moans flowed through his throat like a melody the instant your lips met, satisfied by your show of defeat.

He parted the kiss just when your eagerness began to show as you dug your fingers deeper into his hair, your tongue swiping his bottom lip. You almost cursed when your excitement was cut short by his need to push your desire for him further. Well, if that’s how he wanted to play, then so be it.

“Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after dinner today?” You bit your bottom lip, batting your eyes ever so subtly as you teased him, rocking your hips and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.

“Or,” he said as he edged forward, sure to press his chest to yours. “We could forget about potions and head there now.”

You smiled in satisfaction when you saw that twinkle of desire in his eye, begging you for your touch. “Tempting, but you know how behind I am Sev.”

And it wasn’t a complete lie. You truly had fallen behind, and Severus had taken it upon himself to book time in the potions classroom to catch you up. It was such a sweet thing for him to do, something you knew he’d never do for anyone else.

“Fine,” he sighed in defeat, taking your hand and resumed your way towards the dungeons.

This year had barely begun, and it had already proven to be a lot more of a challenge than you’d initially anticipated. The first game of the season was approaching rapidly, and you still had so much training to put your team through (though they would claim otherwise). Severus, of course, did his best to support you without letting go of the burning need to spend time with you. At times, you wondered whether or not he’d take offense to bringing up the possibility for him to join a club or to simply expand his social circle a little more so long as he kept away from those horrible Slytherins he used to hang around before you’d come along.

You were grateful for the kind, passionate man he was growing to be, but you couldn’t help but think back to the years he’d spent wasting time dabbling in the Dark Arts with his horrendous ‘friends’. His life surely would have turned out much darker if he hadn’t abandoned them but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find other hobbies, other people to hang around. You shouldn’t be the only person in his life he felt comfortable around.

“Hey Connor,” you greeted your friend as you walked into the Potion’s classroom, the Ravenclaw boy already setting up his station, potions ingredients laid out, textbook on the table and cauldron set atop a burner.

You placed your bag on the table, grabbed your textbook and flipped it open to the first page of the Amortentia chapter. Keeping a mental list in your head, you made your way over to the storeroom to retrieve the ingredients you’d need for your potion as Severus went to fetch you a cauldron.

“(Y/N) says you’re a wiz in potions,” you heard Connor try to strike up a conversation with Severus and you smiled at the idea of your boyfriend interacting in a conversation that didn’t end with him demanding his converser to eat slugs. You only hoped he wouldn’t shut down the idea of speaking with Connor before putting in some effort.

“Did she.” Severus couldn’t have sounded more agitated if he tried.

“Yeah, which is impressive if you ask me. Potions as never my strong suite, too much technique and precision. I’ve always preferred much more straightforward classes like Charms.” Poor Connor had brushed right past Severus’ tone, continuing his attempt at a conversation and you knew you had to hurry before Severus' patience ran thin. You’d done your best to calm him before entering the classroom, but there was only so much you could do since it had been your choice in inviting Connor that had worn his patience in the first place.

“I’m sure,” and there it was, the pessimistic reply you knew was coming. “What potion are you brewing?”

Finally, you’d finished gathering all your ingredients, huddling them all in your arms as you quickly joined the boys, setting yourself between them with Connor sitting adjacent to you.

“Sleeping Draught,” Connor said as he turned on the burner under his cauldron. You sat down beside Severus, finding your station all set up and ready to go for you as you placed your ingredients on the table, just in time to hear Severus sneer at the simplicity of the potion Connor was brewing. You didn’t have to ask, you knew what was running through his mind right now; pure judgment and some words to describe Connor you hoped he’d never say aloud.

“What will you brew, (Y/N)?” Connor asked, eyeing the ingredients you’d brought as if trying to figure out the potion himself. Ravenclaws always seemed to have a knack for challenging themselves every which way they could and you really did admire that, but sometimes you wished they’d pick the right time for such things. Trying to challenge McGonagall’s knowledge of Animagus’ in the middle of class like that blond girl had in yesterday’s class for instance, really wasn’t a smart move.

“Amortentia,” you said. “It’s one of the hardest potions to make but Severus seems to think he can help me brew it.”

“It’s not as difficult as Slughorn makes it sound,” Severus spoke lazily as he looked over the ingredients you’d brought over, disappointed to find you hadn’t taken note of the advice he’d given you in class last week. “(Y/N), I told you to start with rose water, it’ll speed up the seeping process.”

“Right,” you said, kicking yourself for forgetting such a vital thing when he’d gone on and on about all the alterations he’d made to the potion, in an attempt to improve it in class. He’d always go out of his way to help you despite the dirty looks and the exchanged whisperings of ‘traitor’ comments he’d get from his own house and here you were showing less than no appreciation for it. “I’m sorry Sev, I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” he said irritably. “But maybe start taking notes in your textbook to make it easier like I’ve been telling you to do.”

Severus pulled out a quill from his bag and handed it to you before making his way to the storeroom to fetch the ingredient you’d missed. Smiling to yourself, realizing how much he’d truly tried to help you with your studies, you pulled out your inkwell and scribbled down ‘Rose water’ next to the list of ingredients.

Taking on the position of Quidditch Captain this year had taken quite a lot of work, and you just couldn’t help your mind wander during class to the various plays you’d been trying to work out the last few weeks. You’d been relying too heavy on Severus lately to take notes for you, and it wasn’t fair to him. You had to do better and start paying better attention in class. If you had, perhaps you would be spending your time snogging in the Astronomy Tower right now instead of reading this damn chapter and brewing this stupid potion all over again.

Severus returned shortly after, swiftly taking his seat beside you and handing you the rose water. You thanked him with a gentle please forgive me smile before pouring in the rose water and turning on the burner beneath your cauldron. Making sure this time to jot down every alteration Severus suggested, you did your best to keep your mind off of Quidditch and make the most of your time with him while trying to catch up on your work.

It wasn’t easy to get over the look of irritation Severus gave you every time Connor spoke, but the simple touch of your fingers rubbing gentle circles on his knee under the table was enough to keep him calm and push through the evening with minimal protest. And sure, he was glad you were taking notes and paying so much attention, but couldn’t you just write a little faster and speed this along? There was just so much time left in the day and if he wasn’t going to play one-on-one tutor with you tonight then the least you could do was finish your potion early and grant him some time with you before dinner. Holding on to the thought of your promise to meet him in the Astronomy Tower tonight is all he could looking forward to, convincing himself it would be worth the torture he was being put through now.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Severus’ attention had snapped to Connor and you both froze at his sudden outburst. The air grew stiff and time suddenly passed five times slower than usual as you looked Severus wide eyed.

“... Adding some Standard Ingredient,” Connor said slowly as if speaking to a wary mother bear protecting her cub, hovering a fist full of the herbs over his brewing cauldron. You cautiously placed your hand on Severus’ leg, gently rubbing it, silently begging him to keep his cool and tone down his theatrics.

“You should crush it first,” he said as if Connor had missed a vital step that could lead to nothing less of a catastrophe. The seriousness in Severus’ tone was all too adorable and you had to press your lips together to keep from smiling when you could see how mortified Connor was from the storm your Slytherin boyfriend caused.

“But the book says-”

“The book’s wrong,” Severus interrupted Connor the second he mentioned the stupid textbook filled with nothing more than old outdated recipes written by Potion Masters too cowardice to experiment and advance in their field. “It’s much more beneficial if you crush it and release its essence, it’ll strengthen the potion and speed up the brewing process.”

“No kidding? Thanks.” You were pleasantly surprised at Connor’s acceptance of Severus’ advice without even batting an eye at his teaching method. “Got any other tips for Sleeping Draught?”

It would have been an understatement to say Severus was caught off guard by Connor’s attitude; a deer caught in headlights would have had a less shocked expression on its face. Severus felt his throat dry as he tried to compose himself. No one had ever taken his help with the smile and gratitude Connor showed right now when he snapped like that, not even you. Then again, any price would likely be worth paying for knowledge in a Ravenclaw’s eyes, even if it meant the needed tolerance to deal with his temper.

Unlike his Slytherin peers, he’d always loved having Potions with the Gryffindors, giving Lily a reason to spend time with him and of course, this year he was beyond grateful for every class he shared with you. Not once had it crossed his mind that sharing Potions class with the Ravenclaws would have likely benefited him much more, giving him the opportunity to have an actual challenging, academic conversation with someone. Connor, of course, was probably the last Ravenclaw he would have approached but if he was able to converse with him over such a simple potion, he could only imagine the type of conversation he could have with a Ravenclaw that had the mental capacity to brew potions properly.

You sat there in complete silence, wondering if either of them would notice you gone if you just got up and left with how deep in conversation they were in. It was sweet to watch them bond and you thanked Merlin Severus was actually talking so passionately with someone other than you. He finally seemed to have opened up to the idea of befriending Connor and you couldn’t have been happier.

“Seems like you’re almost done.” Your thoughts melted away as Connor’s voice snapped you back to reality. Looking down at your cauldron, you realized the colour of your concoction had cleared, telling you it was ready for the last ingredient.

Reaching for the jar of rose petals, you dropped seven of them in your cauldron one at a time, the rosy tone of each petal seeping into the potion, darkening it as it began to take effect. Naturally, your potion was near perfection, though what more would you expect with Severus holding your hand every step of the way.

“Just turn down the heat and let it simmer for a while,” Severus pointed out to you, packing up his things as he turned to the clock, realizing that by the time you cleaned up, you’d both have to head to the Great Hall for dinner. At least he still had the Astronomy Tower to look forward to.

“So, what do you smell?” Connor peered over your cauldron, taking a small whiff of your potion. You set aside your ladle and hovered a safe distance over the steaming cauldron, closing your eyes and taking in the sweet scents, trying to differentiate between them.

“Old books... freshly cut grass... ash from a burnt fireplace… and… potion fumes.” Connor gave a small chuckle at the last scent you described, unaware it was in no way intended as a joke but was indeed what you smelled every night you cuddled with Severus after your Potions class. Severus smirked as you exchanged a quick look of passion. “What do you smell, Connor?”

You took a step back and gave Connor room to hover over the cauldron instead. “New books… leather… lavender… and … the smell of grass after rain,” he said, smiling as he stepped back. Perhaps it wasn’t such a great idea to inhale such a strong potion by the look on Connor’s face. It was like a drug you could never stop taking, the scent you smelled when you were close to Severus combined with the scent of the air around the Quidditch pitch in spring had to be the most majestically addicting thing you’d ever experienced.

“What about you Severus?” You spun around and asked, mostly curious to know if he’d smell your scent.

“Must you ask?” He rose a brow at you and brushed off your question as if the answer was written in the air in front of you. Giggling, you tucked your hair behind your ear, a light blush of pink appearing across your cheeks. The look he gave you was all you needed to see to know what he desired most; you.

Severus fought back a smile watching your face light up with obvious bliss. It was amazing how well you both had learned to communicate with one another like this, the trust and bond that had built between you. He’d never felt anything like it before, but it made him feel complete and he was ever so grateful for everything you were to him.

“I’m going to see if I can snag some empty vials,” you said as you quickly hopped out of your seat, wandering away from them, worried Connor would catch onto the spark you’d accidentally ignited between you and Severus. It wasn’t that you wanted to hide your relationship from him, but the air between him and Severus had already been so dense since the day they’d met and you didn’t want Connor to assume that just because you were dating, didn’t mean you couldn’t all be friends. Besides, they were just starting to bond, there was no need to break the harmony that was forming between you three now when it had yet to settle.

Connor turned his attention back to his own potion as you left and Severus began eying his cauldron, noticing he was practically finished as well. Such a simple potion should have been easy for a sixth year to brew, in fact Severus was sure that given the chance, he could brew it with his eyes closed in less than a half hour. He pitied Connor really, what sort of Ravenclaw could possibly perform so poorly in Potions? Then again, not everyone had grown up with a Potion’s Mistress as a mother, learning potions at a young age in an attempt to tether themselves to the Wizarding World without a wand at hand.

Throwing all distaste for the boy you’d decided to befriend aside, he walked over to him and began instructing him on the last steps of the potion, explaining the science behind Sleeping Draught when he was asked. You’d returned to find Connor in deep concentration as he followed the scribbles Severus had drawn out on his version of Advanced Potion Making. Quietly making your way back to your cauldron as to not disturb them, you simply observed Severus and the passion that emulated off him as he tutored Connor.

It took everything in you not to burst out in glee at Severus finally opening himself to the possibility of spending time with Connor, but knowing he’d immediately lunge away if you’d shown even a slimmer of delight, you did what you could to retain yourself. Instead, you brought your attention back to your own cauldron, looking down at the potion that had suddenly appeared almost pitch black to you with a glimmering layer of emerald green covering the surface, giving it quite the alluring look. You filled up all three vials you’d snagged from the storeroom (no need for Slughorn to know that) and reluctantly wove your wand over the cauldron, vanishing the remainder of the potion.

“Find any more of those vials (Y/N)?” Connor asked, turning off his own burner and setting his ladle down. You leaned over his cauldron to find a nearly perfect Sleeping Draught before your eyes went back to him. You were going to say no since the less vials that went missing, the less suspicious Slughorn would be, but such a potion could really come in handy. You couldn’t really tell whether it was the stress of your N.E.W.Ts class, the pressure that had grown on you as Quidditch Captain or the sorrow you felt at the thought that it would be your last year at Hogwarts, your future and Severus’ still so unclear but, you’d hardly slept over the last month, always waking in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep.

“Yeah,” you said, “There’s a tone in this wooden crate under the shelves on the left.”

“Thanks.” And with that, Connor set off towards the storeroom, leaving you and Severus a alone at last. Unable to hold in your excitement any longer, you turned to Severus, smiling as if you’d found out a happy little secret he was too embarrassed to speak of.

“So, does this mean you’ll finally consider Connor a friend?” You whispered to him, smiling from ear to ear as you leaned in just a little closer.

“I have no bloody clue what you mean (Y/N).” Severus fell back into his usual defensive self, his hair falling over his face as it would when he felt the need to hide himself from the world. He hadn’t done that to you in quite a while and it just had you giggling at the situation. Who knew Severus Snape could be so easily flustered?

“Oh come on!” You took a step closer as you began teasing him. “You like him.”

“Shut up,” Severus immediately spit out, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, regretting his words as soon as they left his lips. Wide eyed, he looked at you, praying you took no offense to his agitated tone, only to find that smirk on your face still resting there, silently badgering him.

“Fine,” you said, putting on an overdramatic show of annoyance as you quickly turned your back to him and looked over your shoulder just to display your taunting smile. “I supposed I’ll just go to bed after dinner tonight.”

Severus grunted in discontent at the mention of you cancelling the only thing getting him through this treacherous evening, knowing fully well you didn’t mean it by the sarcasm in your tone.

“So,” you said as you shook one of the vials filled with Amortentia in front of him. “What colour do you see?”

Severus smirked, quickly spinning around to take a peek at the storeroom, checking to see if Connor was still rummaging through the crates, looking for empty vials before gently pulling you into his arms by your waist. “(Y/H/C),” he whispered to you. “And gold.”

“Gold?” Your cheeks speckled pink as you smiled. Is that really the colour he associated with the thought of you? How royal.

“Of course,” he said, letting his hands slip down to rest on your hips. His eyes flickered down to your lips as he slowly began to lean forward. He really didn’t get enough time with you.

The rustling from the storeroom followed by the creek of the door Connor closed had Severus sliding his hands off of you. He ran his fingers through his hair as he walked past you, feeling his frustration rise to a level he himself was unaware he could reach. If only he could apparate you both away right now or reach for his wand and scare off the intruder. But even if he had either ability, he knew how disappointed in him you’d be. Besides, the nosey Ravenclaw didn’t seem so bad after all. At least he had half a mind compared to those Gryffindor’s you hung around.

You let out a gentle sigh as you pressed your lips together, your eyes following Severus as he made his way around you until he’d disappeared behind you. Turning your attention back to where you’d seen Connor approaching, you found yourself face to face with him, holding up three of his own vials.

“That man needs to organize that room better,” he said as he stepped towards his cauldron and began filling up the vials one at a time.

You chuckled in agreement, but your mind had strayed, and it was too late now to snap back to thoughts about something as bane as potion. There was really only one thing to do now; pack up as quickly as you could, say goodbye to Connor and find a dark corner alone somewhere to enjoy the remaining fifteen minutes you had left before dinner. Looking over at Severus as you made your way back to your own belongings, you saw him zipping up his own bag, obviously with the same thought you had running through his head.

“Here you go Connor,” you said as you passed a vial of Amortentia over to him, another to Severus and the third found its way safely in the inner pouch of your bag. “Careful with that, it’s very strong.”

“Of course. And here,” he passed you a vial of his own potion, handing one to Severus as well and like you, stuffed the third in his bag. You thanked Connor (on behalf of Severus as well as yourself) for the Sleeping Draught as he quickly wove his wand to vanish the remainder of his potion.

“Well, we better head to the Great Hall,” you said as you sloppily put away your cauldron, grasping at every potion’s ingredient Severus hadn’t grabbed first. “It’s almost time for dinner.”

The speed you both were cleaning made Connor appear as if he was living in slow motion, just barely finished with closing up his bag as you both returned from the storeroom, grabbing your things and making your way out the door, you shouting a quick ‘see you’ to Connor (once again on behalf of you and Severus) as you left him in the potion’s classroom.

“You don’t think that was rude of us, do you?” You whispered to Severus as you speed walked down the hall of the dungeon making your way towards the basement. “I feel a little guilty for running out on Connor like that.”

“No, no. It’s fine, I’m sure he didn’t pick up on anything.” Severus honestly couldn’t care less right now how Connor felt about their abrupt exit. All he cared about were the remaining eleven minutes till dinner he had full intention of using to his benefit, making you wish you’d never invited Connor to their late evening of studying potions together.

Once out of sight of roaming students, Severus quickly took your hand and pulled you into a nearby corridor, aware of the little time he had and immediately resumed the dance you were playing before your afterhours potions class. His lips connecting with yours, his hands found your wrists, pinning you against the wall, slowly sliding them to rest above your head.

Always so needy and you absolutely loved feeling wanted in this way. He lived off your love for him and you’d felt the same way for a while now too. You moaned into his mouth, back arched, your chest pressing against his as you gently tugged your hands down, wanting nothing more than to feel him under your fingertips and that is exactly the reaction he was looking for.

Tightening his grip around your wrists, he firmly held his place, quickly parting from your kiss leaving you completely unsatisfied only to leave the gentlest of kisses down your jaw and towards your neck. He didn’t bother loosening your tie and instead pressed his lips to the fabric of your collar, teasing you even further.

“Severus,” you whined, your legs ever so slightly beginning to rub together as you desperately tried to free yourself and take from him what he so evidently was denying you. But unfortunately for you, his resilience and your weakness for his kisses kept you locked in place, having to slowly endure this torture he was putting you through.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself whimpering at the loss of contact when Severus exclaimed time was up, picking up his bag from off the floor, stepping back from you. Never had you felt so unhinged with him before and because you knew him so well, you were sure his actions were a result of the invitation you’d extended to Connor to apparently ‘ruin your evening’.

“So, shall I see you in the Astronomy Tower after supper?” Severus asked with a grin, his tone giddy as if he’d just found out he’d come first in all his classes. You quickly picked up your bag and crossed your arms, showing him just how unhappy your denied request for his affection had made you. But of course, you couldn’t be mad at him for that and the smile that made its way to your lips gave that away. Spinning around on your heels, you huffed in annoyance, making a bit more of a show than you’d intended, and stormed away.

“Is that a yes?” he chuckled, shouting after you, content that his point had come across much stronger than initially intended. Smiling to himself, he could only think of the events that would take place after dinner tonight as he jogged a few paces to catch up with you.

Yup, that’s a yes.

Next Chapter

@dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin @trashandshook @gbatesx @sneezy-s @emsdroid @leah-halliwell92 @dellightfullydeceitful @sparklingkeylimepie @nameless-sovereign @justanobodyinthisbigworld @soft-slytherin-sweetie @youtube4life10 @scarletmoon83 @fluffymadamina @sleepysnapesnake @retroillustrations

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doctors-star · 3 years

Note

writing challenge prompt: apricity - the warmth of the sun in the winter. (Pairing Peter/Alex/Ruth if you fancy it)

prompt list

apricity - the warmth of the sun in the winter

The farmyard looks like it’s on fire. Great coiling, curling masses of steam are rising off it and ascending heavenward, for all the world as if a large dragon had set up shop beneath the chickens’ feet and is now puffing away to itself. The steam is solid silver and grey in the midmorning light, swirling on invisible thermals like Degas’ ballerinas, and edged with sunlight that is altogether too bright to look at.

He is looking anyway.

His eyes are scrunched up with an intensity usually reserved for awkward texts and inscrutable hill forts, brow furrowed and creased over heavy, dark brows. He’s got one hand on his hip, the other wrapped thoughtfully around his chin; his feet are planted squarely in boots coated in solid, cloying mud. He looks immovable as an oak tree, there in the farmyard. The world around them could end, he thinks, and Peter would still be standing.

Peter shifts, hand moving from chin to forehead to form a slight shield against the vivid wall of brightness. His sleeves are rolled up and it is possible to watch his muscles shift under his skin, as has been impossible for the past few weeks of seemingly endless rain. It has been cold and wet and miserable for all of January, feels like, and the dawn of February has not given them much cause for hope; but now, the rain has stopped, the clouds cleared, the mercury in the thermometer made the effort and risen above five degrees, and Peter has his jacket off and sleeves rolled back right away, as if this is the only sunshine he expects this year and he had better appreciate it.

In fairness, it is Britain. Stranger things have happened.

And anyway, Alex can understand the idea. He is, after all, watching Peter as though the man might disappear; as if this is his only opportunity to lean propped up on the cart in the sunlight and see him, sleeves pushed back and squinting and lit up by light and steam. How very long the winter has seemed.

Alex leans back a little and folds his arms, glaring into the east a little more himself, to look the same way as Peter. Ruth - of course, of course they are watching Ruth - is talking with great animation to their flock of chickens, hands on her hips as she chides them. They keep ducking about around her feet rather indignantly, dipping their heads with their strange stop-motion movements to tap their beaks unenthusiastically against the frozen ground as if to say why aren’t you feeding us? we cannot possibly be expected to feed ourselves in this weather! And Ruth is laughing at them, with the sun behind her head and behind the trees so that the rays are oddly defined; segmented spikes, like a great art deco sunburst.

“I will not feed you,” she is telling the birds with stern amusement. “You do not need it. It is a glorious day, at last, and you can go and enjoy it. And eat all the other things who are out enjoying it, too. It’ll be good for you. Lazy sods.” One of the chickens, the buff-coloured, famously bad-tempered one, darts forward and then struts nonchalantly away towards the pig sty. Ruth sputters an indignant laugh, jaw dropped in surprise. “Did you just peck my shoe?” she cries after the retreating bird, who puts on a burst of speed. “The audacity!”

Alex can feel the grin that’s lodged on his face; Peter, face still screwed up against the light, snorts inelegantly and she looks his way and beams. “Are you no longer a chicken authority?” he asks her very solemnly and sympathetically.

“My shoe has been pecked!” she informs him, rather redundantly, but it makes them both grin all the same. “They’ve lost all respect for me.” She watches the other chickens follow the vicious ringleader towards the patch of grass by the pigs where they peck morosely at the grass and dirt as if they don’t expect to find anything and reckon they’ll have starved by lunchtime. The various worms and insects which have ventured to the surface to enjoy the rare sunlight and which are now being snapped up by the sharp, aggressive movements of the chickens appear to do little to make them feel better.

“Get free-range chickens, they said,” Peter sighs, not unhappily. “It’ll be so rewarding to watch them hunt for themselves, they said.”

Ruth turns back to him, hand dropping from over her eyes, to laugh. Then she tilts her head on one side, offering him a lop-sided smile. “Are you alright?” she says. “I’m sure the camera crew would lend you some sunglasses until we film, if we haven’t got any thirties specs - face all screwed up, you look like a gargoyle.”

“I’m feeling great, thanks,” Peter says, voice all level and dry to make her laugh. “Really complimented and supported too. Have we actually got any proper shades, though? Alex’ll love them - he likes pretending he’s in Top Gun.”

“I do not,” Alex protests automatically and without a great deal of conviction.

Peter and Ruth turn to the sound of his voice, faces open with pleasure and slight surprise. “Oh, hello lurker,” Peter says cheerfully. “Was wondering where you’d got to.”

“I do not pretend I’m Tom Cruise,” Alex tells Ruth firmly, ignoring the lurker comment. She raises her eyebrows, one finger pressing against her mouth in futile prevention of a smile, and waits with interest for him to elaborate. “That - that bloke in The Mummy,” he finds himself saying, snapping his fingers as the name escapes him. “He’s got to wear sunglasses at some point, hasn’t he? I’ll be him.”

“Who, John Hannah?” Peter says, chirpy and obtuse with a grin from ear to ear and his hand cupped around his eye to shade against the February sun. Alex sends him a mock-withering glare and his smile somehow widens; Ruth laughs, bright and affectionately evil. “You do kind of look like John Hannah, you know,” Peter says, very deliberately reasonable.

Alex points at him warningly. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he tells Peter’s smirk, “but you know I was talking about the other one. O’Connell,” he says, snapping his fingers again in triumph.

Peter tuts and shakes his head sadly. “Nope, the hairstyle will out - you’ll have to be Hannah and I-” he places his hand on his heart like an old-timey Shakespearian actor about to monologue his way through a half-hour death scene, “-shall be O’Connell.”

Alex spreads his arms in indignation, appealing to Ruth in supplication for aid; as expected, she laughs at him.

“Ruth can be whatsherface. Evie,” Peter adds happily.

“No, no, I’m being Lara Croft,” Ruth corrects. “I want to run about in temples and have a mansion and a butler.”

Alex nods, conceding this point. Peter wanders over and places one large, sun-warmed palm on Alex’s shoulder, gesturing at him with the other and squinting towards Ruth. Heat leeches from the sun to the air to Peter, and he presses it into Alex’s joints like a balm. It soothes and steadies, even as Peter says “Do you want Alex for your butler?”

“Oh, yes please,” Ruth says cheerfully and Alex sighs, as deliberately and falsely put-upon as the chickens. Peter snorts and hauls him closer, half hug half headlock; he goes willingly, even as he makes an effort to look hard-done-by for Ruth.

“Why aren’t there any more cool archaeologists?” he says.

“Well,” Peter says, sounding rather apologetic, “there is always…”

“Indiana Jones is a terrible archaeologist,” Alex says firmly. “Great jumped-up cowboy.”

Ruth huffs a laugh at the tired old argument and tips her face up into the sun rather than engage with its well-trodden lines. She breathes deeply, inhaling great lungfuls of warmed, clear air; against his back, Alex can feel Peter breathe slow and steady and perfectly in-time. There’s something soothing about it, in the same way that there was something soothing about watching Peter watch Ruth: it is nice to know, sometimes, that other people operate the same way he does. For a moment, there, in their long-awaited sunlight, the whole thing had been as mana from heaven, all warmth and brightness and that peculiar kind of beauty that cannot be looked at head-on. He’s not sure he had really noticed, before, how much the interminable, rainy January had worn on him, until he had been confronted by the sunshine; by Ruth’s art deco halo, and Peter’s scrunched-up gargoyle face; by truculent chickens for the laws of farm and man. And intensity of emotion can be isolating, if the moment is not shared - but it is. Ruth is breathing it; Peter is holding him a little too tight; they are all together under a sun a little too warm for the season.

“There should be more films about historians,” Ruth declares to the sky, eyes resting closed. “What’s not cool about this?”

“Right,” Alex says. “We haven’t been rained on for, ooh, must be twelve hours now. Hours of action and entertainment in this line of work.”

“What’s it mean for Candlemas weather predicting,” Peter says, shaking Alex’s shoulders slightly but letting him stand fully and lean into his side, “if Candlemas itself is disgustingly wet and rainy but the day following is worryingly sunny?”

“Worryingly?” Ruth snaps, cracking an eye open to frown at them.

Alex ignores this and sucks his teeth. “Oh, nothing good, I’m sure. We’re being lulled into a false sense of security, mark my words.

Peter frowns with deep and false concern. “Snowed in by the morning?”

“If we even last the night.”

Ruth works one glove off her hands and throws it at them, nailing Peter in the chest; he scrambles to catch it. “Worse than the chickens, you two are,” she says, fighting a smile. Peter holds out the glove and she presses her lips together and crosses the yard. Her fingers fold around the leather in his palm; his thumb falls gently to rest over her knuckles. Ruth looks up at them, all amused reproach. “Can’t you just enjoy it?”

Alex and Peter share a look, and then Peter shrugs. Alex looks back at her, and the sunlight, and the chickens and the pigs and the way her hair shines copper and Peter’s scrunched-up face and the warming, thawing ground - like spring is coming. He shrugs too. “We’ll give it a go,” he says.

#all heavily influenced by the time i yelled the audacity! in a public place because a pigeon peckedd my shoe #a pigeon!#the audacity!!#i'm not over it.#incidentally it's minus two and snowing today so this is based on a day last week #i'm cold :(#thanks for the prompt!#i am working on the others #this is your captain speaking

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kihamsta · 4 years

Text

Thief

jeno, nct dream x female oc genre: fluff, high school au

summary: son ahri has had things she treasured stolen from her by lee jeno since the day she met him

words: 8486

Son Ahri thinks Lee Jeno is a thief.

Actually, she knows he is a thief.

When they were four, he stole her favourite swing at the playground in their kindergarten. Her favourite swing was the only yellow one and yellow was her favourite colour. She had recently learned what having favourites was and realised she had a lot of them.

It was a sunny afternoon and she had dashed to where her swing was as soon as she set foot in the playground, only to find a boy already sitting on it. She had told him to get up, that it was her swing.

“It is not yours,” the boy had said, “Your name is not on it.”

She had told him to play on another swing. He had told her to do the same. Seeing no other solution, Ahri had cried. Their respective class teachers got involved but the boy still refused to get up and the girl continued crying.

It was the first time Son Ahri met Lee Jeno, a thief.

The next time Jeno stole from Ahri was in elementary school.

She didn't have a favourite swing at the playground anymore but she her favourite colour was still yellow. She almost always wore a yellow satin ribbon on her ponytail and made sure it never ever came loose. However, one day, without her knowing, it had.

Just out of her uniform, she had reached up to pull her ponytail loose to find her ribbon gone. She didn't know where she had dropped it. She tried looking for it, in her room, her house and the street outside but to no avail. Her ribbon was gone.

With tears in her eyes, Ahri had gone to her mum and informed her about the grave incident. Her had mum only chuckled and told her she'd buy her some more the next day. It was not a big deal. Ahri had accepted that.

That was until the next morning when she found a guilty looking Jeno standing outside her classroom. They didn't talk much. They were not friends, so Ahri was going to just ignore him. But when she was about to enter the classroom, her eyes landed on what was in the boys hand. Her ribbon! Before she could say anything, though, he shoved the little piece of fabric at her and ran off.

Suddenly, it clicked. The previous day, she had passed by Jeno after school near the gates. She had been a few feet away when he had called after her. “What?” she had snapped.

“Nothing,” he had replied.

Lee Jeno had stolen her ribbon but for some reason had decided to return it. At least that was what ten year old Ahri had deduced.

It was their first year of middle school and Ahri realised that Jeno was on his way to stealing her best friend.

Her best friend, Na Jaemin, had lived next door to her ever since she could remember. Sadly, he hadn't enrolled in the same elementary school as her but as far as spending time outside of school went, they were quite inseparable. Her piano lessons and his art classes took place in the same building and even at the same time. They always spent every holiday together as well.

Both of them had been ecstatic when their parents had decided that they would attend the same middle school. It meant walking to and from school together, it meant eating lunch together, it meant having much more to talk about together.

Not many of Ahri's old elementary school friends were in her class and unfortunately, neither was Jaemin. She would spend lunch time with Jaemin and that was more than enough. That is until one afternoon, Jaemin showed up to lunch with another boy in tow: Lee Jeno.

Jeno was all smiles as usual as he took a seat across from Ahri while Jaemin slid in next to her. “Jeno says he knows you,” Jaemin said excitedly.

Ahri's smile was thin as she replied, “Yeah. We know each other.”

That was how their duo became, to Ahri's exasperation, a trio. The two boys were in the same class and got along like a house on fire and Ahri feared that at some point, she would drift apart from Jaemin. So, she took precautions. She started spending more time with the girls from her class and formed solid friendships with a couple of them, especially with a girl called Heo Jinri. Heo Jinri always wore her PE track pants under her skirt and always had something to add to any conversation. Everything that Ahri didn't say out loud, Jinri said for her.

However, to Ahri's surprise (and relief), the drifting apart never happened. Jaemin, and even Jeno, for some reason, strongly insisted on eating lunch together, even if it meant eating on the grass outside with Jinri going off about her new favourite idol group.

Ahri had to walk home alone only on days Jaemin was absent. On those days too she'd be accompanied by Jeno for a part of the way home. When their parents allowed it, the four would even catch movies together.

Jeno stole nothing from Ahri all throughout middle school. They shared a best friend though and spent a lot of time together. Maybe, Ahri realised, they were friends too.

In their second year of high school, Jeno went back to his criminal ways.

“Did you guys see the poster?” Huang Renjun asked, more like yelled, as he entered the classroom. He had moved to Korea from China a little over a year ago, but his Korean vocabulary was almost scarily good. Ahri thought he made some boys their age sound dumb, but that could be because she was biased. Renjun had become a very good friend very fast, courtesy of Jaemin and Jeno.

Whoever they befriended, Ahri did too, and vice versa, even though Ahri wasn’t as good as the boys at making friends.

“The Duet Song Festival one?” Heo Jinri asked, from her perch on top of her desk. She still wore track pants with her skirt.

“Won't it get our school sued? Copyright... trademarks... something like that?” Jaemin sounded genuinely concerned.

Ahri snorted, “Like they care about one tiny high school.”

“Its interclass,” Renjun announced, like it held deep meaning.

The other three sucked in a breath. Their class had suffered a humiliating defeat at the annual sports event, and that too at the hands of the freshmen. It had been humiliating enough that in high school, they were being subject to things like a ‘sack race’, the fact that Zhong Chenle from Class 1-A was an absolute beast and had annihilated everyone made it worse.

Their class had only one medal, because of Jeno winning the high jump event, and that was it. No one had bothered to even find out what rank their class was on, they had simply, sadly walked home.

The four collectively came to a realisation: this was a chance at redemption.

Renjun’s eyes lit up. The boy could sing, and everyone knew.

“It’s a duet festival though,” Jinri reminded the boy, and his shoulders visibly sagged.

That small technicality didn’t completely bring him down however. One could tell by the way his eyes wandered the classroom, going from one face to another. After some internal contemplation, he spoke, “Guys, does anyone want to participate in the duet song thing?”

The class was almost full but the responses were few, all of them negative. Morale was at an all time low in Class 2-E after the sports day.

“Good then, me and Ahri will represent our class.”

Ahri let out a strangled protest and stood up from her seat. But soon after, Jeno entered the room, announcing that the teacher was on her way. Everyone went back to their seats, Renjun with an especially satisfied smirk on his face, leaving a shocked Ahri the only one on her feet. Jeno raised his eyebrows at her as he walked over to his seat which happened to be the one right in front of her. Ahri couldn’t help the pout that appeared on her lips as she gestured to Renjun. As he sat down, Ahri thought she saw Jeno’s ever-present smile fall.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Never.”

“But you will.”

Na Jaemin rolled his eyes. Heo Jinri was scrolling through her phone while Lee Jeno was silently gulping down food, his eyes not leaving the lunch box even once. The back and forth between Ahri and Renjun had been going on for almost five minutes. The other three were growing annoyed.

“I cannot sing on stage!” Ahri said hoarsely.

Renjun looked unconvinced, “Oh, please. I know you did piano recitals since you were like eight or something.”

Ahri opened her mouth but said nothing, taken aback by the fact that Renjun knew something she had never told him about. In a second though, she gained her composure and threw a glare at Jaemin. No one else could have told Renjun. Turning to the latter, she spoke, “We started the chapter on Correlation yesterday in Maths class. Weren't you paying attention?”

Renjun only smirked, “I didn't know you were smart enough to understand Maths.”

Positively fuming now, Ahri turned a shade of pink. Jeno finally looked up from his food.

“How is insulting me helping you, Huang Renjun?” the girl asked.

Said boy's shoulders sagged. “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice now soft, “But I really need you to sing with me. You're good and we have a chance.”

Ahri blinked a few times. Renjun sounded almost desperate. “I’m not good and you haven't ever heard me sing a full song.”

“Then sing for us right now,” Jinri suggested with a shrug.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea!” Jaemin said, enthusiastic for some reason.

Ahri would save a good punch or two for each of them. The only one who wasn't adding fuel to the flames was Jeno, and she was grateful. She turned to Renjun, who looked close to tears. Did this competition mean that much to him? She let out a sigh. “Can you guys at least not look at me?”

Renjun's face lit up. “Sure!” The boy hurriedly turned his back to her. The others followed silently, Jaemin shooting her a dirty look for giving them extra exercise.

Ahri cleared her throat and then let out a deep breath. She chose to sing a song she was most comfortable with. Eyes trained on the floor, she sang a verse and the first chorus. As soon as she was done, Renjun all but spun around on his butt to face her. He started clapping and she'd never seen him smile so brightly. The others turned around and joined the applause, their clapping not as enthusiastic. There were smiles on their faces nonetheless.

“We can win, Ahri,” Renjun grabbed her arm and lightly shook her.

Ahri couldn't help but crack a smile, “We can't be so sure. Other classes have really good singers too.”

“Doesn't matter,” Renjun said dismissively, “we’ll practice hard.”

“We'll have to choose a song first,” Ahri pointed out and then turned to the rest of their friends. “You guys will help us out, right?”

“Sure,” Jinri said with a shrug.

Jaemin nodded, smiling widely.

“I'll play guitar for you guys,” Jeno suddenly blurted, speaking for the first time since they had started eating. His eyes travelled to Renjun and then to Ahri. Voice much softer, he spoke again, “I mean, can I?”

“Of course! I heard live instruments are preferred.” Renjun held his hand out for a high five which Jeno met halfway. Jinri looked like she was biting back a smirk.

“It's settled, then,” Ahri said, mostly to herself.

Jaemin raised his arms over his head and looked at the sky dramatically. “Finally!”

It didn’t take them too long to choose a song. Two days after Ahri had agreed to the duet, they had shortlisted three songs with help from Jinri. ‘Some’ was rejected on grounds that there were probably five other teams that were singing it. ‘Give Love’ was rejected because Renjun refused to even try to rap, which was, in hindsight, wise on his part. That meant they ended up with ‘Garosugil at Dawn’, which both Ahri and Renjun were fairly pleased about.

“Who broke your heart, little boy?” Jinri had asked when Renjun had shown a bit too much love for the song. To be fair, the boy had looked a little too wistful, staring into the distance with a smile on his face for five seconds straight.

They had quickly decided on a practice schedule: every other day after school at 5 in one of the music rooms; they decided to give themselves rest on the weekdays. The contest was almost two months away, they didn’t need that much practice, not now at least.

Ahri would be lying if she said that Renjun’s enthusiasm wasn’t rubbing off on her. Instead of dreading having to sing with him, she was starting to almost look forward to it. She liked her song and her partner. Things weren’t as bad as she thought they would be when Renjun had first suggested it. But then again, they hadn’t started practicing. Things could get bad then.

Abruptly, she stopped in the middle of the hallway and shook her head. A student or two gave her annoyed looks. Stopping abruptly in a crowded hallway after school wasn’t the best idea.

“What’s wrong?” a familiar voice asked from behind her.

Startled, she turned to see Jeno looking down at her. “Nothing,” she answered, without much thought.

“Why did you stop walking suddenly then?”

Her best friend’s best friend seemed to have a lot of questions today. “Were you following me?” she teased.

Jeno, to her surprise, look uncharacteristically annoyed. “This is a hallway. I was just walking behind you.”

“Cool,” Ahri said dismissively as she glanced behind him, “where’s Jaemin?” They didn’t have the same subjects, so despite being in the same homeroom, they changed classes quite a lot.

“Club meeting. They’re planning a trip to an old age home.”

The girl nodded in understanding, a pout on her lips. “So it’s just us today.”

To her surprise, Jeno looked bothered. She hadn’t intended for that to happen. “Is that so bad?” he asked.

“No!” Ahri was surprised at how defensive she sounded. Since when had she cared about Jeno assuming she didn’t like him? “It’s just that I’ll be alone for the rest of the way.”

“I can walk you home, if you want,” he offered.

Not knowing what to say, she looked up at him with eyes a fraction wider than usual. This was new. Jeno had never offered to walk her home before, and there had been many opportunities over the years.

Somehow she mustered up a few words to say, “No need. It’s too much trouble for you.”

“Tell me if you change your mind.”

The girl could only nod. This was odd. She started walking silently when Jeno motioned for her to lead the way. Their walk from school to the bus stop was spent in awkward silence. It hadn’t been awkward between them in years.

Ahri didn’t know when Jeno had gone from being the boy she had hoped and prayed would stop hanging out with them, to the boy whose company she kind of enjoyed. Sometimes, when he was absent from school for over two days, she missed his presence. Of course, she was never going to admit that. Not even to Jaemin.

Ahri didn’t like this strange silence, so once they were on the bus, she decided to break it. “We chose the song, by the way.”

“Which one?”

“Garosugil at Dawn.” She could feel his gaze on her but she kept her eyes trained on the bland scenery outside. Jeno was behaving strangely and she was afraid to meet his eyes. Maybe she’d see strange things in them.

“I can manage that.”

Deciding Jeno’s response sounded fairly normal, Ahri decided to turn to him. That was a mistake. He was looking down at her, unsmiling. Was he in a bad mood? She wished she could say something that could make him smile till his eyes disappeared. She liked smiley Jeno.

“Will you be playing the piano too?”

It took Ahri a second or two longer than usual to reply, “I guess.”

“Then we’ll have to practice playing together too,” Jeno said, finally breaking eye contact and fishing his phone out of his pocket.

Ahri let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She felt like she could speak better now. “About that. We’ll be practicing in the music rooms after study hall every other day. You don’t have to come every day if you can’t.”

“It’s okay,” he turned to her again, but this time with a smile, “I’ll try to make it.”

“Thanks for offering to play for us,” the girl managed a smile, “that was nice of you.”

“That’s what friends are for right?” For some reason, the boy took a deep breath after speaking. Not knowing what to say, Ahri allowed a silence to settle between them, this one a little less awkward than the one before.

When they got off the bus, Ahri was aware of the fact that Jeno was side-eying her, probably wanting to know if she’d changed her mind about him walking her home. She didn’t know what she wanted. They walked in silence till they came to where they had to separate. It was a fifteen minute walk to her house and she had taken the path alone so many times. It was his fault for making her feel like she needed him to walk with her. What was Lee Jeno up to?

“You’ll go alone?” the boy asked, sounding strange.

It made Ahri look up at him. His eyes looked darker than usual and his jaw was clenched. Ten minutes ago, he had smiled at her. What had gotten into him now? “Yeah,” the girl tried to give him a carefree smile, “I’ll be fine.” The boy merely nodded, gave her tiny wave and walked away.

Ahri sighed (out of relief or disappointment, she did not know) and continued on her way.

Thankfully, Jeno had returned to his normal self the next day. He wasn’t sitting in his place. He was at the front of the class discussing something with a group of other boys that apparently was hilarious. When he caught Ahri looking at him, his eyes didn’t grow dark, and his smile remained on his face.

Mood swings, much?

His behaviour the previous day had left her confused and irritated and she didn’t know what she would do if he had continued to behave that way. She didn’t know what had caused that behaviour, she just hoped it wouldn’t happen again. She liked smiley Jeno.

Breaking eye contact, Ahri turned to talk to Jinri, who was a bit stressed lately. The latter was on a quest to find a part time job to finance her fangirl-ing expenses. “By the way, I saw a ‘Hiring’ sign at a café nearby,” she told her friend.

Jinri smirked, “By the way, I caught you staring at Jeno for one minute straight.”

Ahri felt her cheeks heat up. “I wasn’t staring!” she claimed, her voice a whisper as she looked around, making sure no one had heard.

“Watching, observing, eyeing, whatever,” the other girl rolled her eyes, “You were looking at him.”

A sigh left Ahri’s lips, “He was acting weird yesterday but now he’s completely normal.”

Jinri’s smirk seemed to grow, “It was just the two of you yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Ahri didn’t like how her friend sometimes acted like she was enjoying a private joke that no one else knew. “Yeah. So?”

“Nothing,” the smirk refused to leave the girl’s lips, “He was probably having a bad day or something.”

“But…” Ahri trailed off. She didn’t want to tell Jinri that Jeno had seemed like he was angry but had been nice to her at the same time. How does one explain that? She didn’t like the way Jinri was smirking and also didn’t want anyone to overhear, especially not Jeno.

“Oh wow,” the other girl said flatly, “now he’s staring at you.”

Eyes narrowing into a glare, Ahri spoke, “I know you’re trying to trick me.”

Jinri shrugged, “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.”

Rolling her eyes, Ahri turned to the front. She didn’t understand what had suddenly gotten into her friend. Jinri liked teasing people and especially got on Renjun’s nerves but she had never teased Ahri about Jeno. Sure, she had tormented Ahri when she had developed a crush on a senior the previous year but never over any of their guy friends. Why Jinri thought it was now a good idea to imply that Jeno liked her or something, Ahri couldn’t figure out. Jeno didn’t like her, she knew. She wasn’t always nice to him. He had no reason to like her.

When Jeno scrambled to his desk just before their teacher walked in, Ahri found herself unable to look at him. Instead she just stared at the book on her desk.

For the entire class, she felt like Jinri was smirking at her and she just couldn’t concentrate on what the teacher was saying. The fact that their Korean teacher taught like he cared about the class as much as he cared about a pebble on the road didn’t help. The girl felt her eyelids grow heavy. A few times she startled herself awake but after the fifth time she dozed off, she decided to give up on staying awake.

Glancing at the teacher to make sure he wasn’t looking, Ahri slowly reached out for Jeno with both hands. He grew stiff when she first touched him, and it almost made her pull away, but he relaxed soon enough. He allowed her to gently position him so that he was blocking their teacher’s view of her. This was a frequent occurrence. He was taller and broader and covered her perfectly.

The sound of chairs scraping over the floor made Ahri shoot up in her seat. She stood up to greet the teacher as he left, but as soon as he was gone she sat back down and resumed her previous position: cheek squished against her arms as she used them as a pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut as the class grew noisier. She really wanted to fall back asleep.

Her eyes shot open, however, when someone grabbed her shoulder and violently shook her. Cursing under her breath, she looked up at the perpetrator. Jaemin looked down at her with an angelic smile on his face. “It’s lunch time, wake up.”

“I hate you.”

Jaemin did not look bothered by the sudden hatred directed towards him, he only reached forward and took his best friend’s cheek between his fingers. “You’re drooling, sleepy beauty.”

“I’m not,” Ahri snapped defensively, but still reached up to wipe the corners of her mouth. It was a difficult task, given Jaemin was still pinching her cheek.

Renjun was suddenly beside Jaemin. “Let’s go, guys, I only had an egg for breakfast,” he said, his hands on his tummy.

Jeno, who had been putting his things away, stood up. Renjun spared him a quick glance before speaking to the girls, “You guys head to the roof, we’ll buy a few things in the cafeteria, okay?”

“Sure,” Jinri responded with a shrug while Ahri only smiled up at the boys, turning to put her things away.

With no more to say, the boys made their way towards the door. Jeno put his arm around Renjun’s shoulders as they listened to Jaemin talk rather passionately about food.

Just as they were about to exit the classroom however, Jeno stopped in his tracks like he had been struck by lightning. The smaller boy beside him looked up at him in confusion, but Jeno paid him no mind. He turned to where his other friends were sitting. “Do you want something from the cafeteria?”

The question was meant for both the girls but for some reason, his eyes met Ahri’s.

“Banana milk,” Ahri and Jeno said at the same time. Ahri tried to stop her lips from tugging up into a smile but failed. Thankfully, Jeno did too. He gave her a nod and then pulled Renjun along with him and into the corridor.

“Nice,” Jinri said, “he forgot about my existence.”

Ahri stood up, lunch box in hand, and turned to her friend, “Did you really want something?”

Jinri smiled mischievously, “No, it would be nice to be asked. I just want Lee Jeno to stop being an idiot.”

“Fair enough.”

Ahri shrugged and held out her hand for Jinri to hold before they made their way out the class too. This was routine. The boys usually got their food from the cafeteria and the girls brought homemade food. Apparently it wasn’t cool to carry lunch boxes for the guys anymore. Their group of five always ate together on the rooftop. They didn’t know why but a portion of the rooftop wasn’t off limits for the students, and it was never crowded. A majority of the time, they were the only ones in the place during lunch. Maybe it was because the kids were too lazy to climb up the stairs. More realistically though, first years probably did not know about it yet and the third years were too busy to come out of their classrooms for trivial things like lunch. No one was complaining about the lack of other company though.

Everything was going as it always did everyday of every week until the girls rounded a corner. As soon as they did, they came across a group of girls deep in conversation outside one of the classrooms. One of girls in the group happened to glance over to Ahri and Jinri. She narrowed her eyes at them (much to their confusion) and leaned over to whisper something in her friend’s ear. Said friend also turned to look at them and was less cautious about showing her disdain, her lips curling into a sneer.

As confused as they were, the two girls didn’t stop walking. It wasn’t worth getting into fights for no reason at all. Once on the floor above though, Ahri spoke. “What was that about?”

Jinri seemed to be thinking of an answer. “Don’t know,” she finally said, “That class in full of weirdos though. Even their class teacher is weird. He’s always smiling, but only at girls.”

Ahri frowned, “I thought he was just being nice.” Nice teachers were rare.

“Oh, you naïve little child,” Jinri said with a shake of her head.

Ahri only rolled her eyes. She took the stairs two at a time, making the other girl rush behind her with a string of complaints. She flung the door to the rooftop open and made her way to their usual spot, right at the edge, in a corner against the safety net.

As soon as they were seated, Jinri whipped out her phone, ready to show Ahri her favourite girl group’s new music video. It took four more music videos for the boys to finally arrive.

Jeno made his way over to Ahri and sat down beside her. With a tiny smile he handed her that banana milk. The other boys followed suit. No one said a word as lunch boxes were opened and seals were ripped off as everyone wolfed down the food they didn’t ever realise they had been craving.

After several minutes of silence, which was only broken by faint sounds of chewing, Jinri spoke up. “By the way, Na Jaemin, what did you do to Kim Solmi? She and her gang looked like they were plotting to murder us.”

Everyone loved Jaemin, with his bright smile and chatty ways. However, sometimes, try as he might, he couldn’t return certain people’s feelings. He’d inadvertently left a trail of broken hearts behind him. Alarmed at the new information, the boy seemed to find it difficult to swallow a mouthful of omurice. Interest piqued, the others waited for him to speak. Jeno, however, had taken a sudden interest in a trash can on the far end of the roof.

“It wasn’t me!” Jaemin burst out as he was done chewing his food. “It was Lee Jeno this time.”

Ahri reacted a little…a lot more quickly than she would have liked to. Her head whipped sideways to look at Jeno, the tips of whose ears had turned pink. He seemed to hold her wide-eyed gaze for a fleeting moment before he turned to the rest of their friends. “It isn’t like that,” he claimed, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “She, uh- actually she confessed to me yesterday and I said liked someone else to get out of it. That’s really it.”

Was it okay for Ahri to sigh in relief? “That’s it?” She felt like she sounded a little too hopeful.

Jeno didn’t seem to notice, he nodded earnestly. “Really,” he said. Then, after a pause, “She didn’t do or say anything to you, did she?”

“Except for the glaring, no. It’s weird though. We used to be friends in middle school.”

Suddenly Jinri’s interest seemed to be piqued. “Yeah, Jeno. It was weird. What did you say to her?”

The pink from the boy’s ears seemed to shift over to his cheeks as he mumbled something that was hardly audible.

In the weeks that followed, Kim Solmi’s distaste for them thankfully didn’t take a turn for the worse. Sometimes, when she passed by Ahri, she would side-eye the girl. Ahri didn’t dwell too much on the other girl’s actions.

Except, when she happened to be with Jeno, Solmi seemed to be extra hateful. She’d roll her eyes and let out really loud scoffs as she passed by them. Once she’d gotten a bit too close in the hallway and Jeno, for some reason, had wrapped an arm around Ahri’s shoulders and pulled her a little bit closer. She hadn’t thought much of it then. It was just her friend saving her from an unreasonable, one-sided conflict.

When Jeno started doing it when his admirer wasn’t around, however, Ahri thought about it. Ahri thought about it a lot. Like right now as they were walking to the music rooms together. He had his guitar case slung over one shoulder, but he had his other arm over her shoulders. There was absolutely no need for him to do that. Ahri tried to tell herself that it was because the hallway was crowded, but he had never had a problem with letting her walk on her own before. It wasn’t like she couldn’t dodge the occasional rowdy kid.

She didn’t detest being touched by her male friends. Sometimes, Renjun fondly patted her on the head and she was used to Jaemin and his affectionate ways. ‘Affectionate’ couldn’t be used to describe her relationship with Jeno though. There had always been an underlying awkwardness between the two of them. It was perhaps because they both knew of Ahri’s dislike for him during their childhood.

As she was forced to befriend him in middle school, she’d found herself trying to recall why she’d disliked the boy and had come up with nothing. Even now when she tried to remember why she’d been so reluctant to get to know Jeno, she could come up with nothing substantial.

When they did become friends, they got pretty close but not like the rest of the group. Their relationship was never carefree, both a bit strung up around each other. Jeno was so nice and respectful that sometimes Ahri thought something was wrong with her. No one would be a friend to her like Jaemin was. That fact was undisputable. But even Renjun, who she’d known for only little over a year, was more of a ‘buddy’ than Jeno ever was: the kind of friend that didn’t leave her skin tingling whenever he touched her.

When they arrived at the music room their passionate friend had rushed after class to capture, Jeno finally let go. They entered the room to find Renjun waiting with his arms crossed over his chest and with one foot tapping on the floor impatiently. “There you are!” he exclaimed.

The other two couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or excited. What they did know was that they would be spending a long time practising.

They indeed ended up spending quite some time in the room, but at some point, they had stopped practising the song for the competition and started singing random songs that came into their minds. Obviously they had had way too much fun because when the trio separated at the main gate, it was already dark.

Renjun said goodbye with a cheerful wave and went his own way, leaving the other two in each other’s company. Without words, they started walking towards the bus stop. Now that there were no rowdy boys or glaring girls to protect Ahri from, Jeno didn’t have his arm around her shoulders.

“We really lost track of time, huh?” the boy broke the silence.

“No kidding.”

There was long pause before Ahri spoke again, “But it was fun.”

“It was like karaoke,” Jeno smiled down at her. “Can you believe the number of Korean songs Renjun knows?”

“Sometimes he feels more Korean than us.”

Jeno let out a chuckle. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but before he could, the bus’s bright headlights shone on them from a distance, making them both turn towards it. The two silently climbed onto the bus as it slowed to halt before them. Finding seats wasn’t a problem, finding a way to keep Jeno’s guitar upright and making sure it wouldn’t fall as the bus moved was.

“I can’t believe you’ve been doing this every day,” Ahri said, her lips curving into a pout, sympathetic and extremely touched. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” Jeno simply responded. Those three words made Ahri’s stomach flip. That had quite literally never happened to her before. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Swallowing rather obviously, she turned away from him, wondering why he was making her feel this way. “...and Renjun,” the boy added belatedly.

This time, Ahri felt her stomach drop. She was disappointed, she realised. She unconsciously shifted away from Jeno as another realisation hit her: she wanted Jeno to do something, anything, just for her. What did that entail for her feelings for the boy? She didn’t want to know.

That is why she rushed off the bus as soon as it stopped at their stop. She was hoping the guitar would slow Jeno down a bit, but he was quick. He caught up to her soon enough, grabbing her by the sleeve of her blazer. Surprised at how brazen he suddenly was, she let out a little gasp as she looked up at him.

His eyes softened when they met hers. “It’s pretty late. Let me walk you home at least today?”

It was late, and Ahri didn’t want to walk home alone. “I will allow you to walk me home,” she said with a cheeky smile.

Jeno let out a snort of laughter that he didn't seem too embarrassed about. Then he did something that she’d never thought he’d do. His hand slipped from her blazer, slowly and deliberately, and came to hold hers. Ahri struggled to keep the same cheeky smile on her face. Thankfully, before she could do something embarrassing like squeak or gasp, he tugged her forward gently.

It took a few moments for her to fall in step beside him. It took longer still to process the fact that Lee Jeno had decided to hold hands with her. Maybe friends did that sometimes but a friend holding your hand isn’t supposed to send your heart racing, is it? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything other than the fact that she kind of wished Jeno would walk her home every day.

There was only a week left till the competition and Renjun was late. Ahri checked the time on her phone. He was exactly twenty minutes late and she had listened to four songs in an attempt to pass time after getting bored of waiting. She let out a sigh of exasperation. She hated waiting. She had spent too much time out of the window at the quad waiting for Renjun to come running across it.

Just as she was about to call him up, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. Her heart leapt up to her throat at the sudden touch. Her mother always told her not to keep her earphones on all the time, maybe she was right.

With a gasp she turned to face the person. It took only a moment to realise the person in question was a lot closer than she had thought and that the person was Jeno. In the next moment, her lips came in contact with another pair of lips. She closed her eyes on impact, body only half facing Jeno. Time seemed to slow down and she couldn’t hear anything other than the pounding of her own heart.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. These kinds of things only happened in unrealistic dramas. This wasn’t happening.

It felt like eons before he pulled away. Ahri let out another gasp, “Jeno, I—” His lips were on hers once again. One of his hands gently gripped her chin. Her eyes shut once again, finally accepting that this was actually happening. As confusing as it was, it was happening and she wasn’t opposed to it.

The kiss stopped as suddenly as it had started. Jeno pulled away suddenly, staring down at her, his breath ragged for whatever reason. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out. Ahri couldn't quite find it in her to speak. “I didn’t mean to,” Jeno added.

Ahri felt a lump grow in her throat as she watched Jeno grab his guitar and rush out of the music room.

Lee Jeno had just stolen her first kiss.

Lee Jeno had stolen her first kiss and run away.

The day of the competition had arrived. It had been a week. A week since Jeno had kissed her and fled. A week since he had actively maintained an arms distance from her. She didn’t know what to feel about the fact that he had made sure that they never had to go home alone together. Sometimes she wanted to laugh when Jaemin showed up out of nowhere when they were heading home after practice.

“How is our Riri doing?” Think of the devil, Ahri thought as her fingers halted on the piano keys mid-arpeggio.

“I’m okay,” she said. She gave him a tiny smile as he pulled up a chair beside her. Jaemin reached up and played a single shrill note on the piano and flinched. Her smile grew. He always did that.

“Don't lieeee,” he said in a sing-song voice, his pout almost audible.

Ahri's gaze fell to the piano keys. “I’m kinda nervous.”

“I’m not talking about that.” The light heartedness in his voice was gone. “Look at me.”

Despite the fact that her cheeks were quite literally flaming, Ahri’s met her best friend's gaze. “Jeno has been avoiding me,” she let out, sounding small.

“We all know that, idiot. Why is he avoiding you though?”

Involuntarily, she sniffled. “He didn't tell you?”

“No,” Jaemin let out a sigh, “that's why I'm asking you.” Another sniffle from Ahri. “Are you crying? Did you guys fight?”

The girl shook her head. “He kind of...kissed me and ran away. He hasn’t spoken to me since.”

There was a long silence.

Almost a minute passed before Jaemin let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “That idiot!” After another beat of silence, the boy let out a real laugh. “You're an idiot too, you know? Stupid things like this wouldn’t happen if you guys just admitted you like each other!”

“We don’t—”

“He’s right. I agree.” The pair of friends both looked to the door at the same time, eyes wide. Renjun stood there holding Ahri’s water bottle, looking like he hadn’t snuck up on them. “You guys are talking about you and Jeno, right?” The other two nodded. “That guy’s taking too long to confess,” he said with a slight tilt of his head.

“No one’s talking about confessing,” Ahri blurted.

Renjun exchanged a look with Jaemin. “Are these two still in denial?” Jaemin only shrugged. He honestly didn't know. The other boy sighed and handed Ahri her water bottle. “Warm water. Our performance is soon.”

Ahri muttered thanks and proceeded to chug the water.

Renjun placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a smile that made her feel like the world was at peace. “You guys will be fine. Let's go.”

Ahri could feel her heart pounding in her chest harder and harder in her chest as they approached the back of their school auditorium. She could tell Renjun was nervous too. He was a lot stiffer than usual.

“I wish Jaemin could have stayed,” Renjun murmured as they finally entered the crowded backstage area. Ahri couldn’t agree more. Jaemin was quite a bubble of cheerfulness; he’d at least keep them distracted. Unfortunately, only participants and musicians were allowed backstage. So he had happily bounded off, promising to tell their friend Raon from the photography club to take good pictures of them. “Where’s Jeno anyways?” Renjun sounded antsy. Almost as if his name had summoned him, Jeno appeared beside Renjun. He muttered an apology, something about his guitar and the sound people.

For once the pounding in Ahri’s chest wasn’t because Jeno was in the vicinity. She was nervous. It had been a while since she had performed in front of this big a crowd. Renjun seemed to notice. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. His hands felt a tiny bit unsteady. The smile that he gave her though was reassuring. From the corner of her eyes she saw Jeno stick his head out to take a glance at them before quickly going back to his previous position.

Too soon, someone called for Son Ahri and Hwang Renjun to go on stage. The MC who was someone from third year gave them an enthusiastic and over the top introduction, of which Ahri could register very little. The spotlight was glaring down at them and it made her eyes water. When she looked down at the crowd she couldn’t make out a single face. Someone let out a loud shriek of a cheer. It sounded a lot like Chenle. That made her smile.

Shaking off the nervousness, she quickly made her way towards the piano and settled down, making sure the mic wasn’t too close to her. As her partner was introducing their song to the audience, her eyes wandered to the other side of stage. Jeno had already seated himself on a stool, looking more relaxed and ready to perform that she ever felt. Maybe he felt her eyes on him. That was probably why he turned to meet her gaze. She must have looked a lot more nervous than she thought, because the first thing he did after their eyes met was to take a deep breath, as if reminding her to do the same. Then with a quick glance at Renjun he mouthed, ‘One, two, three, and four.’

Renjun sang the first words of the song at the exact second Jeno strummed the first chord. “When I put on my jacket at 9pm after the sun has set, When I leave the house no one will come home to...”

Everything that happened after the performance was a bit of a blur. The only thing Ahri remembered was the fact that Renjun couldn’t stop smiling from the moment their performance was over till they made their way to the audience to join Jaemin and Jinri. Ahri would be lying if she didn’t do the same. Maybe Jeno was smiling too. She wouldn’t know. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was seated in between Jinri and Renjun. Jeno still hadn’t spoken to her.

The smiles faded, however, when it was time for the announcement of the results. There was a vicelike grip on Ahri’s arm that belonged to Jinri. Every time she tried to swat her friend’s hand away, it would come back stronger. There would be bruises on her arm for sure. Renjun wasn’t doing too well either. He’d probably have no fingernails left by the time the winner was announced.

“The winners are...” There was an entire unnecessary and long pause. “Son Ahri and Huang Renjun from class 2-E!”

Two pairs of arms wrapped around her, belonging to Renjun and Jinri, as the audience applauded. The loudest cheers came from the area around them. All of class 2-E had decided to sit together so that they could make a lot of noise. Smiles back on their faces, they went up to receive their trophies.

“Redemption!” Jaemin cheered as they made their way out of the auditorium, the trophies now in his arms. “We’re not the class that is bad at everything. I love you guys.” The other four chuckled. Jaemin was always like a proud, doting mother.

“Let’s go celebrate. The cafe I work at has amazing food,” Jinri suggested.

“Someone’s taking their job seriously,” Renjun teased. Jinri just blew him a raspberry.

Ahri was just walking quietly beside her friends, when she suddenly stopped in her tracks. “What?” Jaemin stopped beside her.

“I forgot my water bottle in the music room.” She looked up at Jaemin with a pout, hoping that he’d offer to get it for her. He was a nice person that way.

“No,” Jaemin said firmly, “that won’t work with me.”

With a sigh, Ahri begrudgingly said goodbye to friends and hurried to the music rooms on the other side of the school. Since the competition was over, the music rooms were eerily quiet. Only a day ago, they would have to fight for some time in one of the rooms. Quickly, she stepped into the music room she had left her bottle in and picked it up. She couldn’t help but let out a sigh as she stood there for a moment too long. This was the same room Jeno had kissed her in. It had been an entire week since they hadn’t spoken directly to each other. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen, but this wasn’t it.

A loud bang startled her out of her reverie. With a gasp, she looked to the source of the sound. Jeno stood at the door, looking like he’d raced all the way to the building. He had opened the door a bit too forcefully.

Ahri reacted automatically. She tried to make her way around him and out the door, but Jeno’s arm came to block the way out. “Please.” It sounded like a plea.

She had to gather all her courage to look him in the eyes. “It’s okay. You can continue ignoring me.” It was when her voice broke that she realised she didn’t mean those words.

“No,” Jeno let out a sigh. “Look, I really didn’t mean to—”

“I get it. You made a mistake. It’s fine.” Ahri couldn’t maintain eye contact. She looked down, hugging her water bottle to chest.

“That’s not what I mean.” Those words made her look up at him again, eyes wide and unsure. “It was an accident and I didn’t want it to happen that way. I kissed you out of nowhere and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to and...and I haven’t even asked you out.”

A long silence followed during which Ahri’s eyes got impossibly wide, her mouth hanging just a bit ajar. She felt dizzy as Jeno’s words echoed in her mind. Her stomach was full of butterflies she had never felt before. “What do you mean?” she managed to whisper.

The boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and then back down. He took a step inside. Ahri took a step back as she watched him shut the door behind him. “I like you.” Silence. “I like you, Son Ahri. I’ve liked you for a long time. I just...didn’t know.” Jeno hesitated before continuing, “Everyone seems to think you like me too.”

Ahri almost dropped her beloved water bottle. Everyone was right, she realised. The irritation she’d felt when he had gotten his first girlfriend back in their last year of middle school had been jealousy. She hadn’t liked when he sat beside her acted oh so friendly because she had wanted him to do more. She had wanted him to treat her like she was more than a friend. She had liked Lee Jeno for a long time too.

“Everyone is right,” she said as a giggle inevitably left her mouth. They were idiots, the two of them. “I like you too.”

Out of nowhere, Jeno tackled her into a hug. Her bottle fell to the floor with a clatter, uncared for. He was warm and for some reason, smelled faintly of her favourite cookies. Shyly, she wrapped her arms around him. He sent tingles down her spine when he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Let me kiss you? Properly this time.”

With cheeks feeling hotter than the sun, she nodded against his chest. He loosened his grip on her waist only for his hands to cup her cheeks. Ahri eyes shut the moment his lips touched hers. Her grip on his blazer tightened when her knees started feeling weak. And as if he knew, Jeno’s arms went around her waist again, pulling her closer.

When they broke apart, flushed and breathless, Ahri dazedly let two words slip from her mouth. “You thief.” Both her hands came up to slap her mouth shut as she gasped in embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she’d let that slip. Tentatively, she looked up at Jeno, hoping he hadn’t heard.

For some reason, Jeno looked just as embarrassed. “You remember that?”

“Huh?”

“Back in fifth grade, you dropped your ribbon and I took it home with me because...it was yours.” He let out a little laugh. “My mum scolded me and told me to return it to you.”

Ahri chuckled, “I do remember.” But that was not what she had meant. It was unexpected, unbelievable and awfully corny, but Lee Jeno was a thief because he had somehow stolen her heart.

author’s note: i did not mean for this to be a birthday post, but happy birthday, jeno! i’ve been writing this for months. i actually wanted to write high school aus for the 00 liners before they graduated but since no one is graduating, i can post high school aus for 6dream and maybe a college one for mark. but again, no promises.

#jeno scenarios #nct jeno #lee jeno #nct dream scenarios #nct dream #high school au

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