#but she’s like you can lose so much weight if you just do this just like I did

[denwritesandcries]

Lose on losing Dogs – Shauna Shipman

Pairing: shauna shipman x fem!reader

Summary: There she is. The first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood. Your first friend, your first crush, your first kiss and your first heartbreak. Your first grief is very much alive and looking at you in the eye now.

or, shauna comes back.

Word count: 1,2k.

Content: post-crash, angst, reunion, reader and shauna had something going on, hurt/barely any comfort, the consequences of the accident, traumatized teenagers.

Note: They’re both broken and traumatized your honor.

English is not my first language.

Thirteen months. Four hundred and fifty-five days.

It's been 13 months, 2 weeks and 7 hours since you've last seen Shauna. Since you've seen any Yellowjacket, actually. Since the crash.

Now you're standing outside her room, staring at the door silently like an idiot after showing up at her parents' house wearing pajama bottoms and looking just as much of a mess as they do. Damn.

Her mother looked at you with so much relief when she saw you on her porch that she just rushed you inside immediately, looking like she might cry at any moment because “you’re the first person to come see her who isn’t one of those tv parasites.” And well, you didn't say anything. What could you say? Last time you saw her was at her daughter's funeral.

Shauna is back, you think.

You've finished school, graduated. Left town. Started college. You got your own life now and still there wasn't a single day where you haven't thought about her. Remembering her. Mourning her.

And now she's back. Alive.

It still doesn't feel real, even though it is. You just have to open the door so you can see it for yourself. Why can't you open the door?

“Mom,” comes her voice from inside the room, probably having sensed your footsteps prowling the hallway, “I told you to leave me alone.”

The sound is so strange and yet so familiar that it makes you choke on air, feeling your eyes sting from the tears you've been holding back since climbing the stairs. Without wasting another minute, you step forward and open the door, not realizing what you're doing until your sweaty hand turns the handle.

The first thing you notice is that the room is cold, the curtains are closed, one of the dressers is visibly dusty as if no one has been there for a long time. A room inhabited by a ghost. The last thing you notice is the bundle of blankets in the middle of the bed, with a mess of brown hair scattered around the edge, and a barely touched plate of food on the desk.

Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath. “Shauna,” you call.

You see the exact moment she registers your voice and freezes, even though you can't see her face.

She remains still and curled up and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, nervous and embarrassed. Maybe she doesn't want to see you. What made you think that you of all people would be the one she wanted to come visit her after coming back from the dead and a freaking accident? You can still remember the screams and hurtful words directed at you the last time you two saw each other. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't come.

“Shauna,” you try again, sounding as desperately as you feel, “It’s me. I came to see you– To see how you are.”

'Liar', replies a voice – very similar to Shauna's on that fateful night, the night before the crash – 'if you really wanted to see me or know how I was doing, you would have come the day the plane landed, like everyone else did.’

I was in another city, you think. Shauna spent weeks in the hospital. Nobody let me see her. They didn't let me see any of them. I came as soon as I heard that she had been discharged and returned home.

‘And yet you woke up and spent hours walking in circles around your childhood bedroom, car keys in your hand. You almost left.’

You startle when the pile of blankets suddenly moves again, revealing the shape hidden beneath them and then you're finally face to face. Shauna Shipman. Your Shauna. The first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood. Your first friend, your first crush, your first kiss and your first heartbreak. Your first grief is very much alive and looking at you in the eye right now.

She faces you in a way that is impossible to avoid. God, she seems so thin, hair wildly messed up, big, deep brown eyes with dark circles beneath them, pupils so glassy it hurts to look at it, and Shauna looks lost, kneeling in the middle of the bed, like it's impossible to believe that you could be there.

Shauna calls your name, sounding so incredulous and so incredibly sad that being two feet away from her seems absurd and you cross the room in a blink, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to pull her against you, before thinking better and deciding to grab her hands instead. She shudders.

“You came,” Shauna says. Her voice sounds hoarse and worn, you imagine she hasn't used it much at home or in the hospital. “I didn’t think you would come.”

You can feel scars on her hands as your fingers move to rub circles over the skin, and a brief glance makes you aware of old, yellowed bruises on her wrists.

“I did,” your voice breaks. “Of course I did.”

She seems completely different from that girl you were in love with and dumped you so long ago. The aloof, almost cold girl you argued with when you caught her fucking Jeff in a car when you were walking home from a stupid high school party. This sure doesn't look like the girl who screamed “What, do you think we're girlfriend and boyfriend or somethin'? I've never said we were exclusive” when you tearfully told her you loved her the night before the whole disaster happened.

But her eyes are the same. Intense, painful, hazy. And still difficult to decipher completely. That's what makes you hug her back when her lips tremble and she launches herself against you in a thrust that throws you back a little. She melts and sinks into your touch like she wants to be a part of you, just like she used to do before.

“It was horrible,” she groans against your neck.

Shauna cries. She cries badly. She cries ugly and loud, tears wetting your neck and shirt incessantly, as if she has desperately needed it for a long time. She clings to your shoulders as if you were her lifeline. She's sniffling and whimpering like a child.

You hold her silently, having no idea what to say, running your hand gently down her back to calm her and trying to ignore the fact that you can feel her spine and ribs through the old sleep shirt she wears.

You also have no idea how many hours have passed before her crying subsides to silent sniffles, but when you look out the window you can tell that it's already night outside, even with the curtains closed. It doesn't matter, you would hold her forever if Shauna asked, especially if she continued trembling like that.

The room is completely dark and silent when she finally speaks again.

“Jackie's dead.” She mumbles, voice completely defeated, zoned out as if she weren't really here.

“Oh, Shauna,” you mumble back, feeling your own tears spill as well. “I know. Everyone is dead.”

Everyone is dead, but she is still here.

You squeeze her as tight as you can in your arms, as if you can stop her from disappearing again. Shauna whimpers against you and sniffles harder, her nails on your shoulders scratch and draw some blood, the sound of her crying filling the room again even with her face hidden in your chest. You kiss her forehead and she keeps crying, but she's still here so everything is fine.

At least enough to not give up completely.

[lynzishell]

Later that morning, I sit back in my chair and stare blankly at my desk. I absent-mindedly swipe away a dark speck of dust that has landed on the otherwise clean white surface while Blinky gives me side-eyes in my periphery. The headphones he wears have become just as much a decoration as he is since the left side started crackling with static during certain songs, and I have to admit, they look better on him anyway.

Today, it feels like my whole head is full of static, like an old television that’s losing reception. I start to wonder if I angle my head the right way, maybe I can get a sharper image and clearer sound again. I tilt my head to the side in a half-hearted attempt with no luck and feel silly for it.

Mornings usually aren’t this difficult for me, but today I just can’t seem to fully wake up. My vision blurs and I pinch my eyes closed, pressing into them with my thumb and forefinger. The office gets gradually louder as people start their day, chatting with one another and typing on their keyboards. I look forward to being able to put in my earbuds and drown them out.

Suddenly, a heavy hand lands on my back. I know without looking that it’s our manager, Kiyoshi. I lift my head up as he asks, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I tell him as I try to focus on his face rather than the stars floating in front of me, “Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Sorry to hear that. We’re training tomorrow, so try to get some rest tonight.”

“Will do.”

He gives me a nod and turns his attention to his own desk and computer screen.

I glance at the clock and sigh. How can a day feel this long at only 8:54 in the morning?  

With a yawn, I grab my empty mug, grateful that I at least have time to fill it before our morning meeting.

As I turn the corner toward the kitchenette, I notice two people already hovering around the coffee machine. I stop in my tracks and debate turning back. There’s nothing I want less than to wait awkwardly behind them while they finish up and leave. Especially if they try to make small talk. I don’t know their names, so it’ll be even worse if they know mine. No amount of coffee is worth it. I don’t care how tired I am.

I curse under my breath and walk back to my desk, set my mug down, and make my way to the conference room.

I take my usual spot in the back, against the window, and wait as the rest of our team files in behind me. Lex catches my eye and skips over, “G’morning,” she greets me with a smile.

“Morning,” I say, attempting to give her a small smile in return, but inevitably giving up.

“You alright?”

“Just tired. I thought your friend was starting today. Or is that next week?”

“No, it’s today. He’s with Jeanie, getting his badge and all that. He’ll be here in a minute.”

I nod and look out the window, to the mountains in the distance. I like the view here. Our last office was surrounded by other buildings on all sides so you couldn’t see anything aside from the busy streets below. When we relocated here, to the edge of Uptown, it was a pleasant surprise to see a real view. As senior developer, I’m lucky enough to have a desk by the window. It almost makes the extended commute to this stuffy neighborhood worth it. Almost.

I turn my attention forward as Kiyoshi starts the meeting, and immediately see a flash of teal out of the corner of my eye. My heart stops and my breath catches in my chest as though I just had the wind knocked out of me, a small piece of my dream suddenly clear in my mind, so real that I can still feel the weight of him lying limp in my arms. A wave of grief climbs up my throat and I nearly scream his name, but… but I don’t know his name. I try to remember it, unable to take my eyes off him as he walks into the room.

“Oh good, you made it,” Kiyoshi gestures toward him, “Everyone, this is Asher, our new environment artist. Evan will show you around after the meeting and get you up to speed.” Evan raises their hand and Asher nods to them.

Asher.

Ash.

The name echoes in my mind, again and again, like it’s being shouted in a vast and empty cave, bouncing off every wall and back again.  The room around me tilts sideways, and I think I might be sick.

The Past 💛 Atlas Prev // Next

[verosikastrikerexcuser]

It says a ton about Vivziepop’s writing that when watching the latest episodes I was both

1) rooting for the C.H.E.R.U.B.S to win because then it would shake up the status quo and actually make it so that their screentime was justified but knew it wouldn’t happen because she hates that

2) Fully prepared for Stolas to do his full demon mode at the moment where Blitz confronted him because all signs were pointing to that (the red and black colors, Blitz fighting back for once and out of Stolas’s version of him) and in a better show where he was still the villain signify a big turning point in their relationship

Yeah there are no stakes at all. And ykw? That actually worked in season 1. Hear me out, while there were some exceptions like Striker as a threat, in S1 in the first cherubs episode the stakes were really just whether they’d be able to do the job for their client or not. Or the stakes were things like the bet in spring broken. There were episodes with danger like with DHORKS but even then, the agents were played as idiots and the serious/“omg what’s gonna happen next” type of focus never really actually was on them. Rather it was on the character drama that was sprinkled between the whacky antics, and the character drama was the actual thing that held weight, how character relationships would change etc. HB has always been a dual character drama and whacky action/comedy that mixes in silly moments with serious. This can make the tone difficult and arguably it’s always had a tone problem, like with the bullying of Moxxie being both a joke and his insecurity being something that’s supposed to be taken seriously. But I would say it mostly worked in S1.

The character drama was usually mostly resolved by the episodes end like at the end of Harvest Moon, Moxxies relationship with Millie’s parents improved. Or the character drama was shown but was deliberately left unresolved or was only half addressed in an “acceptable” way because it was such a big thing that was being shown. Blitz’s feelings towards Stolas in the drug trip for example - that’s something that would take more than 1 episode to resolve. Same I would say with Loonas feelings towards Blitz being overbearing in S1, they were shown and semi addressed but still left open to future development.

The less extreme stakes if IMP lost combined with the character drama in S1 made the stakes actually feel higher. I think it’s because losing a job to the cherubs or a bet feels more believable while you know they wouldn’t just kill off a main character. Also, the spring broken bet was related to Blitz’s past with Verosika. It was related to the character drama.

But when the characters are fighting for their very lives… you know they’re not gonna die. The violence in the DHORKS S1 ep felt fun because it was basically just a cool montage designed to look flashy and show our faves being cool and violent. And the whole plot of the episode was that they got caught by demon hunters. You still knew that they probably wouldn’t die and nothing too serious would happen but it didn’t feel like the violence was actively in the way of the drama as much. It wasn’t supposed to be that serious in the first place so you watched it more as just something fun instead of being supposed to actually take it seriously as a threat.

I think Full Moon encapsulates a lot of the serious problems with HB S2 relating to all the above. We knew that there was going to be a huge drama at the end of the episode. So all the violence and antics that exist for comedy or the sake of fun violence become just a roadblock cluttering the eventual actual point of the episode. They become an annoyance. It’s a lot harder to enjoy comedy and action when it’s actively working against and is in the way of the shows other half instead of complimenting it. In S1 before going back to antics they managed to mostly clear up the drama or we understood it was on the back burner because it was so big/would be addressed slowly over time and therefore the comedy and action felt less like it was in the way. Or the action was the character drama more - like the Striker/Blitz talk in Harvest Moon about class and the assassination. I just think the interspersing of comedy/action and drama is so bad lately. The S1 Cherubs episode knew that it was going to focus heavily on antics and so it didn’t bother with character drama. And it was so much better off for it! While Full Moon drags us through DHORKS, Cherubs, so much clutter all at once and all of it impedes and gets in the way of the St*litz shit instead of complimenting it. Why not do an episode that just focuses on those 2 and save DHORKs and the cherubs for a full relaxed comedy episode? Why can’t we have only or mostly comedy episodes anymore?

The drama also felt more precious and meaningful when it was rare. You really got on the edge of your seat because it was a scarce thing you didn’t see often and reminded you these whacky assassins were still complex characters behind the comedy. Now, a lot of the time it feels like it repeats over and over. Moxxie’s constant repeated supposed arc of feeling underestimated is especially guilty of this.

Compare Full Moon to the Ozzie’s ep as well. I feel like that episode built up the eventual drama that was going to happen and given the serious heavy drama they were addressing, they made it the entire episode’s focus and as the first half of a season finale that was fitting. It felt more like the episodes knew what they wanted to be - it’s just too bad we never got a sequel episode that actually wrapped up Ozzies. Instead we went back to the St*litz status quo, and we were supposed to ignore all that drama and go back to focusing on antics. Not addressing that conflict was so god awful and is another example of how the drama clashes so badly with the other stuff in the show since S2.

HB right now, in order to be all about St*litz, is caught in this stupid thing of desperately trying to still be a whacky violent comedy at all yet the drama is more and more serious and the show becomes more and more about only the drama. So this means whenever the antics come on they’re getting in the way of the drama instead. And it means the other drama that was set up like Loonas issues have been flushed down the toilet -_- I’m so tired.

I’ve gone on so long omg anon sorry for an insanely long response I won’t say too much about your other point but you’re absolutely right. I’ve seen people saying that a better show would have made St*las an antagonist instead and honestly… I have to agree. That scene really shows you what could have been if he was allowed to be the antagonist he acts like imo.

[delicrieux]

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 8. year one: october 28th to 30th, 1972

pairing for this chapter—f!lestrange!reader x barty crouch jr. warnings for this chapter—sum swearing, implied underage drinking (not reader), being a bad friend word count—3.4k

your birthday has officially arrived, not without some notable oddities.

author's note: missed being a miserable tween. also who can tell that barty might have a crush on her? not me definitely

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

“so,” dorcas sounds, and the way she purposefully moves her head in your peripheries implies she will say something you won’t necessarily like, “your birthday is coming up,” a quick look from you, up and down – from the tips of her muddy boots to the wind-swept hair. a few snowflakes sit nestled between the curls, and her eyes crinkle with mischief, “are you having a party?”

you try your best to breeze through the clock tower courtyard unscathed, “no,” you state. lie. not exactly. it’s complicated, “what? why? have you heard something?”

she snorts, “nope, just asking. you seem to have a lot of friends.”

you suppose you are outstandingly popular. anyone approached is your friend upon a hello, but you only say such a thing to those worthy of your attention. most, of course, are in some even minuscule way related to your family. your immediate circle is just cousins. dorcas is, so far, the only one you’d never approach yourself, simply because she’s unremarkable and also a gryffindor.

somehow, still, you cannot shake her, and once the tremors of hysteria had melted into the hum-drum, you found yourself not wanting to do so, which unnerved you much more than her immediate presence at all times of the day. most times of the day. you try not to engage in public, especially in the sights of bartimus, marzipan, and matilda. barty you could still, perhaps, calm – a pointed look and a promise to tattle on some secret you’ve uncovered about him to his parents would make him malleable.

the girls, however, would propose a difficulty. they’re already proposing a difficulty. the odd stares you receive at times when dorcas waves at you, all with a good-natured smile that you feel, in those moments, you don’t entirely deserve.

hence, the haste. hence, you try to lose her, but she’s much more fit and much better at keeping up than her unsuspecting appearance might hint.

“yes, well,” you start, heat dousing your body and damp robes. the inside of the castle is warm this time of year as the elements grow increasingly unruly and cold. the dry air scratches at the back of your throat, and you inhale with a sniffle and a poorly masked cough, “i’m not planning anything.”

and you aren’t, truly, but that doesn’t mean no celebration will take place. in fact, based on what marzy and matilda are trying so hard to hide (and do such a honestly horrendous job, with all smug smiles and loud whispers and giggles a pitch too high), there’s an old classroom being transformed for a small gathering – forty people or so – to toast to your good health, mesmerizing beauty, unbridled potential, and immeasurable talent. you quite look forward to it, but you aren’t responsible for the invitations, as it’s supposed to be a surprise.

and even if you were, surely you couldn’t extend one to dorcas. a no name from a muggle family. she would be out of place.

more so, she would feel out of place. you doubt she’d be offered a warm welcome, and you couldn’t offer one to her either, not without being subjected to the potent glares and displeased remarks from those around you.

such a situation is not beneficial for anyone involved. thus, you are a good friend from sparing her of this ache, sparing the rest the discomfort, and sparing yourself a howler.

“i might throw a party for my birthday,” she says, stopping at the cross-roads where you must part – her for charms and you for potions. she fixes the strap of her book bag, bending somewhat under the weight, “will you come? if i decide to do one after all. ‘s quite far, still.”

“when is it?” you ask, somewhat impatient. your eyes scurry the interior, but no familiar faces as of yet.

“april,” ah, thank merlin, “april sixth.”

you shrug, but you don’t manage to meet her gaze, “maybe. if i’m not too busy. i’ll mark it on my calendar just in case.” april is still ways away, and by that time, you might figure out what to do with her.

she smiles, “i’ll hold you to it. don’t suppose you want anything?” you give her a puzzled look, “like, a gift.”

“oh, no,” you can’t imagine there’s anything she could give you that would please you and that would also be within her budget. once again, your endless compassion and big, open heart are on fervent display. if matilda and marzy knew (unpleasant details aside), they’d give you a standing ovation for your selflessness. it’s a bit vexing that dorcas doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. perhaps she’s a simpleton, “got nothing in mind.”

“okay, well, i’ll think of something then,” she says, one step back, “later!” and away.

you have no qualms with lying. you’ve done it your whole life. your first words, perhaps, were, too, some miniature lie. lying is no different than playing, and playing is no different from acting, and acting is lying, and so it’s really not a big deal. you don’t know any other way of being, and you quite enjoy having others bend to your smiles or your frowns. most go great lengths to appease you.

even now, you claim to have accidentally forgotten your quill, when in reality, you didn’t pack it on purpose. regulus, always having a spare, gives you his own, and makes you promise not to lose it. you complain that it’s uncomfortable in your hand, and that the colour is ugly, but in fact you do like the deep brown shade and firm edge of the feather.

bartimus sets up your cauldron because your wrist hurts from the frigid cold, and evan measures the ingredients – he’s much more precise and curious about potions, and he does it unprompted, almost as if it’s expected of him. it sort of is.

you have no qualms with lying, but you pause when bartimus asks, “what’s with that gryffindor following you around everywhere?”

your heart thumps, and the cool, damp potions classroom rises in temperature. all in all, it’s the most polite way he could have phrased the question, oddly mindful of professor slughorn’s all hearing ears lingering just close enough for him to behave himself.

“i’m blackmailing her,” is the only thing that comes to mind, and it does sound convincing. so convincing, in fact, your tone and look implies that he’s the stupid one to consider otherwise.

evan frowns, peering at you over the vapours emitting from his cauldron, “blackmailing her? why?”

you shrug, “because it’s fun.”

“seems awfully happy to be blackmailed, if you ask me,” regulus comments coolly.

“please, told her if someone was to catch a whiff of distress on her, then, well, she’ll certainly have something to be distressed about,” you move the ladle and mix your potion and thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud, “you’re a terrible extortionist if you can’t manage otherwise. rodolphus said he had all sorts of minions from other houses. can’t embarrass the family.”

“right,” barty raised a brow, “rabby’s embarrassment enough.”

you bristle at the words, true as they be. still, pride and blood are important, “your whole family tree’s in gryffindor. think before you speak, crouch.”

“sparks are flying,” he grins, “or is it just me?”

“as if i could ever look at your gaunt face and find anything appealing,” you snip, “you should learn some manners when speaking to your elders.”

“sincerest apologies, madam strange.”

“shut it, both of you,” evan grumbles, carefully dropping some powder into his mixture. it hisses and gurgles and a new set of fumes spew, “can’t concentrate with all this yapping.”

“woof,” barty sounds.

“dog,” you spit.

“bitch.”

you gasp and throw the nearest object your hand grabs, which is a (sadly) closed bottle of ink. he ducts just in time, but the impact makes the glass shatter, leaving a scary red splotch on the wall.

bartimus straightens as slughorn strides over to check on the disturbance. a brief explanation from evan is accepted without hassle, and the wreckage is handled by a flick of the professor’s wand. a disapproving look and a quick glance at regulus as a reprimand and everything goes back to normal, including barty and you, who is doing a masterful job of ignoring him and pretending your breathing hasn’t been affected in any way.

eventually class does wrap up and everyone leaves for the next lesson. you walk with evan and regulus, bartimus trotting a couple feet behind like a faithful hound, waiting to serve, ever the sycophant. you wonder if it's too late to beg matilda and marzy to revoke his invitation to your birthday party, because you know for a fact that he has one. possibly tossed it into a bin upon notice, but he had definitely, at the very least, seen it.

***

there’s a snow storm on your birthday, a harsh, miserable gust that rages across the landscape and traps everyone inside. so dense you can’t see out the windows, and so cold frost bleeds to water from glass pains and drips in rivulets on the tiles. it’s too early for such weather, but not entirely unheard of. when you were very little, rodolphus told you that mother and father found you in a heap of snow, warm and unharmed. now, of course, you have a technical understanding of how children are made, but shockingly, you had stoutly believed your brother till late last spring, till your first blood and that slightly uncomfortable but enlightening conversation with aunt greengrass.

matilda knew this already, by a few good months, which revealed why, at the time, she always seemed a bit snootier than usual, as if she had figured out something very important and negated to share. for the remaining spring and the whole of summer, the two of you had grown closer and left marzipan out – what could she, still but a child, understand about the woes of burgeoning adulthood? it had left her a bit desolate, and she had spent her holiday chasing sirius around, and as she smothers you in a tight hug with sleepy happy birthday whispered into your hair, you think you still haven’t forgiven her for it.

naturally, you have taken extra pains to make yourself prettier. your hair is glossier, and your uniform is tidier, and there’s a sheen of cherry lipbalm covering your mouth. narcissa, when she saw you, told you to wipe it off, and you did, only to reapply it when she wasn’t looking.

breakfast, the great hall’s polite congratulations, slytherin students that you almost recall the names of coming to wish you a joyous day. some revenclaws and marzipan’s brother come bearing chocolate toffies. it’s the same procedure as evan’s and matilda’s – the former’s birthday was just a few weeks into september, and matilda celebrated on october first.

you share the candies with the boys. evan takes one, regulus takes one, bartimus takes seven (to spite you, you believe), and you’re left with two. you offer one to marzipan, and she takes it with a smile, and offer one to matilda, who refuses, saying she’s on a diet. marzy’s expression crumbles, and she returns the treat, “never mind, not that hungry.”

“did you eat a strawberry?” bartimus asks, mouth full of toffies.

you frown, “what?”

“shit on your lips, what happened to table manners?”

“ignore him,” regulus interjects pointedly, “how are you feeling?” as in, how is it like to be twelve. bartimus’ birthday is just after sirius’, and so, regulus is the youngest of the present quartet, which leaves him naturally distressed.

evan scoffs, “’s no different.”

“i feel different,” you inform primly.

barty snorts, “don’t look different. still stupid.”

“hope you choke on that,” you glare. he snickers, the dolt, properly pleased to have ruffled your feathers. a quick communication between you and your pudding has you decided that you might despise bartimus crouch, or, more so, you despise the smug look he seems to fashion only when he’s pestered you into a foul mood.

briefly, you sweep the present crowd, and you spot dorcas sat among her friends, a table away. the sight alarms you somehow. perhaps it’s the picture of her happiness.

she must’ve felt you looking (such is the power of your gaze) because she perks up. twinkling brown eyes meet yours, and she waves with a grin, almost rising to approach, but your flash of an uncomfortable smile leaves her seated. when you glance around if anyone noticed, it’s only regulus that gives you a strange look, but says nothing.

sirius and his friends pass you as you tumble out the great hall. he, expectantly, walks right past, and it stings, but it stings even more when james calls your name much too cheerfully and says, “happy birthday!”

you walk past him as sirius had walked past you, without a moment of hesitation.

“you blackmailing him as well?” evan, surprisingly, asks.

you huff, “no, please hex him out of existence.”

“could be arranged,” barty says after an uncharacteristically thoughtful pause.

***

there’s definitely something more than punch being covertly served to the older students, but not like it matters much – you catch not a whiff of it, nor is any offered to you. suppose you are suspicious by the entirely inconspicuous clusters of people that exchange something and then part hurriedly with sour expressions that bleed into blushed faces and tipsy grins.

matilda, you note, is laughing ditzy with a second year slytherin. you suspect something nefarious, and make it clear with the slight narrow of your eyes. she cares not for it, which slights you, because it’s your birthday and you’re the most important person present.

speaking of, a pile of presents sits on a table, all expensive and neatly wrapped trinkets you possibly have no use for. still, the growing pile pleases you – once back in your dorm, it’ll be a challenge to go through it in a single night. you might just open a new one each day and have no gift-free evenings for the better part of the school year, but you are too impatient.

it’s all very pretty. the ceiling was enchanted to a deep, gleaming blue-violet, rippling along the dim, sparkling lights as though underwater. luminescent bubbles, a faint glittery mist, and floating incandescent jellyfish, translucent, yet you still raise your hand to touch one, feeling the slight coolness once it passes your fingers. you hadn’t asked who’s responsible for this display of magic, but you suspect it being narcissa.

when you smile at your ostentatious cake and count the flickering candles, you can only think of one wish – i wish sirius would come back to me. you inhale and then blow in one full swoop. the room drowns in cheers.

there’s faint music floating above your head, but nothing as interesting as to what sirius had made you listen to all those nights ago. you dance with evan, who seems much more awkward than you, and then with a few older students, with rabastan (unwillingly), and then with your girls. regulus had overtly refused your hand without explanation.

“it’s my birthday,” a demand. an excuse you can use only once a year, and you extort it fully.

he seems conflicted in the blue light, lastly, “fine. don’t step on my toes.”

dancing with regulus is different than dancing with sirius – regulus is shorter and younger, and his grip isn’t as firm, and he doesn’t once look you in the eye, and you’re a bit bored through most of it.

the night dwindles on, and you spot bartimus.

he catches you staring, and so he raises his cup, sat beside his older friends – a few second and third years that seem to be enthralled by his presence. it strikes you, strangely, how popular he seems to be. you don't like it.

and he's not exactly ugly, despite your claims. tallish,  the tallest of your lot, a long neck, neat auburn hair, sharp eyes, maybe. not entirely horrid and twisted as he could have turned out to be or will turn out to be. he seems a bit older, but perhaps it's because he's always been lanky.

no, he is ugly, you think. the lights must've caught him funny, and maybe that's why it seems he's glowing, his pale skin shimmering a ghostly pallor in the enchanted darkness of your birthday celebration, that is yours and yours alone, and no one can steal the shine or the honour or the beauty away.

matilda joins his table, and you note, in great distaste, that she also looks very pretty, and the dress suits her much better than yours does you. all dresses are now suiting matilda better, because this is the body she was born in, and it makes sense that she will always have the upper hand and you will always be behind her, somehow.

you grow unsettled in a way that feels somewhat familiar, but nothing tangible enough to understand.

dorcas would probably laugh. your stomach swoops and then drops, and it feels like the jellyfish swim inside you. dorcas would definitely laugh and pull at matilda's ruffles. and sirius, sirius would laugh with her and he would comment on how the dress is awfully girly and in poor taste, and then you would tell him off, because he has no taste at all, but not in front of dorcas.

you glance at door. sirius isn't here. he was definitely invited, but, of course, he wouldn't attend.

of course. of course of course of course.

matilda, prettier and better, better, it's not fair, doesn't even look at you, not since she knows, of course, she must know you are watching. she can't not know. the parallels and the similarities are obvious in a way they aren't to you. briefly, you think of poisoning her. you could get away with it too. what's a birthday celebration without any diabolical scheming, anyway?

when matilda smiles at someone (bartimus), a creeping sensation crawls beneath your skin. there is definitely some vile deed being done here, but not any of yours, unfortunately. the gathering, you decide, must end, and everyone must leave disappointed and displeased to match your mood.

"punch?" marzipan manifests by your side. you startle, glance to her, note her boyish appearance in relation to matilda's ladylike one, and somehow, her expression manages to irritate you.

"got one," you show your glass for emphasis, "did you happen to notice a grimace on tilda, or are the effects of whatever substance they're pouring into these cups only visible to the sober?"

"not a sip," marzipan sighs, "i've tried asking a third year, said i'm too young," her misery brings you a slight bout of joy. marzipan will be twelve late february, and so, she will always be the odd one out, "did you want any?"

you shake your head, "no, not really. maybe. i dunno."

"doesn't seem like you're having fun," she notes. then, she softly grasps your upper arm and squeezes, "cheer up. it's your birthday."

your smile is terse. the tension has left you feeling sore, like you ran laps and took too hot of a bath and rolled into a very tight sleeping position. you feel a bit wrong.

regulus calls your name, and he drags you away easily and without question. you spare marzy a vaguely apologetic look, leaving her stranded in the middle of the room, all lonesome. she does, at that moment, look entirely pathetic, and maybe you are very tired, because somewhere deep down you feel a pang of something.

you are lead to the darkest corner and let go promptly. before you can complain, regulus pushes something into your hand and says, quietly yet seriously, “i won’t tell.”

he makes scarce afterward, and you’re left confused. truly, this celebration has become more trouble than it’s worth. all these emotions hidden behind an unmoving veneer. it cracks slightly when you take a closer look at your gift.

it’s a handmade card, glued and drawn poorly.

‘to my favourite (and only one i will associate) slytherin, happy birthday. i promise i’m better on the broom than i am at drawing, but i wanted to make you this card anyway. once the skies clear up, let’s go for a ride along the shoreline. i found some sights exploring. we could make a whole adventure out of it. know a perfect location to practice hexes. despite it all, i’m very glad i found you crying.  -- your accomplice’

you hug the card without meaning to do it. you just do. you bring it close to your chest and lean your cheek, like it was something precious, and in a way, it is, because this is, by far, the most generous gift you have ever received.

[ltash]

Ramshackled

You and Ghost are in love and he takes care of you after you get wounded.

"My heart is a battlefield of love and pain, torn between what is right and what I want."

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, time frozen around us. His grip was tight, lifting me as he stood. I was standing on my tiptoes.

Captain Price cleared his throat. "If you two lovebirds are done, we have an interrogation to proceed with."

Simon slowly let me go. "You should rest, Nora," he said, kissing my forehead and grabbing his gun from the floor.

"The slap hurt," he pointed out, touching his cheek before winking at me and turning to go.

I returned to the hospital, back to my room, and sat on my bed, the weight of everything sinking in.

About an hour passed, and Ghost returned with Captain Price. They had a woman with them. I stood up, scrutinizing her features. She was the same woman from the drug cartel.

Mere seconds later, Ghost pushed the woman, and she landed at my feet. "Apologize!" Ghost growled.

"I am sorry," the woman said.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"She is El Sin Nombre. Valeria," Ghost replied. "She is responsible for everything."

"Take her back, Ghost," I said, sitting back on the bed and looking away. "It doesn't matter anymore. I don't need an apology now."

"What her men and she did to you, and you're still saying this?" Ghost replied, incredulity in his voice.

"Yes," I said firmly. "Because the damage has already been done." I looked at the woman. "You can go now."

The woman glanced at Ghost, unsure.

"I forgive you," I said, my voice steady but my heart heavy. "Now, go."

Ghost stared at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and admiration. He turned to Valeria and motioned for her to leave. She hesitated for a moment before standing up and walking out, escorted by Captain Price.

Ghost remained, his gaze fixed on me, trying to understand the depth of my strength and forgiveness.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, sitting on the bed in front of me. His concern was palpable, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. I kept looking the other way.

"I’m fine," I said quietly, "but I’m not the same anymore. The Nora in me died last night. I don’t know what remains of me now."

Ghost reached out, his gloved hand gently turning my face toward him. "You're still you, Nora. You’re strong, and you’re here. That’s what matters."

I shook my head, tears welling up in my eyes. "It doesn’t feel that way, Simon. It feels like I’ve lost everything that made me...me."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. "We’ll find a way to get through this, together. You’re not alone. Not ever."

I buried my face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow.

"I don’t know how I’ll cover the damages," I murmured, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. "Millions of dollars worth of inventory burned with my office building. I might have to sell my home or what’s left of my father’s company."

Ghost held me tighter, his voice steady and reassuring. "We’ll figure it out, Nora. You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll find a way."

"But Simon," I protested, "it's too much. I can’t ask you to carry this burden with me. You have your own responsibilities."

He pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes with a fierce determination. "You’re my responsibility, Nora. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. We’ll rebuild everything together."

I nodded slowly, taking comfort in his words even as doubt lingered in my mind. "I just don’t want to lose everything my father worked so hard for."

"You won’t," he said firmly. "We’ll find a way to keep the company alive. But first, you need to rest and recover. We’ll tackle everything else one step at a time."

I sighed, feeling a small glimmer of hope amidst the despair. "Okay. One step at a time."

"One step at a time," he echoed, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "We’ll get through this, Nora. I promise."

"For now, just come with me," he said softly. "Let's go to my room and rest. I will take care of you."

I looked up at him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. For a moment, I hesitated, still feeling the weight of everything that had happened. But then, I nodded, letting him guide me.

As we walked to his room, the silence between us was comforting. It felt like a promise that, no matter what, he would be there for me. We reached his room, and he gently helped me sit on the bed.

"Lie down and rest," he said, pulling a blanket over me. "I’ll be right here."

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of the blanket and the reassurance of his presence. "Thank you, Simon," I whispered.

He took off his vest and set his gun aside before climbing into the bed with me. Heat radiated from his body as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. His presence was a comforting warmth against the chill that had settled in my bones.

"I've got you, love," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "Rest now. We'll figure everything out together."

I nestled closer, allowing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to soothe me.

I was so tired, my body so sore. I rested my head on his chest.

"You know, Simon, I love sleeping on you," I said in a sleepy voice, trailing my finger down his chest.

He stroked his fingers through my tangled hair, a gentle rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. Slowly, I closed my eyes, feeling his warmth and strength surrounding me. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I allowed myself to drift into a peaceful sleep.

In the morning, when I opened my eyes, my head was nestled on his arm as he spooned me from behind. His other arm was wrapped around me, his face buried in the back of my neck, and I could feel his warm breaths. I turned around to face him.

He looked so peaceful while asleep. I cupped his face, stroking his cheek with my thumb. Leaning in, I kissed his forehead, then the crooked bridge of his broken nose, and finally, my lips brushed against his. He opened his eyes slowly. His lips parted to say something, but I placed my finger on them.

"Ssh!" I hushed him before pressing my lips onto his, kissing him sensually. His grip on my back tightened as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss.

I was intoxicated but I knew i couldn't go further with him because of my condition.

"Simon". I whispered. We shouldn't be doing this. I said

"I know," he murmured against my lips, his breath warm and reassuring. He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching mine. "I'm here for you, Nora, no matter what. We'll take things slow, okay?"

"Okay." I whispered.

He got up from the bed slowly.

"Your dressing needs to be changed then we'll have breakfast together." He said.

He went out of the room and came  back after 15 minutes with dressing supplied.

Sitting beside me on the bed. He inspected my bandage hidden under the cargo pants.

With careful hands, Simon assisted me in sliding down my cargo pants, then carefully cut away the previous bandage. After cleaning the wound gently, which had already been stitched by the doctors, he wrapped the new bandage around it. Finally, he helped me pull my pants back up.

"I want to take a shower," I said.

"But your bandage?" Simon asked, concerned. "Let me wash your hair for you. I'll take care of the rest."

He placed a small chair by the sink, and I leaned against it. Gently, he rinsed and washed my tangled hair with shampoo. After wrapping a towel around my head, he filled the bathtub for me.

"Don't let your bandage get wet," he instructed. "I'm waiting outside. Take your time."

He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone in the bathroom. I rested my head against the edge of the bathtub, careful not to soak my bandage. As I soaked in the warm water, I felt grateful for everything he had done for me. I decided then and there that, come what may, even if I had to sell my big house, I would buy another in his hometown so that I could always be near him.

I came out, a towel wrapped around me, my clothes in my hand. He had brought another pair of clothes, thankfully in my size. "Here," he said, handing them to me.

He helped me get changed, his hands gentle and careful. I combed my hair and let it fall loose down my back.

"Let's go outside. I want to introduce you to the other team we work with," he said, offering me his hand. I took it, feeling a sense of warmth and security, and walked with him outside the room.

We reached the cafeteria holding hands. Alejandro, Rodolfo, Captain Price, Soap, Gaz, and Phillip Graves were sitting at a table.

"Come join us," Captain Price said, motioning to the empty seats.

Ghost pulled out a chair for me, and we sat down together.

"So, you're Nora Grace," Phillip Graves said, looking at me with interest.

"Yes, I am. You American?" I asked, noting his accent.

"Yes, you from the South too?" Graves asked.

"Yes. From Houston, Texas," I replied.

"Ye haven't seen Nora shootin' a sniper. Man! The way she shot the enemies when we were attacked looked like she was a pro," Soap added with enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Soap," I said, smiling at him.

"How did you learn to shoot, hermana?" Alejandro asked this time, his curiosity piqued.

"Ghost taught me. He is the best sniper in the task force," I said, holding Ghost's arm affectionately. Ghost remained stoic, but I could see a hint of pride in his eyes.

Captain Price chimed in, "She's the daughter of the late General Marshall, who retired before General Shepherd. She surely has army genes in her."

"Why don't you join the Taskforce, Nora?" Soap suggested with a grin.

"Or Shadow Company," Phillip Graves added.

"She is not joining any team now, let alone the Taskforce," Ghost said firmly, holding my hand.

I looked at Ghost and then smiled. "Or, if I could, I would join the Taskforce any day to support you, Ghost."

Ghost's grip on my hand tightened slightly, and a rare, soft look crossed his face. "Let's just focus on getting you better first, yeah?" he said, his voice gentle.

"We have a mission tonight," Captain Price announced, his tone serious. "Our intel suggests the missile is on the oil rig. We have to destroy it before it leaves for Washington."

"What? A missile? Is Washington, D.C. in danger?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Yes, kid. It's Hassan's target," Captain Price confirmed. "We need to destroy it before it wipes out the whole city. Our team, along with Phillip Graves, is heading out today to take care of it. Wish us luck."

"All will go well, Captain Price," I said, trying to sound confident. "My wishes and prayers are always with you guys. You will succeed."

Price nodded, appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you, Nora. We'll make sure of it."

"Aye lass! You are so brave. Hitting LT on his face. No one has ever done that." Soap chuckled.

Ghost glared at him, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Yes, she is a fighter, and I need her to be brave every time for me."

"You are lucky, Ghost, to have found a girl like her," Alejandro said.

"No, I am lucky to have found him," I replied, holding Ghost's arm tightly.

"Hey! Let's go to the shooting range, lass. Show us your sniper skills," Soap said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Besides, I've got your sniper with me that Ghost gave you."

"What? You got it? I thought I would never get it back," I said, surprised and excited.

"Yeah! You left it beside me when they took you. I made sure I kept your guns safe for you," he said, grinning.

"You are not well, Nora. You can't go to the shooting range now," Ghost interjected, concern etched on his face.

"I'm doing better, Ghost. Let me go with Soap, please. I need fresh air too," I added, trying to reassure him.

"It's okay, but I will go with you," he said, relenting.

"Let me bring your guns," Soap said as he stood up.

"We'll come with you," Alejandro added. "Show us your skills, hermana."

"Of course," I replied, feeling a mix of excitement and determination.

Soap returned with my sniper and Glock, handing them to me. Ghost gave me a holster for my gun, and I wore it with the sniper in my hand.

"Hermana, you look like one of us, the Vaqueros," Alejandro said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Yes, she looks like a soldier," Soap chuckled.

"I am one of you guys. I'm a fighter, fighting my own battles within myself," I answered.

With that, I bolted and reloaded the sniper, positioning it against my shoulder. I pulled the trigger, and shots rang out as I aimed towards the target. Most of the bullets hit near the center.

Ghost cheered me on, and I wrapped my arms around him. "You did so well, Nora," Soap said, patting my shoulder.

I noticed Phillip Graves narrowing his eyes at me. Throughout the time, he had been watching me intently. Ghost noticed it too, but he didn't say a word.

Captain Price gave me a side hug. "So proud of you, kid. Like father, like daughter," he said, his voice filled with warmth and pride.

"Ghost gave me his hand. 'Let's go inside, Nora. I have to prepare for our next mission.'

'You noticed Graves, how he was looking at me,' I said while entering the room.

'Yes, I noted it. He's just jealous of who you are, Nora. Much better than him in every way,' Ghost replied.

'I don't think so. He's good with his words, and he's a trained soldier,' I replied.

'Yes, he is, but I don't trust him,' Ghost said.

'Be careful who you trust. People you know can hurt you the most,' Ghost added, his words weighing heavily on me.

I kept staring at him, realizing the gravity of his words. He was absolutely right."

[kdramaxoxo]

i know you said you wouldn’t watch the atypical family because of the suit, but the story is very beautiful and something you would probably love. i think you should give it a try. the only reason i can think of why she wore it was because she had to ‘lose weight’ so quickly again. please reconsider!

Hi anon!

Atypical family did seem like my jam but I just CANNOT get past the fat suit. I wish I could enjoy it cause I really like the daughter so much!! (also anon, i'm really sorry for this next thing pls forgive me...)

*STEPS CAREFULLY ONTO SOAPBOX*

I do a lot of anti fatness work in my life, and the use of fat suits in media is one of those things I can't look past.

Without telling you ALL of the reasons fat suits are bad for fat people (since I'm sure there are tumblrs that are way better spoken about this topic), I'll just say this: I understand the urge to use a fat suit to show before and after, but I highly suggest another option. Using a fat suit dehumanizing fatness and makes it a thing to gawk at. It other's fatness by cartoon-ing it through a suit. Fat suits do not at all look like fat people--they look like a small body wearing a fat suit.

The storyline/conflict for the character in atypical family is that she's fat and sad because of it. That's it. They basically show her as someone who wishes she wasn't larger, but of course snacks a lot and gets teased for her size. She can't use her powers because she is a larger bodied person (which literally makes no sense--flying is MAGIC). Her main goal is to not be larger and I assume the show will have her succeed by losing the weight. Sigh.

There's another drama I'm watching (Dreaming of a F**king Fairytale) where the director actually casts a fat person and listen, that's a good step closer. But where k-dramas get things wrong is they do not do the work to build out those characters. Their character is "fat person" and follows all of the fat phobic tropes that go with that.

Body size is NEUTRAL. It cannot be good or bad. Everyone deserves to move in the world in the bodies we have, and unfortunately things like fat suits just stigmatize oppressed communities and make things worse for larger bodies.

If you have never thought about fat suits before I’m hoping this helps you see a different point of view :)

*STEPS CAREFULLY OFF OF SOAPBOX AND RUNS AND HIDES*

[jasongraceenthusiast]

“ten is a bad person” you never even tried to understand him

[eggmeralda]

do you ever feel casually suicidal? like you're not depressed or anything you're doing fine but also it feels like a convenient option

[fragmentedblade]

Not to be a jingfu on main, but it's so cute that Jing Yuan thought of Fu Xuan with those jelly beans

[depresseddepot]

the way i try so SO hard to gain even a crumb of body neutrality only to then see some shit on twitter that remind me that oh yeah. a distinct portion of the population genuinely believes they are being discriminated against when they have to look at or be within 50 feet of a fat person

[reginaofdoctorwho]

anyone else feel rage after a doctor's (technically np) appointment when u realize they were completely bullshitting what they said to you?

[omarfor-orchestra]

So now I need to figure out what caused this mess uh

[slippery-minghus]

oof. going to the gym today was the opposite of helpful for my pain levels. gah

[lilgynt]

like i know it’s dumb i should have moved out already, i already know my mom doesn’t like me, but it’s like hm. gonna cry at work bc my mom doesn’t want me and really hasn’t ever wanted me and what does that say about me that my own mother doesn’t want/love me

[bluinary]

Waking up crying because after 2 years of grinding and understudying I was called back to play a real lead for a renowned director (me out of 3 girls total) and I lost the role to a girl who just auditioned here for the first time. The worst part is that I am also her understudy for the show before that!

[widevibratobitch]

.