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avintagekiss24 · 5 years ago

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Hot for teacher [1] > Bucky Barnes

PAIRING; Dark!Professor!Bucky Barnes x black!reader

WORD COUNT; 2,558

WARNINGS; Age difference, teacher/student dynamics, female masturbation, eventual dub-con elements

SUMMARY; You’re in your final year away at boarding school. There’s a new ethics teacher in town, and instead of helping you to straighten out your principals, he twists them all up.

NOTE; This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Precode Challenge. I chose the movie Madchen in Uniform from 1931, where a girl gets sent off to boarding school and falls for her teacher.

I’m not sure how many parts this’ll end up being, but I have a lot of ideas, lol. Reader is a smart ass in this one, but Bucky likes a smart ass. Hope you guys enjoy on this fine Saturday evening :)

☞ PART TWO | ☞ SERIES MASTERLIST

You tap your pencil against your open textbook absentmindedly as you glance around the room. Your foot swings wildly from side to side as your brain races. You take a deep breath. You’ve always loved and hated the first day of school. You hate it, because from the moment your alarm goes off on the first day of school, the anxiety and pressure sets in. The word perfect comes to mind. You have to be perfect - straight A’s for mommy and daddy and nothing less. You love it because it’s really the only thing you’re good at. You’ve been perfect for so long that you don’t know how to be anything else.

You always sit up straight. You always cross your legs. You always eat your salad with your salad fork and your dinner with your dinner fork. You say please and thank you after every interaction with another human. You are prim and proper and perfect - always have been, always will be.

You glance at the clock on the wall - leave it to the new guy to be late on the first day. You roll your eyes and let out another sigh as you continue to kick your foot out of boredom and anxiety. People talk and laugh around you but you tune it out as you chew on the inside of your cheek. You glance at the clock again - come on.

The door suddenly opens, snapping all of your attention toward it as a short haired, stubble chinned man enters, “Sorry guys,” he starts, as he moves toward his desk, “It’s not the first day of school unless I’ve set a bad example for you.”

Laughter sounds around you but you don’t join in. You blink slowly as you scoot to the edge of your seat.

“So, first things first,” he starts, sitting on the edge of his desk and stretching out his legs to cross them at the ankles, “I’m Professor Barnes, but I don’t want any of you calling me that. We’re all adults, right? I mean, you’re all almost eighteen, if you aren’t already. Call me Bucky.”

Bucky. You’re not sure why but a jolt of something flashes right through your body. Bucky. It’s oddly erotic. You sit up a little straighter (if that’s at all possible) in your seat.

Your eyes sink down his lean frame. He’s dressed like you’d think an ethics teacher would be dressed - a brown and beige sweater covers a striped button down dress shirt and matching tie. His legs are long in his brown slacks, the material hugging his thighs slightly tighter than they should. The outfit is capped off with a pair of brown loafers - the expensive kind - as he shakes his foot.

“I’m also not going to lie, I’m probably going to be late more often than not. I’m not a morning person.”

He chuckles after his admission and you groan inwardly. Your eyes squint slightly as you bring the eraser of your pencil to your mouth to chew on it. Your crossed legs start to sway to and fro as your eyes continue to move up and down his body. Your thoughts turn from straight A’s and extra credit to things that would make your mother blush. He looks like he works out. He looks… firm.

A short, dark haired girl lifts her hand from the second row and he nods towards her, “So, what happens if we’re late? Are you going to count it against us?”

He cocks his head to the side and bends his lips down before he shrugs, “What do you think I should do, Miss…”

“Amy, Amy Podkulski.” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I think as long as we’re here within a reasonable time, we should get a pass. As long as we aren’t taking advantage of it, you know?”

He nods slowly, keeping his blue eyes on her as she talks, “I think that’s fair. I mean, listen, I’m supposed to be preparing you for real life, right? For college and beyond - look, things are going to happen. People are going to get sick, they’re going to oversleep, they’re going to have car trouble. That’s real life. I’m not a hard ass. I like to think of myself as understanding, so, as long as you all are honest with me and don’t take advantage of me, an occasional tardy won’t bother me.”

You watch as several students nod and smile, already catching onto his casual vibe.

“That’s cool,” Amy Podkulski nods and you can hear the smile on her face, “Thanks Professor Barnes.”

“I told you,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s Bucky. Any other questions? Come on guys, I don’t bite.”

Your brain spins at almost a million miles a second as you chew on your pencil. You lift your hand slowly, a smirk playing on your lips as you come up with something shitty to say. Being a smart ass just comes with the territory you suppose.

Bucky links eyes with you seconds later and you almost gasp at the intensity behind them. You swallow quickly and clear your throat, regaining your composure quickly.

“You say that you’re supposed to be getting us ready for real life, right? So, how would you letting us be intentionally late, set us up for success?”

He smiles at you and pride swells in your chest, “Things happen. I’m not allowing you to be intentionally late for the hell of it, I’m being understanding.”

“Yes, but what supervisor or manager cares about what your morning is like?”

“Good ones.”

You shrug, “How many good supervisors or managers have you had?”

He smiles again, but this time wider - broader - showing off his perfect white teeth and the crinkles that form at the corners of his eyes, “Touche. What’s um, what’s your name?”

“I didn’t say.” You smirk back, enjoying this banter back and forth.

You’ve always tested your authority figures, trying to see if they can keep up with your quick wit and sharpness. You’ve dismantled a few, earning yourself more than a few tense classroom experiences, with one even having you switched to another teacher. This Bucky guy though? He’s good.

Truth be told, this is exactly what you wanted. Not so much to challenge him per se, but to have his full attention, all on little old you.

“Okay,” he starts confidently as he stands and starts to pace, his arms still crossed over his chest, “You think I’m being too lenient?”

“Not so much lenient, but you giving us the belief that as long as you're honest, people will both believe and forgive you. That’s just not true.”

“Interesting,” he nods as he continues to pace. He stops and cuts his eyes toward you again, “That’s a tad bit cynical, don’t you think?”

You shrug again as you feel the eyes of the rest of the students on you, “Maybe.”

“So, you don’t think that you’ll ever get the benefit of the doubt? That every single time you do something that’s considered a punishable offense, you should, but more importantly, you will be penalized? You think that is the real world?”

“That’s what society has shown us to believe, isn’t it? People get fired every day for being a few minutes late more than twice a month, aren’t they?”

He chuckles again, “Well if that’s the case, I should have been fired years ago.” Laughter rumbles through the classroom, “So you believe that you should be held accountable for everything?”

“Would I be taking ethics as an elective if I didn’t?”

He matches your smirk. He stares at you for a few seconds, his eyes dipping down your face slightly before he returns them squarely to your eyes. Your body is shaky and hot, your panties wet for a multitude of reasons. You’re a show off, and it gets you off when you get to parade your intelligence in front of an audience. You like a quick banter, you like knowing that someone can stand toe to toe with you on an intellectual level. You also like him. Bucky.

You’re going to touch yourself tonight.

If you can make it that long, that is.

“How about we do this, miss I didn’t give my name. How about I hold you, and only you, accountable for your tardies, hm?”

You shrug defiantly, “That’s fine with me, but, how are you going to do that if you’re not going to show up on time?”

His voice drops to a dangerously low octave, “Oh, I think you just made me a morning person.” Your lips part as you sense the slight edge in his voice, “Anything else?” He asks, quirking his eyebrow.

You shake your head, “No sir.”

The next hour goes by all too quickly if you do say so yourself. You could listen to him speak for hours on end. You’ve got almost six pages of notes - things scribbled in the margins, arrows pointing every which way. You currently sit with your chin in your palm, your eyes squarely on him, your blood rushing as your clit throbs between your legs.

“Alrighty,” he sighs, checking his watch, “That’s all I’ve got today. I’ll see you guys on Wednesday, okay? Hope you enjoy the rest of your first day back.”

You shut your notebook as the rest of the class moves around you, chatter instantly filling the room as the bell rings seconds later. You shove your book into your bag and stand, adjusting your plaid skirt before you move between the seats and down to the door.

A hand stops you - thick fingers and a warm palm wrap around your bicep. You turn on the balls of your feet to face the strong jawed Bucky Barnes. He looks just past you as the rest of the students file out one by one.

“I’m going to take this as a personal challenge, I hope you know.” He simpers, still ready and willing to play with you.

“Well, I hope you do, Mr. Barnes. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“I can see that,” he winks. You catch a whiff of his cologne and it nearly bowls you over, “I look forward to this semester with you.”

You bat your eyes towards him and drop your chin as a small, soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “You as well Mr. Barnes.”

He lets you take a few steps before he calls to you again, “It’s Bucky.”

You stop, glancing over your shoulder, “I prefer Mr. Barnes.”

You feel his eyes on you as you pass through the door.

You’re not going to make it until tonight.

You check your watch quickly before you eye the sign for the girls bathroom. Seven minutes. You can make it happen in seven minutes. You make a quick b-line and push into the crowded bathroom, thankfully finding an open stall. You move inside and shut the door, slamming the lock into the small hole. You drop your bag to the floor - something you’ll ultimately regret later due to your germaphobic tendencies - and shove your hand into your skirt.

You close your eyes as your fingers start to move quickly, Bucky’s voice filling your head. I’m going to take this as a personal challenge, I hope you know. Your fingers dance between your wet lips, quickening as flashes of your excitement start to bounce through you. Your heart flutters. You can hear your wetness as you massage your clit, your hips starting to roll into your fingers.

Six minutes.

You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle a soft moan as your free hand slips into your shirt. You squeeze your breast before pinching your nipple to bring it to attention. You toss your head back as thoughts of Mr. Barnes’ beard scraping against your thighs as he sucks you off ravage through your brain. You shove your fingers into your wet cunt, pushing them in and out, in and out as you roll your nipple between your fingers.

You release your breast and slip your hand into your skirt to accompany the other. You rub quick circles against your clit as you fuck yourself in the stall, just inches away from the flood of girls that move in and out of the bathroom.

So you believe that you should be held accountable for everything? You grunt softly as his words replay in your head. You want him to hold you accountable all right. Bend you over his desk, lift your skirt, spank you like the bad little girl you are.

Five minutes.

Your stomach jumps into your throat when your hips hitch at the thought, your orgasm building faster and faster. You push your hips into your hands as your skin starts to prickle with sensitivity. A shiver runs the length of your spine as you work yourself over, trying to stifle the high pitched noises that squeak out from your tight throat.

Your muscles clench your fingers as they start to quiver from the impending rush. Your heart leaps into your throat, your breath quickens as your body tenses.

Four minutes.

You hum quickly as you focus on coaxing out the sweet orgasm you so desire. You bite your lip again, imagining that your fingers are Mr. Barnes’ - scratching, groping, fingering, pumping into your flesh. How he’d ruck your skirt around your waist, nibble on your neck and earlobe, whisper sweet nothings as he finger fucks you up against his desk.

So, you don’t think that you’ll ever get the benefit of the doubt? That every single time you do something that’s considered a punishable offense, you should, but more importantly, you will be penalized?

You cum with three minutes to spare. You grunt quietly, biting down on your bottom lip so hard that you think you might draw blood. Your cunt clenches around your fingers as your clit jumps with convulsions. You thrust your hips forward as it consumes you - your pussy squirting, your warm juices splashing against your thighs and the floor below.

You fall against the wall, rolling onto your back as your chest heaves. Your eyelids are heavy as you can barely see through the slits. You hum again as a smile spreads on your face and a giggle sneaks through. This’ll get through the day. Now, you’ll be able to make it until tonight when you can slip under the covers with your vibrating boyfriend.

Two minutes.

You clean up - wiping at your thighs and then the floor with some toilet paper before collecting your bag. You move out to the sinks and wash your hands, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. Girls buzz around you, applying makeup and laughing and talking as you dry your hands before smoothing them down your jacket and skirt.

One minute.

You throw your hair over your shoulder, take one last glance at yourself before you move out into the hallway. You hurry toward your next class, slipping into the large room and taking a seat in the second row just as the bell rings. You wait a few minutes until your trigonometry teacher is deep in his lecture before you pull out your phone, flipping to your mother’s number.

I need a new backpack… dropped mine on the bathroom floor.

#precodechallenge #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x black!reader #dark!bucky barnes x you #dark!bucky x you #you x dark!bucky #professor!bucky #professor!bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark!#dark!marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #avintagekiss24 #hot for teacher

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deathonyourtongue · 5 years ago

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Winter Passing | Chapter 2

Summary: Injured and left for dead in the middle of a nowhere state, he traverses peaks and valleys for days without seeing any sign of civilization. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, he finds a cabin in a clearing. Terrified from years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories, he nevertheless knocks on the door. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: Slightly AU!Henry Cavill x OC Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: None for this chapter A/N: As always, like if you want to be added to the tag list. Message me if you want to be removed.

@radaofrivia @crushed-pink-petals @henrycavillfanpage @kirasmomsstuff @bluestarego @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners @safiras @honeychicana @agniavateira @henryfanfics101 @fatefuldestinies @lifeofrileyp

Olivia did her best to keep from laughing at the man slumped in front of her hearth. His reaction to her home, and to her, was one for the record books. Most people who crossed onto her land were curious, some talkative to the point of being obnoxious and some too scared to even say more than a hello for fear she would put them in an oven or make them part of the house. She wasn’t sure why grown men and women still held onto childhood fairytale nonsense, but in the stranger’s case, with his expression as if he’d seen a ghost, his first words were icing on the cake, and Olivia had to cover her mouth to keep the noise from escaping.

When sobered enough to maintain a straight face, Olivia stepped into the living room and crouched down so she was eye-level with her patient. “Hi. I’m Olivia. You passed out on my porch. What’s your name?”

“H-Henry.” The man answered, his eyes still drooping from what Olivia could only suspect was a concussion. She’d have to task Gunnar with keeping him awake lest the fatigue take hold.

“Henry. From the old Germanic meaning ‘Home Ruler’.” Olivia murmured more to herself than to anyone else, swirling the name around in her mind as though it were a vintage wine. “Do you remember what day it is?” She asked, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor next to him, one hand extending tentatively out to check his head for any more bumps now that he was sitting up somewhat.

“It’s Monday. Worst day of the week,” Henry grumbled despite a soft smile thrown in her direction. “I don’t remember much of anything. Definitely don’t remember how I got here. Have you called the police?” He gave her the added information without Olivia needing to prod, Henry’s question making her smile.

“No. Usually I wait until my visitors are coherent before making assumptions and calling for help.” Winking at him, she chuckled and helped him shift to a more comfortable position resting against her couch.

“Don’t try and stand just yet. Pretty sure that with the angle your leg was at when you slumped into the doorway, you’re gonna be hurting if you try. So you don’t remember how you got to the bottom of the mountain?” Olivia asked as she stood once more, moving to the kitchen to start on breakfast and some peppermint tea for her guest.

Monday was her day to include mending in her practice, and it seemed as though the universe was sending Olivia her greatest challenge yet. Discreetly, she saged the kitchen, paying special attention to the cup Henry would drink from, hoping that along with the mint, the sage would begin to cleanse him of any of the negativity his incident had brought through her door.

Henry watched Olivia move about the kitchen, barefoot and so in tune with her surroundings that it made him wonder if she had made the house with her own two hands. Far more graceful than his ex, it seemed almost like she had a trail of stardust propping up every movement of her arms and legs. It may have been the concussion affecting his vision, but Henry was enthralled nonetheless.

“Are you allergic to anything, Henry?” Olivia asked, breaking Henry’s reverie as she pulled eggs from the basket on the counter, butter from the dish, and a ham from the ice box. After a moment’s pause and the realization that she had no bread, Olivia grabbed grated potato from the ice box and placed it next to the ham, switching her original menu from an omelette to a breakfast hash for better balance.

“Not last I checked,” he replied, his smile lopsided and boyish, Henry’s attention moving only briefly to Gunnar who’d made his thigh resting place for his fuzzy head, the dog huffing out a great sigh as though he knew his owner was in for a long night with their new guest.

Olivia finished off his tea with honey, adding a single lavender bud in the bottom to help with the wearing off of the adrenaline she could still feel coursing from his every pore. Whatever had happened, it had been bad enough to force him to walk all the way to her place injured, and no one did that unless they absolutely had to.

“Here. Drink slow and just know you’re safe now. Nothing’s broken, or dislocated, but I don’t want you in a rush to leave here because the injuries you do have aren’t exactly minor. Do you feel dizzy?” She asked as she handed over the mug, noting the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands as he took the drink, another sign that if she didn’t get him fed, bathed, and into the downstairs bedroom soon, he’d be in a world of pain.

Henry went to nod, but the room spun too hard, forcing him to take deep breaths in order to make it stop. When the wave of seasickness passed, he managed a weak smile and said, “Yes, the room’s still moving quite a bit.”

Olivia resisted the urge to ruffle his curls, blinking it away and silently questioning herself on the matter, wondering if maybe she’d been too long removed from human contact. Going back to her stove, she checked on the hash and found it ready to plate.

“Smells amazing,” Henry commented as she approached, two plates perched in one hand, a mug of strong coffee in the other. “Gunnar, scoot,” she spoke softly to the dog, getting a half-hearted growl before he jumped up onto the couch, wedging his head promptly between the two humans, intent on not only staying in the circle of conversation, but of seeing if there was anything worth eating on their plates.

“Here,” Olivia grinned, giving Gunnar a piece of ham, swearing she could see him smile as he scarfed it down.

“He’s quite the character,” Henry chuckled, graciously accepting the fork Olivia offered before looking at the plate with an elated grin.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Olivia replied, side-eyeing Gunnar, the dog simply huffing in response.

“Looks amazing too. One final test left,” Henry joked, giving her a wink.

Olivia admired the fact that, despite everything he seemed to have gone through given his injuries, he’d still managed to retain his humor. It was rare in her limited experience with men, and she found herself smiling around her first bite, appreciating the company of someone other than Gunnar for the first time in a long time.

They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally sneaking glances at one another, Olivia in fear that Henry would fall asleep, and Henry in curiosity that this was the life Olivia had chosen for herself. He couldn’t understand why anyone, let alone a woman by herself, would choose to live in the middle of nowhere, off the grid, and with little more than a dog for company.

When they finished, Olivia made quick work of the plates, cleaning them before the remnants could dry and stick. Not having running water was tricky at times, but she always made it work, no matter the circumstances.

“Okay, you stay put for a bit--stay awake--and I’m gonna fill the tub. We’ll get you cleaned up, then over to bed for some rest. Sound good?” Olivia asked, wrapping the shawl tighter around herself before slipping on her coat and stepping barefoot into her boots in preparation for bringing in the four buckets of water she’d need to heat over the hearth in order to fill the clawfoot tub that rested in the sunroom across from the kitchen.

With the first bucket filled, Olivia dumped it in the sparkling tub before crouching down and lighting the firebox beneath the ceramic. She slowed her pace on the second, giving the fire enough time to do its work before another layer of frigid water was added. By the time she was on the fourth, the water was nearly too hot; the last bucket took it down low enough to get into, and by the time she got Henry in, it would be the perfect temperature for soaking.

Olivia glanced quickly over the bundles that hung above the tub, picking a handful of Tujah, Wintergreen, Wormwood, and Mugwort, before adding Sage and Willow Bark to the mix. Satisfied with the amount of pain relief the plants would provide, Olivia moved back to the living room, concentration clear in her features.

“Bend your knees. Tell me which one hurts worse,” she instructed, watching the confusion on Henry’s face turn to realization. Slowly, he did as asked, wincing when he bent his left leg. It was all the answer she needed. “Okay, I’m gonna pull you up, and when I do, put your weight on your good leg, got it?” With Henry’s nod, she extended both hands and waited for his grip to firm before pulling him towards her, catching his large frame just under his arms when he came up too fast.

“Easy, easy,” she coaxed, slinging his left arm across her shoulders, Olivia making herself a veritable crutch for him to use.

With nothing but natural light to illuminate the room, some of the bruising on Henry’s face became more apparent. “Hit the dash pretty hard, huh?” Clicking her tongue, she shook her head, grateful he’d made it as far as he had in more or less one piece.

“You reckon it was a car accident?” Henry wondered, still having no recollection of how he came to end up on Olivia’s doorstep, nor of the events leading up to it. Whatever the cause, he was thankful he’d ended up in such experienced hands.

“I’ll turn around. The cloth is for...well, you know....modesty, once you get in,” Olivia explained, needing to stay only so she could evaluate the injuries hidden by his clothing and make sure that he’d be able to get out of the deep tub without further causing harm to his already battered body.

Henry took one look at the small square washcloth, and couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.

“Love, I hate to say it, but that? Won’t be enough for modesty.”

#henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fic #henry cavill #alicia vikander #winter passing #deathonyourtongueoriginals #fic

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djinmer4 · 5 years ago

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Echo (Spacelord AU)

“You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Star-Lord. You’re not looking so hot yourself.”

Quill thumped his chest. “I just got out of a healing vat less than a week ago. What’s your excuse?”

Bloody Bess turned to look at Quill’s companion. Kitty smiled and said, “He got shot while kare-” A short burst of static. “-while singing at a bar.”

The platinum blonde woman nodded. “Not a bad story. I just didn’t get much sleep.”

The male Terran wiggled his eyebrows. “Fun night?”

She eyed him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s the Captain annual birthing month. It’s too busy and too noisy to sleep.”

“Wait, wait, time-out.” Kitty held her hands in a perpendicular shape in front of her. “I thought Captain Vag’ner was male? And what’s a birth month?”

“He’s a Ruler Bamf, so that makes him a hermaphrodite. But he prefers to identify as male. Don’t you have hermaphrodites on Terra? And a birth month is just because he decided it’s easier to boost our numbers all at once rather than spreading it out over the year.”

Quill quirked an eyebrow. “No?” But Kitty shook her head. “Yes but . . . they’re kind of rare. Or maybe I’m thinking of transgender.” She shook her head. “Never mind, I’ve got more questions now but it’s not important. But I guess timing is why he’s cashing in that favor from running down the Kree Light-Speed Engine?”

The other woman nodded her head. “Yup. He really wanted to do this himself, but rumor has it that another treasure hunter got the coordinates too so now it’s a race against time to see who gets to claim the goods first.” Bess had three blue, fuzzy, collared creatures, two of which she held out to Peter and Kitty. “Our job is to just get into the palace. Once there, we contact either the Palatine or the Milano. My crew will then use these Workers as homing beacons and teleport in.”

“And steal the place blind,” continued Kitty dryly. “I assume the natives are going to object.”

“Nope. As far as we know, there shouldn’t be anyone living there anymore. So your conscience doesn’t have to worry about a thing.” She looked at the younger woman. “I assume you’ve got a new suit after the last time?”

“Yeah.” It was an older version, carbon nanotubes rather than the more advanced holographic one, and black rather than Quill’s (and Yondu’s) favored red, but it’s not like Star-Lord’s little cadre was a wealthy Ravager clan. They probably had to take what they could get.

“Both of you get suited up then.” Bess ushered them over to one of the Palatine’s M-ships and then took off towards the planet.

While Bess and Quill took the cabin seats, Kitty looked out the window. “I don’t see anything but ice.”

Bess focused on piloting while answering. “We’re not sure that is ice. The planet’s got an incredible cloaking device, no visual or gravitational clues until we were almost right on top of it. Cardinal thinks the ‘ice’ and ‘mist’ we’re seeing are actually parts of the shield.”

They landed on a cubical pillar, no different from any of the others that covered the planet and wandered around. By chance, Quill stepped on some sort of trigger mechanism and a circular platform began to descend. Once it had completed its journey, they were left to find their way among crumbling catwalks, rickety staircases, and cramped tunnels. “This reminds me of HR Giger,” mumbled Kitty.

“Who’s that?”

“You never saw the Alien movies?”

“When did they come out? Might have been after Yondu abducted me.”

Kitty placed her hand against one of the decaying pillars. After a second, she frowned. “I can’t phase through this material. If we need to cut and run later, that could be a problem.”

“That’s what the Workers are for,” Bess reassured her. “If it gets bad, we can use them to teleport back to the Palatine. And why we each have one, in case we get split up.” At that point, she slipped, grabbed both Quill and Kitty’s arms to try to stabilize herself, and they all ended up sliding down one of the support beams. “Well, now we’ll have to use the Workers to get back. We’ll send a second crew to pick up the ship when we’re done.”

They continued down. The fog got thicker until most of the light from the star was blocked and they had to switch on their lights. “I wonder who made this place,” whispered Kitty. Unnecessary, they had encountered nothing living the entire time they were here.

“Probably one of the Big Three,” Bess found herself also whispering and consciously forced her voice back up to normal volume. “It wouldn’t be a big deal for one of them to strip-mine an entire planet to create something like this, then just forget about it.”

Once again, Quill was the one who found an access hatch. And when the lever to open it proved too difficult for all three of them, he ended up shooting it with his blaster, freeing it from the ice. They passed through a brief air lock type passage, with another lever (fortunately not frozen over this time) that opened up into the main body of the planet.

“There are no lights at all,” said Kitty, looking around.

“Fortunately, there’s only one direction to go.” Bess tapped a few buttons on her helmet. “Cardinal, are you getting all of this?”

A tinny voice could be heard in all their helms. “I’m with you.”

“Creepy,” muttered Kitty. “It all looks completely untouched.”

“Pretty though,” noted Quil, picking up a golden candelabra. “Are we just going to grab anything then leave?”

Bess shook her head. “Only as a last resort. Supposedly there’s some fantastic technology here. Something that allows you to bring back the dead. That’s the real prize.”

They found another door. In front of it was a pillar with an empty slot. “Dead, unfortunately.” Kitty tried to phase through it with no luck. “This almost looks like a keyhole. There must be a way to turn on the power for this place.”

Bess looked around then made a decision. “Let’s keep going down. It would make more sense for the generators to be near the planet’s core.”

Quill eventually abandoned the candelabra he’d picked up, then a mirror gave all three of them a jump scare. Despite that, none of them could ignore the palace’s beauty. “It’s all so pretty,” gushed Kitty. “It reminds me of Versailles.” She trailed one hand over a tuning fork, but no sound could be heard in the vacuum.

“You’ve been to France?”

“No, but I’ve seen pictures.”

Bess’s HUD pinged her and she followed the tracer symbol. They came to a pillar, encircled by heavy metal rings. Inset in the pillar was a scepter, which apparently carried a gravitational charge. “I think this is our key. It looks a lot like the pillar in front of the door.” She hooked it through a belt loop and they made their way back to the door. Bess inserted the scepter into the slot and . . .

“Nothing’s happening.” Noted Quill.

“Huh. Maybe it really is just a dead world.” Bess turned away, intent on simply picking up whatever they could carry off on their way back to the entrance when Kitty cried out. Turning back around, she and Quill saw the pillar retract into the ground and the door open, panels sliding away into the walls.

They stepped inside. “Do you see that? That dim glow on the ceiling.”

Bess squinted at the ceiling. “The scepter may have started up an evacuation procedure. If there’s one thing that’s going to survive after all this time, that would be it.” She looked around and spotted a couple of staircases. “We’ll continue going down.”

They continued walking. “This place is huge,” muttered the only male among them. “How are we ever going to find anything without coordinates?”

Cardinal answered that. “The scanners can pick up energy signatures. I’ll pin them to your HUDs and you can look for those.” They went down a few more levels until they came across another door. This time, instead of a pillar, there was a giant throne in front of it. Kitty stared at it, wide-eyed. “What kind of species made this place?”

Bess just frowned. “Theatrical ones. There’s a limit to the size you can be in an environment like this, nothing that could actually use a throne like that would have been able to even move in this gravity unless it was aquatic.” Despite her comment, Kitty had used her phasing ability to climb and sit down on the chair. Quill quickly caught their attention and pointed out the door had opened in front of them. But when Kitty got off, the panels started closing again.

“Get back on, and then get ready to sprint as soon as you jump off,” Bess ordered. “If you don’t make it, squeeze the Worker a little and it will teleport you back to the Palatine.” She and Quill stood by the door and stepped through easily when it opened. Kitty waited until the panels had fully retracted, then hit the ground running, barely making it in before the door fully closed and crashing into Bess, knocking her down to the floor. There was a huge chamber on the other side.

“I think this is it!” crowed Bess. They quickly climbed the stairs to the small pavilion at the top. There, the was a large marble slab, with silver circuitry embedded in the top. At the foot of the coffin-shaped slab, a pillar with arc lightning provided the only other illumination.

Quill stared at the giant slab of marble. “How are we going to get this out?”

Bess waved her fuzzy little blue elf-thing in his face. “Teleportation!” She placed one hand on the slab then did something with the Worker and vanished in a puff of smoke. Star-Lord and Kitty exchanged confused glances, but before either of them could say anything, Bess was back in another puff. “I’m surprised, that didn’t work.”

Awkwardly, Quill spoke, “Maybe it was too big? Didn’t you say these things have a mass limit on how much they can teleport at once?” She nodded her head. “Try that pillar instead, it’s smaller.”

Bess walked over to the pillar, it was small enough that she could embrace it with one hand, careful to keep away from the arcing electricity between the top and bottom. Once again she gave a slight squeeze and vanished. But again, the pillar was left behind.

When she came back, Bess was frowning. “I think the whole apparatus is like the walls outside. Just like you can’t phase through them, Pryde, the bamfs teleportation doesn’t work either. I guess we’re just going to have to cut our losses and pick up whatever valuables we can carry.”

They made their way to the door but then encountered another problem. It wouldn’t open. “I guess that makes sense,” muttered Kitty. “Someone needs to be sitting on that throne to unlock it.”

The eldest member of the party looked around. “Still, there are three other doors here. Let’s go see if any of them will open.” They split up, Quill and Pryde to the left and right respectively, and Bess to the door opposite the one they entered.

“Locked!”

“No good on this side either.”

They reconvened at the pavilion. “So now what?” asked Quill.

Cardinal’s voice cut across any potential plans. “Now the three of you squeeze those Bamfs and get back here. Another ship just pulled into the system.”

“Shi’Ar?”

“Unknown. But it’s bigger than the Palatine by a factor of 10. I think our unknown competitor just showed up.”

Bess sighed in frustration. “Looks like this whole trip was a bust then. Cardinal, you’re going to need to send someone down to bring the M-ship back to the Palatine. Star-Lord, Pryde, we’re going to teleport back to the ship.”

Just before they left, Kitty heard Peter say one more thing. “Guess even the greatest Ravagers can’t win them all.”

#space lord AU #Kitty Pryde #Shadowcat #peter quill #bloody bess #lol kurt doesn't even show up in this one #i really just copied the first hour of the echo video game #i wish people liked that game more #pretty graphics #interesting world building #actual gameplay was kind of shit though #computer's named logan #nothing like marvel logan but it amused me anyway

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trumen-indore · 2 years ago

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Trumen came into existence in 2009 and initially started with manufacturing of Tuning Fork Level Switches for liquid and solid applications. With time, the manufacturing range increased with addition of Capacitance Level Transmitter & Capacitance Level Switches, RF Admittance Level Switches, Rotating Paddle Level Switches, Conductivity Type Level Switches, Vibrating Rod Level Switches, Hydrostatic Level Transmitter, Radar Level Transmitter & Ultrasonic Level Transmitter. Trumen is a technocrat driven organization aimed at providing top-of-the-range and high quality level measurement and process control instruments. Formed by the pioneers who devoted their respective lives in development, design and delivery of solution to the problems faced in the field of level sensing and process measurements. Trumen has a fixed point agenda about "sensing matters", and each device created at Trumen is thoroughly tested to pass the quality norms set in-house, in order to give the best performance in all operating conditions.

Address: 39, Mangal Nagar, Behind Sai Ram Plaza, Near Rajeev Gandhi Circle, AB Road, Indore, Madhya Pradesh 452001

Web: https://trumen.in/

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nikocas · 4 years ago

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NAME: NIKO CASTILLON GOES BY: NIK, NIKO, N. FACECLAIM: JAIME MURRAY AGE: 44 PRONOUNS: SHE/HER ZONE OF ORIGIN: ZONE 1 STATUS: ZONE MANAGER @ CHQS

TRAITS:

+ FOCUSED + AUTHORATIVE + METHODICAL

- IMMORAL - ABRASIVE – SYBARITIC

HEADCANONS:

It’s not the clacking of shoes in CHQS walls, but instead the gentle whip of a full-length jacket that alerts all to Nik’s appearance; a presence that emanates control, yet remains entirely too terrifying to offer a suggestive smile as a greeting. Castillon’s dark grey cotton cape is iconic; pockets hidden on the inside that house switchblades, infotech that is probably a bit too restricted for someone of her level but evidently, hers. Everything appears orderly, a smile that’s as falsely welcoming as the grin on a Cheshire cat offers. Behind those hues lies a humour – laughing at her peers; begs the idea that there’s intelligence unmatched in them all; perhaps narcissistic is a trait ignored in the ZM’s playbook.

Neon strobes set alight Niko’s person, in the underbelly of New Amstel is where Castillon thrives. A hustler if there ever was such a definition; an appearance that only the bravest want to challenge to a drink – to a game; gambling of the most illegal degree, with everything beyond paper; flesh and bone is a thrill that seems below her rank – but perhaps that’s why it is so enjoyed. The real smile comes in the shadows of the slums, a humour that’s genuine and without professionalism; gets to play ball with her favourite shitpit (Jarek Novak, she’s looking at you.) in the grimy walls that look a little nicer with bright colours streaming through the rowdier; seedier of places.

An apple is impaled on a switchblade, cloudy white juices slide down the serrated edge of the metal, threaten to make Nik’s hands sticky with fruit entrails where she’s biting into it without fear of slicing something open. Eyes watch the game afoot; poker of sorts; a card game at least, from a distance; calculate her odds before investing into it herself. Always the daring – always the winner, loss sits sour in the ZM’s stomach.

Niko’s a master of such deceptive qualities – carries an air of importance, a professional in the waking hours of the workplace. Structured and organised is everything she does on paper, delivers everything in prompt time; never late. Yet, outside the walls, in the covers of the more shadier of places, she can really bury deep into the desires that hide in the daylight hours. A happiness – though, she’d never word it like that – only found amongst the less smart of individuals; a hunger that isn’t quenched with documents but instead, confidence in the arts of adaptability. Power is far too good for her and in all forms it comes, Castillon doesn’t like to hand it over, or give it up without a contest.

BIOGRAPHY

Some are naturally orientated to being a follower – others the followed; leaders that wear power like a cape for all to gaze an adore. In Castillon’s playbook, that cape’s not just metaphorical, a status symbol of how the tug and war of influence leads to asserting control over that very power. Too comfortable at the top, never considers the higher that podium, the further it’ll be to fall.

Though, occasionally, desire overcomes control – a blinding thing that reminds all that it’s so much easier to plummet than it is to climb.

Niko’s far too narcissistic to think like that; only has sight of more.

On a door – window office – of course, writes: Niko Castillon, Zone Manager and houses but such a meticulously organised office that if anyone were brave enough to ever ask how it remains that way – they’d find that there’s something a little darker hidden in the drawers, behind the bookshelves, within the confines of reworked literature that isn’t so pleasant. There’s rumours even that office is the home to the devil; possessed by a demon of sorts that sits like the grim reaper over a desk with a pen in hand that could double as a pistol – it’s not unheard of for Niko to weaponise such things.

But it’s not that side that’s fronted in the walls of CHQS; all diplomacy is Castillon there. A well respected – well rounded woman with a fierce eagerness to succeed in her position, to better the workings at the company and a faux smile offered to all employees as though they could trust her with anything. A despicable balance of terror and respect drilled hard; a no nonsense approach that never really sees fruition beyond policy reprimand. Niko – in her comfortable place right now, does often pretend like she hadn’t once not been there. And still, even now she is, remains to keep one foot outside of it.

Because a woman with an insatiable need to have status; power, desires a little more than just the ordinary, it cannot be held captive in CHQS at every waking hour. Thus, a release is required, and the underbelly of New Amstel has always been where its freed.

Though Niko would deny it to all – she knows the gutterrats and the shady folk a lot more than she knows her employees; can read their poker hands as easy as absorbing words in a book, and it’s where that smile is no longer false and those switchblades she carries serve a purpose beyond just a comfort of being present. Power comes in so many forms that Castillon probably doesn’t quite know herself which of the many she wants to pursue, if not every kind; to be the kingpin of the underbelly, the one day Director of New Amstel and have a status that carries throughout every crevasse of the plain.

Big aspirations, let’s not kick a woman for dreaming.

But, she’ll do more than kick you for saying as much. Masterful in performances; acts that nobody really knows – or can say, which Niko Castillon is the real Niko Castillon, but she’ll take bets on it and hustle you into next week. Let’s the polished suits and clean attire create fools to underestimate potential. Classier than a scam artist – more respected than a small time pickpocket, advantageous is her clearance to technology not quite extending to the beneath of New Amstel, but often, she doesn’t even need it.

There can be a kindness there, something that’s more reflective of her appearance; the powerful status and the role within the Zone; as quiet as it remains from the locals, those ones see a skilled cardslinger. A woman with a penchant for winning and a success roll of any dice handed to her – but, she’ll always insist on using her own, platinum-plated, didn’t you know?

At the barside, still a betting woman – borders the threshold of addicted to it, but balances that desire for control a little too well to ever collapse into it completely.

One foot in, one foot out, works.

Everyone’s ally, simultaneously, nobody’s. Vain, self-serving and would throw most underneath the moving train if it meant she could further her own ambitions. If it’s not obvious in the way that every fruit is found at the end of a switchblade and eaten like a candy apple because she doesn’t use shady bar’s cutlery, or allow dirt to ruin a freshly laundered suit without good reason – then the way a stare is pinned at you and she bites that fruit like by the end of it that knife is free to used again for all matter of possibilities, should be.

That and how the businesswoman’s verbal filter is off the moment that foot leaves CHQS walls. Most of everyone’s shitpit from then on – among other names. Ever the opportunist; its how she got the job as ZM to begin with, broke out of the underbelly’s cycle to clean up a persona that carries throughout New Amstel – and with a boss like she has, it really hadn’t been all that difficult.

Shitpit number one right there.

CONNECTIONS

JAREK NOVAK | Boss Shitpit. | If CHQS ever broke out into a civil war, the question would be, Is Novak and Castillon heading opposing sides, or are they one and two leading the winning one? A definitive relationship where professionalism meets debauchery; they share some vices in the underbelly of New Amstel, private affairs that never meet within the walls of the workplace. Niko hates how unfit for the role Jarek is, evidently, and yet he’s the boss and there’s a little too many similarities when they’re not fronting business suits and they’re holding gambling hands with wicked poker faces; too good at playing pretend. Also a little too versed in watching one another take a few punches, help a guy out? Sit at the bar with fruit, a drink and rack up a bar tab sounds a little better.

FURTHER DEPTH

Zone Manager (New Amstel) and cardslinging hustler on the side.

Refuses or ignores any general chit chat that starts to dig into her past, anything before she got the job at CHQS.

Has about twelve personalities and if there’s something she wants, she’ll switch through those persona’s to develop trust; be exactly what you want her to be so she can manipulate you for self-serving reasons.

Niko is likely to insult you on the first meeting if its in the underbelly and you’re an unfamiliar to the usual; within the walls of CHQS, she’s the gracious Zone Manager who’ll be so happy to help with anything you need. -insert fake warm smile here-

Unhealthy obsession with status; power and seen as this idol of sorts; do we think this is some subconscious desire to want to be wanted, who knows? Tune in and we’ll find out.

Does genuinely carry switchblades around like they’re personal knives and forks, also, somehow magically pristine white handkerchiefs at all times.

Doesn’t like to get her hands dirty, dirty, but will, probably be even more pissed she had to if it got to that point.

Outstanding member of CHQS; punctual; contributing and usually probably only outshined by Jarek in some sick twist of fate considering she thinks he’s entirely incapable in his role. However, in the underbelly, they’re totally different.

Well, unless they’re alone in a CHQS office together and it’s like two children in some pissing contest and all fronts vanish.

Kind of thinks she’s hot shit but will also not care if you think otherwise.

TBA.

QUICK LINKS

THREADS

SELF-PARAS

MUSINGS

CHQS

#ɴɪᴋᴏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪʟʟᴏɴ / ʀᴇᴄᴋᴏɴɪɴɢ #chqs.intro

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gingermcl · 5 years ago

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Weaponization of music

Did you know that the standard music frequency is 440 hz and this is an unnatural frequency? A 440 hertz frequency disrupts the mind and the body. 432 Hz resonates with 8 Hz, same as the Schumann resonance, the documented fundamental electromagnetic “beat” of Earth. 432 Hz simply feels better.

Research shows music tuned to a 432 hertz frequency is easier to listen to, is brighter, clearer, and contains more dynamic range. Music with this tuning does not need be played at high volumes, thus reducing the risk of hearing damage. However by the 1950s the worldwide music was tuned to 440 hertz instead of 432 hertz.

If musical performances were going to sound the same all over the world, standardization was required. Having a universally accepted tone is why a piano in Toronto sounds exactly the same as a piano in China. There is nothing wrong with standardization, it is the choice of 440 Hz that was strategically calculated to disrupt the psyche of humanity as a whole.

In 1885, the Music Commission of the Italian Government declared that all instruments and orchestras should use a tuning fork that vibrated at 440 Hz, which was different from the original standard of 435 Hz and the competing 432 Hz used in France.

In 1917, the American Federation of Musicians endorsed the Italians, followed by a further push for 440 Hz in the 1940s by Nazi Germans.

In 1953, a worldwide agreement was signed. Signatories declared that middle “A” on the piano be forevermore tuned to exactly 440 Hz. This frequency became the standard ISO-16 reference for tuning all musical instruments based on the chromatic scale, the one most often used for music in the West. All the other notes are tuned in standard mathematical ratios leading to and from 440 Hz.

432 Hz is said to be mathematically consistent with the patterns of the universe. Studies reveal that 432hz tuning unifies the properties of light, time, space, matter, gravity and magnetism with biology, the DNA code, and consciousness. When atoms and DNA start to resonate in harmony with the spiraling pattern of nature, our sense of connection with nature is magnified. The number 432 is reflected in ratios of the Sun, Earth, and the moon as well as in the precession of the equinoxes, the Great Pyramid of Egypt, Stonehenge, and many other sacred sites.

So what’s the big deal? It’s just a difference of 8 Hz. It’s actually quite a nefarious plan. The recent discoveries of vibratory or oscillatory nature of the universe that happened recently show that this contemporary international pitch standard may actually generate an unhealthy effect or anti-social behavior in the consciousness of humans.

There is also a theory which says that the change from 432 Hz to 440 Hz was dictated by Nazi propaganda minister, named Joseph Goebbels. He used it in order to make people think and feel a certain manner, as well as to make them a prisoner of a certain consciousness. 440 Hz is an unnatural standard tuning frequency, is removed from the symmetry of sacred vibrations, and has declared war on the subconscious mind of Western Man.

The powers that be are successfully lowering the vibrations of not only the younger generations but of all of us. Such destructive frequencies turn thoughts towards disruption, disharmony, and disunity. 440 Hz also stimulates our brain – the controlling organ of our body - into a disharmonious resonance, which ultimately creates disease and war in the world. All disease is a disruption in frequency. Atoms are made of waves and vibrations. Therefore everything is sound. A disruptive or unhealthy frequency can cause big problems in a world made of sound waves!!

Both vibration and frequency hold a critically important yet hidden power to affect us, our lives, health, society; our whole world. The science of Cymatics, the study of visible sound and vibration, proves that frequency and vibration are the master keys and the organizational foundation for the creation of all matter and life on planet Earth.

When the sound waves move through a physical medium, such as sand, air, water, etc.; the frequency of the waves has a direct effect upon the structures that are created by the sound waves as they pass through that particular medium. The same will happen with cells in the human body.

Frequency isn’t the only way music affects our civilization. Music lyrics are known to cast spells on the masses. Modern society may not treat music as a magical thing now, but once music was considered to be one of the highest forms of magic. If we look back to ancient times, drums and other instruments were used to celebrate holy-days, invoke trance-like states, or announce the start of a battle. The people in ancient times who sang, danced, and made music were once thought of as spiritually-gifted individuals.

Music magick is still alive and well in modern times. We might not see it in the mainstream music industry, but it’s there if we dig a little deeper. First – think of the way music makes you feel. Music is known to rouse energy and stimulate emotions. Given that energy is what magic is all about, music is a fantastic tool for spellcasting!

A spell is defined as

1- A form of words used as a magical charm or incantation.

2- A state of enchantment caused by a magic spell.

3- An ability to control or influence people as the one had magical power over them.

The intention of any song could very easily be spell casting and the masses would have no idea. The term MC stands for Master of Ceremonies. Concerts are ceremonies. Ceremonies are where ritual magic is done. Are you seeing what is happening here? The masses are being placed under spells and casting negative spells on themselves via their favorite music all the time! They’re also generating energy for these celebrities satanic ritual abuse ceremonies! I’m not saying that you don’t need to listen to music but I am saying you must be very mindful of what you do consume in every way. That includes what material you let into your consciousness. There are apps in every App Store one can download that will switch your music to 432 Hz. I advise everyone to do this. Increase demand could mean more and better apps that convert music to the proper frequency.

One simple song can invoke feelings of joy, sorrow, laughter; essentially every emotion under the sun. One song can whisk us away to a past moment in our lives, good and bad. Music can be used in mental and physical therapy to aid in healing the body, mind, and soul. One can use the emotions felt through music and its unique, fluid energy in magic. Intention can and does make music witchcraft.

Witches can help improve or focus their magic by incorporating music into spells and rituals. Lyrics aren't the only consideration. Beats, measure, instruments, etc. can also be used in music magic.

Music is also used on the people as a form of mind control. Mind control techniques have been noted throughout history dating as far back as Ancient Egypt. Mind control did not enter the realm of modern science until the 1930’s when a physician by the name of Josef Mengele brought it into full practice within Nazi concentration camps. The majority of Mengele’s research within mind control remains classified to this day, however some has slowly come to the surface including the recognition of it being the basis for the covert CIA research program MK Ultra.

Joseph Mengele sounds like a psychopath by all accounts and his mind control programs are nothing short of inhumane. The number of crimes committed against humanity by those in power is too many to count. All celebrities are forced to undergo MK Ultra programming to some degree. This programming breaks down the human spirit and can create alter egos. It is done in order to brainwash these people into doing anything their masters and “fame” requires. Several celebrities have begun speaking out about the torture and programming they endured at the hands of the Hollywood and music industries.

Symbolism is used heavily in mind control programming. The all-seeing eye, demons, and baphomet are just a few of the reoccurring themes that love appearing in entertainment; often in completely unrelated ways to the content. These themes can be noted throughout music videos, movies, and TV shows. The existence of this symbology is one thing I feel can be stated as fact. The symbology is clearly there. Watch see any of the following music videos and then tell me the symbology and themes are a mere coincidence or are directly related to the songs content:

* Lil Wayne – Love Me (Explicit) ft. Drake, Future

* Ke$ha – Die Young

* Lady Gaga – Alejandro

* Katy Perry – Wide Awake

* Britney Spears – Hold It Against Me

If you truly feel that the symbols were fitting and not purposely placed, I will respect that opinion. However I encourage you to search for a breakdown of the above listed videos in order to make sure you are made aware of symbology and themes. There may be some you missed or may not be aware of. It’s also worth noting that these 5 videos are not the only videos out there, they are simply a handful of the hundreds (if not thousands) of music videos that feature these symbols to some degree.

Assuming that these symbols/themes do recur, the question becomes why? Is it a level of programming that they are attempting to inflict on us the viewers? Could it be to desensitize us to their existence and placement throughout society? Or could it simply be artistic coincidence? The answer to these questions lie within. Let this article be a starting point for your own research and findings on all of the aspects of 440 Hz, music magick, and Monarch mind control programming (MK Ultra.) There is a lot of information and well-formulated opinions out there, many worth considering.

Once you have done your research, see what resonates with you as true and don’t be afraid to stand by it even if it isn’t in-line with popular opinion. No matter which side of the spectrum you stand on having an awareness towards this subject is important, and that’s why I felt inspired to write this article.

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 5 years ago

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Really, Marcia?

PART THRTY-FIVE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of parent death, mentions of anxiety, plentiful pop culture references, lack of dialogue because this is exposition and foreshadowing for the next chapter just hang in there with me friends

Word Count: 4.6K

Summary: Jess and Ella return to Stars Hollow once again during graduation season.

Dropping the bags again in the apartment above Luke’s almost made Ella want to laugh out loud. Maybe she shouldn’t have made such a big deal of leaving the diner to move to Philadelphia; she felt like she almost couldn’t escape Connecticut. The trip, this time, was planned in advance, however. Both Adam and Rory were graduating, and Jess’s new sister had been born only a week earlier. Much was to be done, many people to visit. It made Ella feel slightly overwhelmed, the prescribed familial nonsense. Going back to Stars Hollow was easier when she could just casually pop into Luke’s or her home, and then drive away in the Station Wagon with Jess in the passenger seat and Liz Phair on the radio whenever she felt compelled. But the graduation had a scheduled time, Rory’s graduation party had a scheduled time. There was no getting out of it.

For a moment, she had thought about staying back in her old room in the little blue house. She felt as though they were taking advantage of Luke staying over at his place as often as they did. But then it occurred to her that she had no real idea what her room looked like anymore. The few times she’d been over in recent years, she hadn’t even ventured past the threshold of the small hallway, her door the second on the right. She felt maybe it was better to leave the room the way it had been in her memory. She was not in the business of reopening old wounds for no reason other than curiosity.

There was also the issue of her father. Fiona had been cagey at best about Jake on the phone. Would he even show up to the graduation? Surely he would. Even Noah had traveled back home, for the first time in years, though without his fiancé. She was a nurse, and hadn’t been able to get away from the midnight shifts. He was a paralegal, though, and had been able to swing a Saturday afternoon graduation. But, still, there was a gnawing feeling in her stomach. A fear he would simply not show. He had been at her high school graduation, with his robotic hugs and teary eyes and the usual detached way about him. It hadn’t been warm and fuzzy, but he had been there for her. He had clapped as she crossed the stage. And, as far as Ella was concerned, Adam deserved more than she ever got from Jake. Adam called often, and seemed to get along rather well with Fiona, but remained flighty about their father. She could count on him changing the subject every time Jake was brought up.

“Hey! Eleanor,” Jess said, breaking her from her reverie.

She blinked harshly and jumped at the sound of his voice. Slowly, she turned her gaze away from the view of the window above Luke’s kitchen sink. Town square was decorated with florals, and the troubadour stood playing an upbeat, folksy tune on one of the corners. And, as she thought about her family, it had all struck her as a bit plastic. It seemed impossible for so much heartache to happen to her while living in a place like Stars Hollow, but it had. In spite of the sunshiney smiles and the constant offerings for help. Probably why she got along with Jess so well, who understood more than anyone she had ever met what it was to feel a pain she could truly recognize. Luke, too. She wondered at how many people milling down on the sidewalk were concealing all of their hurt for the sake of maintaining a positive, cheerful facade. The farther away the years took her from her upbringing, the more reasons she felt she was better off somewhere other than her hometown. She had never quite been able to polish her outward mold, could never keep it all under wraps. Instead, she ended up cursing out kids who tried to steal random shit from the diner or punishing herself through constant schoolwork and lack of sleep, all to keep her problems from making it from her mind to her mouth. And, most of the time, she had slipped up eventually. Once more, her father came to her mind. He hadn’t been able to wear a convincing mask, either.

“...yeah?” she asked, then looked down to realize the glass she had been filling with cold water from the tap was overflowing onto her hand.

Quickly, she shut off the sink and sipped carefully at the drink, until it was back down to a manageable level. She switched it to the other hand and shook off the wetness, though it hadn’t felt unwelcome after having just come in from the May heat. Jess smirked quizzically at her, from where he stood at the fridge. They were meant to have a late lunch and then go over to Liz’s house and meet the baby, Doula. Despite how much Luke was making fun of it, Ella couldn’t say she hated the name.

“Jeez, Stevens. Where’d you go?” Jess’s voice was lilted and smug as he pulled some leftover sandwiches from the fridge. Luke had instructed them to finish off whatever diner cast-offs they could find. It reminded Jess of his teen years, tense dinners with Luke at the small kitchen table, eating stale food which had been prepped but never actually ordered. And he felt an odd, surprising jolt of nostalgia. But his face didn’t show it.

She shook her head at herself, placing her glass down on the table and grabbing the cutlery as Jess put the leftovers out on the table buffet-style. It reminded her of the way he arranged a meal on her kitchen table the night they’d watched the prom scene of Carrie together, when he’d brought her a care package because she had a migraine and then refused to admit to it later. And, for the most fleeting of moments, she was in the past and they were the people they had once been. A fond smirk tugged at her lips as she sat down, plates and forks in hand.

“Nowhere,” she replied finally, her voice a sigh. Before Jess could ask anything further, she gave him a pointed glance as she piled some cold mashed potatoes onto her plate and continued. “You sure you’re okay going to Liz’s house today? We could always wait until tomorrow morning, then we could have an excuse to leave and go get ready for the graduation.”

He seemed to consider the idea of a moment as he took his first bite of meatloaf, then shook his head. “No. Let’s just rip the bandaid off.”

“That’s the spirit when you’re going to see a new baby,” she quipped.

“I can guarantee the baby will be easier to handle than Liz and TJ, no matter how much she cries,” Jess grumbled, looking down at his food.

Ella bit the inside of her cheek and leveled him with her eyes. Each time they returned to Stars Hollow, he seemed to get more anxious about it. At first, it was because the entire town had hated him as a teen. But it got much worse when Liz moved there. She thought it strange how much everyone seemed to discount how Jess felt about this, how much Luke complained about her. How much they expected Jess to get over what he was feeling and play dutiful son. It reminded her of the way she felt she needed to treat her own father after her mother died. Though the sexist bullshit about her being the ‘woman of the house’ had also played a part. She knew how Luke felt about family, how he would always show up for family regardless of circumstance. Maybe Jess was the same way, loyal to a fault. But maybe it was only for his chosen family. Maybe the rest of it was more because of all the outward pressure he faced.

She reached over and ran a hand through his hand, smoothing it out. For a moment, she thought of saying something, but decided it wasn’t the right time to start a conversation about Jess’s childhood, or the lingering effects he still wouldn’t acknowledge. Not right before seeing his mother. She was trying hard lately to be patient, despite the way his eyes became guarded at the mention of his new sister or his mother, or the increased frequency of his nightmares. It was getting worse before her eyes and she didn’t know why. But Jess was Jess. And he wasn’t going to see it until he was ready to. It almost physically pained her, the effort of swallowing down the words, but she bit her tongue nonetheless.

He offered her a lazy, lopsided smile in return.

. . .

His grip on her hand was tight as they made their way into Liz and TJ’s house, just as gaudy and eclectic as Ella remembered from the baby shower. She might’ve even found it charming if it weren’t for the screaming color of the decor. The place smelled of burnt toast and sour milk, and Ella was instantly glad she and Jess had chosen to eat beforehand, just in case Liz asked them to stay for dinner. The scent was overpowered only by the strong perfume Liz was wearing, which Ella couldn’t ignore as Liz pulled her in for a big hug of greeting.

“Come in, come in,” Liz said in her high, sing-song voice as she led them down the front hall and into the living room. “She’s just waking up from nap!”

The room was littered with toys, empty bottles, blankets, story books Doula wouldn’t be able to read for years. But it was sweet. Ella could see how much they’d been preparing, planning. For a second, she was relieved about it, but then the feeling mixed with a distasteful sadness. Jess had never specifically addressed his bedtime routine as a child, but Ella was fairly positive Liz had never read him Goodnight Moon. She gave his hand a final squeeze before disentangling their fingers and sitting down on the paisley patterned couch. Liz lifted Doula up from the bassinet in the corner by the rocking chair. Ella could barely see the baby beneath the patchwork quilt she was swaddled in. Doula fussed for a moment, and Liz smiled at the two of them apologetically.

“She needs a change. I’ll be right back!” she said, retreating back into the bedroom. “Make yourselves comfortable!”

“Okay. Thanks,” Ella replied cordially. She looked back at Jess as his mother exited the room. “You okay?”

He shrugged, his eyes surveying the clutter. “I guess so. It’s just weird still. All of this.”

Ella hummed, nodding.

“And I’m not really used to the whole baby thing yet. I’ve never even held one before,” Jess said, slightly sheepish and slightly curious. He crossed his arms over the Metallica logo on his worn t-shirt. He’d taken a half day working at Truncheon before they left for Connecticut, and was always happy to change into less professional attire after his shifts.

“I know, but it’ll be easy. Unless TJ pops out and sings that song the frog does in Looney Tunes. Then is the only instance when you’d be even slightly at risk of dropping her,” Ella assured him, leaning back into the overstuffed couch.

She’d gleaned from their conversation the night before that his inexperience with children was also not helping his nerves. The only time she’d ever recalled Jess interacting with kids for any real length of time was the one Thanksgiving she’d brought him to meet her family. But even then, she’d been surprised how easily he’d wowed Erin with his card tricks, and played along with her jokes. Not something she’d exactly expected from the boy who wore a battered leather jacket and a constant scowl and a scarred heart on his sleeve.

“Why do you always worry he’s gonna do that?” Jess asked, cracking a smile for the first time since they’d walked in.

“I told you! He sang it to me one time when I was working and he was hanging out at the diner. He was trying to figure out what song to serenade your mom with,” she explained, eyes wide and utterly serious. “I was just wiping down the counter, minding my own business, and he just appeared, like, right over my shoulder.”

Jess rolled his eyes at the story, remembering when Ella had first told him about it over one of their phone calls, back when they were hundreds of miles apart. “Well, it doesn’t seem like he’s here right now.”

“I didn’t think he was in the diner when it happened,” Ella countered, her voice jokingly grave.

Jess chuckled but didn’t have a chance to respond as Liz reentered the room. A large smile stood out on her face, the baby dressed in a soft punk onesie in her arms. Doula squirmed around a little and cooed, but didn’t seem altogether unhappy.

“Ready to meet your little sister, Jess?” Liz asked, coming over and preparing to put Doula in Jess’s arms before he even had a chance to answer.

“Guess so,” he muttered hastily, eyes widening.

“Just be careful with her head,” Ella offered, watching as Liz hovered over her son, placing her daughter’s head in the crook of his arm.

Jess was surprised at how naturally his other arm moved to cradle her. She felt so light, it was as though he was holding nothing at all. Her skin was slightly flushed from the warmth of the quilt she’d been napping in, and he could feel the heat against his arms and his chest, through his t-shirt. His heart fluttered around anxiously in his chest, and he couldn’t help the slight trembling in his hands, but he was pretty sure he had a good grip on her. Liz straightened up again, looking down at the two of them. Jess almost couldn’t take his eyes off the baby, embarrassed at how awestruck he was. Ella’s nieces were the youngest kids he had ever been in contact with. He had never met someone when they were only a week old before.

“Isn’t she something?” Liz said, hands on her hips. “She looked a lot like Danny Devito when she first came out, but I think she’s finally getting past that early ugly baby phase.”

Jess hummed in absent acknowledgement, but said nothing. Doula had thin wisps of blonde hair, and pudgy, rosy cheeks. Her fingers were curled into small fists, her legs scrunched up. He wondered vaguely if she was going to fall back asleep, since it seemed she couldn’t keep her eyes open for very long. She smelled like rash cream, but he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed at it.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful, Liz,” Ella answered, though her gaze went back and forth between the baby and Jess. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d seen his eyes so clear and full of wonder before. She’d been too young to hold a newborn when Adam arrived, but she remembered the feeling of holding Erin as a baby, in the hospital just hours after Julie had given birth to her. It was certainly a unique feeling, and she felt her heart swell at the thought of Jess getting to experience it.

Glancing back at the kitchen for a moment, Liz once again gained a frantic tone in her voice. But, after having known her for so long, Ella knew it wasn’t unusual. Liz was the kind of person who put her coffee cup on the top of her car while unlocking the door, and then drove away without remembering it, the mug shattering and coffee splattering on the road behind her.

“Damn, I was just makin’ a bottle when you guys got here. TJ usually does that stuff, but dinner got a little burned. He had to go get some Plan B takeout. Let me finish with the formula,” Liz said, making her way back towards the opening into the kitchen. “You guys okay with her for a second?”

“Yeah. Fine,” Jess answered, surprising Ella.

Just as Liz left again, Doula opened her eyes once more. But instead of letting them shut, she kept them open. She stared up at Jess, her large brown eyes meeting his and doing their best to focus on his face.

“She’s got a withering stare,” he murmured.

“Isn’t so hard, is it?” Ella shifted a little closer to him, leaning over his shoulder to see Doula. “You didn’t have to be nervous.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Jess said quietly, a small smile on his face as he glanced over at Ella.

. . .

Back when she graduated high school, there had been rain. The day before, they’d had to move the ceremony preparation into the small auditorium. People were squished inside, standing up in the aisles once the seats ran out. Ella’s valedictorian speech had been a bit more than daunting with a bunch of irritated family and friends facing her, those who had traveled miles to Stars Hollow only to be packed into the smelly room like sardines. She supposed having graduation outside in the gazebo was better. The class size was small at Stars Hollow High, but it was best when everyone still had personal space. The one downside was the heat. Connecticut was not usually up near ninety degrees in late May, but a pocket of dry air was currently sitting atop the state, moving at a glacial pace.

Ella and Jess had sat sweating on some lawn chairs. While Julie and her husband Michael, who still lived in the same small house in New Britain, were on Ella’s other side, trying to get their girls to sit through the ceremony to moderate success. Annie’s wild curls were blowing in the scorching wind as she sat on her father’s lap, reading the small storybook she’d brought with her. Erin, on the other hand, just about to cross over into adolescence and middle school, had folded her arms sullenly over her chest and rolled her eyes at nearly every name called up to receive a diploma. Ella didn’t imagine she would’ve reacted much better at that age, being forced to sit out in the heat for hours only to watch Adam be handed a piece of paper. Noah had been on the far side of their row of seats, in his plain clothes, looking stoic as usual. He would be leaving just after the fanfare ended. He’d stayed at a motel the night before, with perhaps even less desire to stay in the little blue house than Ella had.

The valedictorian speeches were actually pretty good, but long. Adam would’ve been giving one if he hadn’t stopped trying in every one of his classes except for those involving science during his senior year. Ella respected the decision though. She had never found any application for calculus in adult life, no matter how hard she had worked at it in high school.

Fiona and Jake had shown up, together for some reason, ten minutes late. No seats were left near Ella, or anyone else in the family. Instead, they were relegated to the far back row. Her brows furrowed at their entrance, but they didn’t get close enough to Ella for her to say anything. Jess had brought her arm around her shoulder as she watched them pass her without so much as a look, and took to whispering jokes about their old principal in her ear. It didn’t work as well to distract her as he had hoped, but it had still earned him a laugh or two, which was far from nothing.

As they all stood around afterwards, under the shade of some trees behind the old gazebo, congratulating Adam, Ella couldn’t shake the thoughts of her parents from her mind. She wondered how different the day would be if her mother had lived. Would her parents still be together? Probably. Despite the problems they hid, the ones Ella had become more aware of the older she got, they did love each other. No matter how much her mother laid down and took Jake’s outbursts and his alcoholism, and no matter how much her father ignored Sophia’s distracted nature and inability to decide on anything in life, they loved each other. And, the thought struck her suddenly, that maybe everything would have been easier to swallow if they hadn’t loved each other so much. It would have been easier to accept how quickly everything fell apart, and how quickly her father had found someone new to fill the hole in his heart.

“You okay?” Jess asked, close to her ear as they lingered amongst the group, pictures having been taken and pleasantries having been exchanged.

“Just peachy,” she replied, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, pressing a kiss to the crown on her head and giving her hand another squeeze. It hadn’t taken him long to gather how angry seeing her father again had made Ella. He wondered when the last time had been.

“I could do without the Brady Bunch performance,” she whispered back to him, gesturing to the members of her family as they continued with fabricated niceties.

“Really, Marcia? But you’re the oldest sister! That means you would’ve been prom queen!” Jess teased.

She rolled her eyes and snorted a laugh. “Whatever, Wally Logan.”

Approaching the two of them with narrowed eyes, Erin still had her arms crossed over her frilly dress. She had more than one bandaid on each knee, and she had already pulled the french braid out of her red hair. Speaking mostly to Ella, she sized Jess up.

“I remember him,” Erin said suspiciously.

A confused, bemused grin crossed Ella’s face. “Yeah. At Thanksgiving. You were like five. You remember that?”

“I have a really good memory,” Erin said, shrugging, confident and casual.

Ella chuckled at the flippant ten-year-old.

“Photographic, huh?” Jess asked, eyebrows raised.

“Pretty close,” Erin replied, then focused her eyes back on Ella. “Did you ever figure out his middle name?”

“Sure did,” Ella answered, smirk growing. “You wanna hear it?”

“Of course,” Erin said. “I know for a fact it’s not Santa Claus.”

Jess rolled his eyes.

Ella leaned down and whispered in Erin’s ear. Straightening up again, Ella watched Erin’s gaze roam over to Jess doubtfully.

“What kind of a name is Cosmo?” Erin asked.

“Listen, my mom’s into crystals and-” Jess began, but Michael called Erin over for something.

“Gotta go,” Erin said, and skipped off towards her father without another word.

“C’mon, Elle,” Jess groaned, a blush creeping up his neck and warming the tips of his ears.

She chuckled, nudging him with her shoulder. “Sorry, Cosmo.”

Before Jess was able to retort, Fiona and Jake approached them. Considering they were split up, the peculiarity of the two of them arriving together wasn’t lost on anyone, not that it would ever be mentioned. At a closer proximity, Ella was surprised to see how different Jake looked. His hair was greyer, he was skinnier, there were dark circles under his eyes. Whatever has been going on in Maryland didn’t seem to be conducive to health. She had to bite back her sigh at the sight of him. Fiona was more or less the same, though Ella had visited her more or less recently. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laid eyes on her father. The shadow of the man he had been when she was a child was almost completely gone. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest.

“Hey, kids,” Fiona said, giving Ella a quick hug.

“Oh, hi,” Ella chirped, surprised at her instant warmth.

She also hugged Jess, shocking everyone involved.

“So good to see you guys! How are things in Philly? Adam tells me you just got a new apartment?” Fiona asked, buzzing and bubbly. Her black hair was cropped close to her head. Ella remembered how she used to let apprentices at the beauty salon experiment on her locks during breaks.

“Yeah, we’ve been there about a month,” Ella said. “It’s only a few blocks over from school. I can walk there.”

“How nice,” Fiona smiled.

“It is,” Jess agreed.

Shifting uncomfortably from foot-to-foot, Jake finally interjected. “Hi, Ellie.”

“Hey, dad,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Young man,” Jake greeted Jess coldly, nodding.

Jess gave a curt nod and a thin-lipped smile in response.

There was a long pause before anyone spoke again, filled with distant, amiable chatter of other families and shrieks of congratulations. Out of the corner of her eye, Ella could see Adam was already off with his friends. Soon, they would be headed to dinner and Project Graduation. Part of Ella was glad Adam didn’t want a big day of family celebration. No one would’ve survived any extended period of false positivity.

“I see you’ve got tattoos now, Ellie,” Jake said, looking down at the tulip on her arm, exposed in her spaghetti strap dress. “Your mother would’ve called that sinful, you know.”

The corners of Ella’s lips tugged up into a resentful smile, the words dripping with venom as they left her mouth before she could stop them. “Well, it’s a good thing she’s dead then, isn’t it?”

Both Fiona and Jake’s jaws dropped and it seemed all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air around them. Ella’s stomach dropped and she brought her hand over her mouth just after she said it. Her hazel eyes grew to the size of saucers. Immediately, Jess took her by the shoulders and began leading her in the direction of the diner, blurting out excuses.

“Hey, nice to see you folks, but we have to get to Rory’s graduation party tonight and it’d be pretty rude if we were late so…” he trailed off, stopping once they were far enough away, leaving Fiona and Jake flabbergasted and speechless.

“Oh my god,” Ella muttered, chewing at her thumbnail for the first time in what felt like forever. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I was gonna try to be nice if he came, because...at least he showed up, right? Fuck. Oh my god. Jess. Oh my god.”

“It’s okay, Daria. Just try to relax,” Jess breathed, steering her towards the diner as she instantly began melting down.

“I can’t relax, Jess! Don’t fucking tell me to relax! Did you hear that?! Did you hear what I just said?!” she muttered hastily. “Fuck me! Fuck! Every time I see him, my fucking mouth-”

“Hey, language!” Luke scolded her as they entered the diner, the bell jingling jovially above the door. There were only a few customers scattered around, the mid-afternoon lull.

“God, Luke, I thought age was supposed to negatively affect your hearing!” Ella snapped as Jess directed her to a stool and sat her down, hopping up on the seat next to her.

“Joe Pesci here is having a bad day,” Jess explained shortly as Luke shot Ella a bewildered stare.

“What happened?” Luke asked, arching a brow.

Ella heaved a great sigh and placed her head in her hands, elbows on the counter. “Bigmouth has struck again. And apparently she has even less of a filter now than she did in high school!”

“Right,” Luke said, increasingly confused.

Running a hand up and down over Ella’s back as she continued fuming, Jess gave Luke a dejected glance. “Green tea?”

A shadow of realization passed over Luke’s face. “Comin’ right up.”

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cyborgsquirrel · 5 years ago

Text

Sanctuary: Chapter 21

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Sunday, 31st October 1971, 12:15 pm The Marauders spent every spare moment of the two weeks following the potion disaster perfecting their plans, practising the spells and brewing a new potion which his friends had ordered Remus to stay away from. Something he had been more than happy to do. During the last week, they had taken it in turns to sneak down to the Great Hall in pairs during the night and cast the required spells. Remus had requested Sirius be his partner for the night missions, as he was more comfortable sharing the cloak with him than the others, leaving James to work with Peter.

The big day had finally arrived, and they were all feeling antsy and restless, anxious for everything to go off without a hitch. Remus, though, was suffering the effects of the coming moon on top. He'd woken that morning with a deep ache in his bones, and his senses were already heightened.

To make matters worse, his friends would not stop bugging him about being in the Great Hall for the feast. 'You have to be there, you put so much work into it,' Sirius pleaded. 'Yeah. You can sit at the end with Sirius next to you and us opposite. We'll make sure no one gets close to you,' Peter said. Remus shook his head. 'I don't know, guys. It's going to be so crowded.' 'What if you come for lunch? Try it out and see how you feel?' James said. That actually sounded like a reasonable idea. It wouldn't be as busy at lunch, especially on a Sunday. Everyone went at different times during the hour that food was made available. So he would be able to get an idea of whether it would be bearable without getting overwhelmed. 'Alright, I'll come for lunch, but I'm not making any promises about attending the feast.' The three Marauders grinned at him in victory, and Sirius whooped for good measure. Lunch went well. As promised, they sat at the far end of Gryffindor's table, furthest from the teachers and from the entrance, and Sirius sat on his right. Sirius was right-handed and Remus was left-handed, so that seating arrangement meant neither of them had to move the arm that was next to the other, minimising the chance of accidental touch. The hall was such a cavernous space that Remus even found the noise level bearable, and the food smells masked the scent of Sirius enough for him to focus. Someone, probably Hagrid, had decorated the Hall for Halloween with fake spiderwebs, pumpkins, and orange and black streamers. Thankfully, none of the school's decorations would interfere with the Marauder's plans for the evening's entertainment, but they looked around with interest, making notes for the next year. 'We could definitely use those pumpkins for something,' James said, leaning over the table and pointing. Sirius nodded. 'The streamers too. Even the spider webs have potential.' At that moment, Remus spotted Lily approaching. 'Let's discuss this later. We have company,' he said, nodding at her. 'Hi, Remus. It's good to see you in the Hall for a change.' 'I thought it was about time. My friends promised to keep me safe,' he said, offering her a smile. 'Hmm,' she said, eyeing the other boys. 'Well, if you ever want a break from them, you're welcome to sit with me and my friends.' 'Why would he want a break from us, Evans?' Sirius asked. 'We're his best mates.' 'You can sit with us too if you want?' James said. 'Urgh, no, thank you. I'd rather sit alone.' She turned back to Remus. 'I'll talk to you in Defence tomorrow.' And with a toss of her hair, she returned to her friends. 'Yeah. Okay, bye then,' Remus muttered to her retreating back, wondering why she had such an issue with his friends but liked Snape of all people. 'So, after that rather rude interruption, what are we going to do for our Chief Artist's birthday on Wednesday?' James asked. Sirius' birthday was on Wednesday? Oh, that just wasn't fair. The full moon was Tuesday night. He'd be stuck in the hospital wing all day and miss everything. 'I was thinking,' Sirius said, keeping his eyes on his plate and tearing apart his sandwich. 'I'd rather celebrate at the weekend. If we do it Wednesday, we'd only have the afternoon, and with Astronomy class at midnight, we might want to sleep. Saturday would be much better.' James looked thoughtful. 'That makes sense. We definitely need an entire day to properly celebrate the birth of a Marauder. What do you want to do?' Sirius glanced up and made eye contact with James briefly, before looking back at his mangled sandwich. 'Can we go to the beach room and make sandcastles? I've never made a sandcastle.' James' smile dropped, and he swallowed, blinked rapidly, took a deep breath and plastered a fresh grin back on his face just in time for Sirius to look up at him. 'I think that sounds like a fantastic idea,' he said. 'We'll make the biggest, most outstanding Marauderly sandcastle that was ever built.' Sirius grinned. Remus felt a thrill of excitement. He didn't remember ever making a sandcastle either, although he assumed he probably had been to the beach before he was bitten. And they were going to celebrate on Saturday when he'd be fully recovered and able to join in. He thanked Merlin for Sirius' vanity that made him want a whole day to celebrate. 'And after curfew, we can hole up in the dorm and play games. We can get snacks from the kitchen first,' Sirius said. 'Or we can sneak out and play games,' James said. 'Even better,' Sirius said, his grin getting impossibly wider. The afternoon passed in a haze of motion. James would not stop pacing around the dorm room, muttering about all the things that might go wrong. Sirius alternated between lounging on his bed with an air of carelessness and rocketing around the room like he had a broomstick stuck up his butt, bothering everyone with his premonitions of doom. Peter sat on his bed with his knees curled up to his chest, rocking back and forth, while occasionally announcing how many detentions they would get if this all went horribly wrong. Remus was the only Marauder who was calm. He knew everything had been set up perfectly. They had considered every potential thing that could go wrong and planned for it. The magic was perfect after the hours they had spent practising. There was nothing to worry about. Also, he was in a lot of pain and that was taking up most of his thoughts. As the hour approached, the Marauder's excitement began to overtake their nerves. Not that that did anything to stop their continuous motion. James continued to pace, only his muttering changed to assertions of how brilliant it was going to be. Sirius went from lounging and rocketing to lounging and bouncing, and his declarations of doom switched to declarations of victory. Peter's rocking turned to jiggling and his announcements to giggles. Remus alone remained calm and quiet, enduring their restlessness in silence. Until he finally broke... 'Please!' he yelled, before taking a deep breath and continuing in a quieter voice, 'Will you all sit down and be quiet for a moment. You're driving me insane.' 'Sorry, Remus,' Sirius said, immediately sitting down on his bed and glaring at James and Peter until James also sat down and Peter stilled his jiggling. 'Thank you,' he said. 'You all need to calm down. If you go down to the feast like this, the teachers will know something's up.' 'He's right,' James said. 'If we want to remain anonymous, we have to act like nothing's wrong.' 'Deep breaths everyone,' Sirius said. They spent a few minutes calming themselves down, and when they all felt ready, they made their way down to the Great Hall. Remus was a little worried about attending but talked himself into it. He really wanted to see the result of all their hard work and lunch hadn't been so bad. By the time he realised his mistake, he was already inside the Great Hall and it was too late to turn back. He would have to grin and bear it. There were three times as many people present as there had been at lunch, and the noise was deafening. His head was aching before he even sat down. They took the same seats they had earlier in the day, and they glanced around, waiting for the show to begin. It only took a minute after the food had appeared for the first belch to sound close enough to their position for them to hear it. A few people in their proximity giggled, and the Marauders grinned at each other. Sirius picked up his own fork and scooped up a large mouthful of mashed potatoes, one of the foods they'd added the belch powder to earlier, and winked at his friends as he put it in his mouth. The others followed suit, knowing if they wanted to avoid suspicion they had to be affected, and soon all four Marauders had joined the majority of the students, belching bubbles of various sizes which floated up to the ceiling. Remus glanced at the teachers. They all looked mystified. Ten minutes later, the festivities kicked up a notch as all the bubbles simultaneously transformed into bright orange bats. A few of the younger students screamed, but the majority laughed as the bats flew around the hall, staying close to the ceiling and performing incredible feats of aerobatics, all while dropping orange and black glitter down over the tables. The glitter floated in the air, sparkling in the candlelight, but vanished before it reached the food. After a couple more minutes had passed, and the air was sufficiently filled with sparkling glitter, the candles floating above the tables drifted higher and away, taking up positions evenly spaced around the circumference of the hall. Music started up, seeming to emanate from the walls themselves. That had been a nice little spell Remus had found quite by accident when looking for the shield charm for the candles. The candles began to sway to the tune before converging in the centre of the hall, high up in the air, creating a blast of flame that shot up towards the ceiling. The bats flew into the flame, each one hitting in time with a pulse of bass, and exploding in a fresh shower of glitter. When all the bats had vanished, the candles spread back out and carried out an intricate dance in time with the music. The students craned their necks up throughout the display and oohed and aahed at appropriate moments. As the last notes came to an end, the candles returned to their original positions, and a message blazed to life on the wall behind the teachers.

Happy Halloween!

We hope you enjoyed the entertainment

from the Hogwarts Marauders

All four house tables broke into applause and cheers. Dumbledore got to his feet and coughed to get everyone's attention. 'What a marvellous display of magic from some mystery benefactors. I'm going to assume that no school rules were broken in the process of setting this up,' he said, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. 'And, as it would seem suitable safety precautions were taken to protect both the audience and the food, no investigation will be made to find the perpetrators.' With that, he sat back down and continued to eat. 'What the hell?' James asked. 'We got in so much trouble for the balloon thing, and they're not even going to investigate this?' Remus rubbed his temples. He really wanted to go and lie down now the show was finished. 'Your balloon thing caused a lot of extra work for the teachers and inconvenienced the students. This did no harm. No one was hurt, there's no mess to clean up, and the food is all fine. No harm, no punishment.' Remus excused himself a few minutes later and returned to the dorm to sleep. He'd enjoyed watching the results of their efforts, but he was paying for it in agonising pain. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his joints jolted with a sharp pain every time he moved them. It was nothing compared to the pain of his coming transformation, though. That month, it was bad. Remus woke up for the first time late on Wednesday afternoon, and he was still injured. He could feel healing lacerations on his stomach, arms and legs and the ache of mending bones. Why hadn't he finished healing yet? Moonset was hours ago. He lay there for ten minutes before Madam Pomfrey bustled in. 'Oh, good, you're awake at last. I was getting worried,' she said. Remus tried to sit up, but it hurt too much so he gave up. 'What happened?' Madam Pomfrey frowned. 'I'm not sure why, but your injuries were very bad this month. You're mostly healed up now, but I want to keep you in overnight, just to make sure.' Remus nodded. It didn't even cross his mind to argue with her. He felt like shit. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to carry him away from the pain. The next time he woke, it was dark. He could see the night sky through the window, reflecting off the surface of the lake, including the moon, so close to full, its image marred by the ripples. He was feeling a lot better and the ridiculous amount of sleep he had had made him feel restless. He pulled himself to a sitting position and tried to decide what to do. Homework? No, it was already finished. And he had no research projects for the Marauders. They hadn't yet discussed what they were going to do for the end of term/Christmas feast. What he really wanted to do was make something for Sirius' birthday. He couldn't buy him a present as he had no money. So something made with his own personal magic would have to do. But what? An idea occurred to him, and he grabbed his bag, pulling out his wand, some parchment and a quill and got to work.

-o-o-o-o-

Sirius didn't sleep much the night before his birthday. He was far too worried about Remus. As much as he tried not to think about it, his mind kept conjuring the images from the werewolf books but with Remus' face, contorted in agony, ripping himself apart. It was horrible. And he knew it was even worse for Remus. Wherever he was. As a result, when he woke at six o'clock, he felt like crap and he thanked Merlin that he only had to endure two lessons that morning, one of which was History and could easily be slept through. When James and Peter wished him a happy birthday, he merely grunted and asked them to save it for Saturday. He wasn't going to celebrate without Remus. He was like a kneazle on hot coals all day, waiting for Remus to return. No matter what room he was in, he oriented himself towards the door so he could keep an eye out for him. When they got to Charms class, he was pleased to learn they were working on Alohomora, Sirius wouldn't have to try very hard. He had mastered this spell out of sheer desperation, trying to get to Remus in case he was hurt. Thinking of that night only reminded Sirius that Remus really was hurt, an unknown amount, lying in the hospital wing, and he had to stay away because he wasn't supposed to know. He scowled at the padlock on his desk and jabbed his wand at it. The padlock flew across the room and clattered to the floor at Professor Flitwick's feet. He merely floated it back to Sirius' desk and asked him to try again. Sirius scowled at Professor Flitwick when he turned away. 'Mate, what is up with you today?' James asked. 'It's your birthday, and you're acting like you've just been handed a life sentence in Azkaban. Is it because Remus had to go and see his mum?' It seemed like as good an excuse as any. 'Yeah, I just wish he was here is all.' 'I'm sure he'll be back in time for Saturday, though,' James said, patting him on the shoulder. Sirius offered him a smile. James was doing his best. How was he supposed to know Remus was holed up in the hospital wing, possibly gravely injured? 'Yeah, I hope so.' It didn't even occur to him until well into the afternoon that he hadn't received so much as a letter from his parents, never mind a present. When he did realise, he told himself he didn't care, but deep down it stung. His parents couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge the day he was born. He meant that little to them now. James wandered over to him sometime after dinner. 'You alright, mate? You've barely said a word all afternoon.' Sirius rolled over to face him. 'Yeah. Parents didn't send me anything for my birthday. I know they're mad, but they've never just outright ignored my birthday before.' James sat down on the edge of the bed, and Sirius shuffled over to make room for him. James laid back and put his arm around him, and he snuggled up, putting his head on James' chest. 'Damn, mate. I'm sorry, that totally sucks. Your parents are evil assholes, and they don't deserve an amazing person like you for a son,' he said, squeezing his arm around Sirius' shoulders in a hug. 'Thanks, James,' Sirius whispered. His eyes were burning, but warmth burst to life in his chest. Peter joined them on Sirius' other side, curling up behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Sirius lay there for an indeterminable amount of time, wrapped in the warmth of his friend's arms. He was thankful to have found friends that were so physical; their affection was welcome after eleven years of being starved of it. But he didn't feel like he deserved any of it. He began to get really worried when curfew arrived and Remus still hadn't returned. The worst part was, he couldn't show how worried he really was because Remus had told them his mum was sick and he was going home to see her, and hadn't said when he'd be back other than a vague, 'It'll be a day or two.' So, as far as James and Peter knew, there was nothing wrong. He was restless and agitated all through Astronomy and kept turning the telescope from the constellation of Cygnus which they were supposed to be studying, to look at the almost full moon and send it mental waves of hatred for hurting Remus so badly that he needed to spend such a long time in the hospital wing. He wished he could sneak down and see him, but he wasn't supposed to know he was there. If Remus would only trust him enough to tell him, then he could be there every month, but how could he get Remus to trust him? Maybe he could bring up the subject of werewolf rights somehow and let Remus know he wasn't anti-werewolf. But it might scare him if Sirius just randomly started talking about werewolf rights. Urgh, he didn't know what to do. Despite his worry, sleep came easily to him that night, probably because he'd gotten so little the night before, and he slept soundly through until six o'clock when his internal alarm clock--named Walburga--told him it was time to get up. He opened his eyes and glanced over to Remus' bed. Still empty. Where was he? By quarter to ten, Sirius was lounging on his bed, trying to think of an excuse to borrow James' cloak so he could sneak down to the hospital wing, when Remus finally walked through the door. Sirius tried to play it cool, not wanting Remus to notice his anxiety and worry if he knew something, but his relief at seeing he was alive and well was intense. 'You're back!' James said. 'How's your mum?' Remus smiled and limped over to his bed to sit down. Wait. Why was he limping? 'She's much better, thank you. The doctors are worried she might have a relapse, though, so I might have to go back again.' 'What's a doctor?' Sirius asked, and Remus and Peter both laughed. 'It's a muggle version of a medi-witch or wizard,' Remus said. 'Wouldn't a medi-witch be better?' James asked. 'Isn't there a magical cure?' Remus shook his head. 'Most magical cures don't work on muggles. They don't have any innate magic for the magic in the cure to interact with.' 'Damn, that sucks,' James said. 'Muggle medicine is very advanced. The doctors are hopeful she'll be fine,' Remus said with a shrug. Sirius couldn't hold back any longer. He needed to know. 'What happened to your leg?' he blurted. Remus glanced at him. 'Fell down the stairs. I'll go ask Madam Pomfrey to look at it after Transfiguration.' That confused Sirius for a moment. Hadn't he just left the hospital wing? But then he realised Remus must be expecting it to finish healing soon, and he needed an excuse for his limp to disappear. He must have been very badly injured to still be hurt now. From what Sirius had seen after the disastrous flying lesson, he healed really fast. 'I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Sirius,' Remus said. 'I really wanted to be here.' Sirius waved his apology away. 'Don't worry about it. We're celebrating Saturday, anyway.' 'I know, I'm looking forward to it,' Remus said with a small smile. Remus disappeared for the entire free period after Transfiguration, but he rejoined them for lunch, minus his limp, and ate with them in the Great Hall, which put Sirius in a fantastic mood for the rest of the day. He watched Remus during Potions and could tell he was struggling with the smells in the room, but with Peter's gentle guidance, he managed to produce a reasonable cough potion, and Sirius felt a rush of pride for his friend when Slughorn gave him an E. After dinner, Remus announced he was going to the library to get his homework finished and wouldn't be able to make it to Art Club that evening. Sirius was disappointed. He enjoyed spending that hour alone with Remus every week, but he understood that the extended hospital stay would cause him to fall behind, so he tried not to show it and went alone. It was nowhere near as much fun without him. Studying the gorgon in defence on Friday spawned a lot of Slytherin related snake-hair jokes, and Remus once again disappeared off to the library during the morning free period. But after dinner he announced he was all caught up with his work and spent the evening with them in the common room, eating the remainder of the post-moon chocolate Sirius had produced the day before and making plans for Saturday. Sirius had no idea how they managed to wake before him, but at one minute to six on Saturday morning, he was awoken by his fellow Marauders standing around his bed and singing as loud as they possibly could.

Happy Sirius day to you

Happy Sirius day dearest Sirius

Happy Sirius day to YOOOOOU!

The moment they finished singing, red and gold glitter showered down on him from his bed canopy. Sirius sat up in bed, grinning so hard his jaw hurt. 'Sirius day? I like the sound of that.' James grinned back at him. 'Today is all about you. Anything you want to do, we do. But first, presents!' 'You got me presents?' Sirius asked, shifting onto his knees on the bed and bouncing a little. 'Gimme!' After running to their trunks, James and Peter climbed onto the foot of the bed and Remus perched at the head next to him, each of them holding a parcel wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a gold ribbon. Sirius shifted over to make more room. James handed him the first gift and Sirius ripped it open. It was a wizard art set in a beautiful mahogany case. There was an assortment of brushes and quills, all engraved with the words Chief Artist, a selection of paints and inks; some that changed between two colours; some that would shift on the page to simulate movement; and some that would flash between many colours or shades, as well as a packet of enchanted canvasses and a fold-up easel. Sirius adored it and couldn't wait to try it out. 'This is amazing, mate,' he said, pulling out a bottle of ink to examine it. He looked up to meet James' eyes. 'Thank you.' James looked pleased with his response to the present. 'I expect an awesome painting from you soon. We need something good to decorate the dorm.' 'You'll get one,' Sirius said, closing the case and leaning over to put it on the floor by his bed, out of the way. 'Who's next?' Peter handed him his gift. 'I couldn't afford anything as good as James, but I hope you like it.' 'It's from you. Of course, I'll like it,' Sirius said, tearing off the paper to reveal a selection of sweets from Honeydukes. 'Excellent! It's always nice to have a stash of sweets.' He immediately pulled out a packet of ice mice and offered them around. 'Thanks, Pete.' Peter beamed at him and took one of the proffered sweets. Remus held out his parcel. 'I didn't have any money, so I made you this myself.' 'Thanks, Remus,' Sirius said, taking the package and smiling at him. 'Knowing you, I bet this is going to be brilliant.' Remus just shrugged. Sirius pulled the paper off to reveal a rough wooden box with a hinged lid and intricate patterns carved all across the surface. He looked up. 'It's beautiful. Thank you. You made this?' Remus nodded. 'The box is a transfigured stick, and I made the hinges from some old quills. Open it.' Sirius did so and gasped. The inside of the lid was dotted with twinkling, pale green lights, and one bright-red light, on a background of jet black. Sirius pointed. 'That's Canis Major. And that,' he said, pointing at the single red light, 'is me.' The only red star in a sea of Slytherin green, he thought. Remus nodded. 'It's a small section of the night sky as seen from Hogwarts on the night you were born.' 'Are you serious?' James opened his mouth, and Sirius pointed at him. 'Don't.' James shut his mouth again and Sirius turned back to Remus. 'Fucking hell, Remus. That must have taken you hours to figure out.' 'Just a few.' He smiled. 'If you channel some of your magic into it to activate the charm, then it will only open for you. I thought you could hide things in it.' Sirius shook his head. 'I was wrong,' he said, his eyes burning. 'This isn't brilliant, it's incredible. Thank you, Remus. I want to give you a hug, but I know you'd hate that. So just have the sentiment. I love it.' He grinned. James clapped his hands and chuckled. 'Well, way to over-shadow our presents without spending a knut. I can't wait for my birthday.' 'No one has overshadowed anyone,' Sirius said, crossing his arms. 'I love all my presents equally.' 'You're insane then,' James said, jumping off the bed. 'Remus' was obviously the best. Now come on, lazybones, we've got sandcastles to build.' Sirius grinned and put his new box carefully on his bedside table. He'd only been awake half an hour and the day was already the best day of his life. They arrived at the beach room an hour later after scoffing down as much food as they could in the Great Hall. There was no one else there so early on a Saturday morning, and they made the most of it. Using a little charm that Remus had looked up in preparation, they each built a sandcastle big enough to stand inside on different parts of the beach, and then they staged a war. They transfigured grains of sand into projectiles and used depulso and wingardium leviosa to fling them at each other's castles and defend their own from attack. The rules were simple. When your castle was destroyed, you were out. In reality, it didn't quite go that way. James' castle was taken out first by Peter using a sneak attack from behind, but Sirius--ever the noble hero--offered him refuge in his own fortress. Outraged at the blatant disregard for the rules, Remus and Peter teamed up to take them down. Sirius' castle fell quickly under the continuous barrage from two directions. Making a snap decision, Remus called for his now homeless friends to join him, and together the three of them combined forces to take down Peter's castle. With three against one, it didn't take long for Peter's castle to dissolve into a pile of sand, and Remus emerged victorious as the only Marauder with his castle still standing, albeit a little worse for wear after the battle. By the time their game was over, they had a small audience of fellow students who asked them for the spell to make the giant sandcastles so they could play too. Remus was more than happy to teach it to them. And so the year of the Hogwarts sand wars began. When it was time for lunch, they left the noisy, crowded beach-room and headed to the entrance hall. 'Would you mind if we all ate in the kitchen today?' Remus asked. Sirius gave him a sideways glance. His face was relaxed, and he didn't seem to be in any pain or discomfort. And the full moon was three nights ago. 'Sure, why not? It'll be cosier, anyway.' Remus smiled and led the way down into the dungeons and to the painting of a bowl of fruit. He waved Sirius through the door first, and when he entered the kitchen, Breen scurried over, bowed low and said, 'Happy Birthday, Master Sirius. Please follows me.' Sirius turned around and raised an eyebrow at his friends, who were all grinning like madmen, before following the house-elf through a door, down a maze of corridors and into a small room that was decked out in red and gold banners. There was a medium-sized table in the middle of the room, surrounded by four chairs and covered with plates of delicious smelling food. In the very centre was a small chocolate cake, just the right size for four growing boys, with twelve candles waiting to be lit. 'I don't know what to say,' Sirius said. James whooped. 'We did it. He's lost the power of speech!' Sirius smacked him around the back of the head. 'Shut up,' he said. Then he wrapped him in a hug, released him, hugged Peter, paused in front of Remus, not quite knowing how to show his appreciation, before deciding to just point at him. 'Thanks, you guys.' Breen left them to it, and they crowded around the table and dug into the birthday feast. Twenty minutes later, Breen returned to light the candles, and they sang another rousing chorus of Happy Sirius Day before enjoying the mouth-watering cake. Stuffed full to bursting, they returned to their dorm for an afternoon of exploding snap, chess and gobstones. All things considered, it was the best birthday of Sirius' life, and he was already looking forward to next year when he curled up in bed to sleep. The next morning, Sirius was about ready to strangle James within fifteen minutes of waking up. It was the first game of the Quidditch season, and to make matters worse, it was the most important one of the season. Gryffindor vs Slytherin. James was being unbearable. He had forced them all to dress in Gryffindor colours. Originally, he had asked Remus to make them red lion robes to wear, but Remus had pointed out that would ruin their anonymity, so they settled for just wearing red and gold. He then made Peter paint all their faces, except for Remus who did his own, and they headed down to breakfast, with James' continuous chatter about the players filling their ears. The Great Hall was deafening. The whole school seemed to be present, and with twice as much energy as normal. Remus took one look and announced he was eating in the kitchen. Sirius didn't blame him. As they entered the Hall, Sirius glanced up at the ceiling to check the weather. Clear and sunny, perfect conditions. He hoped to Merlin, Gryffindor would win. The idea of James if they lost didn't bear thinking about. After breakfast, they met back up with Remus and made their way to the Gryffindor section of the stands. They took seats right at the back, but the end seat of the back row was already taken, so Remus sat between Sirius and James. Sirius stole glances at Remus throughout the match, and he could tell he was having a hard time with the noise level. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and he flinched every time the crowd roared with excitement or disappointment. There was nothing Sirius could do about it though, so he concentrated on the game and tried not to be too rowdy. It was hard, though, when the Gryffindor team scored over and over again. They were on fire! When the two Seekers suddenly swept into a dive towards the Slytherin goal, Sirius leapt to his feet with everyone else, caught up in the excitement and screaming at the top of his lungs. "AND KING HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" the commentator roared. The crowd went crazy! Jumping up and down and screaming with joy. Suddenly the person next to Sirius shoved into him, hard. Sirius stumbled, and putting his arms out to save himself, fell into Remus. Remus crashed to the ground with Sirius on top of him and he screamed in absolute horror. Sirius had never heard a sound like it. It drilled into his soul and turned his blood to ice. He was frozen for a split second before he scrambled to get up. To get off of Remus, who was still screaming. 'No, no. Get off. Oh Gods, no.' As he put his hands on the ground to push himself up, his left hand brushed up against Remus' hand ever so slightly, and he jerked it away quickly, hoping Remus was too out of it to feel the contact. He managed to get to his feet and realised everyone in their vicinity was staring at them. 'Alright. Shows over,' he snapped. 'Bugger off and celebrate.' James and Peter took over getting rid of the gawkers, and Sirius crouched down next to Remus, keeping his distance. Remus had curled up into a ball and was rocking back and forth, repeating the same words as before. 'No, no. Oh Gods, no. Please, no.' 'Remus?' Sirius said. Remus' eyes snapped to his. 'Did you touch me? Did you touch my skin?' he asked, his voice desperate. Sirius swallowed. Then he looked him right in the eye, and calling on his many years of experience, he lied his goddamned ass off. 'No, Remus. I swear, by some miracle I didn't. I promise.' Remus relaxed slightly and breathed out a sigh of relief. 'Oh thank Merlin,' he whispered. -o-o-o-o-

Extract from The Official Marauders Notebook

Notes passed between James and Remus during Transfiguration on Thursday morning, and later removed from the notebook and burned.

Remus, so glad you're back and your mum is okay. I was wondering if you could alter the glitter spell to rain from Sirius' bed canopy and make it Gryffindor colours? - James Thanks, mate. I can probably do that, but why? - Remus For his birthday! I want it to be really amazing. You know his parents didn't even send him a letter? - James Gods, really? The bastards! I'll find a way to make it happen. Anything else I can do? - Remus Can you find a spell that will let us make really huge sandcastles? Like, big enough to stand inside? I have an idea for a game we can play... - James Sounds intriguing, I'll do my best - Remus

Also, do you think the house-elves would let us have a little dinner party in the kitchen at lunchtime? - James I think they'd be delighted to set that up, I'll ask Breen. You're a really great friend, James. You know that? - Remus I am, aren't I? - James.

Chapter 22

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #remus x sirius

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sweetiepie08 · 6 years ago

Text

Rebel Z (Chapter 1)

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

[-]

Tak sat on the sidewalk, leaning against Zim’s fence and making sure she stayed out of sight from the security cameras. Her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the top of the gift box by her side. She kept her eyes trained on the street, waiting for the SIR unit to arrive home.

It’d been years since she first came to Urth and tried to snatch the planet out from under that undeserving worm. She told herself it was nothing personal. The Irken Elite didn’t get caught up in petty personal vendettas. It was about proving her herself worthy as an invader and proving Zim unfit for even a fake mission. She’d lied to herself then. Not anymore.

She made a few more attempts over the years. Each time Zim and those meddlesome humans thwarted her. Every failure ended with her going off-planet to regroup and examine where she went wrong. After so many defeats, she finally had to admit to herself this was personal. This was about Zim and her fatal flaw was underestimating him.

A whistled tune caught her antenna and she looked up to see Zim’s SIR unit, called GIR, walking toward the base. He was dressed in his dog costume and he carried a bag of groceries. She stood up and put on a fake smile as the robot skipped its way over.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice gratingly sweet. “Aren’t you Zim’s SIR unit?”

“Hellooo…” Gir sing-songed in reply.

“Listen, I know Zim and I haven’t had the best relationship and I wanted to make it up to him. I got him this present to say sorry for all the times I tried to ruin his mission. Could you make sure he gets it? There’s a jumbo bag of gummy bears in it for you.”

“Okie-dokie!” The head of GIR’s costume opened up and a claw arm flew out of his head. It snatched the gift box and drew it back inside his head’s storage compartment. He then gave her a little wave and scampered into the house.

Once he was inside, Tak got down and army-crawled to the base’s window, careful not to set off any motion sensors. As she peered inside, she could see Zim, sitting on the couch, looking over something on an Irken computing tablet.

“GIR, good, you’re home,” he said, not looking up from his work. “I’ve just finished drawing up the plans for-”

“I got a present for you!” GIR squealed as the gift box popped out of his head.

“Eh? A gift for Zim?”

GIR nodded vigorously.

“Huh.” Zim set aside the tablet and slid off the couch. “Well, thank you GIR,” he said, picking up the box. “Wait, this isn’t full of moldy tacos again, is it?”

GIR shrugged “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

GIR shook his head.

“This isn’t from you?”

GIR shook again.

Zim narrowed his eyes and examined the box. He gave it a light shake and placed an antenna on it to listen. Finally, he looked at the tag.

TAk smiled. She could imagine his heart dropping as he read the words.

“Night-night? Tak?” Zim threw the box on the ground. “Computer! Activate defensive maneuver number-”

Before he could finish, MiMi jumped out of the box holding an electrified shocking fork. She jabbed it into his neck. Electricity coursed through his body and he fell to the floor in a heap.

“Master?” GIR gave Zim a poke.

MiMi swept to the door and let Tak in. Once inside, she disabled her human disguise. “He’s napping,” she said, dropping a large bag of Urth candy at GIR’s feet. “Here’s your gummy bears. I’ll take him downstairs to rest.”

The SIR unit began gleefully digging through the bag as Tak grabbed Zim’s ankle and dragged him to the kitchen. MiMi followed close behind. They took the elevator down to the base’s main computer lab and walked over to the control panel. She stuck Zim’s body in the control seat and plugged in his PAK. The computer lit up, showing a log-in screen. She placed Zim’s hand on the identification pad and, just like that, she gained access to the computer network.

“MiMi, restrain him.”

Her SIR until gave a solute, then pulled a roll of duct tape out oh her head and taped Zim down.

Tak turned back to the computer and inserted a programing disc. She grinned as her coding filled the screen. It was her best work yet, a near perfect copy of the Control Brain’s PAK reading system. Only the Massive held such technology. She’d waited three Urth years for this moment. Three years of consorting with shady figures from the back alleys of space. Three years of making deals with backdoor hackers. Three years of trading favors to gain access to the technology she needed. It all lead up to this moment, the moment when she finally learned how to crush Zim once and for all.

MiMi tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned to look, MiMi pointed to Zim and made a slashing motion across her throat.

“No, Mimi, we can’t kill him yet.” It was true. She could easily kill him now while he was vulnerable, but it wouldn’t be satisfying. When she finally claimed her vengeance, she wanted his eyes to be wide open.

The computer dinged, alerting her that the program was ready to run. She turned back to the screen and looked into the wicked eyes of her own reflection. “Alright, let’s see what makes Zim, Zim.”

She swiped her hand across the control panel, opening a starting page. It outlined Zim’s basic information.

Name: Zim

Age: 16.6

Occupation: Food Service Drone

Assignment: Foodcourtia, Banishment.

So far, so good. Now she just had to run the error check simulation. She typed in the command and waited for the program to work its magic. When it finished, the alert sound blared and the word DEFECTIVE flashed across the screen in big, red letters.

“Hmmm… No surprise there, MiMi, but I need more. Let’s get more specific.”

She typed in a few more commands and the screen showed her a list of all of Zim’s defective areas broken down by category. The list was long, too long to go over before Zim woke. Two categories caught her eye: PAK Installations and Irken Traits. These two seemed curious. She opened the file for PAK Installations first. A list popped up.

PAK Installations

· Perseverance: 89342/10

· Loyalty: 324/10

· Penchant for destruction: 352301/10

· Susceptibility to propaganda: 134/10

Tak’s mouth turned downward as she read over the list. Every Irken knew the PAK boosted certain personality traits to ensure successful service to the Empire. However, only the highest-ranking PAK engineers knew what. Some of these were to be expected. Of course, an Irken must persevere in the face of opposition and remain loyal to the Empire. Those were obvious. And she supposed a soldier must be capable of a little destruction. But susceptibility to propaganda?

She switched off the PAK Installations and looked into Irken Traits. Surely this section would reveal enhancements made to the already superior race. Why else would the PAKs monitor their natural Irken inclinations?

Irken Traits

· Creativity: 3342/0

· Personal ambition: 3625/0

· Need for companionship: 334/0

· Need for affection: 3420/0

· Sense of individuality: 4280/0

· Survival instinct: 4406/2

Tak took a step back as she analyzed what this meant. Suspicion crept through her like a parasite and the truth glared down at her from a screen. Irken traits were meant to be blocked? This couldn’t be the norm. There had to be some mistake. Zim was a defective after all. Perhaps these blocks were just part of his defects. Or maybe his PAK was changed after the mess he made of Impending Doom I. Yes, that must be it. The Control Brains must have tried to take away certain skills to prevent further disasters. But if these blocks were deliberate, why didn’t the levels match up? Surely the Control Brain would have caught these errors during re-encoding. And could she even be certain that these blocks were unique to Zim? To be sure, she’d have to compare his results to those of a standard PAK.

Her hand unconsciously reached back and brushed the top of hers. It was the only PAK immediately available. She hadn’t tested the program on herself before. It would have been the smart thing to do, instead of coming all this way without testing it on a real PAK. She told herself that her ship wouldn’t have enough power to generate a full reading, but that wasn’t entirely true. She could have at least attempted a partial reading, just to make sure. What stopped her?

She unplugged Zim’s PAK and plugged in her own. Her start page appeared on the screen.

Name: Tak

Age: 16.9

Occupation: Janitorial Squad

Assignment: Dirt (planet)

She scowled at her demeaning encoding. It should read “invader” or at the very least “Irken Elite.” She had everything they wanted. She excelled at every training. She passed every testing simulation she took. She made herself the best of the best. The final test should have been a mere formality. If not for the idiot taped to the chair behind her, she would be in her rightful place.

She typed in the command for the error check. Yet another formality as far as she was concerned. It was required to view her own stats. An error reading should be impossible. After all, she was everything the empire wanted her to be. She worked, and studied, and molded herself into the shape of a perfect Irken soldier. There was no way she could be…

DEFECTIVE

The word flashed across the screen in glaring red letters. The alert sound shook her antenna and the light from the screen burned her eyes. Her mouth fell open and her body broke into a sweat. “No! It can’t be!” She must have gone wrong somewhere, made some mistake. It was the software. That was it. That was the problem, not her PAK.

You know that’s not true, her own sinister mind whispered back to her. It was right. The PAKs were designed to be completely secure from enemy tampering. A PAK could only be accessed with specific Irken equipment and software. If there was a flaw in her coding, it should not have connected to the PAK at all. The only way for her to even be seeing this word was if her software perfectly imitated that of the Control Brain’s programing.

She pressed on, swiping straight to the PAK Installations.

PAK Installations

· Perseverance: 1344/10

· Loyalty: 10/10

· Penchant for destruction: 10/10

· Susceptibility to propaganda: 5/10

So, at least her errors were not as off as Zim’s. Her loyalty and penitent for destruction were at the ideal levels according to the reading. But her susceptibility to propaganda was too low? And perseverance too high? And these were considered errors? Were these not good qualities to have? There was something strange going on here, to be sure.

She swiped over the Irken traits.

Irken Traits

· Creativity: 3542/0

· Personal ambition: 5437/0

· Need for companionship: 23/0

· Need for affection: 10/0

· Sense of individuality: 4281/0

· Individual survival instinct: 4192/2

A smug smile came to her face when she realized her creativity and ambition outmatched Zim’s, but it quickly disappeared when she saw what her ideal levels were. Zeros all around, just like him. According to the reading, she should have no creativity, no ambition, no individuality… She barely even had a survival instinct. She should be nothing. Was this what the Empire really wanted? Just mindless drones?

This wasn’t right. Something deep down in her gut told her so. These characteristics were assets. They were what helped make the Irken race so great. But if Irkens were superior, why were their natural traits being blocked? Something was wrong, very wrong.

Perhaps the problem was in the encoding. She and Zim were technically assigned to menial occupations when they both had the training of the Irken Elite. Their jobs didn’t match their skill-level. Tak was clearly meant for something greater and Zim… Zim was an anomaly all his own.

But even if that was the case, these stats still didn’t make sense. Did a janitor or food service drone not have the right to see themselves as an individual? Did they not deserve the ambition to aspire to something greater? Or to be creative in their assigned professions? And what did a level 2 survival instinct entail, anyway? Just the wherewithal to get out of the way of a crashing ship? Or the ability to look before falling off a cliff? Nothing about this added up.

Still, she only had the data for 2 allegedly defective Irkens of low rank. If she wanted answers, she’d have to look at a PAK which bore a higher rank. Luckily, she knew just where to find one.

“MiMi,” she said, shutting down her program and removing the disc. “We’re leaving.”

MiMi cocked her head to the side and pointed at Zim.

“Leave him for now. Something more important has come up.”

MiMi nodded and followed Tak out of the room.

After a quick raid of Zim’s fuel stores, Tak and MiMi made their way out of the base. They went to the backyard where she parked her ship. She uncloaked it, revealing a grey, outdated, Vortian vessel. It was all she’d been able to acquire since she was forced to eject from her Spittle Runner. Yet another loss she could attribute to Zim. It wasn’t quite up to the standards of modern Irken vehicles, but she’d been able to modify it to run on an Irken operating system. At the very least, it allowed her to blend in both inside and out of Irken controlled space.

As MiMi added fuel to the tank’s ship, Tak climbed inside. “Computer,” she commanded, waking the ship’s A.I.

“Yes Master,” the robotic voice answered.

She’d never bothered to download her personality into the A.I. like she had on the Spittle Runner. It didn’t feel right. Her last ship was her pride and joy. She’d turned that thing from a pile of scrap metal to a vessel capable of outrunning even the latest creations of the Irken military engineers. That ship was worthy of her mark. What she wouldn’t give to have it back.

“Awaiting orders,” the computer reminded her.

MiMi finished fueling and hopped into the cockpit.

“Computer, bring up the coordinates of the last known location of Invader Skoodge.”

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windyfiend · 5 years ago

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“What’s going on?” whispered Runa. She sat atop a metal slab in the artificer’s workshop, her fingers curled at the cold edge, craning her neck to watch the shadows flicker in the space beneath the heavy doors. Shouts and radios and running footsteps rushed in the corridor on the other side.

“The empress saw a rat,” Sebastian grumbled distractedly, peering into the empty eye socket of a half-exposed skull. “She’s mobilized the guard to capture and execute the vermin.”

“Over a rat?” Runa wrinkled her nose. “I’ve caught rats by myself. You don’t need an army.”

With thin tweezers, Sebastian withdrew a tiny shining mushroom from inside the bone. “You don’t know Empress Isobel,” he murmured, turning it thoughtfully, then placed the little specimen into the bottom of an empty jar.

While Runa watched, Sebastian flourished a delicate knife and sliced masses of mushrooms from the mold-filmed skin. Faintly glowing fungus dropped into the waiting jar.

“Can I help?” asked Runa, mystified.

“No.”

“I’m really good with a knife,” Runa pleaded, leaning a little forward. “I’ve skinned squirrels.”

“This isn’t a squirrel,” said Sebastian, and another clump of mushrooms clunked into the jar. “The skill lies in not damaging the skin during harvest. When the appendages have been drained, the bodies will be stitched for burial. They should remain as pristine as possible.”

“I’m good at sewing, too,” Runa offered, then grinned at Sebastian’s sour glare. “What are the mushrooms for?” she prodded.

“They’re sucking the last dregs of the dying soul into their devouring, fungal roots,” Sebastian hissed with theatric sarcasm, “like an assimilation of the mind with the rot.”

Another cluster of mushrooms filled the luminous jar.

“So the mushrooms are eating the dead person’s veskal,” Runa said smartly. Sebastian’s busy silence was as good as agreement. “But then,” said Runa, “how do you get the veskal out of the mushrooms?”

Sebastian thunked the jar down and set Runa with a cold stare. “I allowed you to watch my work on one condition.” He raised a silver-ringed finger.

“Keep quiet?” Runa mumbled.

Sebastian dragged a gesture across his lips as if zippering them shut. While Runa suppressed further questions, Sebastian carried the jar away through the winding aisles of mushrooms and body parts to a long table against the wall. He snapped the jar into the base of a blender and casually flipped a switch.

The room buzzed and echoed with a whirring, pulverizing noise, then the hiss of pressured air like a boiling kettle. Finally, while Runa stretched to see, a bright liquid oozed like magma out of the machine’s spout and dripped into a waiting bottle. The extracted substance glowed with the colors of a brilliant sunset, swirling deep indigo, burning orange and violet until it settled into a shimmering, gloopy blue.

“This,” said Sebastian, “is sludge veskal.” He turned off the noise of the machine and held the bottle to the light of a lavender candle. The veskal inside shifted and writhed as if it were alive, formless and sticky, shimmering with oily colors. Runa’s mouth hung open in awed silence.

“It’s the simplest and most common extraction,” Sebastian continued, enunciating clearly for his wide-eyed student. “A corpse three days old could produce veskal of this hideous caliber, provided a quality fungus is introduced. It’s almost a waste… but it will suffice for our purposes.”

Runa straightened at eager attention. “Are we gonna make a lamp?” she squealed excitedly, pointing up at the blue lights that dangled from the rafters. “We made lamps once in science class, but it was with lantern-moths. The teacher said veskal’s illegal.”

While Runa prattled, Sebastian turned a key in a hidden lock, then rolled out a long partition of ledges and drawers that emerged like magic from the solid wall. The shelves weighed heavy with dark Scythe armor: helmets and chestplates, pauldrons and boots, dulled and lacking their signature shine. Sebastian chose a hoverboard from a narrow shelf and pushed the storage block shut with a rumble and a click.

“Why do you have so many secret doors?” Runa asked, searching the wall for hidden seams.

Sebastian laid the hoverboard upside-down beside her and popped the cover, revealing an intricate network of wires. “Do most people not have secret doors?” he scoffed. “Heathens.”

Runa grinned brightly. She leaned to examine the complex inside of the hoverboard. “What are you doing?”

“What happened to being quiet?” Sebastian snapped.

Runa puffed her cheeks in struggling silence.

Sebastian leveled a warning glare at her, then raised his chin and held out the bottle of sludge veskal. “Hold this, right at the neck, over the floor. Don’t drop it.”

While Sebastian unfolded a cloth-wrapped set of tools, Runa gripped the little bottle carefully, her arm extended as far as she could. “What happens if I drop it?” she whispered, barely daring to breathe, her eyes trained on the shifting liquid.

“That depends on the frequency.” Sebastian struck a brass tuning fork and held the humming note close to the glass. Nothing happened. “Your body could turn inside-out,” he suggested lightly, striking another instrument, “or you could simply go mad.”

Runa swallowed and held the bottle a little tighter.

After two more tuning forks of varying size, the next resonation rippled in the surface of the sludge. The veskal shuddered and smoothed peacefully, settled deep in the bottom of the bottle, then began to change.

Its color shifted vibrant-- oily violet swirled into clear neon blue --and the bottle brightened until it shone clear as a light bulb.

“One-thirty,” Sebastian announced the veskal’s frequency and snatched the bottle from Runa’s grip. While Runa blinked away the residual colors behind her eyes, Sebastian bent over the hoverboard, adjusted a dozen tuning knobs, then poured the dimming veskal into an open well among the wires. With a twist and a snap he sealed the well tightly shut, replaced the cover, flipped the hoverboard right side up and flicked one last switch.

The hoverboard began to hum. A low, droning note sang in the waking metal. The veskal’s blue glow intensified, pushed bright against the surface of the table, and-- like a repelled magnet --the hoverboard lifted into the air.

“Good enough,” Sebastian sighed and tossed the hoverboard to the floor, where it floated and bounced in a pool of blue light. “Now,” he offered Runa his hand, “would you care to try?”

With the child’s eager consent, Sebastian carried her off the edge of the table and set her on the hoverboard like the seat of a swing.

Runa wobbled and squeaked with surprised delight. “It’s like it’s floating on water!” she laughed.

“The veskal will respond to your thoughts,” Sebastian said while he returned to his work, a knife glinting against the overgrown mushrooms. “Don’t command it, but imagine it behaves according to your will. It is stable. It is rising and falling. It is an extension of yourself.”

Runa gripped the edges of the hoverboard while it lilted and tipped in protest. With a determined breath, Runa closed her eyes, steadied her heart and her nerves (the board, in turn, stopped wobbling) and concentrated on the blue glow beneath her.

For a few quiet moments, all was still. And then--

The hoverboard surged at the ceiling like a slingshot while Runa shrieked in terror. She opened her eyes in time to stop her ascent before her head would have struck a beam.

Runa breathed quick as a rabbit. She chanced a look down from the dizzying height and saw Sebastian staring calmly up at her.

“Help!” Runa whimpered, clinging to the hoverboard with a shuddering death grip.

“You’re in control,” Sebastian called with mild interest. “Not me.”

Tears brimmed hot and painful in Runa’s eyes, but she swallowed hard and forced her thoughts to focus through the twisting memories of crumbled stone and ocean wind.

Slowly, the hoverboard descended. Runa squeezed the edges with pale shaking knuckles and refused to open her eyes while she floated down like a feather.

Her feet dangled a few inches from the floor when the hoverboard tipped out from under her, tossing her off with a terrified shriek that cut short when she found herself safe on solid ground.

“Have you had enough, then?” Sebastian asked with a bemused tilt of his head.

Runa dragged herself to a sitting position, and she glared at the retreating hoverboard as if it had committed a grave betrayal. She extended a hand with her thoughts toward the humming glow.

Her heart slowed. Her breath rose and fell.

The hoverboard glided closer as if guided by an invisible string. Runa gripped the edges and hauled herself up onto it again.

“Not yet,” she said.

#original writing #original fiction #stolen suns

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