#A floury fog... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moesthoughts · 6 days ago

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no crash shauna shipman x reader or jackie taylor x reader. BOTH?! maybe where they’re forced in a hotel room arrangement before nationals, so much sexual tension omg 😩

i need both

One bed for three

pairing ⛧ jackieshauna x fem! reader

warnings ⛧ cliche one bed trope, no crash au, cunnilingus r! receiving + giving, threesome, smut with plot, face riding

summary . . While the other girls settled into their rooms, Jackie, Shauna and you headed to yours, your luggage feeling heavy from how tired you were. Once you enter you are all disappointed to see there’s one bed. As you three eventually settle into your room, you find yourself in the middle of something exciting.

The plane ride was too long.

Even though sitting with Javi was a breeze since he was so quiet, jet lag seemed to take place in your body more quickly than you thought. As soon as you were able to grab your luggage you put all your weight on it, hoping for some relief from your exhaustion. All that crossed your mind was the hotel, how soft the bed would be, how nice a blanket and a pillow would be. You just hoped the people you’re rooming with would be quiet; you’d be surprised if they weren’t tired as well.

You didn’t know who was rooming with you, neither did you care at this point. You wanted to crash onto a bed and sleep, a shower could wait till tomorrow. Your brain blurred out the chatter that happened around you, wishing it were quieter. You were brought out of your brain fog once Jackie Taylor came over to you, her face drooping with exhaustion. You mustered up a smile, trying to mask your own wearyness.

“I swear if we don’t get brought to our rooms soon, I’m gonna freak. I’m so tired.”

She whined. Jackie usually came to you to complain, you’re used to it. She’s one of the only people you really talk to on a daily basis on the team, except for Shauna Shipman, who was always hanging out with Jackie anyway. Of course, you enjoyed both of their company equally. Speaking of the devil, Shauna walked over to Jackie and you, seeming more awake than you both combined.

“God, a bed sounds so good right now.”

You laughed while Jackie loudly agreed, throwing her head back with a groan. Shauna and you exchanged a smile before turning to listen to your coaches speak.

“Alright girls, let’s head to the hotel.”

A floury of excited girls chatter fills your ears, and you can’t help but join them as you roll your luggage towards the exit.

The bus ride was too long.

You’re practically falling asleep on your suitcase while Javi giggles behind you, you playfully nudge him in the leg with your foot, listening to his voice slowly trailing away as he looks for his dad. You were instructed to wait in line while Coach Scott gives you the keys to your rooming assignments, you happen to be very unlucky, because you’re at the very end of the line. You let out a sigh as you slowly inch up the line, Jackie and Shauna’s conversation ringing in your ears, you’re too tired to pay attention.

Finally, after what felt like forever. You make it up to the front of the line, Coach Scott wears a worried expression while handing you your key. You can only give him a tired smile, before heading over to Jackie and Shauna, who are already gushing over getting the same room together. Jackie looks over to you with a big smile before taking your key from your hands to look at the room number.

“217.. Hey, you’re rooming with both of us!”

A wave of relief rushes through your body hearing the news, you accept your keys back before walking towards the elevator with your two friends.

The walk to your room was too long.

You hum once you reach your shared room, fumbling to grab the keys from your pocket while Shauna and Jackie chat behind you. They jingle while you insert them into the lock, you’re already getting annoyed at the noise they make. You hear the two behind you stop their conversation as you open the door, muttering a curse under your breath. Your eyes instantly land on the single bed in the room, in a hotel room assigned to three people.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Jackie quickly asks, trailing behind you with a concerned tone lacing her voice. The two girls let out a collective “oh” as they make eye contact with the one bed. Shauna sighs and rolls her luggage into the room, she starts to unpack her clothes. You decide to follow suit, not wanting to think about the sleeping situation until you have to.

“Seriously, you think they would give the three people rooming together at least two beds!”

Jackie starts complaining again, Shauna and you reply with affirmations. She was right, you’re annoyed. Especially with how excited you were to have a bed all to yourself, now you’ll probably have to sleep on the floor while the both of them share the bed. Of course, you’re used to it. Sleepovers always end up with you on the ground, at least you get most of the pillows and blankets.

It felt like forever taking all your stuff out of your bag, You collapse onto the middle of the bed, exhaling at the relief of being able to lay down after a long trip. Shauna and Jackie join you, lying down on either side of you.

“So.. sleeping arrangement?”

Shauna mutters out, the relaxation you just felt drains out of your body. You open your eyes and glance at the two of them, their eyes trained on your body. You let out a sigh before sitting up, your head turns to peer at the itchy rug beside the bed. You aren’t excited for these few nights, maybe they’ll be nice enough to take turns with the bed.

“It’s fine, i’ll just sleep on the floor—“

As you move to get up, Jackie grabs your arm and pulls you back towards the bed. You collapse onto the soft blankets with a ‘oof’.

“No.. You should stay up here, with us.”

You give her a confused look as her freshly painted finger nails trail down your arm, Shauna copies her actions, brushing your hair out of your face. You watch as the both of them share a look, before their attention lands on you. You feel your stomach drop, biting your lip while you try to figure out what they’re thinking.

“Well, we were thinking..”

Shauna looks at Jackie for help, the other girl sighs as her hand starts to wander down your body, fingers curling underneath your t shirt. You shift in the bed, anticipation running through your veins.

“We had such a long trip, why don’t we.. blow off some steam?”

You recognize the tone Jackie is using, the same one before you all have a three-way make-out session. To practice for when you eventually have boyfriends, of course! However, ever since Jackie got together with Jeff..., you all stopped. In some sick way, you missed the way they both would be all over you. It’s causing you to slowly get excited. As Shauna slinks to go between your legs, Jackie straddles your waist, already desperate to pull your shift off of you. Shauna parts your legs slowly, her fingers grazing your thigh. You softly whine, nervous since you couldn’t see her behind the blonde currently on top of you.

“Have you ever slept with a girl before?”

It took too long for them to finally sleep with you.

You moan into Jackie’s cunt as she rides your face, Shauna being a little too good at sucking your clit. Your head is dizzy, not even remembering you aren’t in Shauna’s bedroom, but a hotel room where someone could come knocking at any second. None of you cared, not when you’re rocking your hips into Shauna’s mouth desperately, and how Jackie is pressed against your face, whimpering out your name as you tongue fuck her.

Jackie complaining about Jeff runs through your mind, how he isn’t able to make her orgasm, how he doesn’t treat her right in bed. Your arms snake around her thighs, flicking her clit with your tongue, making sure you get her to that release she’s been needing. She throws her head back, tugging at the roots of your hair. You whimper once Shauna retreats from your core, instead replacing her tongue with her fingers, pumping in and out of you at an unforgiving pace.

“Fuck, just like that.”

Jackie lets out a muffled cry once she reaches her high, she climbs off your face and crashes her lips onto yours, clearly hungry to taste you as well. Her hands wander your body, groping you to get a whine to slip from your lips. Shauna was still inbetween your legs, working you to your orgasm with her fingers. She kisses Jackie’s back, whispering praises directed at you both.

“Such a good girl for me..”

She’d mumble, her thumb pressing down on your clit. Jackie bit down on your neck, kissing the bruises after. You’re overwhelmed with everything that’s happening, the feeling of your release coming, Jackie groping you while nipping at your neck, and Shauna’s pretty little compliments. You’re on cloud nine, while your two best friends pleasure you in a hotel room that has thin walls, with nationals being right around the corner. You gasp once you come, Shauna pulls her fingers out, licking them clean. Jackie gives you one last kiss before retreating to the bathroom to get a towel for you both.

“You did so well for us.”

Shauna leans over to catch your lips, Her tone is as sweet as vanilla. She helps you up to your feet, helping you and Jackie clean yourselves up.

It didn’t take long for you all to fall asleep.

You rest in between the two girls, your brain foggy with love.

Lowkey planned on this being a drabble but I had too much fun writing it so I made it a fic… HOPE U ENJOY ANON 🤍

req me!

masterlist

#yellowjackets #shauna shipman x reader #jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets imagines #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets imagine #jackie taylor x you #jackie taylor imagines #jackieshauna #shauna shipman imagines #shauna shipman x you #shaunajackie #shauna shipman #jackie taylor #moesthoughts #moeswriting

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lexi-the-demon-69 · 4 months ago

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The Awakening of White Apathy Rewrite // Chapter 2: Camaraderie in the Fog

Here's chapter 2!!

<Prev.> <Next>

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

The group ventures into the floury fog with Crunchy Chip Cookie leading the charge, his steps filled with confidence and triumph. Caramel Arrow Cookie, meanwhile, was not too far behind, annoyed with the commander's cockiness as the fog only got thicker. Dark Cacao Cookie squinted his violet eyes to better view his surroundings, only to stumble over a random rock with a loud thump. Caramel Arrow Cookie, the Swift and Cautious Dark Cacao warriors immediately stopped when the thump reached their ears, assisting their king as Crunchy Chip walked further away. As his steps suddenly stopped, Caramel Arrow looked up to see the commander was nowhere to be found.

"Crunchy Chip Cookie? Where are you?" Caramel Arrow shouted. "CRUNCHY CHIP COOKIE, ANSWER ME!! ACK- I knew it..! He was so confident just a moment ago!"

"Don't tell me, he got himself lost from the group?" The Swift Dark Cacao warrior sighed as Dark Cacao Cookie got back on his feet.

"Of course he did! That cookie's confidence makes up for his lack of a brain!" The Cautious Dark Cacao warrior replied with a hint of snark in his voice.

"Everyone, stay on your guard." Dark Cacao huffed. "Crunchy Chip Cookie should be close by..."

Caramel Arrow nods in agreement, "Yes, Your Majesty! I shall lead the way for now... Surely Crunchy Chip Cookie hasn't wandered too far away."

As the group ventures deeper and deeper into the fog, within a blink of an eye, Dark Cacao Cookie finds himself all alone... It was like his warriors disappeared into thin air! The king urgently looked around as he listened closely for a mutter, footstep, anything to know his warriors were still by his side. Every second felt like hours, the silence getting louder, as Dark Cacao's mind wandered in paranoia.

"Where is everyone...? I can't see a thing...! Caramel Arrow Cookie! Are you nearby?!" The king shouted, his voice bouncing off of the trees and rocks.

No response.

"CARAMEL ARROW COOKIE!" The king shouted again.

No response.

"DARK CACAO WARRIORS, ANSWER ME!" The king shouted once more as the reality began to settle in. He lost his warriors.

"It can't be...! I have lost sight of everyone already?!" Dark Cacao Cookie questioned himself as he walked, soon bumping into a tree with a loud thud. "Eugh...!" He groaned as he rubbed his nose, "This dense fog! Cover my eyes no more!"

The king lifted his sword, determination, and annoyance flowing through his dough as he prepared to strike.

"I shall blow it away with a slash of my sword!"

With a swift slash from his sword... the fog was still as dense as it was before. Dark Cacao's eyes widened in shock as his sword lowered, his eyebrow twitching slightly. He was dumbfounded! He was always able to cut through the thickest of fogs with only one slash of his sword without fail... but all of a sudden, he couldn't?! This was getting ridiculous... utterly ridiculous! Dark Cacao's patience began to quickly dwindle as he stormed through the fog with a huff.

"ANYONE?!" The king shouted once again, "This is getting ridiculous... IS THERE NO ONE HERE?! If you can hear me, answer!!" Dark Cacao huffed in annoyance, "IS THERE REALLY NO ONE HERE?!"

Before he could continue his screaming, the sound of rustling from the bushes quickly caught his attention. The king scanned his surroundings to find the source before his eyes landed on the ground, being met with a trail of fresh cookie tracks! Dark Cacao's eyes lit up with triumph as a slight smile appeared on his face.

"AHA!" Dark Cacao exclaimed with excitement, "Fresh cookie tracks! Those must belong to Caramel Arrow Cookie!"

Before he could follow the tracks, the same rustling sound in the bushes caught his ear once again, stopping him in his tracks as his triumphant smile faded. Dark Cacao's head snapped into place as he readied his sword for attack.

"Who goes there?!" He barked.

No response.

"Face my sword!!"

FWOOOOSH!

"HIYAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

CLANG!!!

Dark Cacao stumbled back a little from the blow, baffled and shocked. He looked down at his sword, no one was ever able to block his attacks like that! Not his watchers, his commanders, warriors, maids, NO ONE! How was that even possible?! Whoever that was, they certainly were a skilled swordsman indeed! Almost as if... no, no that couldn't be right! Dark Cacao hasn't seen him in almost three years! There was no way he was here... no, couldn't be... right?

"They... read the movement of my sword..? What skill-"

"Your Majesty! It's me, Caramel Arrow Cookie!"

King Dark Cacao froze in place... he knew that voice!

"There he is! Look! We found His Majesty!"

Oh, thank goodness! It was only Caramel Arrow Cookie, Crunchy Chip Cookie, and the two other warriors, not too far behind! Dark Cacao took a sigh of relief as the floury fog began to clear. However, not enough for the king to see properly, that is... The group stopped in front of their king as he tried to make out who was who.

"What a relief that we found each other again!" Caramel Arrow chirped.

"Yes... eugh..." Dark Cacao groaned in annoyance, "This fog is obscuring my vision... I cannot see a thing!" The annoyed king quickly stood proud and tall as he called to his loyal warriors:

"Caramel Arrow Cookie!"

"Yes, Your Majesty! Forever loyal to you, it is I, First Watcher Caramel Arrow Cookie!"

"Crunchy Chip Cookie!"

"Yes, Your Majesty! I am Crunchy Chip Cookie, His Majesty's proud Commander of the Cream Wolves!"

"And my Dark Cacao Warriors!"

"Yes, Your Majesty! Glory to the Dark Cacao Kingdom!"

"Thank goodness... we are all together once again. Let us keep it that way as we continue forward."

Caramel Arrow Cookie crossed her arms, a sly smirk on her face as she eyed Crunchy Chip Cookie.

"Yes," She remarked, "Let us keep it that way as we continue forward, Mr. 'My senses are as good as the Cream Wolves themselves'...~"

"HEY!" Crunchy Chip barked, "As if you're any better, Miss 'I'm addicted to boba tea'! Why don't you stop acting all high and mighty while your forehead is bigger than a billboard!"

"And why should I listen to you?" Caramel Arrow snipped with a sneer, "I am the first watcher and you're nothing more than a mere commander! I can find my way through the thickest of fogs and fight the toughest of beasts! Why do you think His Majesty chose me to be his first watcher?~ Besides, your sense of direction is so bad, you couldn't find your reflection in a mirror!"

"YOU CRACK MIRRORS!!" Crunchy Chip snapped back, his words dripping with venom, "HONESTLY, I'm still left here wondering why His Majesty would ever choose YOU! If anything, he probably took pity on you after you lost your dear-"

"Enough!" Dark Cacao boomed, his voice bouncing off of the trees and rocks once more, "We have traveled here to eliminate the source of the pale ailment, NOT argue and fight with one another like children bickering over a toy! What has gotten into you two? I have trained you better than this!"

The commander and watcher ceased their childish banter as they stood still, listening to the king's angry words. Their eyes shot daggers at one another as the king lectured them like bratty children. Dark Cacao huffed and pinched his nose, wondering what had gotten into his best watcher and commander... He has seen them bicker and argue before, but never to this extent. Their bickering always felt like simple sibling banter with some slight name-calling here and there, but to hear Crunchy Chip Cookie pull out something so personal... something he knew would hurt Caramel Arrow Cookie deeply... was unacceptable! And to hear Caramel Arrow talk so highly of herself... was bizarre! Perhaps it was only nerves...?

"You're right, Your Majesty. I don't know what came over me!" Caramel Arrow sighed as she bowed.

"Yeah... you're right, Your Majesty. We shouldn't be arguing, especially when we need to stop the pale ailment from spreading!" Crunchy Chip added, bowing as well.

"Hmpf." Dark Cacao scoffed. That was a rather quick shift in tone... quicker than he expected, "Then I expect you both to focus on the task at hand from this point on. I better not hear such venomous words leave your mouths for the rest of our journey, understood."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The commander and watcher replied, their eyes staring at the ground.

"Good. Now, let us continue forward. I shall lead the way onward."

Dark Cacao Cookie marched forward, taking the lead as Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip sulked behind, staring at each other with an annoyed look in their eyes.

"Don't say such things in front of him..." Caramel Arrow whispered, "You could-"

"Relax...!" Crunchy Chip muttered under his breath, "He won't catch a thing...! That guy is as dense as a boulder!"

"But, extremely paranoid...! It's best if we keep our heads down for the time being... you know what will happen if we don't..."

"Fine, fine... but don't think I'm following your orders because I want to..."

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run kingdom au #dark cacao cookie #caramel arrow cookie #caramel arrow crk #cookie run dark cacao #crk dark cacao #crk crunchy chip #crunchy chip crk #crunchy chip cookie #rewrite #cookie run rewrite #beast yeast #fanfic #cookie run kingdom fanfic #cookie run fanfic

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infectiouspiss · 1 year ago

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Sorry to say but f***** is a TERF dogwhistle

what word? sorry what word is that ?? you've censored it too much what is it?? how am i meant to understand this?

is it faggot? or is it one of these?

family, future, Friday, Father, forest, Friend, famous, flower, finger, fiesta, faking, flying, figure, fourth, fringe, flange, frozen, forget, Fabian, filter, France, flight, fallen, famine, female, fiscal, fierce, French, feline, fridge, fiance, fetish, finish, Foster, factor, fluffy, fiddle, fusion, follow, farmer, flirty, feeder, facade, felony, fuller, fisher, fright, failed, flavor, falter, finale, fabric, falcon, fedora, fungus, frosty, fumble, feeble, forces, fester, floral, fondle, filthy, fellow, feisty, fetter, floppy, freeze, finder, frying, facing, Fatima, frenzy, finest, finals, fondue, fuming, fibula, fuhrer, frizzy, fruits, fossil, faucet, faster, floozy, folded, fodder, fabled, flossy, footer, fandom, fiasco, furrow, formed, fading, flagon, flurry, firing, frayed, frigga, foible, frappe, frugal, fruity, foodie, frilly, filmed, futile, funnel, frolic, formal, fueler, filled, fluent, Fresno, fibber, feared, fillet, fueled, fickle, Franco, fixing, fascia, fouled, fuzzed, format, fuddle, freely, filing, fraise, facial, fenian, flimsy, fecund, faller, Fijian, folate, ferret, fleece, feeler, foment, fledge, fasten, fennel, fabler, freaky, favism, funded, floats, footed, forced, favour, Fulton, folder, Faisal, frisky, flakey, faille, flawed, flabby, Frisch, froggy, frigid, flitch, farrow, feller, feuder, Fungia, fathom, Freyja, fizzle, frater, foetus, farina, flatus, fatten, flared, facies, fomite, Fields, flaunt, faulty, foully, famish, fipple, feudal, fibrin, forage, fences, filler, fowler, frowzy, fender, fracas, facile, fresco, fixate, folium, friary, fanion, faired, flyers, fidget, Fulica, frowsy, frothy, flinch, fusser, forego, furled, fakery, falsie, fugler, flocks, Fornax, flukey, fitful, fervor, foaled, forint, fusing, fillip, fasces, Frazer, fellah, forged, flinty, Fukien, frieze, fallow, footle, forbid, flacon, fluted, funder, flavin, felled, funest, fungal, fervid, florid, formic, forger, flanch, ferlie, former, filial, flicky, Fatiha, flyboy, Fenrir, fugato, fulfil, Fulani, finely, fatism, fantan, framed, finery, finnan, fornix, fondly, facula, fescue, fanned, foison, firmly, fetich, fulmar, faisan, flatly, Fawkes, funker, faucal, flashy, Fortaz, flyway, Faunus, fealty, frivol, Florio, facund, feebly, frijol, ferine, faerie, fairly, fardel, furred, foeman, foetal, firkin, flexor, firsts, Friuli, formol, fecula, flicks, foetor, fooler, fucoid, faeces, Frisia, fleshy, fundus, foiled, frumpy, festal, furcal, featly, furane, flamen, frumps, framer, Fugard, ferial, floret, Fallot, fusain, fussed, filago, fanged, floury, farcer, Fennic, floaty, furore, frazil, folksy, Ferber, forked, ferule, frills, forrad, finial, felloe, fulgid, flaxen, foozle, Frunze, fawner, ferned, fencer, fettle, feijoa, ferric, faecal, fauces, Flagyl, Faroes, fakeer, fleecy, fibril, filmic, foxily, fogged, funrun, furfur, FinCEN, friesz, flunky, fatwah, fallal, Fermat, fenced, fulgor, forcer, Fergon, Feifer, Finnic, Fenusa, felted, Florey, feodal, feodum, flexed, frypan, Feosol, Franck, fringy, foetid, fugain, fusers, Fafnir, fulham, fylfot, funada, faquir, futons, fumier, fedish, fuerte, fowled, fizgig, fuling, or furors?

#asks

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ohgodnotanotheronenooo · 3 months ago

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Toasted flour: well the leaf birthmark on my temple the ivory pagoda and mostly the ability to make clouds of floury fog...

“…I see.”

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multimusing-to-friends · 1 month ago

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She allows herself to listen closely—walking to the entrance of the inner temple. It would seem she was wrong. The greed of another is why this dragon came forth. A pity for them, when they return to their master with only the enlightenment she will bestow upon them. “Indeed, you are correct in assuming I’m the source of this… ‘Apathetic’ power, as you put it. However, I request you do not denounce it to such a basic form—for it’s the enlightenment I wish for Cookies to awaken to given form.” She gazes out. “An enlightenment I would not hesitate to bestow to you dragons either. For even if you are not cookies, the forms you take to resemble them bear similar burdens behind them. And as such, they are burdens that I wish to ease the pain of as well.” Her eyes soak in the light, the damage, and the Pagoda. She clears her throat as she calls out from the inner temple to the outer pagoda.

“HEED MY WORDS, O DISCIPLES OF THE IVORY PAGODA, LET GO OF THE MORTAL DESIRES YOU HOLD FOR THIS COOKIE AND EMBRACE THE APATHY YOU HAVE CASTED ASIDE.” She calls out to the pagoda—using the power of soul jam to make the residents once more embrace apathy and free them of the shackles of the small dragon. The side effect? A white fog fills the area—a white, floury fog.

"Mayhaps I am." Says the small dragon, a smirk forming on their face as they hold out a hand for a handshake. "Lychee Dragon Cookie, pleased to make your acquaintance. And I'm SO sorry for any damages done; I just had to get to you somehow!"

After a few seconds of the woman not bothering to shake their palm, the young dragon shrugs, and folds their arms before explaining why they've graced the pagoda with their presence.

"I come on behalf of my master, the Great and Powerful Longan Dragon cookie, to investigate a strange, apathetic power that's coming from here. It's much like theirs, albeit in a different form.... and from what I can feel, it's obvious that the source of that power is you." As they explained, they flew in small circles around the beast.

"From what I can see, Ma'am, you and my master have very similar goals; wiping things clean, making sure all the weak and crumbly cookies that live out there are reduced to specks of flour, and making everything better... So, I come on their behalf to say a few things, and offer a proposition that gets us both what we want... if you're up for it."

#As master of the Ivory Pagoda - Mystic Flour Cookie 🗻#Deceptive Dragon - Lychee Dragon Cookie 🐉#Through their eyes… - in character

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bestiesenpai · 4 years ago

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ashnikko demidevil inspired blurbs

I just took lines from ashnikkos demidevil album and made little blurbs with whatever gave me inspo :) femme reader sometimes gender neutral in some spots, everyone is 18+

Content warnings: yandere-ness, stalking, mentions of heat(but not a/b/o), dubcon, master title(?), light angst? But it’s well deserved, blood

I don’t need a man I need a puppy, allergic to you every time you touch me -

Babysitting your friend's new puppy hybrid wasn’t a task you’d originally wanted. She had gotten him fairly recently, only to jet away to an impromptu vacation, leaving you the sole caretaker of the very large hybrid.

The only problem was you were allergic to dogs. Nothing terrible, but if he stayed around you too long, you’d start to get hives. And he understood that, politely keeping his distance as he roamed around your home.

“Getou, I’m home!” You announced after a long day of work, throwing open the front door only to be assaulted by a harsh musk in the air.

“Master!” Within moments of you kicking the door closed you were pounced on by the giant puppy that had been staying with you for a while. Your back hit the door hard but that wasn’t what you were focused on.

“G-Getou! What’re you doing?!” Your face was aflame not only from embarrassment but from the strong waves of heat rolling off his body. Getou had slid to his knees on the floor and shamelessly shoved his face into the crotch of your pants, his nose bumping right at your slit through your clothes.

“Master please...help…” He whined pitifully, rutting his hips against your leg. It was almost comical, the way he was hunched over you trying desperately to get stimulation to his leaking cock dangling between his legs.

Muddling through the murky memories of what your friend had told you about Getou, it took a few minutes to remember that she had mentioned something about him possibly going into heat.

“Are you…” It only took a glance down at his sweaty body covered only in a t-shirt to affirm that he was indeed in heat. He whined again, nearly sobbing as the harsh material of your bottoms rubbed against his sensitive cock. “What do I need to do?” The question made Getou’s head fly up, and the usual smirk on his face was gone, replaced with glassy eyes and quivering lips.

“I-I know you don’t like dogs but- but could you please just touch me?” Rubbing his face against your hip, Getou looked at you again. His hair and the fur on his ears was frizzy no doubt from sweat and his lips looked like he’d been biting them.

“Scoot back, puppy.” Placing a hand on his forehead, you gently pushed him back. The heat on Getou’s face was scalding, washing over him in a bright blush. Begrudgingly letting you go, Getou sat back on his knees, shoulders hunched but still managing to take up a good amount of space.

“Please help.” Balling up the edges of his shirt, Getou tucked the fabric under his chin and presented himself to you. His skin had a pale red flush, chest heaving and abs tight from trying to contain himself. Your eyes were drawn to his cock, leaking a generous amount of precum down the thick shaft.

“Puppy.” You said the word softly, and a warmth settled between your legs at seeing him look at you from under his lashes. The intense pheromones in the air were triggering your allergies and there was only one surefire way of getting rid of them.

“Master!” Getou choked out as another gush of precum rolled down his cock and his tail thumped against the ground as he writhed a little in agony. “Hurry, please!”

“Let’s go to the bedroom, puppy, it’ll be easier to help you there.” You’d thought about taking him to the couch, but the bed would be more comfortable in the long run.

And you didn’t need to utter the phrase twice. Getou leaped from the ground, his long tail swishing excitedly as he grabbed your wrist and ran to the bedroom. Pushing you onto the bed, he stripped himself in an instant.

“I-I’ll try not to be too rough, master.” He mumbled, climbing over you just as you’d started shrugging off your jacket. Nearly crushed by his entire body weight, Getou made sure to slide his cock right against your clothed cunt, rutting hard against you as soon as he could. “Unless you want it like that.”

I don’t need a man I need a rabbit, I need a new toy just to cleanse my palate -

Get a bunny hybrid, they said. It’ll be fun, they insisted. Bunnies are so cute and nice, they repeated over and over. Well yours surely wasn’t.

“Gojo! Get over here!” You were at your boiling point. All day Gojo had been causing mischief, leaving food out, popping out from behind corners and furniture and scaring you, pulling on your hair and clothes, asking never ending questions.

“Yes?” The lanky bunny hybrid with long white ears waltzed into the kitchen, not wearing his trademark dark glasses and leaving his bright blue eyes on display.

“What the fuck is this?” Glaring harshly at him, you pointed to the floury mess smeared on the kitchen counters and wall. It looked like he’d attempted to make some kind of dough but had given up halfway.

“Wasn’t me.” Gojo shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Then who could it be, because it wasn’t me and we’re the only ones here.” Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you glowered at his careless expression and slouched body. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here presented with the mess he’d undoubtedly made.

“Dunno.” He shrugged again, scratching behind his ear and avoiding eye contact with you.

“Gojo, clean it up.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you took a deep breath.

“I didn’t do it!” Stamping his feet, Gojo shook his head and his ears flopped side to side.

“I’m not playing these games anymore! Just do what I ask for once!” It was a constant back and forth with the two of you, and while you had plenty of sweet moments to outweigh the bad, sometimes it wasn’t enough.

“(Y/N), c’mon!” Gojo whined and threw his head back. Staring at each other for a few minutes, your blood pressure only rose the longer he remained immobile.

“One.” You drew the word out, and Gojo’s head snapped to attention. Waiting a breath, he didn’t move any further.

“Two.” Saying it even slower this time, you could just barely see the twitch of his little puffball tail.

“Th-”

“Alright, I’ll clean it up!” Shooting over to the counter, Gojo huffed and puffed. “Even though it totally wasn’t me.”

“Whatever, the kitchen better be sparkling before I go to sleep.” Leaving the mess behind, you avoided Gojo for the rest of the day and didn’t see him as you got ready for bed. Checking the kitchen one last time, it was indeed back in pristine condition.

Going to sleep without saying goodnight to the pouty bunny you’d seen sulking in his room, you went to sleep alone. More often than not Gojo would sleep in bed with you, but whenever the two of you were snippy with each other he would sleep alone.

A hot, wet tongue between your legs roused you from sleep. You were absolutely sweating beneath the blankets that were drawn up to your chin and there was a Gojo sized lump underneath them.

“G-gojo…” Breathing deeply to try and push the sleepy fog from your mind, his name ended in a high whine as his tongue flicked against your clit. Wrapping his lips around it, Gojo sucked on the bud, keeping your legs spread out across his shoulders.

He got you to cum fairly quickly, having aroused you enough in sleep that when you awoke you were already on the brink. Squeezing his head between your thighs as you came on his tongue, you shuddered at the deep groan he let out.

“Ya know (Y/N),” He started, voice muffled by the blankets before he threw them off and sat up, “I’ve been thinkin’.” Settling between your legs, Gojo kept your ankles on his shoulders as he leaned over.

“Ab-about what?” Your mind was dizzy with pleasure, eyes only just able to focus on Gojo’s face above you. Even though this was the first time you two were doing something like this it still felt natural. Something you’d have to talk about in the morning, but natural nonetheless.

“You’re always so fucking snippy all the time-”

“Hey!”

“I wasn’t finished! You’re snippy all the time and you always get on my back for the stupidest shit.” He giggled at the glare you gave him, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “But I’ve found the perfect solution to that!”

There wasn’t a chance to question him on what he meant. Gojo lined up his cock and pushed into your cunt, easily sliding in and bottoming out in one go. You hadn’t gotten a chance to look at it properly, but you knew it was easily the biggest you’d ever had.

“This is your solution?” You half panted, wrapping your arms around Gojo’s shoulders and whimpering as the tip of his cock hit your cervix.

“Yeah.” He was breathless as well, biting his lip as he slowly pulled out and lightly slapped his hips against yours. “I figure what better way to change your attitude than to fuck it out of you.” Grabbing onto your ankles, Gojo leaned nearly chest to chest with you.

His forehead brushed against yours, his snowy white hair tickling you. He did a few experimental half thrusts, getting the feel for the angle he was in and making any minor adjustments.

“And luckily for you, (Y/N), I’m a rabbit.” Immediately, Gojo picked up the pace of his hips, jackhammering into you at an insane speed and quite possibly bruising your hips in the process.

“Gojo!” Your voice caught in your throat at the sudden change, your body being folded in half and crushed into the mattress.

Gojo smirked at your shocked expression, dropping one hand to rub your clit. You let out a sharp cry, jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine. Your walls clamped down on him in an instant, making the drag of his cock just a fraction slower.

“I can go all night if I have to.”

Make your man call me daddy -

Was Itadori a little nervous? That went without saying, yes, he was very nervous. This was the first time he’d worn lingerie in public, hidden under his clothes but with the possibility of someone seeing if he bent over the wrong way.

He kept tugging down his hoodie and pulling up his pants, making sure no one saw the lacy thong he’d put on. He had on a bra as well, a lacy little number that was truly just a few tiny pieces of fabric sewn together.

Not to mention the prostate massager currently buried snugly in his ass, vibrating at random with varying intensities. Itadori almost regretted purchasing it as another powerful vibration went through him and nearly made him fall over in the street. But he didn’t want to let you down, so he endured the torture.

“I’m back.” Practically crawling through the threshold of the door, Itadori was nearly in tears at being back in the safety of your shared apartment. He had barely managed to complete all the tasks you’d given him, the little white plastic bag in his fingers crumpled to death with how strong his grip was.

“In here.” You called out from the bedroom and Itadori followed the sound until he got to you. Lounging at the foot of the bed, you looked nearly innocent with your legs crossed and foot swinging daintily.

Itadori didn’t speak as he entered the room, hovering by the doorway for a moment before fully entering and standing in front of you, head down and looking at your sock clad feet.

“How was it, baby?” Your question made him flinch and a hot burning washed over his face.

“I- it was- something.” He sighed, glancing up to see your quizzical expression for a fleeting moment.

“Did you keep it on like I told you to?”

“Of course!” Itadori nodded immediately, already grasping the hem of his hoodie and pulling it off to reveal the bra underneath, the fabric stretched tight against the barrel of his chest.

“Look at your nipples, they’re so cute.” You cooed, reaching up to press your finger onto one. It was perfectly perky, pebbled from the stimulation of rubbing against lace. Itadori shivered and leaned into your touch, biting his lip to stem any too loud moans.

Taking your hand away, your eyes flicked down to his pants and he quickly removed those as well.

“Oh baby, you shoulda told me you came! You made such a big mess!” It wasn’t surprising in the slightest to see the absolute mess of sticky cum smeared across Itadori’s cock, the thong he had on and his thighs.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want the fun to end.” He pouted, fully kicking off his pants and tossing them to the side with his hoodie.

“I bet the toy felt real nice, huh?” Sparing him a lecture, you reached out and swiped your finger through the cum coating the tip of Itadoris cock. He jolted at the contact, letting out a high whine and pressing his thighs together.

“Y-yeah, it did.” He managed to answer, somehow staying steady on his feet through the near overstimulation he was in. Gathering a bit of cum on your fingers, you presented it to him and Itadori obediently bent down, taking them in his mouth and sucking them clean.

“Good boy.” You grinned, running your free hand through his hair and letting him nuzzle into you. “Go pick out which toy you want next, you deserve a reward.” Freeing your fingers, Itadori bolted to the dresser drawer where you kept the toys.

“I choose this one.” In his hands was his favorite toy, a strap-on you’d bought together at a local sex shop.

“Alright, lay on the bed.” Taking the toy from him, you watched him lay down just like you’d taught him: face down in the pillows with his ass presented high in the air. Running a hand over his ass, you smiled down at him. “You’re being such a good boy today, baby.”

“Thank you.” Itadori replied, mouth muffled by the pillows as he tried to make eye contact with you. Quirking your head to the side, you gave him a silent look and he flushed, ears tinging a deep rouge. Licking his lips, Itadori looked away for a moment before shuffling a bit to make better eye contact with you. “Thank you, daddy.”

You don’t ever cross my mind, what’s a sheep to a tiger? -

It was laughable that he thought he was being so secretive, like you couldn’t tell you were being stalked when all you could feel were his eyes watching you at all times.

You’d already changed the locks after you caught him following you home.

Your curtains were always drawn closed, but that didn’t stop him from lurking outside, his shadow a constant presence outside your bedroom and bathroom windows.

You couldn’t even count the amount of unknown phone numbers you’d had to block in the past month alone along with deleting voicemails that only had slightly shaky breathing on the other side.

As far as stalkers went, Okkotsu Yuta wasn’t that great. You’d only briefly met him once at a meeting with other sorcerers and he had appeared weak and spineless before you, barely able to make eye contact despite his vast power.

“Fuck, you again?” You groan, seeing Yuta waiting by your door as you waltzed back from a run to the convenience store.

“H-hello.” His voice is just as meek as ever. You’ve seen him be confident and assured before when he didn’t know you were in the room, but as soon as he saw you it was like he became a totally different person and lost even the will to speak.

“Get a fucking job.” Not in the mood to entertain him, you slid closer to your front door. You weren’t scared about possibly having to get physical with him, you could surely hold your own against a grown man who actively stepped back as you got closer.

Worrying his lip and wringing his hands together, Yutas eyes darted everywhere, from the small plastic bag in your hand to your outfit and finally settling atop your head. His breathing was loud and unsteady and there was a light blush coating his cheeks.

“Are you just going to keep standing there like a loser?” Glaring at him, you sneered as his blush got deeper and there was a subtle squeeze in his thighs. “What do you even want? Gonna try to give me more flowers?”

“No.” Yuta answered immediately, the bitter memory of you stomping on the bouquet he bought you fresh in his mind.

“Then what? What does a little sheep like you want?” Crossing your arms, you tapped your foot impatiently.

“I-I just-” Blinking rapidly, there were a million thoughts going through Yutas head. He couldn’t find the words and his mouth was running dry. He nearly collapsed seeing you sigh and shake your head, about to fish out your keys and walk right past him. “W-wait!”

“What?”

“Do you- I just have to know, (Y/N), do you ever think about me like how I think about you?” Yuta looked so hopeful it was morphing into sick desperation in his features. His brows were knitted together so tightly that you knew there’d be lingering wrinkles there.

“Okkotsu.” Saying his name firmly and squaring your shoulders, you stared right into his eyes with a fierce look on your face. This was the first time you were ever making eye contact and to say it made you sick to your stomach was an understatement.

“Yes?” He whispered, licking his lips nervously.

“I have never thought about you in that way.” His smile fell as you spoke, and you could see his heart break behind his eyes. “In fact, any time I think of you I get sick. You disgust me.”

“Darling-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t call me that.” You snapped, pushing him back as he tried to reach out and touch you. “Get the hell away from me and leave me alone, you’re pathetic and gross.”

“I love you! I love you so much, please!” Falling to his knees, Yuta reached his hands out to you, hoping you’d take them and soothe his soul from the pain you’d just inflicted.

“I’d rather be swallowed by a curse than have you as a lover.” The scornful look you sent Yuta made him physically wither away, flinching at the red hot anger brewing just beneath the surface. “Besides, I’m pretty sure people in love don’t stalk each other.”

“Darling...please…” There were tears dripping down his face that just made him look worse. Scoffing one last time at him, you shoved your key into the lock and swung open your front door.

“Okkotsu, if I ever see you in this neighborhood again, I’ll kill you myself. Rika be damned.” With those parting words, you slammed the door closed and locked it swiftly, immediately heading to the cabinet where you kept your alcohol. You surely needed a drink or three after dealing with the headache that was Okkotsu Yuta.

Just as you took the first sip, a ding sounded on your phone, an indication of a text.

“Oh brother.” Rolling your eyes, you already knew who it was from.

(Unknown number): I’ll never give up on you, I’ll love you until the very end

Blocked, deleted. Time for another drink.

I’m crazy but you like that -

Breaking up with your boyfriend was the right thing to do. Breaking up with your boyfriend was the right thing to do. Breaking up with your boyfriend was the right thing to do.

But why did it feel like the worst decision you’d ever made?

He was brash, controlling over every part of your life, demanding your undivided attention at all times. He claimed he only wanted what was best for you, but the final straw in your relationship came when you caught him installing a hidden camera in your bedroom. He was far too casual when he said the last one had broken.

So you had no choice but to break it off. Sukuna had taken it well at the time, calmly and silently grabbing the things he had over at your place and leaving with only a curt goodbye. And since then, you hadn’t seen him.

Emphasis being on seen.

His presence was still very much felt in your life. There was mail addressed to him showing up at your place. You’d get random unknown numbers calling you throughout the week, sometimes with voices you didn’t recognize trying to ask you questions and other times it was silent on the other line until whoever called hung up.

But all the strange occurrences were beginning to add up and it was starting to feel like Sukuna had never left in the first place. All the times you came home to a tidy front entryway when you knew you’d left in shambles before heading to work. The way your shower products seemed to diminish quicker even though you hadn’t changed your routine. And sometimes, you woke up in the middle of the night to a shadow just outside your window, darting away just before you could properly get up.

Changing the locks on your front door and adding locks on all the windows you could had given you much needed peace of mind. The strange things inside your house had stopped. There wasn’t anything you needed to purposefully ignore now. You could sit up a little straighter, breathe a little easier.

Waking up in the middle of the night to go pee, your mind was far away from reality. Thoughts of Sukuna were the last things on your mind, clouded with sleep and just ready to melt under the covers again.

Returning to your bedroom, however, you noticed a figure sitting on the bed that wasn’t there before. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was Sukuna. Floundering back against the wall, a scream caught in your throat.

“The bed’s getting cold, angel. Come lie back down.” Sukuna said, a deranged smile on his face. His eyes were wide, drinking in your shaking form wildly.

“W-what’re you doing here?” You whispered, clutching the doorframe as you stumbled to it.

“I had to see my baby, I’ve been missing you.” Breathing hard through his nose, Sukuna patted the bed. “Come here, lemme look at you. It’s been a while since we’ve been face to face.”

“N...no. No!” Shaking your head, your own pupils were blown wide in fear. You watched every miniscule movement Sukuna made, from his breathing to how his fingers twitched. “Get out of here before I call the cops!”

“Aw, call the cops? But, how will you do that? Your phone is broken.”

“What?” Following Sukunas pointing finger, you gasped when you saw your phone smashed to bits on the floor by his feet.

“Now c’mere.” Patting the bed a little harder, Sukuna’s smile wavered. “You know I don’t like asking twice.”

“Sukuna please- please just leave.” There were hot tears burning your lash line, begging to be blinked away, but you refused to close your eyes. The smile on Sukuna’s face fell and rose again rapidly as whatever thoughts he had swirled in his head.

“(Y/N), I don’t think you understand.” Laughing under his breath, Sukuna stood up and stalked over to you.

“Don’t touch me!” You finally screamed but it was too late to try and fight him off. Sukuna grabbed your upper arm tightly and dragged you away from the door and to the bed. “Let me go, Sukuna! You’re crazy!”

“Crazy? Ha!” He barked, flopping back onto the bed and forcing you to straddle his lap. Slapping a hand onto your ass, Sukuna grabbed your jaw and tilted your face toward him. “If being in love with you makes me crazy, then so be it.” Staring at your face, Sukuna had a softer smile now. It was still unsettling, especially close up, and the way his eyes barely blinked had you on edge. “But don’t pretend you don’t like it at least a little bit.”

Wanna see me switch, get psycho like they say I am-

Your new boyfriend Nanami said he was just a salaryman, and why wouldn’t you believe him? He wore freshly pressed business suits everyday, sometimes carried around a briefcase, had the usual 9 to 5 schedule and always grumbled if he ever had to work overtime. Occasionally he met you for lunch and there he’d demand to talk about anything other than the work he did.

He never gave you the impression that he was anything but that, anything other than what he said he was. Whenever the two of you went out on dates, he was either getting off work or wore long sleeves.

This was the first time you were going to go over to his place for a date. Your relationship was starting to progress more romantically and while he’d seen the outside of your home after dropping you off from a date, this was the first time either of you would be in such a closed intimate setting.

His apartment was in a much more luxurious building than you’d first imagined. There was a doorman that had let you in, someone waiting at the front desk and even the elevator was luxurious with rich dark wood.

“Nanami, I’m here!” You called as you approached the door. Raising your fist to knock, you were surprised to see it cracked open, and there were loud noises just inside. Taking a moment to see if anyone had noticed your announcement, you took a chance and pushed open the door.

The entryway was beautifully decorated with Nanami’s shoes lined up neatly by the door. Just looking at the hallway, you could tell he had hired someone to decorate for him.

“Nanami?” You called again, hovering by the door. Whatever sound was in the other room paused for a moment, only to resume again in a more fervent way. “H-hello?” Sneaking down the hall, you came to the entryway to the lounge room and nearly collapsed.

The bloody, unconscious body was what you noticed first, followed by the blood stains speckled about the hardwood floor and reaching the walls. You saw Nanami second, standing over the body in what was once a plain white t-shirt now stained crimson. Third were the tattoos crawling up his arms, rich blacks and reds embedded into his flesh.

“You’re here early. How’d you get in?” Nanami asked in his usual monotone voice, only slightly breathless as he looked you over. He seemed unfazed by your sudden appearance, happy even, a small smile ticking up on the side of his mouth.

“The- the door was open.” You didn’t know where to look. You couldn’t possibly look Nanami in the eye, not with the way he looked so calm while standing over a body you were pretty sure was going cold. There was dark blood on his hands, nearly mixing in with his tattoos.

“Silly me, must not have pushed it closed all the way.” Chuckling to himself, Nanami straightened up and stepped over the body, taking a few steps over to you only to stop when he saw you scurry back. “(Y/N), don’t act like that.” He sighed like he was talking to a child.

“Tell me what’s going on.” You said, voice shaking more than you would have liked.

“Just doing a bit of overtime, that’s it.” Nanami shrugged indifferently, taking another step toward you.

“I thought you said you were a salaryman. What kind of overtime is this?” As he took more steps toward you, you stepped back until you hit the wall.

“I am a salaryman.”

“For the yakuza or something?!” It was a shot in the dark, really. You had no reason to believe he was in a gang other than the familiar tattoos that you’d seen on the news and the blood everywhere.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He confirmed it with a straight face and you could tell he wasn’t lying. Nanami wasn’t one to lie or pull punches. Lifting up his hand, Nanami almost cupped your cheek but stopped short when he remembered the blood on his hands. “Let me go clean up, and we can talk about this more.”

As soon as he turned around, you fumbled to get your phone out of your pocket. There was no way you would be staying in this place any longer with him. Not only were you pretty sure he just killed someone, you had no idea what he could do to you.

“You wouldn’t be trying to call anyone, would you?” Nanami asked, turning on his heels by the body. Dropping your phone to the ground as soon as you were caught, you cursed under your breath as he faced you squarely.

“I like you a lot, (Y/N). Don’t mess this up. I’d hate to show you how deranged I can truly be.” The ghost of a smile graced his face and Nanami walked back over to you and grabbed your phone, immediately coating it in sticky blood. “Go wait in the den down the hall, I’ll be by in a moment.”

Slowly dragging your feet to the room in question, you waiting just inside for Nanami to arrive. The den was cozy, a plush warm toned loveseat facing a stone fireplace and a TV. This room, like the others, was undoubtedly decorated by a professional.

“Sorry to make you wait.” Nanami’s voice made you jump as he entered, walking past you and into the room. Sitting down on the loveseat in a fresh shirt and pants and clean skin, Nanami let out a pleased hum.

“Nanami…” Worrying your lip, you didn’t know what to do. You knew you should leave, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that your weak knees would make any sort of movement akin to an escape.

“Don’t be shy, (Y/N).” Spreading his legs, Nanami pat his thigh invitingly. “Come sit on my lap, a pretty little kitty like you deserves the best seat in the house.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen imagines #tw: yandere #geto suguru #gojo satoru #ryomen sukuna #itadori yuji #okkotsu yuta #nanami kento

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officialleehadan · 3 years ago

Text

Come to Help

Computer Science 101

+++

Kelpwaters was a broken town.

The buildings were sturdy, made of fired brick, limed with salt and thickly thatched to keep out the pervasive coastal rain. It was a chilly part of the world, and a chilly time of year to be there. Adrienne was glad they had stopped to buy warm cloaks to go over their regular gear. Leather was good for armor, but not so great for staying warm. Her new, black fur-lined cloak held off the drizzle and the chill.

Adrienne had never been to Kelpwaters, but Nathan had told her about it on the boat. He spoke of red brick and golden thatch, and a happy population of potters and fishers, all working together to keep their town together. It was a far cry from the odd twilight from the fog, and the thick clay-mud spattered on everything.

“Give us a moment,” Nathan said quietly when they stepped onto the docks. The salt-stained wood bobbed lightly under their feet with the gentle waves. After days on the boat, Adrienne kept her feet easily. Nathan half-turned back to the boat and the sailors who were watching. He pulled a small, heavy coin purse of his belt. They had already paid the captain. This, however, was different. “Captain. Keep your people on the boat. As soon as the tide turns, anchor offshore. If we need you, we will send up a flare. If you haven’t heard from us in four days, go with our blessing.”

It was a precaution. Four days should be more than enough to settle the monster, and if it wasn’t… well, if it wasn’t, they might be dead. Adrienne wondered what Patrick would think of that. He had only written a single word back to her in reply.

Bitch.

They had never been friends, of course. Had been enemies more than anything. It was still a blow, although one she had earned. She had abandoned him, not the other way around. Still, she only knew two people in this world, and Patrick was once of them. Nathan understood, of course, but he hated Patrick sight-unseen, and thought they were better of without him. Adrienne was hard-pressed to disagree with him, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was going to come back and bite them later.

That, however, was a problem for later. Right now, they had a monster to handle and a town to save.

“Stay safe, you two,” the captain called back, and tipped his hat to them. “We’ll see you again soon.”

Business settled, they turned back to Liqho and the town that needed their help. The fog lingered in the streets, low and heavy. By the time they stepped off the docks, Adrienne couldn’t see the boat. The buildings around them were like muddy, red-brick ghosts, and the upper stories disappeared into the fallen sky above them.

“You had best introduce us,” Adrienne told him quietly. Something was prickling the back of her neck. They were being watched. She didn’t know if it was the terrified townsfolk, or the monster they had come to face. “We don’t want to frighten anyone.”

“Yes, Lady Shalla,” Liqho said, oddly uncertain in his own town. A sense of dread lingered around him and every step he took seemed reluctant, even though the streets were the same ones he had walked for most of his life. They were also, she supposed, the place he had found the body of his youngest daughter. Maybe his reluctance had good reason. Adrienne would be reluctant too. He led them through town, to a house that was almost on the beach, and knocked on the door. “Neevah? Neevah, I’m home.”

Adrienne didn’t have time to wonder what was going to happen, before the door slammed open and a woman flung herself into Liqho’s arms. She was a stout woman, in a heavy wool dress with a floury apron over it. By the way she kissed Liqho, Adrienne figured that this was probably his wife, Neevah.

“Where are the girls?” Liqho said nervously when they parted. Small wonder, after the tragic loss of their youngest daughter. “Pippa and Yiri?”

“Papa!” A young voice called from inside, and a pair of girls, one around twelve and the other ten, followed their mother out the door. Liqho help them close and kissed the tops of each of their heads. “You’ve been gone for weeks! Di you- did you find Master Deathhand?”

“He did,” Nathan said, and stepped forward. He looked every bit the necromancer he was, although he had gone for deep navy robes rather than the black or white that many necromancers preferred. Like Adrienne, he wore a heavy, fur-lined cloak to stave off the cold. He brushed back his hood and offered the family a reassuring smile. “We’ve come to help.”

“Yvarian Deathhand,” Neevah whispered, and then her eyes fell on Adrienne. Her mouth dropped open and she tried for words twice before anything came out. “And… and Dria Shalla?”

“Your husband told us what happened. We came as soon as we could,” she said, and pushed her own hood back. She glanced around and saw curious townsfolk peeping out of their houses nervously. “Yvarian and I would never leave a friend in danger.”

Liqho choked a little to hear her pronounce him a friend, but he was a friend, or at least, they were getting there. Neevah beamed with pride at her husband who had risked everything to try and find the hero who helped them once before. Adrienne took Nathan’s hand and pulled him towards the door.

“We’re here to help,” she told Neevah and everyone who was pretending not to listen in. “Tell us everything.”

+++

Computer Sciences 101:

Cyber Finals

For the Experience

A Quest Never Completed

Reorienting Home (Subscriber Only!)

Skills Already Known (Subscriber Only!)

Finish Them!

Down the River Boat

Lily Shine (Subscriber Only!)

Mage-Market (Subscriber Only!)

Green Fire

Cobalt Coda

Guide By Stars

Hazel Hoodwink (Subscriber Only!)

Chime and Check

Glowing Spiral Interlude (Subscriber Only!)

Vagabond City (Subscriber Only!)

Side by Side

Viridian Vigilance

Tavern Tales

Share and Spar

Heartfire Festival (Subscriber Only!)

Ambivalent Amethyst

Golden Scorpion

Capricious Cerulean

Whispers Together (Subscriber Only!)

At Last (Subscriber Only!)

Blithesome Bronze

Chocolate Correspondence

Come to Help (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

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theawkwardterrier · 6 years ago

Text

A Light in the Window

Steggy Week 2k19, day 3 Prompt: Firsts and lasts

Summary: Steve and Peggy attempt their first real date.

AO3 link here.

Four days after Steve wakes up in a hospital bed with Howard, pale and self-satisfied, blathering down at him about trackers in his suit and the wonders of the serum, he and Peggy go to the Stork Club. They turn slowly on the floor together even when the music dictates a faster pace, the stiffness and chill only just working its way out of Steve’s bones, the feeling of her against him too perfect to want to pull away. He even doesn’t release her hand until they reach the door of her building.

When he and Peggy arrange to meet on a Saturday evening for their first real date, he doesn’t have much planned. None of the things he can think of really inspire him: the city is bursting with returning service-members on their way to the movie houses, to dance halls and the shows on Broadway, and it doesn’t feel right to take Peggy somewhere so cliche. They haven’t had an opportunity to really talk with each other, not since those forever-past nights on watch or slogging from a dropoff point on the way to another Hydra base, so Steve decides on a simple walk through Brooklyn. They can continue getting to know each other, without being interrupted by bullets or Colonel Phillips’ voice over the radio (hopefully). He will have the comfort of all the familiar places of his neighborhood, and get a chance to introduce her to what is now her neighborhood too.

Except the stories of his childhood refuse to come off his tongue when all he can remember is standing alone on the Barnes stoop, knocking heavy-hearted on Bucky’s mother’s door. Instead, he can only manage to thank her again for the flowers she had brought to his hospital room.

“They really brightened up the place. I’ll have to send the Army a note about it so they can update the decor.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate the advice. They aren’t particularly well-known for comfort or aesthetic, after all.” She gives a little smile. Her lipstick, he notices, is pink tonight, to match with the flowers on her dress. “I’m glad you enjoyed the flowers. I wasn’t sure what kind you would like.”

“Chrysanthemums were great,” he says earnestly, as if he hadn’t spent too long staring at them, wondering if they were supposed to send a particular message. Everyone knows that it’s roses that are for romance. Maybe chrysanthemums mean ‘I know it seemed that there was something between us, but I’ve reconsidered and we’re probably better off as friends.’ She did say yes when he’d asked her out, but...

He knows he isn’t exactly convincing her at the moment. I guess this whole time it wasn’t my looks or my size that chased girls off, he thinks in mortification. They could just tell I was lousy date.

They keep walking, each bringing up new topics - the apartment Steve’s rented, the position Peggy is meant to start at the SSR’s New York office now that she is finished in Europe and living here permanently - that fizzle after not nearly long enough. The silences between each attempt at a conversation starter feel endless, each a chasm of infinite and humiliating depth.

He is about ready to find a movie house to point to in desperation and say, “Oh good, we’re here!” as if they’d needed to walk for three quarters of an hour to find just this one. And then it begins to rain.

“We can try to outrun it,” Peggy suggests as the first light drops fall into her hands and hair. “I know that we—” But she is cut off by the snap and boom of thunder, and then by the opening of the heavens.

Steve snatches a discarded newspaper off a nearby bench and tries to hold it over her head as they pick up their pace. It’s sodden within seconds and he tosses it away again.

“Come on!” He takes her hand. It’s after dusk, and with the rain pouring so thick that it’s like fog, there’s nearly no visibility. It would be easy for them to lose each other by accident.

They struggle down the street, and Steve is certain that she doesn’t have a particular destination in mind either, other than ‘dry.’

When he sees a lighted window, he can’t tell what sort of business it belongs too and he doesn’t care. He holds the door open for Peggy and follows her inside.

“Giulia!” calls a woman’s voice before Steve can even blink the water out of his eyes and take in his surroundings. “Two of the minestrone, and use the biggest bowls we have.”

“You can come into the kitchen yourself, you know. There won’t be much longer for it,” says another woman crankily.

“She’s too busy losing to me,” crows a third.

It’s a restaurant, but barely: only four tables, each covered in a crisp white cloth, and each empty except for the one where two women face each other over a chessboard. Steve thinks he could reach so his fingertips touch each wall. There’s a banner that stretches easily across the length of the place that reads “Closing! Last night!”

It also smells incredible, herbs and yeast and food treated with care.

“You know, Lia’s right,” says the first woman, standing and disappearing into what Steve presumes is the world’s smallest kitchen. He looks at Peggy and finds her somewhere between confused and amused. (Also soaking wet in a way that manages to look fetching, but mostly makes him want to find her a blanket or some dry clothes. He’d offer his jacket, but considering the way it’s dripping onto the floor, he doesn’t think it would be of much help.)

The last woman looks down at the board, chuckles to herself, then pushes her chair back and walks over to Steve and Peggy. “Have a seat,” she tells them, and rather than pointing to one of the empty tables, she indicates the one which has just been vacated.

“Um,” Steve gets out eloquently.

“Where are we, precisely?” Peggy asks.

The woman laughs roundly. “It’s Romano’s,” she says, and the two women join her in harmony from the back. The woman continues, “Lia’s husband finally saved up enough to buy it right before he died, and now she’s been trying to honor him for as long as she can. Tina and I just stay around to keep her company.”

“Don’t pretend as if I don’t feed you, Lessia.” The kitchen door opens again and the other two women come back out. Tina is carrying two enormous portions of steaming soup, while Giulia, wearing a clean if slightly floury apron, holds a wooden cutting board with what looks like fresh bread.

Lined up beside each other, they are clearly sisters, each with the same frame (short and full, but straight-backed) and the same hair (a curling black clearly on its way to gray, pulled back over their ears and in matching buns) and the same frown at the couple still standing awkwardly by the door.

“Sit,” Lessia says again, crossing her arms, the only free pair.

It’s not particularly an offer anymore, but Steve says, “That’s kind of you, but we were just going to wait out the rain.”

“You’d be waiting until your hair was as gray as ours,” Tina says firmly. “This weather will hold for a good while. Listen.” She’s right. The rain continues to pound without sign of lightening or moving past the city.

“The two of you are soaking wet.” Giulia adds a bit of coaxing to her voice, but it still has that unmoving steel beneath it. “And you wouldn’t let my husband’s dream restaurant close without a single customer on the last night, hmm? We lack customers simply because we lack atmosphere, nothing to do with the food.”

“Truly, Lia will be very sad if she cannot feed someone before she sells off the place,” Tina says, making a comically morose face as she sets one bowl on either side of the chessboard and pulls out the closer chair suggestively.

Steve doesn’t really know exactly what the right move is here, but then he notices the gooseflesh between the bottom of Peggy’s still-dripping hair and the slightly dipping back of her dress. “Soup sounds great,” he says, and gestures for Peggy to take the seat Tina has pulled out for her.

The soup is great. He and Peggy glance up at each other as they spoon up the hearty vegetables and full broth, and for some reason those little moments without speech don’t feel awkward anymore.

“Can I cut you some?” Steve asks, gesturing to the loaf Giulia had rested beside him before the three sisters vanished together back into the kitchen together.

“You can.” As Steve slices, Peggy takes a chess pawn in each hand and extends her curled fists to him. Putting down the knife, he taps her left hand and she hands him the black piece.

“At a disadvantage already,” she says, peering at him nonchalantly through her eyelashes as she arranges her side of the board to erase the game Lessia and Tina had been playing.

“Don’t know that I need an advantage,” he says, lifting an eyebrow at her. “Four things I did while sick in bed: draw, read, play cards, and learn chess. And I was in bed a lot.”

“I suppose we’ll see if it’s paid off,” and despite the challenge of her tone, her voice is warm.

She wins the first game handily (unfortunate - she might have an accent and act polite about it, but Peggy Carter trash talks), and he battles her hard for her second victory. The third game looks as if it might be his, as long as he doesn’t get distracted by the stories she tells about her childhood, as long as he doesn’t lose focus as he tries to make her laugh. He’s still chuckling over her description of learning to ride a bicycle having stolen her brother’s, examining his knight to make sure she’s not luring him into a trap, when the sisters come out of the kitchen looking apologetic but firm.

“The rain has stopped,” Lessia says. Steve notices for the first time that she's right. He wonders when that happened.

Giulia adds, “The new owner of the restaurant will be here early tomorrow morning and I would like to have a good sleep before.” She holds up a small cardboard box tied with twine. “Something sweet to take on your way.”

“You've already done too much,” Steve protests, already standing in embarrassment and taking out his wallet. For all the talk about getting an early night, it must be close to eleven. They’ve been here for hours.

"Put it away," Giulia tells him, waving a hand. She has an enormous purse over one shoulder, obviously ready to step right out and go home. "My husband wanted to start this place to feed people, not to make money."

"Obviously," Tina says mischievously. "Lucky thing you know how to cook, because Marco was absolutely hopeless."

"You really are marvelous," Peggy says.

Giulia gives a graceful shrug, closing her eyes as a look of humble satisfaction crosses her face. "And now I will hand over the keys to the next dreamer."

"And perhaps go cook for the handsome man next door instead," says Lessia. "And be certain to tell him of the lovers who came in on our last night here. Perhaps it will give him the right idea."

Giulia scoffs just as Steve says, wrestling down a blush, "We're not—"

"Don't try to pretend with an old woman," says Lessia, eagle-eyed. "Perhaps it's just the beginning, but everything that lasts has one of those."

"Now go," Tina adds, flicking her wrist in a little sweeping gesture. "The beginning continues, but elsewhere."

The air is a little cooler as they step out again, and without thinking Steve puts an arm around Peggy's shoulder.

"The serum has some added benefits," he blurts when she looks up at him, but she just smiles.

He has seen her smile in so many ways - large ones which she leans into after a victory or a point well-made, tiny, hidden smiles like punctuation - and he doesn't think he'll ever tire of discovering all the different kinds she has within herself. He's so lucky to have the chance.

"I'm happy to enjoy all of those benefits." The box of dessert they'd been gifted with hangs by the string from his finger, and she slides her finger in beside it. "Shall we enjoy these as well?"

They each bite into the little chocolate cakes, and Steve doesn't even feel embarrassed when she reaches up and brushes away crumbs that have been left behind.

In fact, he has the sense that he might actually get to taste what chocolate tastes like on her mouth tonight.

He had worried, somehow, that they were people brought together by war, that perhaps they would not know how to be together in peace. For some time tonight, it seemed that his fears were realized. But Peggy is still quick and kind and unswerving and unequivocally herself, and somehow she still likes him.

He’s never been so happy to be wrong.

#steggyweek2k19 #Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #sometimes when I finish a fic I'm secretly saying to myself (''This is actually pretty good...'')#not this time!

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squidpro-quo · 6 years ago

Text

AN: As part of a trade commission with Melon from @pk_herokid, I wrote a todobaku college au, feat. cooking and videos (because apparently I’m on a youtube cooking kick, and just in general)

Bakugo dragged himself back to his dorm room in the late fall afternoon, burying his face in his shawl and wishing he’d taken a purely design class again instead of caving to his mother’s advice on advertising. How was he supposed to market things when he felt it should be self-evident when something was worth buying or not? He could’ve just made his things and been done with it, but no, he’d insisted he could do it all, from the bottom up. Screw his past self, honestly.

Stepping into the common room, he shucked off his backpack and threw it on the couch before falling across it himself. He didn’t feel like locking himself in his room at the moment, he just needed to think things through for maybe ten minutes, lie down and prioritize.

He closed his eyes and nodded off faster than he could’ve imagined. The noise of bowls softly clinking woke him, the smell cinnamon drifting past and he bolted upright to see the sunset through the windows and the guy from down the hall standing at the kitchen counter in front of a camera on a tripod under the lights. His head was bent as he poured a pair of egg yolks into the bowl and started to whisk with quick, practiced movements. Bakugo rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to work out the crick while he struggled to remember the guy’s name. He’d met him on the first day doing laundry, noticed the sick scar across his face and immediately found out he wasn’t one for many words. It was eerie to find him silently filming himself cooking at almost six at night.

And in the ugliest outfit Bakugo had ever had the unpleasant experience of seeing. Whoever told the guy that that shiny pumice yellow jacket went well with anything should be thrown out onto the street and left to fend for himself against the other rabid freshman. The shirt was even worse, just plain tan which nevertheless managed to clash horribly with every color in sight. Thank whoever was paying attention that the camera wasn’t pointed at him or whoever ended up watching the video would die from witnessing those crimes against fashion.

Otherwise, it was a crime to let him wear those things anyway. He had the kind of face that could make you feel like you were watching a mountain shrouded in fog, immovable and yet serene. Not that Bakugo would ever entertain those kinds of ridiculous poetic ideas. Even as his mind jumped straight to the adage that strange did always draw the eye, and the guy had plenty of that with his eyes and hair combined.

Resisting the urge to leap straight to accusations of colorblindness and idiocy, Bakugo cleared his throat instead. The guy, his mind finally clicked on the name pasted on the paper next to his door: Todoroki, didn’t react and instead switched to kneading the dough without even a glance in his direction.

“What are you doing?” He wasn’t about to be ignored, and besides he was rather curious.

Todoroki finally looked up and leaned across the counter to press a button on the camera with one floury finger. He shrugged, the awful jacket scrunching from the movement.

“Filming a video. How to make cinnamon bread.”

“For class?” Bakugo could understand the minimal effort in his style department if it was just for a grade, some of the projects professors gave out at this point in the semester were purely busywork at best.

“No, it’s for a cooking channel. Is it bothering you?” Todoroki cocked his head to the side, that damn blue eye looking way too piercing for the fact that he still had a bunch of flour stuck to his cheek.

“Not the filming, no. Why aren’t you explaining what you’re doing? Are you going to do voice-over instead?” He was getting more intrigued despite his earlier goal of just informing him of his travesty of a wardrobe.

Shaking his head, Todoroki kept kneading with steady strokes and the way his hands worked the dough was mesmerizing. That didn’t make his answer any less acceptable, though.

“What do you mean you’re not doing voice-over? Music, then?”

Todoroki looked at the far corner as if considering his idea and finally shrugged his shoulders.

“Could add some.”

“Add some!? You weren’t planning to? No instructions, and you weren’t even considering music.” He’d thought he was bad at marketing but this guy was failing even the common sense ones. Pushing himself off the couch, Bakugo rolled up his sleeves and slammed his hands onto the countertop as Todoroki continued with his slow, methodical motion. The smell already permeating the air around him was so good, even without being baked yet, but Bakugo forced himself to focus. He was going to put his skills to use, and not just because his interest was piqued beyond belief that this guy had decided to do a cooking video with such an odd format.

“You going to stop me if I mess with your setup?” he asked, pointing at the camera and trying to pretend like he wasn’t asking permission from some coca-cola wannabe with no fashion sense to speak of.

“No.”

At least he was a straightforward guy, Bakugo could appreciate that, if not what he was wearing. Wiping the flour residue off the camera’s top, he aimed it straight at Todoroki, who reacted only with a raised eyebrow.

“Now they can actually see all of you and not just disembodied hands. You need to tell them what the fuck it is that you’re doing, no one’s a mind reader here, especially not through a camera. And take off that jacket.”

“Why?” Todoroki nevertheless dusted his hands off on his pants like some chaotic bastard who didn’t care about his clothes and started to pull the horrible article of unmentionable clothing off.

“Because it’s making my eyes burn in their sockets and no one’s going to focus on what you’re cooking if you wear it.”

“Okay,” Todoroki said, looking at him blankly with the jacket in hand hanging by his side. “And it’s baking.

“Throw it in the corner, some moron will come by and take it when they need something to burn.”

Todoroki laid it on the stair railing silently, before repeating himself.

“I’m going to bake it, not cook it.”

Bakugo looked over his shoulder at him from where he was fiddling with the camera’s focus and realized he should probably reply. If this was the guy’s sticking point, then so be it.

“Good, tell your viewers that too, cause I guarantee there will be morons watching.” He took in Todoroki’s thin beige t-shirt, the floury pants and sighed. “Lose the rest of it too, that’s a disaster right there.”

Todoroki looked down at himself, pulling the edge of his shirt out as if to inspect its color and realize just what he’d put on. But when he turned back to Bakugo, he shrugged.

“If you don’t like this, then you won’t like the rest of what I have.” The smallest smirk pulled at his mouth as he shot back, “And I know people don’t cook in their underwear or this would be a different type of video.”

Bakugo didn’t know whether he hated that the guy had the nerve to suggest that kind of thing when wearing the most unappealing outfit ever or if he should deal with the heat in his face from the immediate picture that had appeared in his imagination and how much he wouldn’t have minded that wardrobe change.

“I’ve got a better idea. And better clothes.” He plowed on, deliberately not thinking about the conjecture that could be taken from his offer. It was purely for the class assignment, he had an idea for advertising and it certainly was not because Todoroki would look good in them. “Here, give me a minute.”

He left before Todoroki could get another word in edgewise, though by the way he went back to kneading his dough with a faint smile, maybe he hadn’t wanted to. Which Bakugo was not going to read into either.

His room was strewn with half-finished projects, his hedgehog-shaped pincushion resting on the windowsill and fabric patterns hanging from the sides of his bed while the walls were covered in designs. It was an absolute mess but thankfully that was just the ones in progress, those that were already done he’d categorized carefully in his limited closet space.

He riffled through the shirts and pants sections, mentally checking combinations on Todoroki in his mind. It was a little too easy to imagine, considering he’d only really exchanged more than a dozen words with the guy fifteen minutes ago but he was jumping in headfirst and his brain was already submerged in thoughts of the guy, so why not.

Finally satisfied with what he’d picked out, he got back to the kitchenette area in time to see Todoroki closing the oven door on his creation. Bakugo froze to the side of the camera view, suddenly overcome with a rare moment of disappointment. He’d thought Todoroki would maybe wait for him, give him time to find what he needed, but he squashed down the feeling and headed straight for the backpack he’d forgotten on the couch at the beginning of this whole debacle. He’d just grab it and go, no need for anymore interaction with the candycane imitation and if the pattern held, they’d never end up speaking about it anyway.

“Bakugo,” Todoroki called as he made to pass by on his way back to his room, “You’re not going to help?”

“With what?” Bakugo asked, more roughly than he’d maybe intended but he didn’t have the patience for anything else at the moment. He’d gotten excited, carried away in the brief exchange, and maybe his sleep-addled brain had created a scenario that would be the perfect solution to the problem that he’d fallen asleep to avoid but he wasn’t about to partner with someone who didn’t him to.

“I have a quiche recipe planned next. I thought you wanted to join?” Todoroki gestured to the ingredients he hadn’t yet put away, before pointing at the clothes hangers in Bakugo’s clenched fist. “Are those the better ones?”

Bakugo stared at him blankly and finally nodded, holding them out for Todoroki to take.

“Don’t worry about messing them up, better than an apron covering them,” he muttered, letting his bag drop to the floor beside the fridge. He wasn’t sure what to do now that he’d handed them over, considering the quiet consideration Todoroki was giving the pieces.

“Set up the camera how you like,” Todoroki said, leaving the kitchen in the direction of his own room.

Bakugo looked around the empty kitchen, hands drumming at his sides before he finally scooted the camera into position and started to play with the settings. He didn’t want to consider how much he already cared about this random project that he wasn’t even sure would come to fruition but it was something to do tonight besides staring at his homework and maybe, just maybe, something would come of it. Todoroki wasn’t the worst person to partner with for this, he’d glanced at the notebook splayed open on the counter’s corner and seen the detailed notes and measurements, along with apparent variations for flavor combinations and even with his rudimentary knowledge composed mostly of boiling pasta, he could recognize diligence when he saw it.

“Ready?” Todoroki strode back into the kitchen with the sleeves rolled up on his new shirt and Bakugo fought not to combust on the spot like a cauliflower that had an up-close meeting with a blowtorch.

“Looks good.” He couldn’t have said whether that comment was meant for the camera, the clothes or Todoroki himself but that was about all he could get out in the moment. He’d made good choices in picking out the clothes, but even his mind’s eye couldn’t quite compare to seeing them on him in person. There was going to be more than one snack on screen for this video.

He shook his head, pointedly keeping those thoughts in a separate file for later and tuned in to what Todoroki was saying.

“ —to be with me?”

“With you?” Bakugo’s brain revved back up again, jumping to conclusions involving food that hadn’t been prepared by Todoroki but was just as delicious, involving more candlelight and maybe a tasteful violin or two.

“Yeah, in front of the camera? Or not?” Todoroki asked again, raising an eyebrow as if he knew something might have distracted him from paying attention. The way the collar of his button-down brushed against neck was too much, seeing him wearing his clothes, well not necessarily his clothes but still his clothes, Bakugo had to gather his thoughts and fast.

“If you actually explain the steps and all, sure. I’m not here to look like an idiot in silence.” He met Todoroki’s eyes and his customary scowl lessened despite himself.

“It’s not as weird to talk when there’s someone else. Here, let’s start.” Todoroki handed him a bowl and leaned forward to press play on the camera. Bakugo only hoped his flushed cheeks wouldn’t show up too much on the video.

“Welcome to our video…”

If you want to know more, prompt me here

#bnha #boku no hero academia #todobaku #todoroki shouto #bakugo katsuki #bakutodo #my writing #commission #it was a combination of the cooking zine #all the cooking videos I've watched recently #and melon's lovely stickers #that made me get hooked on this au #bakugo being into fashion is my jam

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idearlylovealaugh · 7 years ago

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Lost and Found

This is my contribution for May 2, definitely a High Holy Day in the HP world! It’s not actually set on May 2, since this is me, but it does take place just a few short weeks after. It’s actually something I first started writing (but didn’t finish) for the Fluff Fest hosted by @aloemilk and @honouraryweasley12, so that should give you some indication of the content contained therein 😉!

The end of May came slowly, achingly for the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts, as the heat of the sun burns off the persistent fog of a summer morning. It felt as though they were incrementally inching toward a routine, fighting the inertia of grief and upheaval as they tried to piece together some semblance of normalcy. Today at least, Hermione thought, Ron was eating with gusto, attacking his breakfast with a determination she hadn’t seen since they returned to the Burrow.

After looking around to confirm that no one was paying attention to her, she laid a gentle hand on Ron’s leg. He started a bit and turned to look at her, mouth full of porridge. The expression was so like that she had seen on his face hundreds of times at breakfast in the Great Hall, she couldn’t help her smile.

“Do you want to take a walk up to the ridge today?” she asked quietly, thinking it would be nice to get outside for a bit and spend some time together.

Oddly enough, she thought she saw panic flash across his face as he struggled to swallow. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could respond to her suggestion Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen with his work satchel tucked under his arm.

“Good morning, Weasleys,” he greeted the table with a smile that was tired, but genuine. “Kingsley spoke with Professor McGonagall yesterday, and she’s asked for any willing volunteers to return to Hogwarts today to help with the reconstruction effort. I thought you four might be interested.”

“Of course,” she answered, glancing around. She saw Harry nodding his agreement across from her.

“I want to,” Ginny began slowly, “but I think I’m going to check on George first. Maybe I’ll meet you there later today.”

“Excellent. The rest of you can head over right after breakfast. And I must be off as well, Molly dear,” he added, bending to kiss her cheek as she dusted her floury hands on a tea towel.

“Right, you lot,” the matriarch began with hands on hips as Arthur disappeared into the sitting room. “Plates in the sink, if you please.”

“Ron, are you ready to leave?” Hermione asked in the shuffle of clean-up.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure,” he replied, looking preoccupied. Hermione looked at him worriedly, but he took her hand, lacing their fingers together as they made their way down the porch steps and into the bright May sunshine.

At Hogwarts Hermione found herself helping out in the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, repairing blasted-apart glass and masonry, sifting through battered textbooks supplies, and, to a lesser extent, removing the evil and suspect objects left by the thugs of Voldemort that had last occupied the classroom. There was destruction everywhere she looked, and it was difficult not to dwell on the events that had wrought it. Each new task held some kind of reminder of a recent tragedy or a happier time now long gone. In the midst of it all she found herself replaying the scene at breakfast over in her head as she worked, a slight frown on her face.

“Hermione? Er, Hermione?”

She started and turned. “I’m so sorry, Neville, my mind was somewhere else.”

“I think we’re all having that problem,” he replied with an understanding smile. “And I’m sorry to bother you, but there seems to be a pretty complicated curse on this closet door. Do you think you could help with it?”

“Of course!” she answered, mentally berating herself for her inability to focus. She gripped her wand determinedly. “Let’s take a look.”

Dusk was quickly falling by the time Hermione filed out of the castle with several other students who had been working in the West Wing. They had toiled through dinner, although the remaining Hogwarts house elves had thoughtfully provided sandwiches and refreshments to the grateful volunteers. After a short speech from Professor McGonagall thanking them for their efforts and asking for their continued help in the next few days, the weary workers made their way toward the gates. Hermione found herself squinting in the dim light to scan the faces of others joining the throng from different parts of the grounds.

“Harry!” she cried, catching sight of his familiar messy black hair bobbing several meters ahead of her. She sped up to fall into step with him, weaving through a group of younger students that she recognized from the library.

“Where’s Ron?” she asked, glancing around. “I thought the two of you were working together.”

“We were, but he had to go take care of something else,” Harry replied, fiddling with his wand.

“Oh,” she returned, disappointed. “I don’t see him… perhaps he’s still working?”

“Could be,” Harry answered noncommittally.

“I’ll go look for him,” she determined, stepping out of the flow of people and turning back towards the castle.

“No, I think you’re right - he’s probably still helping out.,” Harry countered, taking her elbow and drawing her back into the crowd. “We should head back, I’m sure he’ll be right on our heels. Besides, how do we know he’s not ahead of us?”

Hermione allowed herself to be persuaded, but on reaching the Burrow she found that he hadn’t yet returned. Starting to feel the familiar beginnings of panic but not wanting to alarm Molly unnecessarily, Hermione was about to ask Harry where he thought they should search for him first when he strode through the back door, followed closely by his father coming in from the shed.

“Goodness, son, they must have been working you hard!” Arthur remarked, seeing Ron’s dirt-streaked t-shirt and muddy trainers. He patted him on the shoulder as he passed through the kitchen.

“There’s so much work to be done,” Harry agreed as Arthur left the room. “And I smell like a blast-ended skrewt. I’m gonna hit the shower before bed,” he called as he climbed out of sight.

Hermione looked to Ron, half-expecting him to explain why he had been late, but he had already turned to follow Harry up the stairs. She hurried to catch up as Ron’s long legs made short work of the steps up to the top floor. Rounding the last turning and slipping into his room, she found him mutely pulling open his dresser drawers. Hermione stood hesitantly by the door, unsure of what she should ask, until Ron turned to toss his wand onto the bed.

“You’re hurt!” she gasped.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he said, twisting his arm to look. Long red lines raked up his forearm, criss-crossing his elbow and disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt. The angry scratches stood out against the bright white scars left by the cursed brains that had wrapped around his arm in their fifth year.

“Were you outside with Hagrid? I thought you were by the astronomy tower with Harry, but he said he lost track of you.”

There was as moment’s pause as Ron rooted around in his drawer for a clean change of clothes. “Yeah, I was outside,” he finally replied, pulling out a worn t-shirt and sleep trousers and draping them over his shoulder. “Smell pretty filthy, too. I’ll be right back.” He was out the door without another word.

Hermione dropped heavily onto the bed, her mind whirring unpleasantly. There was no doubt that something was off. Well, lots of things were still off, but this was different. It had been an awfully long day, she reasoned as she tucked her feet under the blankets. She looked over at Harry’s empty cot, wondering if he would make an appearance there tonight. They were all dealing with grief and guilt and loss in their own way, Ron included. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being intentionally evasive.

The sunlight woke Hermione the next morning, painting a golden stripe across her face. Blinking her eyes open, she was immediately aware that, though she had certainly fallen asleep with Ron’s long arms wrapped around her, she now was the only occupant in the narrow bed. Shaking off the languor of a deep sleep, she slid out of the worn sheets and dressed quickly, hurrying downstairs to find a nearly empty kitchen.

“Good morning, dear,” Molly greeted her, bustling by with a tray. “The boys left early for Hogwarts, but I’m sure you knew that,” she added, sliding it neatly into the old cast iron oven.

She did not know that, but she certainly wasn’t going to argue the point with Ron’s mother. She ate without tasting her food, thanking Molly for breakfast and heading outside to apparate as soon as she was finished. Her mind was full of Ron as she walked past the wards, of his strange behavior and seeming unwillingness to talk to her, and as she spun into view of the gates she knew she wouldn’t be easy until she could see him again, if only for a few minutes.

She worked methodically through the day, burdened with a sense of disconnect that was as unsettling as it was unwelcome. She had a task, a purpose, but she couldn’t help feeling… directionless, somehow. She magicked pieces of the castle back together, wondering how it could ever be possible to make it seem as though a terrible tragedy had not occurred there. Some things were irretrievably lost, never to return.

It was fairly late in the day when she caught sight of Hagrid, pushing a colossal wheelbarrow of mangled pumpkins across the grounds. She darted across the lawn to catch up with him, hopping over the huge exposed roots of several trees that had been torn straight from the soil.

“Hagrid!” she called breathlessly, relieved when he turned and stopped.

“‘Ermione!” D’yer need me for somethin’?” the giant man asked genially.

“No, no. I was just looking for Ron, and wondered if maybe he was helping you again today.”

Hagrid looked at her curiously. “Wha, Ron? No, no… me ‘n Fang were well deep in th’ forest yesterday, meetin’ wi’ a centaur what found an injured knarl. Haven’t seen Ron a’ all this week.” His great brown wrinkled into a frown. “Was I supposed ter?”

“Oh, no,” she replied, her heart sinking. “I’m awfully sorry, I must’ve gotten mixed up.”

“Well tha’d be a first!” he chortled. “Here now, I’ll walk you to th’ castle.”

“Oh no, thank you Hagrid, that’s not necessary,” she answered quickly. “Goodbye!”

She turned and began tripping blindly down towards the gates, her mind reeling. She had thought Ron had spent the last two days at Hogwarts, helping with repairs - but clearly that wasn’t the case. He had been somewhat… shifty about the idea from the start, and hadn’t wanted to tell her for some reason. The conclusion was obvious: either he was avoiding Hogwarts, or he was avoiding her. She supposed it wouldn’t be strange for him to shun a place that held so many recent terrible memories, a place where he had lost a brother and countless friends. And he might not feel like talking about it because, well, everything was still so raw and painful.

Or… he could be having second thoughts about them, and didn’t have the words or the heart to tell her. She had been staying in his room every night, in his bed. Maybe the thought of working alongside her all day was too much. Maybe he needed space, needed more time alone to process everything. They were moving too fast.

Passing through the wrought iron gates, she immediately Apparated to the Burrow, dashing through the wards and up the well-worn porch steps. The kitchen was mercifully empty and she was able to race up the stairs to Ron’s room, pulling the door shut behind her.

She paced back and forth, mentally reviewing what she wanted to say. She wanted to be understanding, because either way, he had to be hurting, and the thought of that broke her heart. She was upset that he hadn’t been able to talk to her about it, but she didn’t want to be accusatory. And she didn’t want to sound aggrieved, because it wouldn’t be his fault, exactly, if he needed space from her, but she couldn’t deny that the very prospect of that as the explanation made her stomach churn and twist, terrified of the greater prospect of what that might mean for them...

She was concentrating so intently on the conversation she was already having in her head that she missed his footfalls on the stairs, reacting to the rattle of the doorknob with a jolt of unprepared panic. Before she could remember the very first thing she wanted to say to him, the door was swinging open - but instead of a flash of bright ginger coming through the doorway about a foot above her head, it came in at her feet, and instead of avoiding her as she half expected him to, it streaked toward her and launched itself at her chest. She was holding it in her arms before she even had a chance to think, clutching it’s soft ginger fur and feeling the deep vibrations resonating through its body.

“Crookshanks!” she half-sobbed, burying her face in the fur she always found so comforting. She clutched the cat close, hardly believing she was able to at all.

When they had come home to the Burrow after Voldemort’s defeat, Ginny had tearfully related to Hermione that Crookshanks had disappeared from her Aunt Muriel’s house some time ago and couldn’t be found despite weeks of searching and waiting. She remembered the stark feeling of loss even as she consoled Ginny in her guilt - she knew that Ginny had done the best she could to care for him, and the Weasleys were already hurting so much as it was. Yet to find, a mere day after losing so many friends and still in many way parentless and without a family, that another steadfast companion had vanished into the aether was a terrible blow. Still, she stuffed down her grief, put on a brave face, and tried to be helpful.

Now, when she hadn’t held him in nearly a year, a year that had held so much pain and heartbreak, she let her tears flow gratefully down her cheeks as he purred in her arms.

Slowly she became aware of Ron standing just inside his doorway, watching them with a tired grin.

“Ron, how?” she choked out. “Ginny said…”

“I know, but I didn’t want to let it go without knowing for sure. When I went to Auntie Muriel’s, she actually said that he had been seen around the village - which I’m sure she didn’t bother to mention to Ginny, the old bat,” he added with a scowl. “I spent most of the day asking around at shops and houses until I found someone that had left some milk out for him for a night or two just last week. He thought he saw him go into the woods north of his property, so I went in and poked around a bit, but it was getting pretty well dark by that point,” he explained, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“The scratches…”

“Yeah, didn’t see a bramblebush til it was too late,” he grinned. “But the next day I went back with the light, and after a fair bit of searching I finally spotted him by a falling-down barn. The ruddy beast ran from me, though,” he continued, eyeing Crookshanks critically. “Led me on a merry chase, he did. He didn’t make it easy, but I reckon it was his idea of a bit of a test. What do you say, did I pass?” he asked, addressing Crookshanks directly.

The cat meowed balefully, leaping down from Hermione’s arms. With a few dignified twitches of his tail, he paced over to Ron and twined around his legs for a moment, his squashed-in face looking up at him briefly before padding out the door to reacquaint himself with the Burrow and it’s inhabitants.

“I think that’s a yes?” Ron joked. He looked back up at Hermione with an amused smile, although his expression fell a little bit as he saw the tears still streaming down her face. “Er...”

“Ron, I just...,” she trailed off, realizing she was completely incapable of putting her gratitude into words. The idea that he would take on a seemingly hopeless task for her and pursue it so tenaciously with everything else going on was so overwhelming, but also so perfectly Ron. It spoke so much to the man he had grown to be, the person she always knew he was in his heart.

“It’s bollocks, the ban on international portkeys,” Ron said stubbornly. His face softened as she continued to look at him with wide eyes. “I know we can’t go to get your parents back right away, but I really wanted to do this for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t like not telling you, and letting you think I was at Hogwarts, but I really didn’t want to get your hopes up until I knew I could find him, and...”

Hermione launched herself at him before he could finish, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, thank you. So much. You don’t know what this means to me, to find him, for him not to be lost.”

He squeezed her tighter and she tucked her face under his chin, pressing her check to the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “We’ll find them,” he said fiercely. “And you’re not alone. You’ll always have me. You’ll never be alone.”

“Erm, unless you want to be,” he added after a moment, sounding a bit nervous. “You know, if you need time to be alone. That’s OK. I…”

She couldn’t help kissing him then. He was so adorably uncertain of her reaction to this declaration about the future, about their future, which was utterly ridiculous because if she had her way, they’d never truly part again. The sensation of kissing him was still so new, so thrilling, sending electricity racing through her veins while somehow also feeling like the most natural thing in the world, like coming home. She kissed him because it was the best feeling in the world, because she loved him, because she could.

“Mmm, that might be necessary at times,” she teased as they broke apart. “To use the bathroom, and shower, and things like that.”

“I could be pretty flexible about the shower, if I’m honest,” he put in hopefully.

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied dryly, secretly rather pleased.

Ron pulled her close again, swaying her gently side to side. “You know, I feel kind of bad taking credit for this. Knowing that beast, I reckon he would’ve made his way back to you eventually, even without my help,” he admitted, nodding his head toward the window.

Hermione leaned against him and looked out into the yard where Crookshanks stalked a gnome, his fur even brighter in the setting sun. She thought of seeing Ron’s soaked ginger hair plastered to his face in a freezing forest, the feeling of finding what she had desperately longed for, even after weeks of trying vainly to cut him out of her heart. Without him she had been untethered, unmoored; his departure had shaken her faith and gouged wounds that took time to heal. Now holding onto each other she felt the strength and certainty of their bond, a sure foundation on which to build their lives.

She smiled against his chest with a contented sigh, feeling his heartbeat against her temple. “The best ones always do.”

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp #may 2 #i love fic that matches the occasion #would love to write some someday #my fic

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inthesummerswelter · 6 years ago

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recipe for disaster: chapter six

It’s been three days, since he’d rattled the doorknob and she’d hidden away. And, fuck, but Penn feels really miserable. Really sorry.

Not for what she did, no, but rather how she did it.

Bracing her back against the sharp angle of the counter, she lets her forearms rest heavily on the floury surface, her hands dangle over the edge. They float there, trembling just slightly, a testament to how fragile the wrists were that held them back from falling into oblivion. Of course, they’ve got tendons and bones in there, holding fast, and muscles from kneading countless lumps of dough, but still. Still, it feels like the slightest of breezes could cause her to disconnect completely.

But the timer gives a ding! and her philosophy is set back in the pantry for another day.

Penn’s baking off the remainder of the cookie dough that she had made that night – of course, she had refrigerated it as soon as she’d pulled herself out of the tub, so it’s perfectly safe – as a sort of peace-offering, almost.

She feels bad for hurting him, for sending him away when all he wanted to do was simply talk to her.

But some things are not ready to be said. And she’s not ready to hear them.

Honestly, she’s not sure if she’s ever going to be ready.

(Because she has no idea what he could be wanting to say, not at this point. The only situations she can imagine are ones where she ends up getting hurt. He’s as puzzling to her as the Rubik cube her brother keeps on his mantelpiece, always tantalizing her with the opportunity to solve except she never knows how to make the right moves.)

The cookies take about ten minutes or so to cool enough that the molten chocolate doesn’t scorch the tongue – she knows from previous experience that’s a painful occurrence to be avoided at all costs – so she takes the extra time to pop back into her room and glare balefully at her closet. Her array of plain tee-shirts and monochromatic denims and nubby sweaters looks more pitiful than usual, but Penn grabs her least washed-out trousers and nicest jumper and begins to throw them on.

Then, in a fit of pique, she stops with the matchstick-cut denims halfway up her calves and only one arm through the woolen weaving of her jumper.

Why should she be dressing in her relative best to deliver fucking apology biscuits?

Instead, with just about three minutes to spare, Penn’s worst-looking, slouchiest trousers make an appearance, and she’s slung on the cardigan with the mismatched elbow patches over a shirt she’d randomly picked out at a tag sale.

Quickly plating the biscuits – on a plastic dish, so he could clean it and return it if he wished to ever have a reason to see her again or throw it away if he didn’t – she tests one. Strong chocolatey notes. Texture on point: not overly gooey in the middle and not overly crunchy about the edges. Well-balanced flavors with a hint of vanilla.

Or, as Penn likes to call it, success.

She slips on the closest pair of shoes, which happen to be her paint-splattered wellies and nudges the slider door open with her elbow, balancing the plate in her other arm along with a few pieces of misdelivered post.

The mail is so she has a half-hearted excuse as to why she’s going over to his flat, if she ends up chickening out at the last second. But, to be perfectly honest with herself, two measly pieces of post is not going to compensate for a whole platter of fresh biscuits. He’s going to know – some way, somehow – that something’s up.

Penn’s made it about halfway across the terrace by now, and her heart’s racing with pent-up anxiety. Pausing next to final glass wall of her greenhouse, she leans against it for a second, catching her breath and rallying herself.

(For some reason, she’s dreading this more than the five stitches she had to get when she nearly sliced off her pinky finger three years ago.)

Quickly, she lets her breath go in a deep whoosh and makes to push off the glass – gently of course, those big panes were fucking expensive – to finish the rest of her march.

However, there’s a thump on the glass.

Her head snaps around just in time to see what looks like a clump of dirt leave a smear on the fogged-up glass as it slides down the pane.

What?

The first conclusion she comes to is that one of the dogs had managed to worm their way in there and had started digging around. But that was impossible, as she knows she had pushed both of them back inside the flat with her foot before shutting and locking the slider door behind her.

Other possibilities fly through her head – a squirrel, a pigeon, a whole pack of rabid raccoons – as she slowly makes her way around to the door to the greenhouse, carefully undoing the latch with one hand.

Nothing could have prepared her for this sight.

“A-Ash?” she says, voice coming out a bit strangled. “Um, what…what exactly are you doing?”

He’s standing there, knee-deep in the middle of her bean trellises, streaks of dirt sitting atop his cheekbones like war paint and hands full of tiny green sprouts, and he’s just got this look on his face.

Like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Penn’s just caught him in the act, bent in two with his ridiculously long fingers poised around the stem of a plant completely lacking any of the characteristics of a runner bean.

“Oh! Oh, oh my God, Penn, I didn’t – I’m so sorry, I just thought –”

Her vision’s getting blurry now.

“Were you, were you weeding?”

Now he’s nodding and gesturing and the little bunches of clover clenched in his fists are getting tossed and flung about with his desperation to explain.

“I mean, you were so angry and I didn’t want – I never wanted to hurt you ever and I thought I could apologize with this and oh my God, I’m embarrassing myself, I’ll just shut up now and leave and...,” he pauses, winded a bit.

She can’t take much more of this, she thinks, as she slumps down, completely overwhelmed by a sudden rush gratitude towards this boy standing in front of her. She’s not worthy of him and his big heart. He just cares too much, so much that she can’t even comprehend it.

“Penn! Penn, are you okay?!” he says now, kneeling in front of her, careful to not crush any of the new growth under his legs.

She can’t stop the tears from running through the hands she’s got cupped around her face. The plate sits on the ground beside her, the mail similarly tossed aside, and Penn’s laughing and crying all at once, trying to choke out all the words that weren’t coming easily earlier.

“I didn’t – I wasn’t angry at you…well, I was, that’s a lie – but you’re weeding for me and all I did was bake you apology biscuits.”

His hands come up to push hers away and tilt her face up so she’s looking into confused, gold-flecked hazel eyes.

There’s a touch of worry in his voice besides the confusion, too, as he says, “…You baked me biscuits?”

Penn’s finding this situation more hilarious and ludicrous by growing increments, instead of realizing and reacting to the fact that their faces are scant centimetres apart. She begins to wipe at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her wrists, giggling to herself all the while.

“I mean, how do you even know what ones to pull?”

“Looked it up,” he says, straight-faced and nonchalant, more interested in swiping away the rest of her tears with the cuff of his sleeve. “They’ve got helpful weed identification guides all over the place. Are you okay? You don’t usually cry. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you cry in the two whole years that I’ve known you.”

Mentally, she does some calculations before saying, “I haven’t cried in… about ninety-three days.”

“That’s insane,” he mutters, abandoning his sleeve and rubbing the pad of his thumb carefully against her jawline, and it’s now that their proximity is registering. It’s now that her breath hitches, and she can see his head start to tilt just slightly to the left as her eyelids begin to flutter and –

It’s now that her mobile chimes out loudly from her pocket.

Penn flies backwards, narrowly missing sitting right on the untouched plate of biscuits, stammering, “It might be Gran, I really should get this.”

He’s not even looking at her now, leaning back in the soil and turned away with one hand covering his face while the other motions to her to pick up the call.

“Just answer it, okay?”

And, with a sudden surge of self-loathing, Penn realizes how utterly disgusted he must be at her wave of pathetic emotion, her soppy tears. Just because he weeded her fucking greenhouse. She misses the tinge of pink staining the tips of his ears as she pulls the mobile from her back pocket.

Thumbing the lock on her phone half-heartedly, she answers without checking the number.

“Hello?”

“…Penn? Is this you? Did I get the number right?”

She almost drops the mobile.

“Zayn?!”

He watches her, the look of excitement and wonder and longing that crosses her face when she says this bloke’s name.

Sounds like a proper prick though.

Zayn.

Pretentious.

(Later, in a few weeks, she’ll inform him pompously that it’s cultural. Middle Eastern. Okay. Whatever.)

Penn’s got a smile, great big and spreading across her face, and the rapid-fire way she’s responding and laughing throughout this conversation they’re having leaves Ashton with a strange feeling settling in his stomach.

Snapped out of his reverie with a plastic plate shoved into his hands, he looks up as Penn mouths an excuse and another apology before she bursts out of the greenhouse, dashing absurdly fast for a person in wellies.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That inspirational pep talk didn’t help for shit.

Ashton’s eye gets caught by a letter lying next to the slightly ajar door, thick and yellowish, with spindly purple cursive adorning the front, laying on top of a travel brochure.

It’s addressed to him.

From Penn’s gran.

Picking it up, he thumbs the corner thoughtfully, before setting it atop the plate of biscuits and trudging out of the greenhouse and back to his flat.

A hot shower seems the right move now, with maybe some hot chocolate and a few of Penn’s biscuits as he reads over this letter.

Yeah. Just what the doctor ordered.

#5sosff #5sos fanfiction #ashton irwin fanfic #5sos #fic: recipe for disaster #updates

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midnighttmarauder · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas

Summary: Christmas at the Potters with adorable Christmas jumpers.

Warnings: none

Thank you to @80s-addict for giving me this idea and helping me out. Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it! Thank you for an amazing year, and here’s to an even better 2018. Hope you all enjoy! xo

“Remus…what are you doing?” you asked, trying to suppress a laugh. He stumbled into the common room, a pile of packages swaying dangerously in his arms. He dropped them on the armchair, revealing his new jumper. It was a true Christmas red, with a white wolf sewn onto the front; a patch below his right shoulder read ‘Moony’ in looping white letters. He reached down to scratch the wolf’s ear, and its mouth opened in a silent howl as snow fell around it.

“That’s amazing!” Lily said, reaching forward to scratch the wolf’s ear again. “Muggle Christmas sweaters aren’t nearly this cool!”

“Mum made them. Sirius gave her the idea for the designs,” Remus said, gesturing dramatically at the wolf on his chest as it continued to howl.

“Wait, ‘them’? You’ve got more?” James asked, eyeing the packages beside him suspiciously.

“Yep, mum made jumpers for all of us,” Remus replied, beginning to hand them out. Yours landed in your lap, and you eagerly tore it open, nearly jumping at Sirius’ laugh beside you.

“She got the dog just right!” he exclaimed excitedly. He lifted his white jumper up, and you marvelled at the silver dog as it lifted its front leg, leaving a perfect paw print in the snow.

“I wonder what I got,” you mumbled, unfolding the black jumper. The wool was soft in your hands as you smoothed it across your lap, staring in awe at the beautiful picture that had been sewn into it. Snow fell from a starry, moonlit sky, and every so often, a silver shooting star would fly across the snowflakes. It seemed to glitter up at you as Sirius leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Do you like it?” he whispered.

“I love it. You came up with this?” you replied, unable to tear your eyes away from the snow.

“I know how much you love the stars. After all, you are dating the brightest one of all,” Sirius teased, and you snorted out a laugh, finally turning your head to look at him.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Oh my Merlin, I love it!” Lily exclaimed, holding up her jumper. It was green with a gold doe, and James’ matched; it was white with a gold stag. The stag and doe rose on their hind legs, and their noses glowed red.

“I chose green because it brings out your eyes,” Sirius said, shooting Lily a wink.

“How thoughtful of you,” she teased.

“Thank you so much, Remus. They’re lovely,” you said, pulling yours over your head.

“You’re welcome. Mum said it’s a thank you for you guys helping me out all these years,” he replied, sinking into an armchair.

“She doesn’t need to thank us, Moony, and neither do you. Besides, I know just where these can come in useful. You’re all coming to mine for Christmas this year, no excuses,” James said.

“Are you sure that’s alright with your parents?” Lily asked.

“Of course! They bother me every year for you guys to come over for the holidays,” James replied.

“I dunno, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you mumbled.

“Intrude? Don’t be ridiculous! Mum’s been dying to meet the girls that stole her sons’ hearts,” James said, nudging your shoulder with his.

“That’s all mum talks about when we go home for holidays! ‘When am I going to meet Lily and Y/N? Tell me more about them!’ There was one time that she didn’t ask us about how we were until three days after we came home!” Sirius exclaimed dramatically.

“She sounds lovely,” you said.

“She is,” Sirius replied, a soft smile crossing his face.

“Who’s up for coordinated Christmas jumper pictures?” James asked.

“Only if we give one to McGonagall to put in her office,” Sirius bargained.

“Deal.”

The first thing that you noticed about the Potter house was how bright it was. The glow from the Christmas lights seemed to light up the whole street, bathing it in jolly Christmas red and green. You clutched Sirius’ hand as you and your friends walked to the front door, and he chuckled, his laugh leaving him in a puff of fog.

“Stop being so nervous, they’ll love you. Mum loves you already and she hasn’t even met you,” Sirius assured, squeezing your fingers. You nodded, sending him a grateful smile as James opened the door.

“Mum, we’re home!” he called, ushering you all inside. The house was so warm, a fireplace cracking merrily in the hearth, and it smelled like gingerbread. You caught a glimpse of a large Christmas tree in the sitting room, neatly wrapped presents already tucked underneath.

“Merry Christmas!” Mrs. Potter exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen with a wide smile. She was a beautiful woman, her long brown hair pulled back into an intricate braid. Even with a floury apron tied around her waist, she exuded grace, and most notably, the kind of tenderness that only mothers are able to possess. She wrapped James in a hug, and pulled Sirius over to join them. James pulled away, flour smeared on his jacket, and turned towards the rest of you.

“Mum, this is–” James began.

“No, wait, don’t tell me! I want to guess!” Mrs. Potter interrupted excitedly. “Hello, Remus, it’s so lovely to see you again! Have you gotten taller?”

“I believe I have, Mrs. Potter. It’s nice to see you too,” Remus replied shyly, looking down at her with a faint blush tinting his cheeks.

“How many times do I have to tell you to just call me Euphemia! There is no need for formalities in this house. Now, onto these two beautiful girls,” she said, turning to you and Lily. Sirius smiled encouragingly at you over the top of her head, and you saw James give Lily a thumbs-up. Mrs. Potter looked at you and Lily with a soft smile, her gaze darting between the two of you.

“Mum, stop being creepy,” James said, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh, hush! I am not, I’m just trying to figure out which one is which! I feel like I already know you girls with how much these two talk about you,” she replied.

“Mum!” James hissed. Mrs. Potter winked at you with a laugh, before turning to Lily.

“You must be Lily Evans. Your eyes give it away. James is right, they’re stunning,” she said, wrapping Lily in a hug.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Potter,” Lily said.

“You can call me Euphemia too, dear. Mrs. Potter makes me feel old!” she replied, turning to you with a warm smile. “And you must be Y/N. You really are as beautiful as Sirius says.” She pulled you into a hug, and all your anxiety melted away.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for him,” you whispered. Mrs. Potter pulled away, looking into your eyes with a teary gaze.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“Are you done embarrassing us now?” James asked. You put a hand to your mouth to try to suppress a laugh at the matching blush on his and Sirius’ faces.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mrs. Potter said, patting James’ cheek, “I’m just getting started.”

“Mum, could you come take a picture of us, please?” Sirius called, tugging his Christmas jumper over his head.

“Are you sure you want to take them outside? It’s awfully cold,” Mrs. Potter replied, bustling over with a camera in her hands.

“We have to take it in front of our tree, it’s tradition,” James insisted, opening the door to a light snowfall.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” you exclaimed, running out and raising your face to the sky, letting snowflakes fall on your tongue. Sirius ran out behind you and grabbed you around the waist, twirling you around as you let out a squeal. You didn’t even hear the camera click.

“Follow me, lovebirds,” James said, taking Lily’s hand and leading your friends over to a pine tree in the corner of his front yard.

“It’s so beautiful,” Lily breathed.

“Just wait,” James replied, pulling out his wand. He waved it, and the tree lit up with thousands of tiny, golden stars.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” you whispered as Sirius wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Everyone turn towards me!” Mrs. Potter called, aiming the camera. Everyone huddled together, noses red and cheeks flushed, but with bright smiles. The stars made it seem as if you were all glowing. The camera clicked, and at the last moment, Sirius pulled you into a gentle kiss.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

“Merry Christmas.”

#sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #marauders imagine #marauders era imagine #merry christmas #harry potter imagine

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affectionatespy626 · 7 years ago

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Kitchen Bonding 101 - 1

---- Brewing Disaster

________________________________________

It was a fine day to try something different and new and having been new to the recent norm, a boundless childlike curiosity wells deeply inside the younger looking auburn haired lady, her eyes sparkling as she anticipated this newfound interest which was called baking. Of course she knows quite an information about baking but knowing it alone doesn’t really imply having knowledge of doing it or putting it into action. Thus the challenger heeds the challenge and seeks assistance from the older brunette of whom she has began to call unnie, or big sister.

Both ladies were currently staying in a vacation villa that C&R’s Han Jumin has graciously loaned them and were enjoying the company of three other companions being Saeyoung, Saeran and Stark (Vanderwood). As the said vacation villa was quite a distance away from the heart of the city, the rural ambiance provided peaceful calm for the group who had been going through some hellish train of events the past few weeks, taking this vacation as a well deserved reward and rest.

Back to the kitchen, the young auburn lady was wearing a trace of confusion as she faced the array of baking tools and ingredients. Having worn her messily self-sewn lilac colored apron with floral prints and a similarly decorated bandana to put her hair in place, she was psyching herself in preparation for this new demonstration of skill, which she knows nothing about, and a guide book to help her keep track of everything she’s about to meddle with.

“So…. first, pick a mixing bowl, measuring cups, sieve, mixer, whisk, rubber spatula, tray…..” Following the imagery and notes on the guide book, the young auburn picks the said tools and placed them on an empty island counter surface, aligning them by height, which kind of amused the older brunette.

“Hehehe, are you that nervous, Siren?”

“I just don’t know which ones are first to be used or should I have just arranged them by priority?” Abashed, the auburn lady curtly paused and wore a troubled smile, making the brunette lady chuckle at the sight of her.

“Relax! Just prepare the tools written in there along with the ingredients needed and we’ll proceed on doing the next procedure together!” Finding her younger company adorable, she let herself fondly pat the auburn lady on its pretty little head.

“Oh! Okay! Ahh~ why does that feel nice?” “Hahaha, should I pat you more?”

“Meow~ Please do!”

And their cheerful giggles soon resonated through the kitchen area.

_____________________________________

Meanwhile at the pool area, the guys were able to find themselves time to bask beneath warm morning sunlight, all relaxed on reclining poolside chairs, enjoying little bits of their usual antics.

“Stark~ Let’s play!” Said the bespectacled redhead, obviously poking the dirty blonde fellow who used to be his mentor with floaties, up and ready for pool leisure.

“No. Leave me alone. This is my very first vacation and I don’t want to waste it.” Sitting back and relaxed was the ever serious mentor, his eyes concealed behind dark shades as he let his shirtless torso bath in sunbeam. “Go find someone else.”

“No,” Even before the older redhead could muster a word of invitation, the younger redhead shut him right then and there with a blunt refusal. “Why do I have to be around you two when I could be there with the ladies and helping them out in the kitchen?” Vexation was eminent on his tone and face, marking the moment for the older redhead’s teasing.

“Hehehe~ You just want to be alone with the younger sister~ Hohohoho~”

“Shut up! And that’s not it!” Obviously stricken by his older twin’s teasing, the poor younger redhead couldn’t help acting all defensive. “Besides, what I’m curious about is why is Mr. Vanderwood- I mean, Mr. Stark even here?” “Well since Siren invited, I thought it was going to be rude to decline such an offer.” Replied the sandy haired lad lazily.

“And because she’s really fond of Stark like I am~ Her favorite prank victim, probably.” Chimed the older redhead.

“Whatever.” Scoffed the younger redhead, rolling his eyes away from the two, still quite irritated. ‘Why does it even make me feel all pissed of? This doesn’t make sense.’ He thought.

“Well since you two obviously won’t join me in the pool, I’ll just play with these bunch of floaters then!” Feigning disappointment, the redhead in his one piece black and white retro swimwear and snorkel gear, charges towards the pool like an angry kid while throwing the floaters into the surface of the water with obvious glee.

“God, Saeyoung, you idiot.” The poor younger one cups his face in exasperation.

_____________________________________

“Achoo!”

“Cough-”

“What happened, Unnie?”

“I’m…. not sure….Cough..”

Back in the kitchen however, things went on a rather unexpected turn. The place was filled with fog made of flour and the previously neatly arranged tools were scattered, ingredients in disarray.

“I think I may have switched the mixer on high module.. Waaaa….” Admits the young auburn who kept sneezing and having quite the difficulty on seeing through the haze of floury smoke. “I guess it was wrong to use the mixer on dry ingredients before adding the milk, liquid butter and vanilla and strawberry juice-- Achoo!”

“Hahaha! But it was funny though. Look, you made quite a number of clouds with just dry flour. Hahaha! Cough! Cough!” Mused the brunette lass before accidentally toppling over the pile of tin cake molds they had prepared for their endeavor.

“Hehehe…. Boo! I’m the ghost of baking past!” Chimes the auburn gal with a hearty chuckle.

“Hahaha! Oh my! Are you here to MOLD me back into shape?” Merrily answers the older lady, in hand a heart shape cake pan.

“Yes. And we shall decorate you with nuts and berries or perhaps frosted FLOURS.”

“Hahahaha!”

“Hehehehe!”

As a ring of laughter echoes into the walls of the kitchen, three shadows erupt from the kitchen entryway, obvious alarm in their voices.

“Honey! Are you okay?!” “What the hell was that crash?!”

“Siren, where are you?!”

And as haze of flour slowly eases away, two shadows of white could be made out from the kitchen floor, all crumbled to the floor, their honey colored eyes staring and blinking in confusion, cake flour coating their hair and upper body. Awkward silence momentarily filled the place, both ladies soon looking at each other before erupting into another fit of laughter.

_____________________________________

Vanderwood: “God…. I was scared for a second something happened.”

Saeran: “Sigh….” Saeyoung: “EEEEEK! GHOSTS! GIVE ME BACK MY HONEY!”

MC: “Hahahaha!” Siren: “Hehehehe! Boo!”

Vanderwood: “Note to self: Don’t leave two unbelievably incompetent cooks inside the kitchen.”

Saeran: “Agreed….” Saeyoung: “But this is actually funny. Hahahaha!”

MC: “Haha! Saeyoung, quit it---- Achoo!”

Siren: “Well, I guess I need to learn what I can while I am here, hehehe!”

#mystic messenger #joke draft / comical skit #mystic messenger cheritz #mysme saeran #mysme vanderwood #mysme saeyoung #mysme mc #mysme custom mc #saeran choi #saeyoung choi #vanderwood

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creativitytoexplore · 5 years ago

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Died Rich by Mitchell Toews https://ift.tt/3mPjo2r In Mennonite Manitoba, hard-up teenager Diedrich Deutsch is getting bullied at school, and tries his hand at basketball; by Mitchell Toews.

Part 1 - The New Shoes "I am a true sea-dog with balls the size of cantaloupes!" Diedrich shouted, slashing at a snowy tree branch with a cutlass made from a broken broom handle. "Diedrich! Diedrich Deutsch!" Doctor Rempel shouted from an open window. His breath turned to frozen vapour as soon as the words left the warm sedan. "Do you want a ride to school?" Diedrich dropped his weapon but not his swagger. He walked towards the waiting car that sat idling on the rutted ice of the street. A plume rose from the tailpipe, fouling the blue of the Manitoba sky, and when the engine backfired a perfect white smoke ring shot out, twirling with delight. "Hurry up, swashbuckler!" Doctor Rempel said with a friendly smile. He hawked and spat, then tossed out a cigar remnant and rolled up the window with a pumping arm. Diedrich got in and slammed the door. His window fogged immediately. "Now, did you say, 'cantaloupes' or 'antelopes'?" the doctor asked, steel wool eyebrows wagging. His nose was a purplish red and the pores on his cheeks stood out like moon craters, complete with a coating of grey dust - the same fine material that accumulated on the interior surfaces of the round-fendered four-door. Diedrich offered a winking reply, "Which is bigger?" "Ho-ho! You sounded like your dad just then. You did. Looking like him too. Seen him lately?" How likely is that? Diedrich thought. He held back the bold words and just shook his head no, adding a quiet scoff. "How about your aunts then? They are doing alright? Still living in that farmhouse on the edge of town, right?" "By Plett's potato fields," Diedrich said. "How long you been with them now? What's it, two years?" "Yes. Since Grade Seven," Diedrich said. "Yeah, yeah. And now you're in high school. A future matriculant in the class of '65. Cum Laude, no doubt. Your family has a fine history of brains and determination - and not a little of either! I delivered your daddy, you know? I swear he tried to kick me after I slapped him on the bottom." He grinned at the thought, then grunted with effort to steer the lumbering car onto the high school street. He halted, tires sliding, in front of the steps. A muster of teens stood on the curtilage just off school property, the snow packed down with footprints, sunflower seed shells, and cigarette butts. They turned to watch Diedrich disembark, the door squawking as he pushed at it. "Swing it hard!" Rempel hollered. "Give my greetings to Myrtle and Rosalyn, buccaneer!" The door clanked as Diedrich flung it shut with two hands. The boys watched him. "Hey, buccaneer," one of them sneered, "how come the doctor has to give you a ride?" "Yeah, what makes you so special? You sick?" The biggest of the boys stepped forward and grabbed Diedrich's sleeve. The old woolly garment, a refugee from the church basement, threatened to part at the shoulder seam. "Hey," the boy said. "Us guys are talking to you." His name was Morton, and he was the son of the Phys. Ed teacher, Mr. Smullett, a new resident who was an "Englisher" from Winnipeg. It was only the Smulletts' second year in Wenkler and the family was a gossip favourite, discussed by residents with mild, unspecified suspicion. Morton had earned the unfriendly Plautdietsch sobriquet, "Moazh". It meant "ass". Moazh was over a head taller than Diedrich, but Diedrich was most concerned for the well-being of his jacket, the only one he owned. Without stopping to think, he lifted his boot and stomped down on Moazh's foot. Protected only by a Converse basketball sneaker, the result was as Diedrich hoped. Moazh jumped back cursing and Diedrich made a streaking getaway, churning through fresh snow and up the steps, shouting, "Moazh!" into his floury wake. In Miss Feeblecorn's classroom, his new home room this semester, he found his name written on a piece of masking tape affixed to a desktop. "Deidrick Deutsch". He stared at the penned name tag as he hung his jacket on the chair back. "Young man," the teacher said, raising her voice and pointing at him with a ruler from her post on the raised floor near the blackboard. "You should put your jacket in your locker. I think you know that..." He nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am, from now on. I forgot." She mouthed "OK" as the announcements crackled from the loudspeaker.

He steered clear of Moazh for the rest of the day. After school, he snuck out of the janitor room door at the back of the building. On his way through he scooped a handful of green granules from the paper drum marked, "Sweeping Compound". He held the mixture under his nose, sniffing the refreshing chemical tang, and then put the crumbly concoction in his pocket. For later. Cutting diagonally across the playground, Diedrich set a course for the Thrift-T Car Wash. He found his tools in the pump house: a square edged spade, a wheelbarrow, and a stout length of steel reinforcing bar bent into a "J" at one end and a welded "T" at the other. One of the pumps hummed a short electric tone and then jangled to life. The copper water pipe that led out through the block wall to the car wash stall quivered like a hard-struck tuning fork. In the unoccupied stall, Diedrich began his after-school routine. He blocked the entrance with a sawhorse and left the waterlogged overhead door open for light. He coaxed the re-bar tip into the grillwork of the steel grate. Lifting and backpedalling, he skidded the cumbersome cover off, revealing a grave-sized pit in the concrete floor. At the bottom of the cement-walled tomb lay a six-inch thick layer of grey-green sludge. A compost reek grasped him in a foul embrace. He dug the minty sweeping compound from his pocket and took a deep solvent scented breath. "Ahh... ambrosia," he sighed, squinting one eye and then discarding the compound into the hole. After placing the wheelbarrow next to the edge and armed with his spade, Diedrich hopped down and began scraping out the half-frozen slurry of car wash residue. The loud rasp of the shovel hid the sound of a vehicle approaching. When he finally heard it he looked up in time to see the sawhorse lying on its side. A pick-up truck rolled towards him, its crooked teeth spelling out "Mercury". He ducked under the low-slung front axle. The truck pulled up to the wheelbarrow and then continued more slowly, the wheelbarrow chattering and screeching as it slid sideways against its will. The vehicle stopped above him and the doors opened. Feet appeared, including a familiar pair of Converse high-top runners. "Hey, hey, little Deutsch! Who's the ass now, eh? Eh? Now you're the morch - Ronny, is that how you say it?" "Yep, moarrzzzhhhh," was faceless Ronny's phonetic reply, emphasising the buzzing-shushing last syllable sound. "Ha-ha! Hear that, moarzzhh? We're goin' for a Pepsi now. You wanna watch my truck for me while you're down there? Tell ya what - I'll shut the garage door so you and my truck stay nice and warm in here, eh." Diedrich watched as the feet drew near to the wheelbarrow, dumping the dead-rat-motor-oil stinking muck on the sloping floor. A few seconds later he heard a quarter clink into the coin box on the wall and then the rush of water from the wash wand. Soapy water ran into the pit. He scraped a canal in the sludge so it could drain away. The wand fell with a clatter and then propelled itself backwards like a fleeing cuttlefish until it jammed in the corner of the bay. Moazh and Ronny left, their laughter echoing above the hiss of the spray. As soon as they were gone, Diedrich began crawling out, turning his head sideways to fit under the truck. Watery slop smeared his jeans and the chest and sleeves of his black jacket. No sweat, he thought, it'll all wash out. But once he emerged, he noticed the rip, on the seam where the sleeve attached to the shoulder.

Walking home in the failed light, he thought of all the things he could have done, retaliation planned with malicious precision: piss in the gas tank, empty the tires or drench the pick-up's interior with the wash wand. As he cut across Plett's plowed field, pebbly white snow capping dark furrows, he shook away his scheming and began preparing the lie he must tell his aunts to lessen their anger and dismay. He'd accept the black spot of their blame he decided, but not the punishment.

"Dear Miss Feeblecorn," Diedrich wrote in his neat cursive. "I have hung my jacket in my locker. Thank you for reminding me. Also. I noticed that you are spelling my name wrong. There is an easy way to remember: died rich. That's what I'm going to do, live a long life and die rich. You can remember it easy this way - I'm going to be the student who died rich, indeed. Spelled died but pronounced deed. Diedrich." He stuck the tape from his desk to the bottom of the page as evidence. Folding the note carefully into thirds, the way Aunty Myrtle taught him, he put it on the teacher's desk before school started. After the class sang "God Save the Queen" and recited "The Lord's Prayer", Miss Feeblecorn taught them about decimals, her tall, slanted numbers gathering like a crowd of bystanders on black pavement. The chalk dust lit on her green sweater, and she picked bits off her sleeve as she assigned a problem to them. Walking slowly down the aisle, arms crossed, she approached Diedrich's desk. He looked up when the soft tap of her square heeled shoes paused beside him. She bent down from the waist and whispered, "See me at lunch, please, Diedrich." He nodded, detecting the faint fragrance of Jergen's Lotion that reminded him of his mother. "I just wanted to confirm that I received your note," she began when he went to her desk at the break, after eating his sandwich. "Okay." "That's a very creative way to help others to remember the spelling of your name. I appreciate your telling me - I use tricks like that to remember names all the time." Diedrich blushed. He put his hands in his jacket pocket. He glanced at the shoulder seam, now neatly re-stitched courtesy of Aunty Rosalyn. She had washed it too, hanging it to dry in the glowing orange-toothed grin of the kitchen's portable heater. He caught a whiff of detergent and the outdoors smell of clean wool. "Of course we don't want to think about dying, necessarily, but it's okay to have big dreams. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, are we not?" "Pass it!" a high-pitched shout from the playground soccer game interrupted his consideration of her comment. He took a half-step back with one foot. "Oh, I'm holding you up. Sure! You get out there and get into the game with the others." As Diedrich turned to leave, Mr. Smullett came in, a whistle dangling on a lanyard around his neck. "Anita," he said, then glanced at Diedrich and corrected himself, "Miss Feeblecorn. Here are the sign-up sheets for the boy's basketball team. Please announce it to your class and invite anyone who wants to try-out to put their name here." "Shall do, Coach. Here you go, Diedrich, you could be the first to sign up. That way," Miss Feeblecorn added, her eyes shining, "everyone will see the correct spelling of your name!" Diedrich shrugged but stopped and looked at the foolscap sheet. It was divided into three columns: Name, Grade, Position. "Does it cost anything?" he asked, looking up at Smullett. "Only your time and sweat," the coach replied. "When do you play?" "We practice at noon-hour in the gym - that way the bus students have a chance to make the squad. We play in the evenings, four home games and four away games and then the championship tournament is on a Saturday." Diedrich pouted his lip, thinking of his job at the car wash. He could play. "'Kay give it here, once," he said, reaching for the sheet. He took it to his desk and wrote his name and grade into the spaces provided on the top line. Pausing, his gaze passing back and forth between the two teachers, he asked, "What should I put for 'Position'?" Smullett held out a flat palm to the top of Diedrich's head, "I'd say, 'Guard'. Can you dribble, shoot and pass? Can you run fast?" "I can run fast. I can shoot, I think." Diedrich smiled at Miss Feeblecorn and she replied with a determined face paired with a stabbing, upward hand gesture. Shooting? he wondered. He smelled the Jergen's Lotion again and handed the paper to Smullett, thinking, what does he mean, 'dribble' and 'guard'? "Okay," Smullett said, shuffling backwards, "I'll mark you down as a guard. See you tomorrow at twelve. Wear your gym clothes."

"When it's this cold, it always occurs to me that some of the creatures from Hell, the ones who were the borderline cases, the ones who just barely missed going to Heaven, get a short furlough. A vacation from Hades. I imagine the gatekeeper of Hell to be wearing a sharp business suit with a tailored shirt and tie, and that he would not be sweating, not even armpits or ass crack. He would just be there at the gates, surrounded by flame and molten sulfur, near the hounds. That fiend would be crisp and clean as a brand new twenty-dollar bill, frosty as a Fudgsicle," Doctor Rempel said, his bushy Roosevelt moustache cantering as he spoke. Since basketball try-outs started, there had been a cold snap and he had taken to driving Diedrich to his job at the car wash each afternoon. He also bought a pair of lined, leather work gloves for the boy. These were kept in the old Lincoln so that the doctor could also use them when he scraped the frost off his car windows. Rempel continued, "'Where the Hell do you think you're going?' the gatekeeper would ask - his little joke - and the borderline hellions would hand him a note. On Satan's private stationery, stamped in blood, a short message from the devil. 'Please allow these lost souls a brief respite from the heat. They may walk from the Wenkler Collegiate Institute to the car wash, accompanying young Diedrich Deutsch to his after-school job. Once they cool off to their satisfaction, they are to promptly return. No playing billiards, no consorting with women, no consumption of strong drink. No dancing, either," he added with a sly grin. Diedrich snickered, enjoying the forbidden topic as Doctor Rempel likely knew he would. The two drove in silence for a block and when the car stopped at an intersection, the doctor waited patiently for a number of boys and girls to crouch down behind the Lincoln and grab the bumper. He pulled away slowly, gradually accelerating until the kids could be heard squealing and laughing as they slid along the ice-covered street behind the car. "But what if they did some of the things they weren't supposed to?" Diedrich asked. "What if they played pool or drank a cold root beer from the Dairy Whip, or what if they didn't go back? Then what?" Doctor Rempel toggled the indicator switch as they turned onto Hespeler Avenue, towards the car wash. The bumper-shiners let go because Hespeler, freshly gravelled, was too gritty to rutsch. "Well, exactly!" Rempel said, reaching into his tweed coat and finding a cigar of reasonable length. He lit it while Diedrich waited for him to continue and the Zephyr idled at an intersection. They watched as a teacher led her line of waddling children across the street in their bright snowsuits, two-by-two. "If the lost souls are already in Hell, borderline or not, they can receive no further, greater sentence, right? Here on Earth, if you receive the death penalty, that's the maximum. In the same way, if you're in Hell, what worse place is there? If there is a Super Picante Hell, it's not mentioned in the Bible, and you'd think they might have pointed that out!" His conversation tailed off as the car wheeled onto the car wash yard. "So, okay," Diedrich replied. "They can't be punished any more, they are already ten out of ten, so they play hooky. Then what?" He looked around for the leather gloves. "Oh, Lordy, I wish I could figure that one out," Doctor Rempel said, puffing on his cigar. "On one hand, I suppose there's nothing matters at that point. They are hell-bound souls that have escaped, conditionally. If they come to this realization - if they see that they have beaten the system - what then? I hesitate to say this to such a tender boy as you, youth's impressions lasting lifelong as so forth, but that knowledge of having beat the devil might almost be better than Heaven!" "Oh, bah nay..." Diedrich said softly. "Listen. To get to Heaven, you play by the rules. You sacrifice some earthly pleasures, many examples of which you yourself will soon face in relative abundance in the coming years, even here in Wenkler." He tapped ash from the cigar. "These imaginary borderline folk obviously did not fully embrace self-denial and hence, wound up in the basement suite. Now, what if these prisoners of eternal damnation, out on their cold-weather day pass, recognize the infinity-sized loop-hole? Imagine the joy, imagine the freedom of knowing that, for all eternity - nothing more matters. My dear Diedrich, I suggest that wondrous revelation is not only better than Heaven, but worthy of a whole new religion in support of it. What say you? Are you my first convert?" "Thanks for the ride, I have to get to work," Diedrich said, sliding out the door into the frigid prairie gloaming. He paused, imagining the condemned, newly released from hell. Then he added, "Yeah... The worst punishment for them would be if they were sent back to you-know-where, and that was gonna happen eventually anyhow." He flipped hair out of his eyes, then pulled his toque on. "They couldn't be threatened!" "Yes! But would they feel brave because they were safe, or because they were totally, eternally unsafe? Eh?" Diedrich trudged to the pump room, confused by the strange conversation. He stopped and walked back to the open window on the driver's side, from which a blue cloud of El Producto emanated. "Yes, my acolyte?" Doctor Rempel said. "What you are saying is you want me to be brave? Period, end of story?" "You got it. Period, end of story." "Alright. I think I'm pretty good at that..." Diedrich said. "Be better than 'pretty good'. Be the best there is at being brave. You live in this little darp on the smooth, flat bottom of an ancient sea with your aunts, me, and some others here who know about you and the bad things you've endured. So you're safe. On the other hand, the things that have vexed you will continue to do so, and new adversaries and evils will threaten you on your path. So you are unsafe." He stoked the cigar with hollowed cheeks, bringing the tip back to crackling life, then similarly revved the flathead when it sputtered and seemed about to stall. "It's cold and my window's frozen open, so hurry up," he said, nipping at a silver flask he slipped out of his coat. "You have exactly thirty minutes before my tail lights you will see."

Early on school day mornings, the thump-thump-thump of a basketball could be heard in the deserted hallways framing the cinderblock sanctuary that was the WCI gymnasium. Periodically, the echo of the ball dribbling would cease, followed after a few seconds by the metallic clash of the steel supports that held the basketball backboards. Diedrich Deutsch created this syncopated melody as he padded barefoot from end to end, practicing his dribbling - first lefty, then righty - and taking an awkward shot at each end of the court. Panting and red-cheeked, he stopped just before the bell rang to alert teachers and janitors that the front doors would now be unlocked. Diedrich had gained early entry through the janitorial staff entrance, courtesy of Mr. Schellenberg. "No work boots on the gym floor!" Janitor Schellenberg scolded on the first morning, kneeling as if in prayer to apply a wetted thumb to one of the black heel marks left behind by Diedrich's boots. "Vedaumpt groota oabeit Steewel!" he had said, rising up and glaring down at Diedrich's dirty footwear. He followed this pronouncement with a blast of air through his thin nose and a translation for Diedrich, who looked puzzled. "Shucks-darn, big work boots!" Then he beckoned for the ball and with unexpected skill, banked it into the basket directly above him, spinning it like a top off the backboard. "English, not Low German!" he said, winking and retreating quickly to continue his morning chores. After a few weeks, Mr. Schellenberg paid him no attention. Alone one morning under the buzz of the blueish lights, Diedrich sat on the bleachers and rubbed at the soles of his feet, pink and blistered in places from their taxing laps on the polished hardwood. Just then, Coach Smullett came into the gym on the way to his small office. "Hey-hey!" he shouted, "look who's here early workin' on his game!" He pointed at Diedrich's bare feet. "It looks like old Schellenberg gave you the heck for wearing street shoes on the floor, eh?" Diedrich nodded. He was on the team's "Spare" list and although still allowed to attend practices, he had not yet made the team, officially. Being discovered in the morning by the coach was a happy accident that he had patiently contrived. He wasn't a particularly guileful boy but knew that extra effort could not hurt his chances. "Why don't you have your runners on? Forget 'em?" "No. I don't have any. Ernie Froese lets me wear his old ones, but I can't keep them 'cause he has to save them for his brother Jake. They don't really fit me anyway." "Hmm. What size you take?" "My boots are tens, but they are a little big, yet. A lot, actually." Smullett spun on a creaking rubber heel and walked swiftly to his office. He swung the door open and reappeared a minute later carrying a pair of worn Converse All-Star high top runners. One lace was red and one blue. "These old clod-hoppers - they're eights - have been in the lost and found since last year. You are welcome to them. Also, we have a game on Friday night in Plum Coulee. Can you go?" Overcome with excitement, Diedrich held the shoes as if a priceless, fragile treasure. He flopped down on the gym floor and immediately began trying them on, first holding the dark gum sole of one flat against his bare foot. Tying the laces, Diedrich took some rapid stutter steps, each squeal like music to him. He licked his fingers and cleaned the rubber soles the way he had seen older players do at practice. "Grippy!" he said to Smullett. "Thanks, Coach! Danke seea! Thank you!" With that, he peeled away across the floor at top speed, rounding into a U-turn and flying back to Smullett, finishing with a bounding lay-up - sans basketball - his fingers riffling the dangling cotton string of the net.

Part 2 - "Gentle and humble in heart" The sweaty starters sat on the bench while the second string stood in an encircling crescent. Crouching low in front of them, Coach Smullett swallowed his excitement and carefully went over his notes. "We are behind by only four points and their big guy..." "Number five, that groota Schanzenfelder?" Ernie Froese asked. "Yes, yeah, five, he's got four fouls. One more and he's out!" Diedrich listened, arms folded, weight on one foot above canted hips. He stared intently into Smullett's eyes as, arms waving, the coach described how they would pressure the guy with the ball in the second half. ("Dutch Blitz!" was Ernie's uninvited translation.) As the scoreboard clock sounded and their huddle broke up, Diedrich spoke. "Not to change the subject Coach, but when do I get in? I can take the ball away from those guys, easy." Smullett ignored the comment and sent the team out onto the floor. When Diedrich turned to sit down, he found no room on the player's bench. He could stand or choose instead to sit on the first row of bleachers in the midst of the Plum Coulee fans. Several of the nearby spectators recognized his predicament and began mocking him, laughing and jeering. "Hey number nine, why don't you sit down? Ride the pine!" "Yeah, you make a better door than a window, not? Sat die dohl, Jung!" Anxious to get out of the spotlight, Diedrich spun around and backed in, wedging himself on the crowded bench right beside the coach. Smullett slid sideways, hanging one chino'd cheek over the end. With the game tied and only a few minutes left, Moazh fell heavily. He limped off the floor and when Smullett turned to look down the row of eager replacement candidates, Diedrich shot up, yelling, "I know what to do!" and sprinted out onto the court. Smullett sputtered, but the referee blew the whistle and the game resumed. Red and blue laces flashed and Diedrich was everywhere at once, frantically chasing the ball, his slim form darting in between and around the taller players. Within seconds he stole a pass and despite missing the open shot, and the subsequent one he gained off a scrappy rebound, he was there when one of his teammates scored. The same thing happened twice more. Diedrich did not contribute directly to the score, but WCI pulled ahead and the buzzer blared to signal a timeout by the home team. "Nine is fine!" said a pretty girl with bright blue eye shadow, calling from the stands. Diedrich hid behind the coach. Steve, a skinny boy who scored twice thanks to Diedrich's rabid dog antics, slapped him on the back. "Way to go, there, Deutsch!"

Doctor Rempel's breath wheezed in and out. He concentrated on the Converse All-Stars that sat in a box on the Lincoln's bench seat between him and Diedrich. He peered through smudgy glasses perched on his rutabaga nose. "And that's how you found them, in your locker..." Diedrich nodded, his chin lifting off his chest. "Yeah. I could smell something was wrong, right away. The melons are totally rotten." "Right, I'm getting that," the doctor replied, sniffing. He used the red tip of a wooden match to pull back at the tongue of one of the runners. They were packed with a viscous, runny filling of rancid fruit. The shoelaces were slit down the middle and the canvas uppers were in ribbons. "Kind of funny, don't you think, that cantaloupes were the weapon of choice? Eh? Remember?" Diedrich snuffled in reply. Rempel quickly said, "Coulda been worse, coulda been rancid antelope!" Diedrich laughed then, despite his best efforts. He forced himself to look serious. "What should I do?" Rempel mused. He retrieved and offered a clean folded hanky to the boy, who took it and blew his nose hard. "Hey! That's for polishing my glasses!" Doctor Rempel said, feigning anger. "Okay, look. What do you want? Justice? Revenge? A get out of jail free card? What?" "I just want my runners," Diedrich said. "Really? Whoever did this deserves some knuckle justice. Me? I'd want to kick his ass." Diedrich blew out a puff of air. "I'll take you home. Leave the shoes with me. Get a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning. Sound good?" After a long, clearing breath, Diedrich hummed, "Um-hmm," and wiped his nose on a jacket sleeve. "Here. Keep it," Rempel said, tossing back the hanky with a pronounced wrinkling of his sea lion nose.

The next afternoon at the car wash, Cornelius James Rempel, MD, sat in his rusting '46 Lincoln Zephyr and smoked. He watched the boy work, a study in efficiency and diligence. After scraping up a shovelful of sludge, he rocked its weight back and used the pendulum momentum to heft the load up to the apogee. Up and over the lip of the barrow it went, with a sudden twist of the blade at the last to spill the sodden cargo. Still so young, he thought. Whip smart. Mature too - a stoic. Unlike his weasel of a father on that count. "How far that little candle throws his beams!" Rempel said aloud. His speech disturbed a chickadee that pecked at cigar ash. He had asked the boy the day before what he wanted - justice or revenge. "What about you, Rempel?" the doctor said now to himself, eyes regarding his reflection in the mirror. "What do you want?" The chickadee, satisfied that there was no nutrition in the black bits on the snow, beat a whirring retreat. Rempel watched it go. What do I want? To have no regrets - free as a bird, he thought. Leaning back in his seat, he remembered Rosalyn, back in high school. A year after him, she had the best marks in her grade and beat him in the school spelling bee. He faltered under her confident stare and added a fatal extra "n" to "panache", giving her the win. Diedrich hurried towards the car, whacking the leather work gloves against his dirty pants and the sides of his boots, as if challenging them to a duel. "All done, record time!" he called out. Swirling back into the old Zephyr together with a shock of cold air, he rested a hand on the box that held the rotted evidence, his defiled All-Stars. "Okay, Doctor, what did you decide?" he asked, applying his hanky to his reddened nose. "I think you and your aunts - not me - should be the ones to decide. Not me, sir. But I have an idea." Diedrich waited for the doctor to continue as Rempel pulled the car up onto the macadam esker that was Hespeler Avenue. "Myrtle and Rosalyn will be home now, yes?" he asked. In the aunts' small 1-1/2 storey house, Rempel sat across the kitchen table facing Diedrich and his two spinster aunts. Following small talk and tea, he told the whole story to the sisters. He answered their initial questions, then laid out his plan. "First, I believe we need to confirm, with absolute certainty, who did this. It seems quite obvious to me that the vandal is the coach's son, Morton," he looked at Diedrich, who affirmed with a nod. "His father should be given the evidence and..." "Morton said something to me," Diedrich said. "Sorry I didn't tell you before, but at school today he bugged me about the shoes." "Who else knew about them, about your runners getting wrecked?" Rosalyn asked. "No one. Only Doctor Rempel, and now - you and Aunty Myrtle. Today, Morton, he said to me, 'How do your shoes smell?', or something like that." She looked at Rempel, "Go on, please Corny." "Fine. That's out of the way, then! Morton's as good as confessed. He's our man. That's no surprise to me. And that makes me even more certain that what I have in mind is the right thing to do! I say it's best to force a confrontation. I want Diedrich to challenge Morton to a fist-fight. After school, just the two of them." The room was quiet. The sisters looked at each other, then both at Diedrich. "That could get him in a lot of trouble," Myrtle said. Rempel nodded without commitment. "And what about 'turn the other cheek'? Don't answer violence with violence." she added, fretting with her napkin. The doctor sat still. The mantle clock ticked from the parlour. "He could get expelled." "Not to interrupt," Diedrich said, waiting for his aunt to approve before he continued. "But not if it's before or after school and off school grounds," Diedrich explained. "Helmut Reimer and Fats Wall had a fight behind the pool hall and they didn't get kicked out." "But Morton's dad is a teacher," Rosalyn said, smiling at her nephew and adding, "not to interrupt..." "Also, that Morton boy is three grades ahead of D'rich! He must be way bigger, not?" Myrtle said, her tone trembling, fragile as the mismatched plates on the table. "All that is true," said Doctor Rempel, taking a slow breath and worrying with fat fingers the pocket holding his cigars. "That's why I went and talked to Coach Smullett earlier today..." All eyes in the kitchen were on him as he continued - bedside manner activated, his voice rumbling like an advancing tank. "I believe Smullett is a decent man. I met him this morning where he gets his coffee before school. I went to his car and showed him the shoes. As soon as I showed him, his face turned bright red and he said, 'Morton!'" "He knew right away?" Rosalyn asked. Rempel nodded slowly, a hand cupping his beard, fingers combing the grey whiskers. "He did. Smullett was convinced. Is convinced. He said that he would get the truth out of Morton, and that the boy would buy new ones and apologize in front of the team." Doctor Rempel drew himself up and adjusted his glasses. "I said no to that..." "Why?" Myrtle and Rosalyn said simultaneously. "This kid is a bad egg. He's not gonna take his medicine, he'll blame Diedrich for calling him names, he'll blame anyone else but himself. He'll plot a revenge, too. I reckon that the only way to get him to lay off Diedrich, now and forever, is to push him right to the edge. Diedrich should challenge him to a fight." "Oh, my. But it's the Coach's job to manage the team and it's also his job as a father to discipline his son. Right? Plus," Rosalyn said, shifting in her seat, "the shoes were free in the first place. A gift from the coach. A very thoughtful one, too." She looked hard at Rempel. "You're right, Ros," Rempel stammered. Eyes that could stare an eagle blind. "But, in this case, I think this misery will visit us again if we don't cut it out entirely. Now's the time to excise it." The tiny kitchen was quiet again. This time the muffled clatter of the sump pump from the crawlspace below broke the nervous silence. It jumped to life with a throbbing beat. "You think that if Diedrich challenges Morton to a fight, the other boy will back out?" Rosalyn said, her voice raised slightly to overcome the rattling pump. "If I know my bullies, yes, that's what I think will happen. Between his guilt and his weak character, yup. One hundred per cent. I can be around - I am a doctor, remember - to make sure it's just a little dust-up. A cut lip never killed anyone." "How will that, excise the problem for good, as you put it?" Rosalyn asked, one eyebrow hitched. "Morton will be shamed, of his own doing. If he declines to fight... if he fights and loses... and - especially - if he fights and wins over Diedrich who is smaller and younger - he is shamed. If, however, his father, or the school, or I, or you and Myrtle step in, then Morton will be off the hook." "Why?" Rosalyn shot back. "He'll become the victim and our Diedrich will be nothing but a tattle-tale. Plus," he said, taking in a breath and tapping his fork handle on the tablecloth, "it will leave the door open to future animosity from Morton. Reprisals against Diedrich that could be even more serious." Rosalyn drummed her fingertips on the table-top, almost as if a Morse code reply. Her brow crinkled in concentration. The others watched her for a reaction. "Diedrich," she said, turning to face her ward. "I never thought I would push you into a fight. That is not our way! But Doctor Rempel thinks it may not come to fighting. What do you think, Jung?" "What took you guys so long?" he said. Rosalyn touched Diedrich on the shoulder. "It's your decision. Still, I'll pray on it."

The old Zephyr gurgled asthmatically, shuddering in place on the street in front of WCI. A small flock of chickadees took turns flitting to and from between the open driver's window and a cluster of young elms across the street. A shoebox under his arm, Diedrich was one of the first to skip out of the entrance doors after the final school bell rang. He trotted towards the gurgling car with a light gait and popped the passenger door open in a smooth one-handed motion. "So? How'd it go with Morton? What happened?" Doctor Rempel asked in a rush of words as soon as the Diedrich got in. "Oh, no big deal. At lunchtime, Morton bought me new shoes with Christmas money from his Opa in Altoona and he's gonna come to the car wash and help me for a week." "Huh! I hope you mean Morton, not his Opa," the doctor said, unable to resist the jab and using it to hide his surprise. He turned away and then kicked at the accelerator, suddenly annoyed with the halting idle. "I thought you were going to challenge him to a fight?" "Who, his Opa?" "Ha." Doctor Rempel slipped him a dour, side-eyed look, buttered with a smile. "I don't mean to change the subject, but Morton an' me are going to go to Winnipeg with his cousin on Saturday. To the U of M. They have glass backboards in the Bison fieldhouse. We're gonna shoot around and then watch the team practice." "So - what?" Rempel said. "That means you two are friends now?" The big V12 grumbled and Rempel adjusted the choke lever on the dash. "I guess. You said be brave. You said be the best at being brave. Period. End of story." Diedrich said this plainly, all the while with his eyes on Doctor Rempel, a frank expression on his young face. "It wasn't as scary as you guys figured." "Sure," Rempel said, imagining how this resolute young boy, the ruined shoes brandished like loaded pistols, would have approached the bully, pushing down his fear, looking up at his stronger, older foe. He could not have known what to expect, but he emerged with the best of all outcomes. "...for I am gentle and humble in heart," the doctor thought, the passage clear in his mind. "Anyway," Diedrich said, leaning forward to tune the radio dial. "You get the Stones on this old bucket?" He grinned playfully and then shoved the shoebox at his chauffeur. "Take a look, these runners are really neat! One lace red, one blue. Chuck Taylors!" Doctor Rempel put the car in gear and began up the street. The engine fell into synchronization, dropping down several octaves and then spitting out a white smoke ring that spun rearward, rising gracefully into the Prussian blue of the winter sky.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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