Latest Posts by typingfool - Page 8

write for yourself. put your fantasies on paper. no one knows what you are writing. no one knows what's in your head. no one is going to write it for you. if you don't write down your ideas they will disappear. if you are too scared to write your thoughts then don't write, try something different. if writing is the only way, get to writing. no one else's opinion matters. no one else's opinion will ever matter

“My story has so much gay rep in it!” Awesome. How are you treating your female characters btw

death comes to me again, a girl by Dorianne Laux

Mental Crop Rotation

When farmers grow the same crop too many years in a row, it can leave their soil depleted of minerals and other nutrients that are vital to the health of their fields.

To avoid this, farmers will often alternate the crops that they grow because some plants will use up different minerals (such as nitrogen) while other plants replenish those minerals. This process is known as “crop rotation.”

So the next time you find that you need to step away from a project to work on something else for a while, don’t beat yourself up for “quitting” that project. Give yourself permission to practice “mental crop rotation” to maintain a healthy brain field.

Because I’ve found that when that unnecessary guilt and pressure are removed from the process, a good mental crop rotation can help you feel more energized and invigorated than ever once you’re ready to rotate back to that project.

Have you heard of the boy who held kindness close even though anger is an option?

I have.

His eyes contained the forests that hold our life; green and nature-blessed. And, his hair remains grown, messily arranged — it contains memories, not so kind, but hopeful to the eye. The base of his cheeks are four-leaved clovers: luck, pure luck has brought him here.

I have known of him.

I have known of him. His sense of a squirrel. As they plant trees with their acorns in the soil. As he does good with anger burning in the air. As he cries, with his head upon my shoulder. Cheeks dampening the side of my shirt.

I have known.

I have known his kind smile (not forced, never forced) and I see his lips fumble, fumbling, upon the overwhelming comfort.

Stupid, stupid man. The world does not deserve his kindness, they do not deserve him, and his sense of a squirrel, and his hopeful eyes to a trivial, humane need such as comfort.

Whatever labour they have done, they brought upon this man. Of good and gold. Of nature and luck. Of peace, never-ending peace.

Of kindness over anger.

what's going on in the congo since there's also a genocide happening over there as well:

to sum it up, people in the congo are literally being worked as slaves to mine for this material called coltan, which is very valuable as its used for things like phones, laptops, just electronics in general. Congo is the number 1 producer for this material and the places behind this genocide is America, Britain, France, and Israel, wow what an absolute shocker. The worst places probably to ever exist benefit from a genocide. These places are funding Rwanda and Uganda military groups, to go into the Congo and kill MILLIONS of people. This has also been going on for YEARS. Many women have been SA'd and men are forced to work in INHUMAN conditions, resulting in their death and the colonizers are absolutely benefitting from this. 6 MILLION people have been killed and half of them are literally kids. Many of the Congolese people have also been displaced.

Please speak out about and raise your voice

I miss them a bit

*in darth vader's voice* horses carry the patriarchy on their back. they're the real problem. without them the patriarchy wouldn't exist.

A Thief's Only Enemy

(BASED ON OPLA!Nami) cross-posted on ao3 !!

Nami, the trees whisper. Its tangerine drops against the soil like a ripple in the sea. She remembers the wind passing by the orchard, the dots of tangerines in the horizon, the smell of citrus making every air she breathed worthed and sour. 

Her tongue catches the taste. Her words become citrus. 

Once and now, the trees would whisper her name. Nami, Nami, Nami— our daughter, look at the curiosity—She doesn’t know what that means. Quite frankly, Nami doesn’t recall a memory that whispered her name the way the tangerine trees would. She couldn’t remember what it had meant, what it had sounded like. She couldn’t remember the significance of names. Of course, the significance of names other than Mom, and Nojiko. 

Nojiko, who is her sister, (who isn’t her sister), whose skin reaches more than a tree’s roots, underneath the soil, nurturing and caring. Who had held her, who squeezed her tighter, closer, protectively when Belle-Mere had found them. 

Then, there was her mother, oh, sweet mother. Who had said “I just knew” undoubtedly, who had been the first one to answer her questions truthfully, who had left her knowing that she and Nojiko were loved. 

(This is what life first stole: her name. It is buried until Nojiko and Belle-Mere latches themselves in her heart. They make a home there. They pump her blood and provide for her. This is what life first stole: when the home is in flames and the trees rots—when her mother fell with her skull-cracked, blood spilling between the gaps of wood, the soil carries her sacrifice. The village carries her body, they dig beside a wide tree of tangerines, they place her there. She is buried there. With a piece of Nami and Nojiko ever-beating love for each other.)

You are my daughters, I will not deny that. Nami remembers, she remembers many things. She remembers Arlong’s stupid gun, his stupid smile. She remembers Nojiko’s spiteful look when she left with Arlong. She remembers the way her sister’s blue hair reflected the emotions she felt. 

(This is what Nami stole from herself: the tranquillity and war of sisterhood. She thought of the consequences because her mother had told them to be as strong as boys, and that, if they survived, good times will come. Nami knew—you see, she was a thief, then and now, thievery is mixed up with trickery—that her village would not survive Arlong’s grasp. He is a fishmen, no human in their village could deny that they were scarred with his ever-growing laughter the moment he claimed them. This is what Nami stole from herself, and what she would take back: sisterhood.)

Nojiko’s hair never went past its original length, she still looks like her sister: Nami’s sister. 

Arlong’s tattoo says otherwise. She would breathe in, her hands were bruised from labour. She used to love the lines that curve to make the islands, cartography offered newness other than the mundane shackles around her once soil-covered ankles. Nesh tears pickled her citrus-covered face, her hair would be dried. She would hug her chest, carry the weight of the knowledge she possessed. 

(This is what life stole from her: freedom. The ability to breathe the citrus air, or the raw wind against her skin. Of course, Nami would grow out those shackles, she knew, her mother had told her and Nojiko that their bodies were not meant to stay in this shape. She had known that she would not stay in this vessel of a tiny girl. Yet, she could not bring herself to hope. To hope that she would live one. This is what life stole from her: freedom. The freedom to make friends. The freedom to have ridiculous hope). 

Nami grew. She had to. For Coco Village. For Nojiko. For her mother. She had to. She learned how to keep her hair the same shape, she learned to observe the sky while slipping berries out of a stranger’s pockets. She learned the meaning of her name from a stolen book, how reflecting her eyes could be in the ocean. 

(This is what Nami stole from herself: a life surrounded with fishmen that would go after her, wherever she went. And she had all but herself to blame, the moment her foot made contact with the wooden floor, the moment she had blurted out that she wanted to join. This is what Nami stole from herself, and what she thinks she would never get back: a life she calls her own.) 

(my thoughts are always on the tags!!) ♡ PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG TO SUPPORT ME.

thinking about this poem by noor hindi today.

(donate to palestine here)

there are no words in the english language i could scream to drown you out

rhaenyra and alicent + motion sickness by phoebe bridgers

"Who Remembers the Armenians?" by Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish / "Who Remembers the Palestinians?" by Armenian writer Sophia Armen

“Please, let him be soft. I know you made him with gunmetal bones and wolf’s teeth. I know you made him to be a warrior a soldier a hero. But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf’s teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do. I do not want to see him go up in flames the way all heroes end up martyrs. I know that you will tell me that the world needs him. The world needs his heart and his faith and his courage and his strength and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his– The world needs anything he will give them. Damn the world, and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him, damn anyone that ever took anything from him, damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything until there is nothing left of him but the imprint of dust where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas until his shoulders collapse and his knees buckle and he is crushed by all he used to carry. Dear God, you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules. You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again. You can have your pick of heroes. So please, I beg you– he is all that I have, and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more. Let him be soft, and let him be mine.”

— Please, let him be happy ( j.p. )

I know it’s not much in the face of everything but I have been finding hope & resilience in palestinian poetry these past few weeks and I created a google drive file of poetry collections by palestinian poets that I will keep updating as I keep on reading. I also recommend checking out @fiercynn’s palestinian poets series for more poets + poetry available online

thirdyear!izuku would be the type of guy to sneak into your dorm, and (demand) ask if you can sneak out with him. he'd take you floating above the buildings, beyond it, and he'd trap you in his arms until you force him to return to the dorms---just so neither of you will get caught---he'd follow you (because entirely, he's still izuku, and izuku will always follow through what he's told), open your dorm window, sleep on your bed until someone knocks, telling you how late it is, that you've missed the first period and and and—

honestly if tumblr goes down it goes down, i ain't migrating to shit

this terrified kitty won't let go of the young man who found it under the rubble.

the reporter was wondering if animals associations would care for the animals situation in gaza and the man answers her: "they do not care about us; human beings, you think they care about animals?! they do not care about us. no one does."

i do not pity israel. never have, and never will.

each night that gaza experiences is deadlier than the last, as idf soldiers record propaganda tiktoks, make rave parties and grwms and fit checks, gloat over having food and water, and film themselves deriving sadistic pleasure from torturing their hostages and victims and desecrating the dead.

Palestinians have to display their martyred before the camera for you to believe the atrocities that the zionist entity has subjected them to. they cannot even mourn in private. the apartheid entity murders them in cold blood, and you deliver the killing blow by doubting them.

babies whose families have been killed will never get to know their own name.

i can't reshare a tenth of the videos and photos that cross my timeline. i have seen more dead children in the past month than i have known death my entire life.

israeli settlers burn olive trees, bomb bakeries and fishing boats, shower white phosphorus and earthquake bombs on the captive civilians of gaza. you already know about the disastrous effects of white phosphorus, but earthquake bombs were last used during ww2 to wipe out entire cities.

how holy is the land that seeks to be built over the mass graves of thousands of children? is it holier than the miracle of a child being born in this hypocritical world?

all 11 universities in gaza have been bombed. academics should be agitating right now, especially those who call themselves "decolonial thinkers." destruction of universities is a sinisterly deliberate act to sabotage the Palestinians who will survive this great catastrophe.

the act of cleansing your hands before prayer is extremely important to muslims. no part of us can remotely comprehend the grief of the mother who refused to wash her hands from the blood of her children after losing them in a zionist airstrike over gaza. "I swear I won't wash them, I won't wash my hands, how else am I supposed to sleep near my kids."

it is only both moral and right when one side defends itself. the other side are the price of war, no better than insects and cattle and sheep left to die within the four walls of the slaughterhouse.

this situation should not be up for debate, but let me finish with one final thing : do your research about Palestine. HOWEVER. you do not need a degree in middle east studies to object to an ongoing genocide. if someone outwits you in a debate about historical details and every nuance of a subject, you were and will remain entirely correct in objecting to a genocide.

may those martyred rest in peace and be reunited again with their loved ones in heaven's eternal vastness.

DO NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE.

glory to Palestinian resistance. from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

In the media, Gaza is an abstraction, a space designed for the violent death of an abstract people inhabiting it. This death comes at the hands of a natural, impersonal force—not one of the most powerful armies in the world propped up by the most powerful state in the world, with a government, and a people electing this government. It is a convenient framing, one that shifts guilt away from Israel. The destruction comes from above, and those who die are meant to die. All is as it should be. To that, we offer a correction: Gaza is not an abstraction. It is a shore and beaches and streets and markets and cities with names of flowers and fruits, not an abstraction but places and lives and people that are being bombed into oblivion.

At the Threshold of Humanity, by Karim Kattan.

Ashley Radjarame by Drew Vickers for Prada Cruise 2020

Details : Dancing Fairies by August Malmström 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

moodboard for a scene i'm writing later !! (i invite anyone willing to try this out, mainly @qvnthesia, @kesh8 <;3)

PSY / PAX ! ☄. * minor, any pronouns.

note: I AM RESTARTING THIS BLOG! I will only reblog other's works and graphics. But my writing will remain here, for the meanwhile, unless I decide that I want it down. I have cross-posted my works on wattpad, and I have written on ao3, with the same username.

© TYPINGFOOL ⁕⁕⁕ do not plagiarize or repost my works on other sites, or as your own.

cat's out of the bag, where reader is an animagus cat and gets embarrassed about it around mattheo

word count 3.9k fandom harry potter pairing mattheo riddle x fem!animagus cat!reader warnings none(? lmk if u see any) author's note just hope it's good, changed it up a lil from the request

request a little cat has been crossing paths with him in the courtyard and he’s actually grown quite attached to it. one of their friends spot him scratching her head or smth on his way to class and makes a joke that mattheo doesn’t understand but the reader does and BOOKS it outta there. mattheo is lowkey a lil put out because he doesn’t see the cat for awhile after that, and the group starts making inside jokes abt it so the reader gets embarrassed and starts avoiding him in person too. mattheo decides he’s over it and gets her to finally spill the beans

STRETCHING your limbs before walking around the classroom, professor mcgonagall requested you to stay a couple of minutes after class to discuss your animagus progress. more so, she was just proud that you were able to complete the process. with mcgonagall and dumbledore’s help, you were typically excused from many days from hogwarts, travelling to uagadou, school of magic, in africa, accompanied by dumbledore to start the process of your animagus. certainly felt out of place with several students younger than you to be able to transform, but it was a great motivation through the help of your professors.

“nicely done, a lovely feline just as myself,” mcgonagall clasped her hands together, proudly, as she watched you jump from table to table in your animagus form.

reaching to the last one that was next to her, you transformed back into your human form, sitting with your hands folded on your lap, “thank you, professor. a big help from you and professor dumbledore, as well as the students at uagadou. though, i am glad that my incantations process did not take as long as i thought it would.”

“well, good that you were able to successfully do so, but i do have another class in a couple of moments, i will let you off now,” mcgonagall patted your shoulder before going to her desk, giving signal that you were free to go. bidding your farewell, she responded with a wave, not looking up from the paperwork. opening the door slightly, you transformed into your animagus form. you remembered that your daily tasks was to practice into your new form, as often as you could, but it was also requested to be kept on the low for your privacy. your classes were not going to resume until the following day, given that you recently had got back from uagadou, only needed to be up to date with all of the material given in your classes. 

taking an adventure around the castle was quite interesting in your new form. a new perspective of seeing it at a much lower angle, may even develop a fear of heights from the tallness of the walls. you tried to get use to climbing and hopping around high shelves in some of the corridors. many students noticed you as you walked around the hallways, only responding in hisses unless they were your friends such as hermione or luna. after roaming for quite some time and alternating within your forms, you settled on one of the open sills in the hallway. taking a laying position, your tail curling on top of your frame and getting comfortable to take a nap.

trying to calm your mind, you wished you could be a cat for the rest of time, not having to worry about school and be someone’s pet sounded like such an easy life. a long nap in the midst of day would have been great, only to be awoken the noisy echos of the halls from the students walking out of class or their breaks. you hear someone place their bag on the open minimal surface on the right of you. their once fast movements turned into quiet, assuming that they left. you peeked one of your eyes open, only to see the green of their school robe, moving carefully as they could next to you to sit cross legged. your eye shuts when he finally sits down, seeing a book in his hand, but being nosy, you tried to see who it was.

your eye opens once more, a scar on their nose, curly hair, and a green robe. well, also a familiar face. mattheo riddle. a mutual of luna’s boyfriend, to keep it simple. you have had your fair share of conversations with mattheo, some were just of commonality or had to do with one of your classes’ assignments. though, many of those shared conversations may have been rare but when initiated, they were quite long, often enjoying and longing that company. if there was anything about him, completely different from his father, he was not as interested in gaining power or any sorts, he just enjoyed a good game of quidditch and being in and out of class as soon as possible. 

you eyed the book in his hand, recognizing it was his little notebook that he used to jot down notes during class. 

“this is a new cat, it’s not filch’s cat,” was all he mumbled before you heard his quill starting writing away. you noticed you craned your neck a little too much to give him notice before dropping it down, closing your eyes to resume your nap. that was until you heard a paper tear out and placed in front of you, “since you’re not asleep, here, judge my drawing.”

caught. you looked at the quick doodle, it was a simple sketch of you curled up with small details from the background, sky, clouds, sunrays, and everything. he must have drawing as a hobby, you were sure it was no more than five minutes that he was able to conjure from the time he has sat down. stretching out your limbs, you grabbed the drawing with your mouth and turned to place it in his lap, a small nod of approval. honestly, you were unsure how to show your appreciation in this form without giving away that you were an animagus.

“well, i reckon that you like this picture. and i’m sure there’s no way that you have a place to keep it,” he raised his hand to pet you, but there was hesitation, probably unsure if you were to going to hiss, bite, or claw at him. mattheo held his palm out in front of you, showing some sort of consent. he seemed harmless, but would it be weird if he ever found out that you were just an animagus. you leaned closer, but that thought of the what if made you feel embarrassed, leading you to jump off the sill. 

“mmm, fine, i’ll see you around, little feline.”

you never thought that the frequency of seeing mattheo around from once every two or so weeks would become an everyday occurrence, mostly in your animagus form. once, maybe around the morning, and a couple more times throughout the day. it was typically during your breaks, walking around the hallways as you usually did. he did a showcasing of his drawing of you whether it was in the usual spot of that sill where you first met in your animagus form or a candid, and those drawings were at a random. each and every single you had appreciated before he hides them into his notebook. outside of your feline moments, you were paired up with him in doing tasks for professors and the staff around the school, seeing as you two would be the common picks due to both of you regularly being in the hallway at the same time. getting to know each other on a different level, even noticing more habits and traits that he has had. though, it was awkward when the topic of your animagus had been brought up during a walk in the library, putting books up for some of the professors.

“anything new recently?” you questioned, placing back the introduction to water creatures into its vacant spot based on madam pince’s list of nonhelpful locations.

“studying and helping the quidditch team, nothing has been new with me,” he placed the book that you handed him on the top of the stack.

“what about any drawings?” you froze in your tracks, unsure if that hobby of his was even known to anyone.

“drawings? how did you know that i draw?” he also paused in his tracks.

“well, i taken up some doodling in my free time during classes and noticed that in charms, you like to doodle professor flitwick and the floating objects in the classroom pretty well,” you did take notice after finding this hobby of his that he continuously did draw at what you thought was him writing notes.

“not as secretive as i thought of that little thing of mine. well, actually, do you know that cat that will always hang around the hallways?” mattheo handed you another book to place within the shelves.

“filch’s cat?”

“no, not mrs. norris, it’s a much smaller cat. this feline has been the center of my art recently, maybe i’ll show you a new one in class next time. i see that cat pretty often, at least a couple of times a day, someone must have lost their pet and gave up,” he said with a chuckle.

“yeah, maybe,” you replied, not knowing what to say, “well, that’s the last book.”

“you said you doodled, right?” mattheo questioned, in which you hummed, agreeing to the statement. it was not a lie you did doodle. stick figures, that still counts. he continued, “do you want to come along with me in the morning before potions to draw this cat?”

no. i can’t, i am that cat. you turned to him, trying to figure out how to be there in two different forms, “maybe, we’ll see.”

“just say that you don’t want to hang out with the dark lord’s son, it’s alright,” mattheo playfully pouted. 

that was a characteristic that you have never seen before from him, and he was trying to persuade you, using his dad’s name. you scoffed, “there was not a no in my response.”

“but, i know that’s what you meant. please,” he drawn out the please, adding hints of sweet in it to essentially charm you.

“fine, but i never even seen this cat,” you said.

“you’ll see, i basically attract this cat. see you in central hallway,” he clasped your shoulder before exiting the library. now, you were left to discover some sort of spell to double your bodies and how you do agree that he does attract you.

“it’s fine, i’ll just walk with him then leave then appear as a cat,” you flattened your robe, smoothing any crinkles out as you walked through the corridors to reach the destined hallway, seeing mattheo already walking towards you, backpack slung over his shoulder. a small smile appeared on his face, meeting your eye contact.

you waved before reaching to him, “so, where’s your little cat?”

“honestly, haven’t seen her around today. the one time i wanted to show her off, and she isn’t here,” he looked around the hall, trying to look around to spot the small feline, not knowing that she was right in front of me.

“aww, maybe, next time, how do you even know it’s a she,” you asked.

“just a wild guess, but if that she is actually a he, hopefully he’ll let me know,” he said, shoving down a piece of paper in his pocket. 

you only glanced before looking at him once more, “well, mcgonagall needed to see me before potions, so, save me a seat.”

he nodded as his way of a farewell before walking inside the classroom. watching him enter and up and down the hallways for lingering students, hoping that the area was student free, you almost started to transform until the conversation within the classroom became much more audible.

“come on, you don’t think it’s odd that the cat always happens to meet you and certain people at certain times. plus, some students just came back from other schools for special training, what if your little cat friend is an animagus?” that statement was followed with laughter, recognizing that the person who said that was lorenzo berkshire. head always full of thoughts and a motor for a mouth.

“a professor, perhaps, or a student much closer to her,” someone else commented, hinting that the only other known animagus with a feline form was mcgonagall. 

there was no way that he was not going to realize that you were an animagus and connect the points, he was aware that you were part of the groups that left hogwarts to study shortly at other schools. you did not want to share your face to him, mattheo may not be the greatest person in the bunch, coming to academics, but with enough effort, he was quite intelligent. you were sure most of the students connected the dots especially with your frequent visits with professor mcgonagall, always excelled at transfiguration and potions, gone to uagadou, there was not a doubt that even trying to keep it on the low, there were people that knew.

maybe walking in the classroom would combat the rumor of being an animagus. though, you already had told mattheo that you were going to be meeting with the professor that they had mentioned. you tried to convince yourself that him finding out was not all too bad, helps not trying to suppress the secret, but you enjoyed the attention that he had been giving you. 

you pinched the bridge of your nose, persuading yourself just enough to tip the iceberg of walking in. entering seeing that you were essentially the last student to walk in and many students faced the entrance, especially that set of certain students, their eyes were on you. not to mention, the widening smirk of lorenzo as he locked his eyes with yours, “you know, that was a purr-fectly timed appearance.”

feeling your cheeks heat up, the cat was quite literally out the bag between you and lorenzo. he definitely knew, he always had some sort of information on every single person you know. you wondered if he was also an animagus as a small fly for the way he always has the buzz on the hogwarts student body. he sent a wink with a sly grin, which ushered you quickly out of class. it was going to be impossible without him dropping hints around you and could not allow someone else to drop your secret. even with calls of your name, there was no way that you would turn back.

“professor, do you know how embarrassing it is if riddle finds out that i am the feline he has been drawing?” you paced around the classroom. with the amount of times that you had walked your pattern in front of your mentor, there would certainly be a dent within the ground.

“perhaps, perhaps not. mr. riddle will more than likely be unbothered by the fact that you are an animagus. he seems too unbothered by any topic for that matter, just as ms. everwood confessed her feelings for him and he had said thank you and walked off as if nothing had happened,” your professor was too focused on other matters around the classroom to be bothered by your issues, but you were sure that she was going to share the same details with professor snape. you were alright with him knowing, it was not like he was not going to be able to read your mind with him being a power legilimen.

“you’re right, thank you, professor. will keep that in mind, i figured out what to do,” you said, all you had to do was just ignore him for the rest of the term or until you graduate. it was going to be impossible for you to not change into your animagus form as mcgonagall required you to change a couple of times a day, and there was not a chance that you could avoid him which was through analyzing the frequency of seeing him everyday. there was a giant possibility that you were overthinking this, as it was true. you just wanted to save yourself from the embarrassment from the intimate moments you had shared despite them being in your cat form.

“please, do update me on your animagus progress, as well as your situation with mr. riddle. concluding with your heightened embarrassment of him knowing, it would seem to me that you may have a crush on him and or value your friendship, as well as him revealing that secret of yours will ruin everything.”

as always, spot on at everything.

for the time being since your conversation with mcgonagall, your contact with mattheo had gone down drastically. attending potions much earlier to avoid having to sit next to him, though, lorenzo’s obvious cat jokes as he walked past you to go to the ingredients closet, it was something you wished to avoid. you were unsure if mattheo cared enough that you switched seats, using mcgonagall’s story regarding about evelyn everwood, he may have just moved on. additionally, you opted to stay in the astronomy tower now for a break when in your animagus form, despite enjoying the ground levels to stroll. you did remember a small exchange between lorenzo and mattheo during a potions practical;

“does mr. cat whisperer miss his feline friend?” there lorenzo goes again.

“and does the school's resident gossip hound miss wagging his tongue in everyone's business?” mattheo responded with the same tone.

“don’t be so grouchy, isn’t it a coincidence that someone stopped hanging out with you?” lorenzo had glanced at you when saying someone, knowing that you were listening. 

there were certain times where you had close encounters with him trying to talk to unless you decided to deviate your path, pretending that you were busy in your notes as you walked in the hallway. you had made a habit to just have your notebook open, just in case he was around.

“mr. berkshire always intends to irritate others quite easily, but i am certain it is his tactic of getting information out of most people,” mcgonagall waved her hand to have the chalk write against the board in preparation for her next class.

before being able to respond back to her, there was a knock at the door. your head turned to the sound, only sinking into your chair and raising your hood to hide your face. it was very unlikely for mattheo to even talk to mcgonagall, unless he was failing a class.

“hello professor, snape had sent me over here saying that you needed me to help a student in returning boxes of ingredients to his closet,” he began to come closer due to the proximity of his voice getting louder with every step he had taken. damn, professor snape. the two professors must be working together in cahoots for whatever the reason may be according to your problems.

“yes, please assist (y/n) with those boxes over there. i would have done a spell, but professor snape wanted to ensure that the number of ingredients were done by hand and everything was correct for storage. off you go, i need to prepare for the upcoming period,” she dismissed the both of you. you knew that she was not going to respond if you tried to convince her, but you did trust her judgment and may be the only way to jump over the obstacle.

“of course, professor,” you shoved your hood down, trying to not make eye contact.

the collection of the boxes was quiet, one for you and one for him. there was an understanding between the both of you in doing your task, more so you quickly grabbing your box and walking out of the classroom. mattheo did not do much but just follow your lead, similar to your library duties. the walk was fast-paced and still silent, typically you had started most of the conversations, always starting with how has your week been going.

“how has your week been going?” he initiated.

“busy, just studying, you?”

“the same thing as you.” 

“nic-“

“i am not one to beat around the bush, why have you been avoiding me?” he asked once more. straightforward. the synchronized clanking of the glass jars and footsteps was quieter, and it was just your own creating the sound. 

“what do you mean? i said i was busy,” you awkwardly chuckled. you stayed still, but you had not turned to face him.

“not busy enough for you to stay in professor mcgonagall’s office for a couple hours of the day, your studying sessions in the courtyard and library has whisked you away to a different location. mind you, you never came to potions early enough, but you recently had to change seats,” mattheo pointed out the changes in your daily routine. it did not seem like a big of a deal, but no one would typically pay attention to the specifics of the times that you did things.

“are you spying on me, now?” you finally turned around, wondering why.

“no, just things i’ve noticed. also, when someone mentions cats or just anything of the sort, for instance.. lorenzo, that day, when he was talking about an animagus being my feline friend, were you offended that he brought up mcgonagall? if it is, i have enough dirt on him to drag down his reputation,” he offered. for someone with decent intelligence, he was not displaying enough critical thinking.

“it’s not that, mattheo, you didn’t understand the joke that he had said when i walked in?” you raised an eyebrow, typically he understood the complex jokes you thrown at him when you placed books back in the library.

he seemed to be taken back, hesitating, one expression that he rarely had, “the purr-fectly timed appearance, he was..”

hesitation once again. the raised eyebrow also did not leave your face, watching his once sturdy eye contact to be broken as you waited for him to complete his statement. he cleared his throat, “he was alluding to something else that we were discussing in the group.”

“which was?”

“i asked first, so, why have you been avoiding me?” he quickly veered away from you prying his answer. you were so close to revealing the mystery, and you were able to imagine the disappointment from mcgonagall in not completing her goal of this task between you and mattheo with professor snape. there was no way he would mind.

“okay, fine, no, we say our answers at the same time. i’ll answer your question, and with my question for you to answer is what the something else of that discussion as it pertains to me and i am nosy,” you looked at him, hoping he would take your proposition. 

he walked closer to you, stopping with no space left between you two aside from the boxes that you both held in front of your torsos, “fine.”

“on three.”

“one.”

“two.”

“three.”

“i am the cat that you have been hanging around.”

“i have feelings for you.”

the surprised looks mirrored each other’s faces, only mattheo had his mouth agape which he closed. your embarrassment was overflowing your body, but the surprise of him confessing that he had liked you mixed in with the embarrassment. though, the combination just left your body heated. 

“i also like you, if that helps,” you broke the silence despite feeling the warmest you ever been.

“no wonder why you said that drawing bit in charms,” he grinned. mcgonagall was correct, yet again, he seemed to overlook your animagus side, not even slightly bothered.

“so, you don’t mind me being an animagus?” you needed to make sure that it was clear that he did not mind, in order for your embarrassment to be resolved,

he shook his head, “it’s okay to be an animagus, that’s bloody amazing, actually.. enzo is quite smart in dropping that hint, it was quite purrfectly executed.”

you snorted, as you watched him move to stand by your side. there was so many questions running through your mind that you were unsure which option to pick to start at. you were just satisfied at the fact that he did not mind. though, you two had a mutual understanding was to leave it be for now and enjoy the moment.

“and so, the cat’s out of the bag.”

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holding your hand out in front of your face and not recognizing the pattern of your palm, the grooves of your fingers, the callouses of your once work worn hands gone

gone

gone like the home in which you grew and dreamed and hoped for a future outside of only to come running back to ashes that will never reform, just a stain on the ever shifting sands and a bitter taste on your tongue

where is there time to mourn in a place such as this? when one gone shifts to another so fast you cannot tell if the air in your lungs is born of ice or forest? you count the days in gones- friends, allies, family, the very pieces of yourself falling from a metal mouth in the sky and screaming for a twin soul lost

your hand is not yours anymore, you don’t recognize the things it’s done, the ease in which it reaches for a trigger faster than the one you had before could ever signal for peace

you are gone and so is he

redemption burns hot upon your face as the world around you rebuilds and you are frozen, left clamouring for scraps of yet another gone, the arbiter of a legacy written in the stars not chosen

and with one hand weak, you carry the burden, for it is you who will be the light

you who will fight against the gone

they say 'wya?' and i say im in my delulu era and miles morales is responsible. thank you so much for the serotonin boost bc what the fuck. this is amazing. this part particularly got me giggling my feet:

📌 "Sorry for taking so long babe," he grinned, bending down to place a kiss just below his drawing before looking up at you almost sheepishly.

your writing style is amazing, hello? i can picture miles *doing* that. i can picture his soft smile in this paragraph alone too:

📌He wasn't even thinking of his drawing anymore as he watched you, being adorable as ever. He was going to add that no drawing of his would be more art than you were.

ajsjsdb thank you for sharing your craft to the internet. this is amazing ❤️

none would be more art than you || miles morales

"You know you have like a hundred notebooks that aren't even filled yet."

You groaned, glancing at Miles who had a marker in one hand, and the other gently holding your arm still.

It was a free period and you decided to hangout at some random corner. One thing led to another, a pack of colored markers were pulled out of seemingly nowhere, and now you were a human canvas. 

"Don't move," he hissed. 

"You're gonna mess it up."

He said this without even looking up at you, eyes dead focused on whatever he was drawing on your upper arm. 

If your arm wasn't starting to tingle you would have giggled as the tip of his tongue peaked out of the corner of his lip.

"Miles my arm is gonna fall asleep," you complained, despite your free arm moving to hold up your sleeve so it wouldn't get in his way.

"Let it, it might be tired," is all he responded with as he switched out his marker for another color.

"Fine, just hurry up."

Minutes passed and so did markers, and Miles was finally capping the last one and putting it back in its box.

"Okay, it's done," he flourished his hand before beginning to rub up and down your arm gently to get the blood flowing once more. Of course while avoiding his new art piece. 

"Sorry for taking so long babe," he grinned, bending down to place a kiss just below his drawing before looking up at you almost sheepishly.

The skin of your cheeks went hot at the action, making you smile back at him.

"You only get a pass because I think you're cute," your finger tapped his nose, now making his skin go hot. 

"Lemme see it now," you moved your arm, angling it up towards your head so you could finally see what was so important he couldn't let you stretch.

It was worth it. 

The drawing was of your names. Yours and his intertwined in a mix of bubble letters and cursive, with splashes of color spread out behind it, your favorites and his. In the middle of it all  were two silhouettes, and it was enough to make you swoon.

"Awww, this is so cute, ligaya," you smiled, moving your arm around to get better angles of it, and he chuckled at your compliments, smiling along with you.

"You kinda half branded me like a whore, but it's still cute," you teased, locking eyes with him, making his flustered expression morph playfully into one of annoyance.

"Oh, shut up, he pushed your forehead with two fingers, making you laugh.

"I'm glad you like it. I'm trying to mix some stuff up."

"I love it," you corrected, making him smile even wider.

"I'm gonna feel so bad when this comes off in the shower, quick snap a picture," you tell him, already fixing your hair and turning to the side so he could get a good angle of you and the drawing.

"Okay, okay, gimme a sec," he dug into his pocket to grab his phone. Adjusting it just enough so that the lighting around you perfectly highlighted you and his drawing. But mostly you.

"Okay, ready," he promoted, and you began giving him various poses.

There was one of you slightly glaring at the camera in a poor attempt of looking fierce. One of you with a wide smile, cheek on your shoulder as you pointed happily at the piece. And another of you pretending to lick it off.

Miles laughed heartily as you posed your heart out, happily clicking away on his phone. He didn't care if the memory got full, you were worth it.

The laughs continued until you were slightly out of breath, hair now out of place from your constant moving. You sat there smiling softly as you caught your breath, looking fondly down at your names.

Things had gone quiet, so much so that you glanced up to catch the boy you loved looking at you with an almost distant look in his eye.

"What?" You quirked a brow, suddenly getting a bit self conscious at how he just stared.

 "Do I look bad?" You straightened up in your seat .

"Is it the lighting? I can move if you wa-," you were saying, beginning to stand up before Miles stopped you.

"No, no, no," he shook his head, putting his phone to the side and gently pulling you back down to sit.

"It's perfect," he assured you.

 "You're perfect," he whispered, and you were flustered all over again. You were unable to speak, but he didn't mind. He continued to look at you with a look you realized wasn't distant, but dreamy.

"You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he inched closer to you, till you were one movement apart.

"Miles," you swooned, gaze flicking down to his lips.

"But you're also really weird though," he added, making your half lidded eyes turn into a glare.

"Fuck you," you pulled away from him, looking away with a pout on your face. This made him laugh, and he pulled out his phone once more.

More laughing ensued as he began snapping pictures of you pouting and swatting him away. Empty threats flew from your lips as he continued on. 

He wasn't even thinking of his drawing anymore as he watched you, being adorable as ever. He was going to add that no drawing of his would be more art than you were.

But he already was cheesy enough for the day. He'd tell you next time.

woah,, listen. i don't like joker at all. but i didnt know cameron played him??? hello?? in all seriousness, your writing is incredible !!! i admire the way you describe scenes and portray his character (even though, i have little to no knowledge about diff versions of joker, this is still spot on. i can definitely imagine him being like this) - - and the kiss scene in the kitchen. bye, i was squealing and kicking my feet.

thank you so much for sharing your work to the internet. manifesting all the luck your way, author ❤️

TWO-FACED; J. VALESKA

JEROME VALESKA X F!DETECTIVE!READER

WARNINGS: this imagine is set from s1 + s2 Jerome!, mentions of sex, makeout sesh, jerome being cocky !!

WORD COUNT: 6181!

SUMMARY: From the first time you met Jerome Valeska, you knew him as the son of Lila Valeska, the murder case you and Detective Gordon were working on. You had grown close, until you found out the truth. Now you know him as an Arkham escapee:

A MANIAX.

-

“I’m Jerome Valeska, her son.”

A soft voice was heard coming out of the silver trailer, coming closer to you. His ginger hair shined in the lights of the Circus, as he pulled over a comfortable jacket. He looked concerned as far as you could see, analyzing the way he talked and reacted to the things your partner was saying.

You had been invited to the Circus earlier that day by someone at the precinct, telling you it was a date. As time passed while you sat on the bleachers, they hadn’t shown up. You should’ve known; those cops were never true to their word.

You managed to make eye contact with Leslie Tompkins, the new Medical Examiner, smiling at her as she politely waved to you. It caught Detective Gordon’s attention, sending you a nod from the other side.

Now you stood next to him and Lee as you investigated the feud at the performance you all watched.

“Jerome, when did you last see her?” Jim asked, looking at the taller man. You both had been looking for Lila Valeska, the boy’s mother.

“Uh, this morning.” The ginger answered, his face conveying worry. “She was here when I left for the library.” He adds on, telling his side of the story to the detective. His eyes glance over at you, sending a kind half-smile towards you. You return, feeling your cheeks warm up.

At such an inappropriate situation, you couldn’t deny that the man in front if you was very handsome. His fire-colored hair suits him as much as his freckles matched his pale skin. His lips were the perfect shade of pink, begging to be kissed.

Talking snapped you out of your daze, looking over at the bigger man that had walked over. He spoke to Jerome in a low voice. “Your mother is fine. Gone on a spree no doubt. You know how she is.” His tone seemed to have some sort of undertone to it, making you shift in your spot.

“A spree? Without her hat or coat? Or her purse?” He rambled, wrapping his arms around himself to protect himself from the cold or to try and ease his worries, you couldn’t tell.

He looked around for a second before turning around and backing up towards a snake behind him. “Oh, look at Sheba.” He rested his hand on the cage, his left hand still clutching his jacket. “She’s distraught, she knows something’s wrong.” He looked back up as the snake hisses.

“The snake does seem to be agitated.” Jim chimes in, a fake smile taking over his lips. You look back and forth between your partner and the missing lady’s son. Jerome looks your way again, his eyes scanning over your body. You shivered and not because of the cold temperature.

“Sir, Ma’am,” The other man in makeup chuckles, walking over to you and Jim. “She’s what you call a ‘party girl.’” He leans in and whispers. As Jim listens to him, you look behind the broad red-coated shoulders to see the ginger look away irritably. His mother seems to be a tough subject to him, whether she was missing or not.

As Jim and the man converse, you back away and stalk towards the man standing in front of his trailer. “Hi,” You send a soft smile his way, walking next to him.

Jerome replies with the same smile, his dimples exposing themselves to you. His smile, whether it was real or to be polite, was breathtaking. It made your stomach feel fuzzy, having to clear your throat to gather yourself.

“So, what’s it like living at a Circus?” You try to start a conversation with the worried son. While your partner, Jim, always went straight forward into the investigation, you always tried to start off nice to see if they would give into you and tell you something.

The ginger-haired boy lets out a quiet laugh, looking down at his feet. His arms were still wrapped around his body, securing them tightly to himself.

“Uh, well,” He sighs, trying to rack his brain for the right words. “It’s different.” He starts off. He looks you in the eyes as he keeps speaking. “I’ve lived at the Circus my whole life, so I’ve gotten used to the weird behavior around here. We move a lot, hence the trailers.” He looks around, pointing to the ones in the area. You follow his finger, looking everywhere his eyes catch. “I guess, I don’t really have the right words to describe it.” He admits, looking back at you. His eyes tell you something you couldn’t understand yet.

“It’s definitely not a lifestyle I would choose if i had been asked beforehand. But,” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not like I have a choice.” He forced out a laugh, his features showing defeat.

Before you could question further into his confession, Jim interrupts. “How fast does an animal like that move?” He asks, looking towards Sheba in the cage.

“Uh.. fast walking pace. They rely on surprise mainly.” Jerome informs him as the snake hisses.

“Let her out.” Jim tells him. You and Lee look at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry?” Jerome’s head cocks to the side, hoping the detective wasn’t being serious.

“Let her out.” He repeats, but with a smile. It was not convincing whatsoever. Behind him, Lee stood in shock at her boyfriend’s order.

“Jim, are you sure-“ Your input get cuts off by the same man you’re talking to.

“Y/N, trust me.” He gives you a look that made you sigh. You had originally stood up to him because of the look on Jerome’s face. He looked scared; maybe he didn’t want his mother’s snake out to get loose? Or maybe he was afraid?

Jerome’s shoulders were tense as he walked around the cage. He took the top off, watching the snake slowly navigate its way onto the ground. You all stand and wait as Sheba moves around, shifting in your spot.

“Do you work with Detective Gordon?” Jerome breaks the tense silence, looking over at you. You stood next to him as Jim and Lee were a few feet ahead of you.

“Yeah, he’s my partner at the GCPD.” You answer, trying to capture his expression. He nods in response, clenching his jaw every now and then.

“So, you guys aren’t together?” His bold question makes you freeze, taking a sharp breath in. You heard his faint chuckle from beside you, making your skin feel hot.

“No,” You reply, clearing your throat. “No, we’re not.” Jerome nods, a whisper of a smile on his face. “Besides, I look more to him as a father than anything.” You admit, starting to ramble.

“Yeah, I can see why.” Jerome adds.

You both walk forward slightly, carefully following Jim’s and Lee’s footsteps. As Sheba hisses and moves up boxes and on a truck, you stop dead in your tracks. Jim peels the tarp off the back of the truck and lying there is Lila Valeska. Blood seeped around her neck as her snake glides closer to her.

You hear a choked sob come from your right, watching Jerome fall to his knees. You gasp as you watch him cry, his face paler than before.

You crouch down beside him, not sure what to do. You place your hand on his shoulder and squeeze, hoping any form of contact would help him in any way. Before you register what happened, you feel two arms wrap around your torso and tears on your neck.

You tense at first, but hesitantly fold your arms around his body. He was vulnerable, too vulnerable to a stranger. You had a weird feeling in your stomach (not just the butterflies), that something bad was going to happen soon.

-

When Jerome came out of the interrogation room with Jim, you watched him walk over to an empty desk in the middle of the Precinct. You made your way over to your partner, immediately falling in line with his steps.

“What did you get out of him?” You asked, making your way with him over to his desk.

“Well, I asked about his mom, and he told me that she kinda slept around.” He explained with a grimace, looking back down at some folders. “But he did say that he loved her a lot; he seemed upset.” He adds on, still filing through the mounds of paperwork on his cluttered desk.

You nodded in response, arms crossed in front if your chest. Your eyes wandered the Police Department until they landed on the ginger in the corner. He still clutched his sweater, a nice red and white flannel under the soft fabric of the navy-blue cashmere.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?” Jim interrupts your thoughts, making you blink and look back at him. Before you could open your mouth to say anything, he puts up his hand to stop you. “I see the way you look at him.” He says with a serious face, but if you look hard enough, there’s a hint of a twinge at the corner of his lips. “Go on, kid. Maybe you’ll be able to get more out of him than just flirting.” He teases you, making you smack his arm. Go, he mouths, giving you a look.

You give into it and walk down the small stairs, making a beeline towards him.

You sit down next to him on a small bench, startling him out of his thoughts. He looks up at you from his position, straightening out his back instead of resting his arms on his legs.

“Hey,” His voice was small and short, fitting for someone in his position.

“Hi,” You try to send a soft smile his way, hoping to distract him, even for a little bit. Your eyes scanned his face, admiring his features. His freckles seemed for visible now in the Precinct lighting; his red hair parted to the side perfectly; his mouth looked swollen, maybe he was biting his lips. His waterline on his eyes were faded red from crying. He was still as beautiful with tearstained cheeks.

“I thought I’d come over here and maybe try to distract you or talk to you, instead of listening to the mumbles around this place.” You admit, forcing out a laugh. He lets out a breathy laugh, nodding his head with his eyes locked on the floor. “I know how much it sucks to hear every whisper in this place. I’ve only been working here for a couple of months, but for a police department, there’s a lot of drama.” You laugh, smiling as he joins in.

“Yeah,” He agrees. He looks up at you, finally making eye contact with you. His green eyes shined in the light; they looked expensive. “We only got here a couple of weeks ago, but I heard of all the crazy things that happen in Gotham in the newspapers.” He says, going along with the conversation.

You’re glad he continues it, instead of turning you down and ignoring you. You could never understand how someone could kill a mother to such a nice boy like Jerome. But as much as you liked conversing with the ginger, you couldn’t shake that feeling in your stomach.

As some time went by, you and Jerome got caught up in each other. His smile was so captivating, it made you want to try anything to see it again. You felt almost foolish to fall for some pitiful boy in a murder investigation, especially the victims son.

He seemed to break out of his shell to you, showing the sweet interior of the boy. You would get some weird looks from other cops when they saw you were laughing and smiling with someone who had fallen victim to a murdered mother.

“Was there anything any of her past lovers did that might’ve indicated of their intentions?” You asked him. As much as you love talking to him, you wanted to try and understand more to help him and his situation.

Most of the cops had gone home for the night, specifically Jim and Lee. You knew of their date tonight, so you’d rather not bother them. But you also knew that Jim would’ve wanted you to get at least something out of the red-haired boy.

“I mean.. not that i can think of.” He responded, fiddling with his fingers. Your eyes watched him fidget, that bad pit in your stomach resurfacing. You quickly tried to push it back down.

You nodded your head as a reply, different thoughts clouding your brain. You looked for the big clock on the wall, realizing how late it was. You looked out of the windows, just now noticing the black sky and the city lights on.

“Oh, Jerome, I’m so sorry for keeping you here! I lost track of time, I didn’t realize..” He cut of your rambling.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I had a really good time. Your distraction definitely worked.” He chuckled, the smile on his face making you feel weak.

Only certain desks were filled with people, some on the phone, some talking with others, and most asleep with their head resting on top of the table.

When you looked back at Jerome, you caught him staring at you, but instantly looking away once you saw him. You smile, watching his face start to heat up, looking down at his shoes.

“I can drop you off at your trailer if you’d like?” You offered, truly wanting to get out of this uniform and into bed for the night. He looked up at you, trying to decide what he wanted to do. “Or I can take you back to my place?” You offer. Before he had any sort of reaction, you kept talking. “I mean, I’m not too sure it would be the best idea to go back to the Circus tonight. I can give you a bed and some food.” You rambled on, not wanting the suggestion to come off as anything but friendly. “It’s all up to you.” You add, both of you already knowing this fact, but you wanted to state it verbally.

“That’d be really nice. Thank you, Y/N.” He answered, giving you a smile in return. You send one back, standing up from the bench.

“Let me just grab some things and I’ll be right back.” Jerome nods at your words, watching you walk away from him. You stood at your desk, grabbing your things and a folder or two.

“Alright, you ready?” You stood in front him. Jerome gets up and nods, following you out to your car.

-

You set your things down on the coffee table, walking over to grab a drink from the fridge.

“You can sit down, grab some food, whatever you need.” You inform Jerome as he stands by the door. He listens, making his way towards you in the kitchen. He grabs a cookie from the jar, taking a bite.

You laugh as you watch the crumbs fall on his sweater. “Sweet tooth?” You tease, screwing the cap back on your drink, leaning against the kitchen island. He chuckles, finishing off the cookie and dusting himself off.

“I saw it and I couldn’t help myself.” He admits, walking beside you and copying your stance. You both stood in comfortable silence, admiring each other without words.

“You’re really beautiful.” He whispers, voicing his thoughts. You couldn’t control the smile that took over your lips, looking down at the counter. “I’m serious.” You look up at him. “Even at such a bad time earlier, when I saw you at the Circus, I was immediately drawn to you.” He reveals, trying to capture your reaction.

“I felt sorry for feeling like this for the son of a case I’m working on, but,” Your words faded as you spoke, not finding any more on your mind.

You’re caught off guard when he leans forward and pressed his lips against yours. You both freeze when he pulls away, looking between his eyes and lips.

Your arms go around his neck as his go around your waist, pulling you both against each other. This was the first time you kissed him, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like you’ve known each other forever with just one kiss.

His fingers dig into your hips, pushing you against his body. His tongue teases your bottom lip, waiting for you to answer. Your fingers pull on his hair, his groan being lost into the mesh of lips. His tongue pushes against yours as he pulls you closer-

RING! RING!

You both break apart fast, your chests heaving with each breath. You both reach for your phones, quickly taking the call instead of talking.

“Hi, Y/N, this is Lee! I was hoping to get you to the GCPD as soon as possible as some evidence for the Valeska case has been found.” She explains. You take a fast glance at the ginger on the other side of the room, making eye contact. “Jim’s currently on the phone with Jerome, so he should be here soon as well.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right there.” You reply, hanging up the phone and closing it. It’s quiet for a minute before you hear Jerome move.

“Guess we’re heading to the GCPD.” He seemed irritated, his demeanor completely different. You follow him outside and to your car as you head over to your work.

-

You walked through the entrance, scanning the large room for the two that called you. Jerome followed behind you, watching your line of sight, looking for the detective that called him at such a late hour.

“Alvarez!” You walk down the stairs, catching the man’s attention. He turns around, waiting for you to keep talking. “Where’s Jim and Lee?” You ask, standing in front of him. His eyes get caught on the man behind you, before pointing to the interrogation room.

“They’re in there.” He replies, moving away to go to his desk.

You and Jerome make your way down the hall, standing outside of the door. A policeman guarded it, staring straightforward.

You look back at Jerome. “Why don’t you stay here for now, if that’s okay?” You suggest. He nods, sitting down on the bench as he waits.

You walk past the cop, opening the door and shutting it behind you. “What did you get, Gordon?” You ask, walking further into the room. You saw an older man sitting across from him with a dark red hat and a black suit with a matching red tie. You saw him from a distance earlier that day when he was talking to Jim and Lee, but you didn't know who he was. Jim told you he was blind and that he says he can speak to the dead. Jim seemed less than thrilled about that.

"Ms. Y/L/N." The old man calls out, making you stop walking. You stood beside Jim, sending a confused look to your partner.

“We solved the messga Lila sent you. It sent us to Arkham Bridge Park.” Jim reveals, walking over to the older man. Mr. Cicero fiddles with the cane in his hand.

As Jim continues to tell him about Mr. Cicero supposedly protecting someone, you hang on every word he says. As the bad feeling in your stomach grows bigger, Jim gives a look to the officer by the door.

When it opens again, the boy waiting outside came in. As soon as he made eye contact with you, your eyed widened. You knew what Jim was thinking. How could he be serious about this?

“Jerome, you know Mr. Cicero from the Circus.” Jim sits down in his chair. You stood next to him, frozen in place.

“Yes, sir. Hello, Mr. Cicero.” Jerome looks to his left, making your nerves rise. Mr. Cicero greets him back as Jim analyzes them both.

You and Jim both worked differently, but it always worked right. It took a bit of time to get used to, but you both fell into a pattern together. But right now, you’re not sure if you’re even able to open your mouth to breath.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He looks at Jerome. The ginger thinks before asking, “Did you find out who killed my mother?”

“You killed your mother, Jerome.” Jim answers without hesitation.

Your body tenses as that feeling in your gut freezes. Your body felt heavy as you stood still, your breathing slowly picking up. Jim had a strong intuition and evidence; there’s no way he was wrong.

“Me?” Jerome’s voice was a whisper, leaning back in his chair.

“You killed her up on that hill and Mr. Cicero let you clean up in his trailer.” Jim explained further. Every word that came out of your partner’s mouth made you feel sick. “He told you to scratch the satanist symbol on the hatchet and throw it off the bridge.” Jerome looked between Mr. Cicero and Jim in disbelief.

“Sir, that’s absurd and.. offensive.” His voice cracked, making your stomach turn.

“But it’s the truth.” Jim states, staring at him. “What I don’t know is why this man risked so much to help you.” He looked over at the man sitting next to the red-haired boy. “I think he’s your father.”

Jerome’s shoulders fell, pausing before letting out a scoff. He looks between the two men again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says to Jim. “My father was a sea captain.” Jim looked over at you and Lee, making your jaw clench. You were a great detective, but a case like this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Am I wrong, Mr. Cicero?” Jim looks over at the older man.

“Yes.” He replies with a monotone voice.

“He was a sea captain, his name was Sven Carlson. He died at sea.” Jerome explained further with urgency.

“What was the name of his ship?” Jim asked.

Jerome froze, before replying, “He worked on a lot of different ships.”

Jim shook his head, “The one he went down in.”

Jerome stopped. His shoulders fell as his gaze moved down towards the table. “She never said.” He whispered, looking back up at the detective. He looked over at you, giving you a pleading look.

“We can take a blood test to see if I’m right. Takes only half an hour to get a blood proof result. Isn’t that right, Doctor Tompkins?” He looks over at Lee, watching her respond. “Save yourself a needle.” He adds.

“I do hate needles.” Mr. Cicero replies. Jerome looks over at him, with furrowed brows. “I’m sorry, Jerome.”

“What’re you talking about?” Jerome’s voice was gravely, as if he was on the verge of tears. Your stomach started to hurt, watching all of this unfold. Was he faking?

“I am your father.” The old man reveals.

“No you’re not. Why would you say that?” Jerome’s tone makes your heart clench. Your jaw tightens as every second goes by, silence being the loudest sound in the room. You thought maybe they could hear your heart beating.

“You must’ve suspected the truth.”

“No, you’re not my father. My mother would never…”

“Your mother was a cruel woman, she was often unkind to me. But she did once love me.” Mr. Cicero interrupts him, his deep voice making the room tense. “And she loved you very much, that’s why she gave you a better father.” He felt around for Jerome’s arm, squeezing his wrist before going back to hold his cane.

Jerome broke out into sobs, his face leaning down towards the table. A lump formed in your throat watching him breakdown. Just a half hour ago, you and Jerome were talking in your apartment. Everything felt right before, it was comfortable. Now you were in an interrogation room with the boy crying and his father admitting to every accusation.

You heard every hiccup that left the boy’s throat, chills enveloping your body. You didn’t know what to do. Should you talk to him? Reach out? Comfort him? Or should you just wait?

His sobs turned to laughing as just seconds went by. Your body stood in shock as he looked up, a Cheshire grin taking over his red lips. A single tear fell down his right cheek, looking almost like a painting. I wonder what that masterpiece would be called.

“My mother was a coldhearted whore who never love anyone. And she would never touch a pathetic old creep like you.” Jerome’s voice was deeper than before, causing a shiver to go down your spine. Was this the actual Jerome?

You watched his eyes as he said each word. When you had met Jerome earlier, you saw something in them from the beginning. You didn’t understand it before, but you did now.

“Did you think I was kind to you because I’m such a good man? If I wasn’t your father, would I have helped you as I had after what you did?” Mr. Cicero retaliated. Jerome glared at him as he spoke.

“My father… hm! Well, I’ll be damned.” He turned towards you and Jim again. “Oh, that’s very funny.” He says, starting to laugh hysterically.

None of the murders or criminals you’ve dealt with so far have ever scared you like this. It wasn’t just the murder of his mother. He played mind games with you, manipulated you into thinking he was a good person. Are all the things he said in your kitchen a lie? Would you be upset if they were?

Jerome mimicked a drum and symbol sound, doing the gestures with his hands. “Looks like that bitch got me with a zinger in the end.” He glared ahead at Jim, setting his hands down on the table.

“Why did you kill your mother, Jerome?” Jim asked.

“Oh, you know how mothers are…” He waved his fingers, while looking off into the distance. “She just.. kept.. pushing.” He looked back at the detective. “And I’m like, okay mom, be a whore. Be a drunken whore even. But don’t be a nagging drunken whore… ya know?” He smiles. “Don’t come yelling at me to do the dishes if you’ve been banging a clown in the next room!” His hand slammed down on the metal table, making you flinch. “.. ya know?” He starts laughing again, each time getting louder and louder. He was in hysterics, not seeming to stop any time soon.

“Can I talk to him?” You ask, staring straightforward at Jerome. His laughter dies down, but his smile doesn’t fade.

“Y/N, I’m not sure-“

“Jim, I’m going to talk to Jerome.” You found your voice from your dry throat. You stared your partner down until he sighed. He nodded at Lee, resting a hand on her back as she leaves. Jim takes Mr. Cicero out to the Precinct with the other officer at the door. Once the door shuts, you take Jim’s chair and sit across from Jerome.

“Well, Y/N,” His voice was cocky, that wide smile never moving. “I didn’t-“

“Who are you?”

“Huh?” Jerome looks taken back. He blinks, that devilish smile slowly fading. “What are ya talking about, doll?” He sits back, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Who are you.” You lean forward, your face serious. You watch his jaw clench, his eyes switching between watching your left or right.

He leans forward, just inches away from your face. “I’m the son of a whore of a mother.” He spits out, each syllable filled with malice. “The poor boy in the Circus that gets beat up by their slut of a mom. I have suffered my whole life under the wing of that useless bitch!” He yells, his eyes screaming with anger. You don’t move from your spot, watching the way he reacts. “I thought it was about time she died anyway. Whether it was gonna be from one of her little toys or me.. guess it didn’t really matter in the end, huh?” A laugh surfaced from his throat, goosebumps forming on your cold skin.

It was silent for a minute or two, trying to find your words. “Was none of what you said real?” You question, taking him off guard again. He backed up an inch and cocked his head.

“What? The things I said to Gordon about loving my mother? Then, no, obviously not.” He states.

“No,” You stare at him, waiting for.. something. You didn’t really know what, you just wanted some type of answer.

“Ohh,” His eyes widened for a second, that nefarious smile forming again. “You’re talking about our little kitchen sesh.” He realizes, grinning from ear to ear. You never take your eyes off of him, wanting an explanation of anything you can get out of him. “That was hot, wasn’t it-?”

“Jerome.” You cut him off. Your face felt hot, you didn’t know if you were blushing or embarrassed. Was anyone watching the cameras? Can they hear Jerome?

“Okay, relax, doll.” He smiles, getting up from his laidback position. His face gets closer to yours again, feeling his breath on your lips. “What would you do if I said yes?” His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips.

Your breath caught in your throat, your throat starting to feel dry again. No words came to your mind, all of it enveloped with fog. Jerome captured you in a way you couldn’t explain. His strong eye contact never wavered, seeming to tell you more than his words ever could.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, laughing. Your jaw clenches, trying to find the right words to use. “Alright, babe, I’ll tell ya.” He sits back in his chair, arms still folded in front of him on the table. “Everything I said was in fact true, dolly.” He says, his eyes never leaving yours. He has a faint smile on his lips, just the corners barely curved upright. “I mean, I can explain to you what we were gonna do before those two idiots called.” He keeps talking before you could say anything. “Well, first, I was gonna tell you to strip-“

“Jerome.” You stop him, taking a glance at the security camera in the top corner of the room. His laughing starts again, filling the silence of the small room. He follows your line of sight and waves at the camera, sending a chilling smile to the people that were watching. Most likely Jim, maybe Lee.

“Is there anything else you have to say before you’re sent to Arkham?” You ask, trying to come off to talk about his mom, but you both knew what you really meant.

“Hmm…” Jerome puts his finger on his chin and looks up, pretending to ponder. “No… no, I don’t think so.” He finally answers, smiling a genuine smile to you. Hopefully, for the last time, he causes a chill down your back.

As two officers rush in to grab him, Jerome laughs hysterically. Each one grabs one of his arms, dragging him out.

“I’ll see you again, Y/N! I’ll be back for you, doll!”

His yells echo through the long hallway, stopping you from moving. His words repeat in your mind over and over again, clouding your brain. You weren’t sure of what Jerome was capable of, and you’re not sure you want to find out.

Why would you let yourself fall for someone like him?

- SEASON 2 -

The Maniax. That’s what they called themselves.

Already, they’ve caused chaos. Throwing people off buildings and hijacking a school bus. People of Gotham were terrified, paranoid to step foot past their front door.

Jim had shown you and the rest of the GCPD of who you were trying to catch earlier that day. He walked up to the projector, clicking a button to turn it on.

“Jerome Valeska, 19, matricide.”

You froze. He broke out? What does that mean for you?

“I’ll see you again, Y/N! I’ll be back for you, doll!”

His last words to you rang like a bell in your mind. Goosebumps filled your skin, your body tensing up immensely. You felt like your body was cemented to the floor, almost not wanting to move.

Was this his plan all along?

“Hey, Y/L/N?” Jim waved a hand in front of your face. Your blinked, noticing how all the cops where at their desks now or running around the precinct. “Are you okay?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

It takes a second for you to answer. “Yeah,” You pause, trying to clear your mind. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You reply, forcing a smile.

Jim quickly sees through it, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I’m not gonna let him get to you, okay? If it comes to it, I’ll let you stay at my place if it makes you feel safe.” He says.

Relief filled your body at his words, but you knew Jerome was going to get to you one way or another. “Thank you, Jim. I’ll let you know.” You send him a smile before waking away to your desk.

Was he really going to find you?

-

Hours passed from then as you sat at your desk, looking over different files of the Maniax. You wondered how only a group of people managed to break out, but not the others. Every time you flipped a new page or read a different paragraph, all you see is Jerome.

His file sat next to it, reading, in big capital letters: JEROME VALESKA. It distracted you any time you let your mind wander or your eyes peer over to it. Even if you worked on it with Jim, Jerome was your case. You’ll never forget what happened in your kitchen that night of the investigation. Every time you step foot there, you get hit with a wave of the feelings you felt in that moment. It made your heart clench every time.

The little things about him still consumed you. His scent still lingered in the back of your head: a faint apple cinnamon smell. The genuine smile he had on his face when you two talked in your house.

Jerome Valeska has clouded your mind since that day. Ever since you couldn’t shake him from your mind; his captivating eyes, his bright hair, the way his lips felt. The last one was the hardest to get rid of. Every now and then you’d wake up in a cold sweat, guilty from dreaming of kissing the murderer you once held.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang in the office, making you jump out of your seat. Smoke engulfed the precinct, making you cough. Gunshots rang through the air, making you flinch as you guarded your face. You had to think fast as you started to make a run for a closed off room somewhere in the back of the precinct.

You ran down an empty hallway, just a few feet away from an unlabeled door. You made a run for it, jiggling the rusty doorknob. It creaks as you open it, hoping for your life that no one heard. You hadn’t seen who the people that hijacked the GCPD were, too busy on watching all of the dead cops fall on the cold floor. You knew, even as a snap decision, the only good idea was to run. The only figures you saw standing were the ones that were firing.

You close the door behind you, trying your best to be as quiet as possible so the creak wouldn’t echo down the hallway. Your body backed up as you watch all kinds of lights flash outside of the distorted window. Your heartbeat was rapid, feeling as if it was going to rip out of your chest. Your body freezes as it backs up against something.

“Hey, doll.”

Your blood runs cold when you hear his voice. It was like you were back in that interrogation room, questioning why he had done what he did. You felt, at that moment, like your heart truly did tear through your skin. You felt cemented to your spot, too terrified to move incase he’ll do something drastic.

A cold hand wraps around you, pressing his palm against your mouth. You knew better than to scream, a gut feeling that no one would’ve heard you anyway.. if anyone had even survived.

“I told you I’d be back for ya, doll!” His manic laugh rings through the silent room, raising goosebumps on your cold skin.

This wasn’t going to be good..

Mon Mothma shares her dreams with ghosts too.

She looks into the mirror and sees Padme, the one that manged to convince her to do this whole thing to begin with. Everyone says she died during childbirth, but Mon Mothma knows better, and she knows Bail knows better too.

Sometimes she confuses the stormtrooper helmets for clones’ but after she hears their near robotic voices she snaps out of it.

After Luthen dies, she hears his voice nagging her to start the war, to not hold back anymore. She fights that voice every day for the months/days leading up to Scariff.

Then Saw dies. She never agreed with his methods, but as two people who had survived the Clone Wars and now were nearing another war, she couldn’t help but have some respect for him and feel sad at his passing. A true fighter until the very end.

Then Cassian dies. She knew Cassian for a while personally, mostly through Luthen, but she remembers their small, late-night talks, pondering what would happen if the Empire fell, she remembers her sending him on the most classified missions because he was the most loyal, trustworthy rebel she knew, she remembers the anger, hatred, and fear that created wrinkles on his young face but the kindness and light behind his eyes. That light is now gone from the galaxy.

Then Bail dies. Bail Organa was the closest thing the senator had to a brother, the man who would give his life to make sure the sun rose on a better galaxy for his daughter, the man that was the mastermind behind the entire alliance. Everything that was here, the galaxy wouldn’t have without him.

After Endor, Mon Mothma looks back at it, back at everything, back at all the people and places she had to sacrifice for this sun to rise again, and she asks herself: “was it worth it?”

And every voice, in unison, answers:

Yes.