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talesofstyles · 4 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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wicked-mind · 4 years

Text

Betrayed: Chapter Five

Summary: Everybody thought Steve’s sister had passed away decades ago. But when you show up at the facility and try to attack Bucky, there are questions to be answered.

Word count: 4.2k

Masterlist

All Writings Masterlist

Warning: A bit of violence, talks of grays anatomy with no spoilers, blood draws, a hint of PTSD and torture

_____________________________________________________

CHAPTER FIVE- McDreamy

The morning after the gala, almost everybody was hung-over. It was the late morning hours before anybody even thought about getting up. They didn’t drink that often so it hit everybody pretty rough in the morning. Everybody except Y/N, Bucky, and Steve who never drank that much anyway.

Y/N and Bucky were down in the medical bay together. Y/N was having Bucky draw vials of her blood, wanting to have some on stand-by in case it was needed. She was sitting up on the medical bed, her left arm outstretched to Bucky who sat in a chair next to her, wiping her arm with an alcohol wipe. This was his third attempt at trying to take her blood, the first two unsuccessful.

“You know, if you miss my vein again I might have to rethink this friendship. I’m not a pin cushion.” Y/N smiled, a small chuckle passing her lips as she watched him clean her arm.

Bucky grins, laughing a little, “It’s not as easy as it looks, Doll. You have cold skin and tiny veins.” He picked up the new needle, his brow furrowing as he focused. He pushed the needle in, once again missing. He drew it out and looked at her, “So about our friendship.” He discarded the needle into a red bin.

Y/N almost laughed as he missed the vein again, but just a small chuckle passed her lips, “C’mon, Bucky. It can’t be that hard. Let me try.” She demanded with a smile, holding her hand out for the next needle. Bucky smiled and handed it to her. Y/N looked down at her arm for a moment, poking around on her skin before inserting the needle. The tube it was connected to started filling with her blood. She quickly connected the vial to the other end of the tube, watching it fill up before grinning up at Bucky, “See, not that hard.”

Bucky watched her, shaking his head as he laughed when she got the vein, “Now how did you learn to do that?” He questioned, replacing the now full vial with another empty one.

“Oh, Grey’s Anatomy. Netflix is great.” Y/N said, smiling at him.

Bucky nodded, having no idea what that show was. He didn’t watch too much tv. He mostly watched old movies, “Is that what you and Wanda are always laughing at?” He asked, smiling as he waited to replace the vial.

Y/N nodded, “It’s great. It’s funny, sad, tense… It makes a great show. Wanda likes McDreamy.” She said, smiling.

“Oh, McDreamy.” Bucky said with a laugh at the name. He couldn’t imagine a show where they have a doctor called ‘McDreamy’, “And what do you think of this McDreamy?” He questioned curiously, replacing the vial and looked at Y/N’s face.

Y/N shrugged, “He’s cute. Neurosurgeon, dark hair, dreamy blue eyes.” She said, examining his facial features, sensing a small amount of jealousy from him, “But to me he is egotistical, and seems to lie a lot. It’s a deal breaker.” She bit her bottom lip for a moment before continuing, “I’ve seen dreamier.” She concluded, her eyes still watching him.

Bucky smiled, removing the last vial. He removed the needle from Y/N’s arm, discarding it in the red bin. He then pulled out a small red bandaid, placing it over the puncture spot, “There, all done.” He smiled at her.

Just as they finished, Steve walked in looking at the two of them confused, “What are you guys doing down here?” He asked, walking towards them. He was wondering if they were having a ‘moment’, which he was glad to interrupt.

Y/N looked at her brother and smiled, moving to her feet, “Wanda told me that it would be a good idea to keep some of my blood in the storage in case anything happens. I think it’s a good idea too.” She said, “But nobody was up, and you were out training, so Bucky offered to help.”

“That’s very.. friendly of him,” Steve said, looking from Y/N to Bucky, then back to his sister. He wondered what was going on between the two of them. When she arrived, all she wanted to do was kill Bucky, stay as far away from him as possible. But now it was like the two of them were best friends again, inseparable. “I think Wanda was looking for you, Y/N. She wanted to go grab some lunch.”

Y/N smiled, “Lunch, yum.” She said, before turning to Bucky, “Thanks for helping me, see you two later.” She said, smiling to both before exiting to go find Wanda.

Steve smiled before turning his attention back to Bucky, “Did I interrupt another moment?” He questioned, eyebrows raised.

Bucky looked at Steve for a moment, standing from the chair. He folded his arms, “I was just helping her draw blood, is there an issue?” He questioned. He knew Steve always had suspicions about him and his sister being closer than friends. He couldn’t understand why he was so bitter about it when they were younger.

“I’m just wondering if you two are more than friends.” Steve replied, stepping closer to Bucky. His arms folded also, standing tall.

“We are just friends, Steve.” Bucky said sternly, “Is there a problem with that?”

Steve clenched his jaw, then relaxed a little, “There’s no problem with being friends with Y/N, Bucky. She just got back. I know how you feel about her, but she’s just getting back to herself. I don’t know if she needs more than a friend right now.” He said, looking to Bucky, wanting him to understand what he was saying.

Bucky nodded slowly, his brow pulled together in frustration, “You know I would never force Y/N into anything, or make her uncomfortable. It took months for her to look at me like I wasn’t her enemy, even longer to talk to me.” He said through his clenched jaw, “Have you stopped to think I’m the only one who knows what it feels like to go through what she has?” He paused, before continuing, “I’m just trying to be there for her, Steve, in whatever capacity she needs me.”

Steve was silent for a moment, before nodding, “You’re right. You understand Y/N’s trauma better than anybody. I just… Don’t push her, Bucky. We just got her back.”

Bucky nodded, “I won’t.” He promised and with that, the conversation ended. Bucky put the vial’s of Y/N’s blood into storage before exiting the medical bay. He meant what he said. He would never push Y/N into anything she wasn’t ready for. He wanted to be there in whatever way she needed whether it be a friend or more than a friend. But he would wait for Y/N as long as he had to.

“I heard there was a moment.” Wanda said across from Y/N as they were sitting and eating lunch. They sat outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun while eating their sandwiches and chips.

Y/N looked at Wanda confused, “Moment? Well, there’s lots of moments in a day. Which one are we talking about?” She asks, taking another bite out of her sandwich.

Wanda looked at Y/N with a ‘do-you-think-I’m-dumb’ look, “A you and Bucky moment.” She clarified, “Last night. At the gala.” She spelled it out for her friend.

Y/N chewed slowly, trying to think of what she was going to tell Wanda. Of course she still had feelings for Bucky. She always had and they never went away, just got buried deep down for a while, “Oh, that moment.” Y/N finally said, placing her sandwich back on its plate, “I think it was the wine. And the dress. And his suit.” She said as an excuse.

“Oh, yeah, the dress.” Wanda said, “It definitely wasn’t the fact you two still have feelings for each other.” She picked up a chip from her plate and threw it at Y/N, landing it in her hair, “I can see in your mind. You can’t lie to me. Now tell me the truth.”

Y/N picked the chip out of her hair, looking at Wanda, “I don’t know what it was, Wanda. He’s never stopped being there for me even when I hated him. He was patient with me, kind when I was nothing like that to him.” She sighed, leaning her elbow on the table so she could cup her cheek in her palm, “I may have flirted back a little and we maybe almost.. kissed… but then Thor showed up. Moment ruined.”

Wanda listened to the story, nodding her head as she took another bite. She swallowed then tilted her head at Y/N, “Did you wish Thor didn’t show up?” She asked curiously with a smile.

“I… I don’t know. I wanted the moment. It was like the date we never went on.” Y/N said, poking at her sandwich, “But I just started accepting him again, giving him a chance. I’ve started to actually talk to him again, and even though he’s everything I remember him being and I do have feelings for him, part of me is still worried I can’t trust him.” She admitted.

“Give it time, Y/N.” Wanda said with a smile, “He will wait for you.” She said, knowing what she said was true. Bucky was easy to read especially when it came to Y/N, she was constantly on his mind. Wanda didn’t even have to use her powers to know that, “So were there any other moments during the blood drawing?” She nodded towards the red bandaid still on Y/N’s arm.

Y/N laughed, “No, no moments I promise.” She said smiling, “Although, I had to puncture my own vein because he couldn’t get it. Said it was due to all the Grey’s Anatomy we watch. He wasn’t amused when I told him about McDreamy, maybe even a little jealous.” She chuckles, picking her sandwich back up to take another bite.

Wanda laughs, “Of course he’s jealous! McDreamy is….” She smiled, wiggling her eyebrows at Y/N, “Dreamy.” They said together with a laugh.

It had been two weeks since the gala. Y/N had started hearing the whispers again in her head, but they were soft. She told Wanda as promised, who said she would also keep an eye on them. Y/N hadn’t been sleeping too well since the whispers started again. Her memories seemed to be creeping back to her through her dreams. She remembered more about the other red eyes. She started to fear them less, remembering more about who they were.

Y/N had also been spending more time Bucky since the gala. Everyday they found time to be alone to talk to each other. The moments they shared together were Bucky’s highlights of his days. They would often walk around the outside of the facility, talking and laughing. Keeping his promise to Steve, Bucky wasn’t making any moves towards Y/N. He would wait for her to make her moves before making his own.

“So did you ever get those sunflowers I had Bex buy?” Bucky questioned as he walked with Y/N, smiling as he watched her movements. He would always have his sister buy sunflowers for Y/N while he was on deployment. It was evening and starting to get a little cold. He wondered if she would want to head inside soon, but knew they wouldn’t have much time to be alone indoors.

Y/N smiled and nodded, “I did, thank you. They were always sitting on my desk when I came back from a class. She even drew little hearts on the cards for you.” She chuckles at the memory, remembering how Bex was always pushing Bucky closer to Y/N. Bex loved the idea of having her best friend hopefully someday become her sister.

Bucky smiled, “Yeah, she was always making me look good.” He said, looking down at the grass as he walked. It hurt him to think about what his sister must’ve thought happened to him, but he knew Bex only thought of him as a hero since the official story was presumed killed/missing in action. Bucky had noticed that over the past two weeks since the gala Y/N had become a little more quiet as if she was lost in her head, “Have you been doing okay?” He asks, “You’ve seemed a little off.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, then down at the grass as they continued walking. She hadn’t told Bucky about the whispers or the dreams. She bit her lip, still looking down, “I..” She began, “I’ve been remembering some things lately, from before. It’s like my brain is forcing my dreams to remind me.” She said softly.

Bucky looked at her concerned, noting that she was keeping her eyes on the grass as they walked, “I know what that feels like. I still have nightmares about the things I’ve done. They’re haunting.” He said with a sigh.

Y/N nodded, remembering her dreams. They were intense. She was remembering more about the other red-eyes like her. She remembered what they looked like, and which one the whispers belonged to. He had dark black hair that covered his eyes slightly and was always wearing a smirk. He looked pure evil to her. Y/N debated discussing more on the topic, feeling like she needed to get it off her chest. As they approached a bench, Y/N sat down, picking at her fingers as she focused still on the ground.

Bucky sat down to the left of Y/N, watching her pick at her fingers. Whatever she was remembering was obviously bugging her. He waited in silence for a moment before speaking, “You can talk to me about it, if you’d like. It can stay between us.” He promised. He wanted her to open up to him so he could help take the burden off of Y/N, not allow her to go through this alone.

Y/N sat silently for a moment longer, listening to his words. She was debating whether she could trust him with the information, the painful memories, “I’ve been remembering more of the other two like me.” She finally said softly, her eyes still on the ground. The dreams flashed through her head as she remembered them. Y/N was screaming in the memories, being held still by another man with red eyes, but he had blonde hair and had scars across his face. Alexei. She remembered as she was held, the one with darker eyes would approach her with that smirk on his face, tsking at her and saying her name as he got closer and closer to her. She remembered his name too, Dimitri. Y/N broke the silence again, “One of them was a shorter man, blonde hair. He had scars across his face, Alexei. He was the second made. The other had dark hair. Dimitri… He was the first of us and also in charge of keeping us in line when there wasn’t a mission.” She said softly, her eyes staring at the grass as if she was in a trance like she was locked in the past, “Dimitri had taken out his chip long ago, I remember his scar behind his ear, same as mine.” She gestured towards behind her left ear. Y/N looked at Bucky for a moment, noting the concern on his face before returning her gaze to the grass, “Dimitri had plans for us three. He wanted to take over the Hydra facility, be king. But he needed Alexei and I on his side to do that.” She paused for a minute again, “Alexei got in line easily with Dimitri, it didn’t take much. They were murderers in their past life and got along well, especially after Dimitri removed Alexei’s chip. But me, it took a little more convincing to make me complicit.” She said so soft it was almost a whisper, “Dimitri would have Alexei hold me still when we were all stuck together. He would say the good in me was holding me back from greatness, wanting me to comply with his plan. He was the one that gave me these scars.” She said, her hand tracing along one of the scars on her arm, the shape was of a bite, “The venom doesn’t kill us, but it does cause nasty hallucinations. It was his way of trying to get me to comply, to give into his plan. I killed a few Hydra guards in some of my hallucinations. I think that’s what hinted to Hydra of what Dimitri was doing, why they locked us away. The chips wouldn’t work when I was in these hallucinations. He’s the one I hear in my head.”

Bucky listened to her closely, his brow pulled together in worry and anger as he listened. He finally had names though, Alexei and Dimitri. Obviously Russian. He had lifted his right hand to touch Y/N’s back comfortingly. He had remembered seeing her in the hallway in the towel, noticing all the scars in the shapes of bites running up her legs until they disappeared under the towel and along her collar bones. It made his inside burn with rage. The thought of another man not only touching her, but hurting her gave him anger he didn’t know existed. His left vibranium hand was clenched in a fist, but his right hand remained soft on Y/N’s back, “I’ll never let them hurt you again.” He said, keeping the anger out of his voice, “I promise.” He swore, knowing this was a promise he would die to keep. Y/N was worth everything to him, and he would gladly give himself up to protect her if that was his only option.

“Thank you,” Y/N said softly, tearing her stare from the grass to meet his gaze. She could see the anger behind his eyes at the story, but she also saw the concern he felt for her, “They’re memories I rather not remember. I wanted to keep them buried down, but it’s nice to not have the burden on my own. He’s been whispering to me lately." She paused, "He whispers less when I’m around you, I don’t think he likes you.” Y/N said softly.

Bucky nodded, “They’ll eat you alive if you don’t let them out. You’re not alone,” He said, moving his right hand from her back to gently sweep the blonde hair away from Y/N’s face, “I’m always here, whenever you need me. I’ll keep your secrets.” He promised with a small smile. As much rage as he was feeling, it melted away when Y/N looked at him. He felt butterflies in his stomach. He felt warm around her, “If he starts whispering to you again, just come find me. I’ll scare him away.” Bucky promised with a crooked smile, the tips of his fingers still touching her face.

Y/N finally smiled a little bit, lifting her hand to touch his. She threaded his fingers through his, pulling his hand down onto her lap. She kept her fingers intertwined with his, looking down at their hands. Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, blinking her eyes tiredly. It’d been a few days since she had a good nights sleep on account of the nightmares forcing her to remember things from her past, “I think it’s about time for bed.” She said softly, though not making any movements to head inside.

Bucky smiled as Y/N took his hand, letting her fingers lace through his own. Her touch calmed him. He was losing himself in her touch. His grin widened as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Bucky wanted to be frozen in this moment with Y/N. He would happily be in this moment forever, just Y/N and himself. He stroked her hand with his thumb gently. He couldn’t deny he was falling deeper and deeper in love with her. Every time Y/N touched him, it took everything to resist the urge to pull her closer to him. Bucky smiled a little hearing her talk, knowing their moment was coming to an end again, “It is pretty late.” He replied, continuing to stroke her hand with his thumb.

Y/N sighed, forcing herself to stand and pulling Bucky by his hand with her. She kept grip of his hand, smiling at him gently, “Walk me?” She asks, her eyes locked with his.

Bucky grinned down at her, “It’d be my pleasure, doll.” He said. They kept their hands intertwined as they walked towards the doors into the facility, releasing each other before they stepped through the door. Bucky again walked Y/N to her room, not entering. He knew Wanda was probably in there asleep by now. He looked down at Y/N who had paused at the door before opening it. She had turned to face him, staring up at him. He smiled down at her, lifting his right hand to touch her face again, “Goodnight, Y/N.” He said softly to her.

Y/N smiled at his touch, leaning her face into his hand slightly. His touch made her skin crawl. It was like she was a magnet to him, not wanting to separate from his touch, “Goodnight, Bucky.” She whispered back. She stayed still for a moment, not wanting to leave his touch, but then slowly slid through the door to her own room, shutting it behind her. Y/N looked at Wanda who was sound asleep. Being as quiet as possible, Y/N changed into a tank top and sweats, crawling into her own bed and quickly falling asleep.

Bucky watched Y/N disappear into her room, standing there for a moment. He wished he could follow her in and stay close to her. He tore his eyes away from the closed door, walking down the hallway to his own room and shutting the door behind him. He wondered how long it would be until he could end the night with a kiss instead of just a ‘goodnight’.

“Is this real life? Is this just fantasy?”

Y/N woke up with a jolt, breathing deeply as she could hear Dimitri’s voice in her head. She lifted her hand, rubbing the side of her head at his singing.

“I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low.”

The voice practically screamed the song through Y/N’s head, causing her to get up and leave the room as to not disturb Wanda. She rubs the side of her head with both hands tiredly, “Is this what we are doing now? Singing?” She growled out softly to the voice in her head. She wasn’t scared of the voice anymore since she remembered him. It just made her anger grow when he was inside her head.

“Mamaaa… Just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead..”

Y/N winced at his singing. It was off key and very bad. It was practically torture as he screamed the song in her head dramatically. She made her way down the hall, pausing outside Bucky’s door. She debated if she should go in or not as Dimitri was yelling the Galileo part of the song in her head. She touched the doorknob before deciding against it, not wanting to disturb him just for the off key singing in her head.

Y/N could feel her frustration rise as she made her way outside of the facility, her bare feet touching the cool grass. She felt as though she could scream. Dimitri wouldn’t stop singing. She gripped the sides of her head, “For the love of god, stop, Dimitri!” She growled out. To her surprise, the singing in her head stopped and she let out a sigh of relief.

“I was trying to get you outside.” The voice whispered in her head softly with a chuckle.

Y/N froze at his words, looking around slowly through the darkness. She saw a figure laying on the grass. She approached slowly, trying to discern who it was. Once she saw it was Clint laying on the grass knocked out, she got closer and leaned down, “Clint?” She whispered, shoving his arm slightly trying to wake him. He must've been out on a nightly jog. She was about to speak his name again when a hand wrapped around her throat, pulling her up onto her feet and turning her to face similar red eyes. She looked at the man in the darkness, staring at his red eyes. He had blonde hair, scars across his face. She grabs onto his arm that held her neck, trying to force him to let her go. The next word passed her lips with a growl, her red eyes staring angrily at the man in front of her with his hand around her throat.

“Alexei...”

---------

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @the-ayo-lit @daddysfavoritesexkitten @springsoulofengland @tcc-gizmachine @taina-eny @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @vivien-1211

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvelfanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers x reader #bucky banres imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #marvelfanfic

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years

Text

Worth the Wait

A/N: This is the longest fic I ever wrote. It took me good three days but I finished it. I would have done it sooner but school. Like oh my God. I’m proud I could pull this off. Hope you like it. Feedback is always welcomed. Tell me if I did it good cuz it’s too long to make go through it again after writing it for so long. I hope I did good. Also I threw a bit of Fred x reader in there. Just to spice it up a bit.

REQUEST:Hey can you do a fic where the reader is elder sister potter She's best friends with Cedric diggory since the first time they met on the train during first year She confesses it to Cedric during Goblet of fire, they are a couple And then when he dies she's screaming and heartbroken Time skip to the battle she dies saving Harry who is crying because she was his only family left Then Hermione says during the reader's dying breath "it's okay you can close your eyes and be happy with Ced" Thanx...

Sometimes it was not easy being your younger brother’s older sister. All he ever did was get into trouble and you couldn’t even figure it out how. How could that boy get into so much trouble without even knowing it?

Then again, he was your father’s son and you could say that it ran in the family because you yourself weren’t the saint of the family.

You however had a best friend who always got you into more trouble than you ever did him. The two of you met on a train, first day, and he was the sweetest boy you have ever met. He kept talking like he has lived 50 years not 11. He laughed so the whole train could hear him and he had one of the most wonderful laughs, The one you just fell in love with immediately. Since the first day, you knew he was going to be in your life. He was there when nobody else was. He was there when you were at your worst and unlike your previous “friends”, he didn’t leave. He stayed and he kept promising you that he will always and forever be there for you and your little brother.

Little did he know that your little brother was one of the unluckiest little boys, who ever walked the Hogwarts ground. Harry was a confused little boy since he was little but he had a temper that nobody could control. He was funny, sarcastic, definetly taking most of the traits after his father but if he has anything else besides your mother’s eyes, it’s definetly her heart.

The worry you held was always for your little brother. Always what kind of new trouble will he get into with his two friends but never have you thought that another person could worry you just as much as Harry could.

“You can’t!” you shouted at Cedric. “It’s not safe!”

“It’s not like I’ll be fighting a dragon, (y/n)!” Cedric groaned, getting up, hugging you from behind and swinging you left an right. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.” he kept cooing, knowing how much you hated when somebody talked ot you like you were a child.

With him it was different. When he hugged you, it was like a warm cloud taking you into the sky and letting you float under the sun. You loved his embraces, you loved him since Third year.

“Are you mad?” he continued to coo, causing a smile arrupt on your lips and making his laugh. He stepped back, pulling you with him until he tripped and fell on the bed with him. “Because I won’t let you go until you stop being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, Ced.” you sighed, moving away from his grip and laying beside him. You played with your thumbs and with a deep breath, you told him your worries. “I just don’t want to risk losing you. I’m risking it every year with Harry and I just don’t want to...with you.”

He smiled in disbelief, pulling himself up on his elbow. “That’s what you’re worried about? Me entering a contest and not even being picked. We’ve done worse things that this contest- remember the giant squid back in Second year?”

You smiled, remeniscing that day perfectly. “Yeah.”

“Did we die?”

“Almost.”

“But did we die?”

“No, Cedric. We did not die.” you answered clearly.

“That’s because we are bloody tough and amazing. If we didn’t die that day with the squid, then we won’t die in this contest....if I get picked of course, which I definetly will because everybody likes me, and so will that goblet.”

“Firstly, you are extremely narcassistic, which you clearly get from your father.” you pointed your finger at him and he just rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Secondly, we? What do you mean we?”

“Oh, baby. We’re in this together.” he kissed your forehead, jumping of the bed and towards his warderobe.”Now, what should I wear.”

You melted when you heard him call you baby. The two of you were not together, only friends and at times like this you desperately wished the two of you were more than just friends. He caused so many emotions run through your body when he did little things such as take your hand, call you nicknames, kiss your forehead and so on but never did he do more than this.

“Earth to (y/n)!” he waved his hand in front of you and you quickly shot your head up.

“Yeah?”

“What should I wear?”

You rolled off the bed and stood up. “Maybe your school uniform?”

“How about this shirt?” he put the white shirt on top of his chest.

You rolled your eyes, bumping him away from the warderobe and surfing through his clothes. You noticed the red shirt on the bottom of the shelf and pulled it out. “Red.” you shoved it on his chest.

“I totally forgot I have this shirt.”

“Just put it on and let this be over with.” ---

But you were far from over, weren’t you. You thought your heart was dropped and stepped on when he was picked by the Goblet. He noticed it right away, hugging you and lifting you up. “I’ll win for both of us. You’ll see.” he whispered and put you down, giving you a reassuring smile.

It was until the Goblet threw out the second name that you felt like the whole world has turned against you. When all the contestants, including your little brother were in the room with Dumbledore, you stormed inside, fuming and boiling from all the fury.

“HE IS NOT GOING TO COMPETE IN THIS TOURNAMENT AND IF YOU KILL ME!” you stepped in front of Harry, glaring at the other in the room.

“Miss Potter-” Dumbledore started but you cut him off first.

“He is fourteen!”

“I agree but the Goblet-”

“He’s going to compete in this tournament over MY DEAD BODY!” you kept shouting, noticing Cedric approaching you raised your hand for him to stop. “Don’t.” you warned him before turning to your brohter and looking into his eyes.

He was frightened, you could see that so perfectly in his eyes. You read him like an open book, knowing there was no where in hell he dropped his name into that Goblet. He couldn’t. “Why you? Why always you?” you said, your eyes watering and your arms bringing him close.

“I didn’t do it, (y/n).” he tried to appologise but you knew he was telling you the truth. If anybody hated getting into trouble, it was your brohter. He just wanted to be a normal boy for once and it just won’t be given to him.

“He won’t.” you stood firmly your ground, glaring at all the responsible people.

“Miss Potter. The Goblet has chosen its contestants. The rules are rules.”

And before you could say anything you’d regret, Harry took your hand and looked at you. “I’ll be alright. I’ve lasted this long, haven’t I?” he gave you a weak smile and you felt helpless to do anything.

“If anything happens to him-” you glared at Bagman, glancing at the other three Champions, later at Dumbledore. “-I’ll make sure-”

“(y/n).” your brother touched your shoulders, giving you a more confident smile. “I can do this.”

“Oh, you better.”

---

You’ve tried not to worry too much about both Cedric and Harry but it was not possible. You thought your hair was going to turn grey one night and you’ll be someone who belongs in a looney bin. When you heard about the first task, you weren’t worried, you were so furious you wanted to scream. Cedric was avoiding you, mostly because he was afraid of you and your family temper but also because he knew how this would go.

“It’s nOt LiKE I’Ll bE fIghTING A drAgOn.” you mocked him as he closed the door in his dorm, jumping when he heard your mocking voice and chuckling.

“What goes around comes around.” he awkwardly scratches the back of his head, noticing the worry and the stress in your eyes. He opened his arms and gave you his one of a kind, comforting smiles. “Come on. Bring it in.”

“No.” you said, turning your head away.

“No?” he said as if he was offended, placing his hand on his heart. “As if you have a choice.” he scoffed, running towards you and knocking you off your feet. He grabbed you tightly with his arms, locking your own against your body. You laughed being unable to get out of his grip.

“Cedric!” you continued to laugh meanwhile he put his head on your shoulder and took a deep breath in through his nose.

“Ahh! Isn’t this hug just stress-relieving?” he closed his eyes and put his cheek on yours.

“If crushing my bones is stress-relieving, than sure, go ahead.” you continued to smile meanwhile he left a soft chuckle, breathing in your parfume and breathing out his hot breath, so it brushed your neck and send butterflies flying in your stomach.

His grip got gentler, so he wasn’t locking your arms anymore, but simply holding you in his own. You truned around, placing yourelf on top of his chest and looking down in his deep grey eyes. Your hand automatically moved to his hair and you mildly brushed your fingers through his hair.

God, you were in love with him. You were so deeply in love with his charming eyes and his devilish smile, His skin was so warm, his nose in such a perfect shape, his jaw a bit uneven but sharp despite it. His hands were big and soft, as if they haven’t worked a day in their life, his chest broad, his whole soul just burning yours through the eyes.

He always adored the look in your eyes. Whenever you gave him this look it sent him some sort of pleasure and joy through his bonest. In a way, with you or even just looking at you, he felt his mind go a little dizzy. He felt like he could tell you the world! Everything with you was just... safe. He felt safe with you.

It was a heavenly moment, between the two of you. It was only you and him, nobody else to break it up.

Until there was.

A letter flew right through the window, cutting in the space between the two of you. It was written in a beautiful handwriting... in a girl’s handwriting with a Ravenclaw’s stamp.

A jealous feeling started bubbling in your stomach as you got up and let him read it. A smile appeared on his lips as you asked. “Who is it?”

He looked up, completely blind to your discomfort. “It’s Cho’s. She said yes to be my date to the Yule Ball.”

Your heart jumped to your throat and you could feel your eyes burning. “You- you asked Cho Chang to Yule Ball. I thought we said we were going to the Yule Ball together?”

He could finally see the hurt in your eyes, which was a different kind he usually got from your fights. He realized what he said to you before he asked Cho. He was completely sure that Cho would say no but now... now he knew just how much he hurt you.

Except the pain was worse for you.

“Merlin, (y/n).” he got up and started to shake his head, eyes filled with guilt. ”I didn’t think she’d say yes.”

The jealusy turned into hatred in a second and the heart in your throat stopped to speak. “So I was just your back up plan?!”

“No!” he widened his eyes. “That’s not what I meant to-”

“You know what, Diggory?” you scoffed, pretending as if your heart wasn’t just crushed a moment ago. “Go to the ball with your precious Cho Chang. I don’t care. Go with anybody you want!” your voice started to raise.

“Why are you getting so mad?!”

And you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe he is so blind to it. You know he feels it. You know it in your heart he feels something towards you but he just won’t admit it. “Because I’m in love with you!” was all you could say, regretting it the moment it came out. “And I thought you feel the same but clearly you-”

“Oh, (y/n)...” he shook his head, watching you with pitiful eyes. “You’re like a -”

“Don’t!” you stopped him, tears falling down your cheeks without your permission. “It’s not true. It can’t be.” you kept looking at him. You were so sure he felt it. So Goddamn sure he felt the same way.

“You’re amazing, (y/n). You are! You’re amazing and beautiful but I just don’t see us as- I mean, you and me- I mean- I- “

You shook your head more aggresievly this time. “I was so dumb to think that I won’t be like those other girls!” you told yourself.

“You’re not!”

“I clearly am, Cedric!” you shouted at him, tears coming out. “Because if I wasn’t then you wouldn’t asked me to the Yule Ball as a bloody plan B!” you continued, seeing as he wanted to argue with that but you wouldn’t let him. “But you know what, Cedric? I can get anyone I bloody want!”

And somehow that opened Cedric’s anger, making the unfamilliar feeling in his stomach speak instead of his mind. “Clearly not me! Just like the other girls, swooning over! Thinking you have a chance! I should have known you were just hanging out with me because you had a crush!”

The hurt was just never-ending, wasn’t it. “You really think that?” you tone was weak. “You really think of me as someone like that?” you said backing away.

“Isn’t it?!” he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t and he tried.

“Yes, Cedric. I trusted you and poured myself to you just because I wanted to fuck you like the whore I am. I wanted nothing but your dick and be famous for dating the Hufflepuff chaser.” you said, seeing his anger fade.

He threw his head back in disbelief. He hated when anybody spoke low of you, and there he was thinking the lowest of you. “I didn’t mean it, (y/n). I know you’re-”

“Just save the sweet talk for Cho.” you said. “I don’t ever want to talk to you again.” you started walking away but he quickly grabbed your arm.

“Please, (y/n)! Don’t leave! I didn’t mean what I said!”

“Clearly, you did.” you said. “Clearly, you think that I can’t live without you, Cedric Diggory but I’m going to show you just how much I don’t need you in my life.” you pulled your arm away from his grasp, walking away.

That day you never went back to your dorm, you went to Harry’s but before you could reach him, a ginger got to you first. You always thought of Fred as someone who was despite his humor incredibly charming and caring. Since Harry was in First Year, he always kept asking you on dates, flirting with you and being a real gentleman.

He noticed right away that you were hurt. He always noticed everything when it came to you and maybe you said yes because he was the only one who made you feel wanted but after a while, you saw you said yes because he was kind and caring for you like nobody else ever did.

The two of you got closer and so you did with the other Weasleys and their friends. Somehow, you realized you have gotten to Harry closer as well. He was much more open to you now then he ever was.

---

You loved spending time with Fred. He always made you laugh. Always made you feel so happy. On the day of the Ball, Fred was already waiting in the Hufflepuff common room, talking with some of your friends.

Cedric, who was still a bit uncomfortable that the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, walked over to Fred just before he went to pick up Cho herself. “Hey, mate. Can I talk to you?”

Fred raised an eyebrow, his grin staying in the same position. “Yeah. Of course.” he said, not knowing whether to like the guy or not.

“I know me and (y/n) aren’t speaking right now but I still do-”

He was cut, staring at the girl who was just coming down the stairs behind Fred. Fred turned around as well, scanning you from head to toe before locking his eyes with yours. His grin turned into a beam and he blinked, just to make sure that what he was seeing wasn’t a dream.

You weren’t wearing a dress as the other girls did. You remember Sirius giving you the dress your mother wore to one of the Balls with your father. She was a diviant and brave woman, choosing the right dress for her confidence. It was red, just like her hair, and long, clinging your legs and your curves. Your hair was curled, pinned on one side, let down on the other. You chose a daring makeup, red eyeshadow and red lipstick, sharping the outline of your lips. There was a cut on your right side, from knee below, showing off your red heels with a sparkly-silver strap above the ankle.

Even though you knew Cedric was standing beside Fred with his mouth on the ground, you kept your eyes on Fred’s brown ones, ignoring the grey ones behind and smiling triuphantly. “I’m ready.”

Fred’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took your hand and kissed the back of it. “I can see that.” he said seductively, leading you away. “You look absolutely breath-taking.”

---

The whole dance, you saw eyes lingering on you. It made you blush more times than once. You were pretty convinced that you were red as a tomato the whole night but Fred, amazing as he was, kept distracting you by dancing and making you laugh. He was an incredible date. He constantly made sure you were hydrated, pleased and smiling.

“Fred, my jaw is hurting from all the laughing!” you laughed as the two of you made your way outside on some fresh air. “Be serious!” you sightly punched him in the chest.

“I can’t. You’re so gorgeous when you smile.” his voice got softer and he took a step closer. His hand took the fallen strand on your pinned side and tucked it behind your ear, looking down at you. “I want to be all dominant and romantic with this but I can’t help the feeling to ask you.” his cheeks flushed red and you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Ask me what?”

He looked up, scratching the back of his head and barely speaking. “Can I kiss you?”

Surprised by his question, you completely grew red in your cheeks, not knowing exactly what to say. This was your first kiss. You always imagined it would be Cedric but since the argument, you knew that was never going to be possible.

You trusted Fred. You liked Fred. So you nodded your head and put your hands on his neck. “I’ve never kissed anybody.” you said shyly and quetly.

“A beauty like you?” he grinned pressing his forehead on you. “I can wait if you’re not ready.” he said as you looked up at him with a glint in your eyes.

“No. I want you to kiss me.” you smiled and he leaned it, kissing you gently at first, only the surface of your lips before pulling away and looking at your reaction.

Your eyes were closed before you opened them, smiling and showing him you want him to kiss you again, deeper. And he did, slipping his tongue inside your mouth and taking the lead. Your cheeks started radiating heat as the kissing never stopped. You loved it. You loved kissing and you kept pulling him closer to you, smiling.

It wasn’t long until that kiss was broken. You couldn’t feel Fred’s suit under your fingers, nor see him in front of you. Your vision was blurred and you couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on until you saw Fred laying on the floor on your right and Cedric panting on your left.

“What-” you couldn’t quite figure it out. All three of you were panting, Cedric from fury meanwhile you and Fred had a different kind of cause for catching your breath. “What the hell?!” you looked at Cedric, narrowing your eyes at him meanwhile he turned to you, eyes widen from shock and his mind confused.

“Why in the bloody hell did you do that for, mate?” Fred sat up, rubbing his head as you ran up to him.

“I- I don’t know.” Cedric said, completely confused and watching you help Fred to his feet.

“Are you okay, Fred?” you asked meanwhile Fred gave you his usual grin.

“I’m fine, gorgeous. Why don’t- why don’t the two of you talk, huh?” he glanced between the two of you. “I’ll go get some ice.”

“But-”

“I’ll be fine.” he took your hand and squeezed it. “You need to talk.” he said before leaving the two of you alone.

As he was out of the view, you turned around, fuming, and shouting at the guilty boy in front. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

“I don’t know what came over me, (y/n), I swear. I didn’t mean to push him-”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that a House Elf possesed you and pushed him on the floor.”

“I was aiming for the punch but I was afraid of hurting you during, so I had to push him first.” he kept blabbering, only confusing you more. He shut his mouth, looking at you with wide eyes and afraid to say anything similar.

“You don’t get to interrupt my first kiss. You don’t get to do that after shoving a knife through my heart, Cedric!” you started to get furious, storming away and knocking his shoulder as you passed him by.

He grabbed you by the wirst as he always did when the two of you fought. He pulled you back and close to his chest, meanwhile you pushed away from him.

“Don’t do that!” you looked up at him.

“I was furious, (y/n)!” he shouted back. “I’m sorry for what I said that day! I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I realize that.”

“I don’t care anymore, Cedric. It’s all old bullshit to me.” you crossed your arms over your chest, backing away and deciding to leave.

“I WAS JEALOUS!” he shouted on top of his lungs. Stopping you. Due to the music in the Great Hall a corridor down, nobody else could hear except you and him.

You turned around, watching his face fall down in shame.

“I was jealous, (y/n).” he said once again as he started to get closer to you. “When I saw you so stunning in your dress... and then see you walk away with another guy, I just felt angry. I felt angry the whole bloody night, watching you dance him... watching you laugh with him... and looking at him like you used to look at me.” he paused as he stopped in front of you, still unable to look at you into your eyes until he took a deep breath in and raised his head up to lock those greys with your own. “He got to see you in this dress, he got the honor to dance with you in it, he got the pleasure of hearing your laugh, the bliss of getting adoration from your wonderful eyes and I couldn’t even get a slightly bit of attention from you. Not a glance, not anything. I got nothing from you and when I was watching you with him, I was barely keeping myself away. When I saw you walk out with him I couldn’t control my feet, so I followed and when I saw you kissing him, I got so angry and so jealous that I just stop restricting myself from you. I couldn’t keep myself away.” he took your hands and squeezed them tightly. “You’re my best friend, (y/n). I’m pretty much sure you’re my soulmate.” he smiled and you couldn’t figure out where this was going; hurt or love, so you kept your expression the same. “I’m ashamed of what I did- because I had that, I could have had that but I threw it away. I threw it away because I didn’t know that I’m in love with you as well.”

You gasped as he said that, feeling the air get caught up in your throat. Your heart fluttered, your stomach kept doing sommersaults but despite all of it, you couldn’t pretend as if he didn’t hurt you.

You hugged him tight and feeling his arms seal your embrace, his nose dig into the crook of your neck and breathing the parfume that tingeled his nostrills. He let out a breath of relief, feeling safety spread around him.

“I forgive you, Ced.” you said and he smiled to the shortage of his name which you call him. It always felt perfect when you said it. “But I need to figure out where I stand with Fred before I hurt anybody.”

He pulled away, placing his thumb on your chin and brushing it gently with it. “I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you.”

---

It took you a few days and a few nights of frustration and over-thinking to get where you were. You and Fred had a long talk about everything, deciding to stay friends as it was obvious you were head over heels for Cedric. You could see he was hurt but he still put his usual grin on.

“Reckon, he’ll never had the honour to say he was a first kiss to the most amazing and beautiful girl at school.”

You smiled, feeling the redness wash over your cheeks again. “No, he won’t.” you said, taking his chin in your hands and kissing him on the lips one last time. You didn’t know why you did it but it felt right. Pulling away, you brushed your thumb over his lips and smiled. “It was a perfect first kiss, Fred.”

“Anytime.” he smirked, thinking for a moment then narrowing his eyes. “Shame. I always thought the Chosen one will become my brother-in-law.”

“Don’t give up hope yet. I think he and Ginny would make quite a pair.”

“Weasley and Potter. Has nice tone, doesn’t it.” he winked at you as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t take it too close to heart.”

“Oh, I won’t. These Potters are dangerous when it comes to it.” he continued to tease.

“Goodnight, Fred!” you shouted.

“Night Mrs. Future-Weasley.”

---

You and Fred stayed close. It was a strong friendship and you could always count on him. It drove Cedric over the wall whenever he would see the two of you even slightly together but he had you. You were his girl and that was all that he needed.

When the second task came along, Harry was in quite a lot of distress. He was underground, watching three people closest to his heart being tied up underwater.

He didn’t know who to save. He just kept pondering it over until Krum swam by and untied Hermione first. Harry trusted Cedric he would untie you, so whatever happened next, was the thing that was causing you too much worry. You were sitting by Cedric, wrapped around in a towel and looking Ron’s and Fleur’s little sister’s head pop out of the water, but Harry? He was nowhere to be seen.

Cedric kept rubbing your back. “He’ll come out. He will.” but you worried so much that you almost felt yourself jump back into.

He finally appeared, making your heart-rate calm down. When he swam out, you gave him an enormous tight hug.

“Ger’ off.” he sturggled but you couldn’t let go. “You’re embarrasing me.”

“I don’t care.”

---

The night before the first task, you and Cedric were both laying wrapped in sheets, just enjoying eachother’s warmth and body. He kept making circles with his figner on your bare shoulder meanwhile you kept looking up at him with your googly eyes.

He looked down, grinning. “Dreaming of a life with a Triwizard Champion?” he wiggled his eyebrows and you laughed.

“Yeah. I think getting to say my brother is the Chosen one and a Triwizard Champion will be quite a privilage.” you replied and he scoffed.

“Oh, so you’re rooting for my enemy.”

“I just want this to be over and have you both safe in my arms.” your stretched your arms around his torso and placed your head on his chest, nuzzling closer.

His hand moved up to your hair and he gently scratched your scalp, causing you to doze off. “We both got this far, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” you said sleeply, making Cedric smile. He adored your sleepiness. “I have to admit I was more sure you’d pull through than Harry. Looks like I underestimated him.”

“He’s bright, I’ll give him that. Must be in the family.” he said. “I don’t know what happened to you.” he teased, making your head shot up and your fist punch his chest. He laughed, taking your head in his hands. “I’m joking. You’re smart as hell.”

“Yes, I am.” you said, placing your head back on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast, then slow itself down.

“And you’re beautiful.”

“Keep them going.” you smiled and he chuckled.

“And sexy.” he left out a growl, pulling you up and kissing you.

“Don’t stop.” you smiled against his lips.

He kissed you again, this time softer and genlter and as he pulled you away, he looked deep into your eyes. “I’ll make you my wife one day.” he cupped your face once again. “And I’ll spoil you until the ends of Earth.”

“You’ll buy me small dog I can carry in purse?” you joked and he smiled.

“I’ll buy you a monkey if you say!”

“I think one is enough.” you patted his chest and he chuckled, grabbing you around the shoulders and squeezing you.

“Why are you so mean!?” he shook you in his arms, laughing and pinning you on the bed. “Don’t answer that.” he said quietly, observing your every feature. “I love you no matter your flaws.”

You widened your eyes, hearing him say those words from the first time and feeling a rush in your eyes as well as your heart. You threw your arms around him and pushed him on the other side of the bed. “I love you too.” you whispered in his ear.

---

The whole third task you’ve been impatient. Just this one task and everything will be normal. Cedric and you will graduate, both of you will get a job, you will be able to spent more days with Sirius, Harry will spend the summer with you- everything will be perfect.

You couldn’t stop smiling. You just couldn’t. This task was about to end your future is about to begin. You were so bloody excited. You just kept cheering and loving every second that passed.

And there it was. Cedric and Harry both appearing together. You were so happy! Everybody was on their feet, cheering and shouting. Everybody was so excited that the Hogwarts Champions won the tournament.

Until you heard Harry scream in agony and it you felt your legs being cut below your knee. You stared, watching Cedric pale and stoic, Harry covering him. You heard Cedric’s father scream in the same agony as Harry, you tumbled back being caught in Fred’s arms.

“No- no.” you told yourself before moving everybody out of the way and running on the field, tumbling over your feet. “No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” you screamed throwing yourself over his body and screaming. “Cedric!” you screamed, framing his face with your hands and moving away his black hair. Everything that was alive last night was gone. There was no light, no smile, nothing.

You felt yourself unable to breathe, you felt your heart being ripped out of your chest.

You screamed for him. “You can’t! I love you! Remember! You love me! You said you’d get me the purse dog! You said we’ll get married!” you kept crying until Harry grabbed you and pulled you in his embrace, both crying.

‘At least Harry was alive. Harry is alive. Be thankful it’s not both.’ - you heard a voice in your head. ‘Harry. You still have Harry.’

But it didn’t cause any less pain and heartache. You just lost the love of your life, you lost your soulmate... you lost yourself.

---

The last time you walked through the gates of Hogwarts, you were a completely different person. Harry always told the others that you haven’t been coping well with Cedric’s death.

He was indeed, correct.

You graduated with nothing but emptiness in your soul. You didn’t talk much, you couldn’t. He was your best friend. He was everything to you. Life without him did not cease to exist for you and every night you cried yourself to sleep and every morning you woke up to an enormous headache and pain in both of your eyes because of that.

You didn’t care though. Since Sirius died, your sole mission was to protect Harry. Only Harry. He was the only family you had left. You protect Harry. That’s all you have to do but when you walked through those gates, through the gates where every single memory of Cedric splashed you like a rebel wave... you simply couldn’t hold yourself much together.

“You changed.” you heard someone say beside you. You turned your head to see Fred with his usual grin.

“Hey, Fred.” you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered immediately. “For everything that happened to you.”

“I’m not the only one who lost a loved one in this war.” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder and giving him a weak smile,

But he saw it. He saw the pain in your eyes. He saw how broken you were just when he looked into your eyes. He also noticed something else. Something nobody else had. “You’re not afraid?” he asked but it sounded more as a statement than a question.

“No, I’m not.” you looked at him, taking his hand in yours. “I’m going to look that murderous snake in the eyes and I’m going to show him hell he hasn’t even imagined.” you snarled, looking at the distance and squeezing his hand.

He squeezed it back, differently than you, comfortly. You looked at him from the affection you were so foreign to and felt a smile reach your cheeks. “There’s the smile.” he spun you around slowly, making you giggle for the first time in a long time again.

“Thank you.” you said, letting go of his hand and glancing at the courtyart. “Ready to beat some Deatheaters?”

“Born ready, love.” he said, walking beside you.

---

You’ve been around Harry most of the battle until you lost him. Until there were Deatheaters coming from every corner and the two of you had to be seperated. You had eyes on most of the people. Remus and Tonks quickly disappeared somewhere into the towers, Harry was out of your sight after solid 30 minutes, Hermione ran into the castle, Ron behind her, George, Percy and Fred were all fighting together, covering their six.

It was just as you finished the last two Deatheaters when you locked eyes with him in the distance, remembering the boy who gave you your first kiss. He winked, shouting something to Percy before the wall behind him exploading, wiping your smile off quicker than anything you’ve imagined. You apparated at the rubble, coming to his aid and helping his brothers pull him out of the dust. Percy was screaming, shooting at the sky and other Deatheaters with so much fury and anger you have ever seen in that man. George was staring at his twin, almost as he didn’t exist anymore.

You framed Fred’s head, just as you did with Cedric all those years ago. Fred was dead... just like him. Tears prickled down your cheeks and you leaned your forehead on his, sobbing but quickly calming down.

He was one of your best friends. He was the one who made you smile when nobody else could. He was the only one who knew how to deal with your attitude when you were grieving after Cedric. He was there, always and now he’s gone. “I’m so sorry, Freddie.” you pressed your head into his shirt, taking his usual scent in your nostrills. “Thank you.” you paused. “For everything.” you kissed his lips softly before getting on your feet and feeling the same rage fill your body as it did with Percy.

You tightened your grip around your wand and made you way, searching only for one specific person. He was there, preparing to kill off your last family. You appeared in front of him before he got the chance, casting spells, one after the other.

Your attack was aggresive at first. It took Lord Voldemort by surprise and off balance at first. “YOU KILLED EVERYBODY I EVER LOVED!” you cried, shooting curse after curse and hitting him once with Crucio but only for a slightest moment.

People around you almost thought you’d win, your little brother thought that maybe, just maybe you could be the Potter to finish off Voldemort. But the Dark Lord was as well as immune to your crucio curse.

“You’re weak!” he cackled, shooting the crucio curse and making you kneel, agony running down your veins. “I should have killed you the day I murdered your pathethic parents! Should have finished you first before I moved to your weak brother! ALL OF YOU! WEAK!” he continued. “Maybe you can watch your little brother get the same fate as your mother and father?” he moved forward towards Harry, shooting a crucio curse at him. You broke free from his controll and jumped right in front of Harry.

Black.

It was hateful, it was powerful. You didn’t know how much hatred Voldemort had for Harry until you faced his Crucio curse intended for him.

You opened your eyes, your body burning, shaking, your brother holding you and crying. “Don’t leave me, (y/n).” he sobbed, pressing his forehead on yours.

You couldn’t speak. You just needed to know.

“You can’t leave me now. It’s over. We won. You’ll get healthy and- and-”

“Harry.” Hermione said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder. “She won’t make it. I’m sorry.”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” he shouted, rocking you in his arms. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I can’t lose you.”

Trying, forcing yourself to use the last bit of energy in your body. You put your hand on his cheek and gave him weak smile. “Remember, Harry.” you said, feeling blood rise up in your thorat but you forced it back down, tasting iron on your tongue. “You deserve the world. We’ll always-” you caughed, feeling drained and numb.

“I know.” he closed his eyes shut and cried.

Hermione was right beside you, forcing tears to stay in her eyes.’Take care of him for me.’ And it was like she could hear your thoughts, she nodded.

She put her hand on your cheek and smiled. “It’s okay. You can let go and be with Cedric now.”

And with that, you closed your eyes. As much as you thought that everything will get dark, you opened them to see familiar figure standing in front of you. “Cedric?”

The figure turned around, grey eyes smiling at yours. “I told you I’d wait for you.”

#cedric diggory #cedric #Cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x reader #hp fanfic #hp fandom #harry potter imagine #Harry potter imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reaader

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alpaca-writes · 3 years

Text

I have this habit of being very detailed in writing- hopefully not too much that it bores anyone to death. Personally, I love detailing OC's and as many aspects of them as I can before exposing these poor things to pain- almost like a slow-burn for torture, I suppose?

But then it occurs to me as well that maybe I'm just writing a normal story, with villians and heroes and anti-heroes but with more emphasis on the pains they go through.

Oh well, here is my newest creation-

CW: None quite yet. Some strong language, I suppose

MYSTICS

CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB

Lyrem Nomadus busied himself, flipping through resumes that bored him half to death and then a little more. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to look for anyone to share his space with. The business of curating, refurbishing and selling occultic items was dreadfully interesting to the general public and the last thing he was looking for was someone new to devalue it with their own useless knowledge and presumed ‘psychic’ abilities. The last two days were full of just that. He pinched the bridge of his wide nose as a mild headache came on- the last interview was a particularly painful thought.

A young man, with a heavily freckled, pale face, and round framed glasses poured over his collection of rocks near the front entrance, started spouting nonsense that Lyrem had little patience for.

“Ooh, malachite. I heard that stuff’s toxic, y’know,” he spoke with little regard for Lyrem standing near the cash register- an old charcoal grey thing with large buttons and made a noise like a classic ‘ka-ching’ just before the receipts printed out and the drawer popped open.

“Hm,” Lyrem hummed unamused, hoping it would prompt some style of professionalism from his prospective interviewee. It did not.

The young man continued to look around the store, finding one hematite pendulum specifically fascinating. Then he found his attention drawn to a display of elegantly designed tarot cards. The young man picked one of them up, studying the hierophant with mild interest.

“Please do not touch the merchandise.” Lyrem cut in.

The young man placed the card back down on the glass shelf, slightly askew to the rest on display. He cleared his throat and approached the register, finally.

“Did you bring a copy of your resume?” Lyrem asked him, knowing what the answer likely was, as there was nothing in his hands. He wore a long black trench coat over ratted, torn jeans and a plain tee shirt. There was one chain dangling from a pocket somewhere.

“Yessir,” he answered.

Oh, perhaps this boy had a hope after all.

After reaching into his back pants pocket with effort, the resume was presented, folded into six sections as a single piece of paper. A folded and clearly used napkin fell out onto the floor. Lyrem breathed deeply, took the folded resume, and smiled.

“Thank you for applying, but I am afraid you are not quite the right fit for this position,” Lyrem didn’t bother opening the paper, and instead tossed it over his own shoulder. It landed directly into the bin behind him.

“I-I’m sorry? You haven’t interviewed me yet”- his eyes widened with the confusion of the sudden rejection.

“Hm. I have interviewed you plenty, and I tell you now, I’d have a mangey dog run my store before you.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so casual. Lyrem blinked.

The poor boy took a moment to process the insult before glaring across at the owner of Mystics ruthlessly. Suddenly, his fist pounded the desk, sending a short tremor through the wood.

“Anybody with half a brain could do this job! For fuck sake’s, man!”

Lyrem looked at him with a simple eyebrow raised and cocked his head toward the door. He was tired these days. The less he chose to care about children’s tantrums, the better. The boy left in a huff, and clearly, he tried slamming the jingling door behind him as he stepped out onto the street, but the spring against the top disallowed such havoc, and bounced slowly back. It closed finally with a light click, and the young man was gone.

Releasing the pinch from his nose, Lyrem sighed. He didn’t know which one was worse, that boy who left a trail of disrespect in his wake, or the woman from the previous day who was convinced that she could speak with his mother in the afterlife. The sullen woman wore gems aplenty on her fingers and hanging from ropes and chains around her neck. The wire wrapped amethysts in particular, caused her to look like an easter egg more than a living person. She didn’t take it too kindly when he explained that the stones around her finger were not a genuine turquoise either. By the end of it all, she was rather happy to be finished.

He shuddered, remembering the strong scent of patchouli she left that seemed to linger within his store, even now.. He didn’t have an aversion to patchouli, or to amethyst or turquoise, or even easter eggs… at least he hadn’t one before two days ago.

The rest of the applicants were all the same. Wanted a job, wanted something easy, and for experience- and all the time, Lyrem would ask himself: “experience for what, exactly?” Instead of asking the question aloud, he’d thank the person, and politely send them on their way out, with a promise to call them when he had made a decision.

He wasn’t planning to call anyone.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The streets would be bustling past four, and if he wanted to avoid it and give himself a break from the eye strain, he would need to go for his coffee now, or not have one until after six. The horror.

He flipped over the sign on the door. It was one of those apologetic ones- as though it would stop a person from throwing a brick through a window for being closed on a weekday. Lyrem locked the door and turned to his right. There was a small local place not far from the corner of the intersection that he had grown accustomed to. If they had the raspberry scones today, he decided he may take one of those as a treat. Lost in thought, he crossed in front of a small white car making its left turn. The car stopped, though no horn was sounded as the engine suddenly died inexplicably next to him.

Lyrem walked around the car and poked his head through the passenger-side window which was open for the cool breeze. The driver looked back at him, his hands gripping the wheel too tightly.

“Pedestrians have the right of way, you know,” he mentioned calmly. Then, he tapped the top of the car twice. It restarted. “Drive a little safer, now.”

The driver suddenly remembered that the car was still in gear, and he moved along, crossing the intersection and left Lyrem behind like everything he had just done was part of some fever dream. He chuckled lightly and turned back down the block.

It was a sun-filled day, without a cloud in the sky, and it was a warm one too. Despite the fact that it was still early April, and the city had only just started waking from its hibernation from the cold, the streets were filling quickly with people.

His coffee took a while, which he forgave only because the end result was quite often a perfection, but he was nearly pouting at the counter as the spot for raspberry scones were replaced with one with blueberries instead. Losing his appetite, his eyes drifted around the rustic establishment. The sounds of a classical guitar filled the room with the unmistakable talents of the virtuoso, Andrés Segovia. It was a nice change from the sounds of folk rock and boy bands. The coffee shop was only getting better and better with age, it seemed.

Against the wall, a cork board was decorated in haphazardly placed notes. Some notes were simply inspirational or funny, some were searching for students for taekwondo or guitar, advertisements for plays and musicals at the local theatre were spread along the outer edges begging to be noticed, and there were a few job postings as well from other nearby establishments, restaurants, including one from a pet store.

He shouldn’t have tried putting an ad on Kijiji at all- not when the perfect people were right here all along. Like Icarus, Lyrem flew too close to the sun, and was burned by the troubling rays of stupidity that came through his door from delving into the ruddy depths of online job hunting. Never again would he make such a mistake.

“Lyre!”

Nodding, he retrieved his cup, and turned back toward the door. He nearly collided with another person, standing close up to the cork board and huffed, not spilling a drop.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

“Apologies.” The person gave him little notice, but moved off to the side with ease to allow him through.

He furrowed his brows. What was it that was causing him to pause just before reaching the door? There was just… something… off.

It took him a moment before hearing it- the faintest humming to Segovia’s España, Spanish Dance No.10 in G coming from the person who apologized to him for being in the way. Each note timed perfectly to the sound from the speakers in the corner. He turned his head, to a particularly high note, the humming stopped to be replaced with fingers tapping in unison to the notes against their thigh.

“Guitar?” He asked, suddenly beside them. He studied the board also.

“No,” they replied. “Just looking for a job.”

He nodded, grimacing. Raising his hopes one final time, he ventured.

“I have potential work for you. I am hiring at my store’s location down the street. If you are interested.”

“That seems coincidental.” They replied unemphatically sifting through the other job postings there, knowing they were not currently dressed for success. “What store?”

“Mystics. It’s along twenty-third and”-

“-seventeenth, yes, I know the place.”

“Then you’re hired.”

They stopped, and brought their hands down from the board, and turned to stare their deep brown eyes into his of deep hazel- to finally spare a glance to the person wanting their attention.

“I don’t have time for practical jokes- or human trafficking, for that matter,” they said with insistence.

“I’m not joking, and I am definitely not in the business of human trafficking”- Lyrem stuttered incredulously. “I thought you said you knew the place.”

“I do.” They replied. “I’ve just never been in. It’s just one of those ridiculous shops for people to waste their money on colourful rocks. There’s literally a river just under the bridge half a mile from here- infinite supply for none of the coin.”

Taking them by surprise, he laughed.

“You will be the worst salesperson.” He said. More seriously, he added, “look, I really am in need of a person to take care of a few evening shifts and the weekends, I pay well above the average rate for any local retail store, and I’d be able to supply you with health benefits.”

This sudden bargain seemed to be interesting enough for the person to distance themselves from the cork board.

“I’m still finishing high school- under eighteen- is that a problem?” They asked. “It’s been a problem everywhere else”-

“Not a problem.”

They nodded.

“When do I start?”

#whump #whump blog #Mystics by Alpaca #writing #writing blog #Lyrem #chapter one #magical whump #nonbinary character #whumpblr #a little funny

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dxxdlexxdle · 3 years

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Mr. and Mrs. Prongs Love Story Headcanon!

my fav heteros deserve some love tonight. it’s raining currently where i live, and it’s a good night to write some heart-wrenching headcanons, i think!

words: 1,694

warnings: fluff, hints at smut, maybe? pain. eternal fucking suffering cause this fandom kills me. some of the storyline may be fucked my memory is HORRIBLE and i tried to base some scenes off of MsKingBean89’s all the young dudes

—

In their first year at Hogwarts, the very first day they had even been inside the castle, actually, James Potter realized something.

The copper haired girl across from him was awfully pretty.

She was disgusted at the way he declared someday they would be married. “WHY would I ever marry you?” She had shouted, moving down the table to the blonde and curly haired witches she had met earlier on the train. James stared at her, doe-eyed. She was perfect.

This did however mean he was the first of the boys to take an interest in girls. By girls I mean, well, just Lily. Sirius Black thought it was awfully funny. “Mate, girls have cooties.” Remus Lupin was too shy to have an opinion. Peter could hardly even tell his own feet apart from left and right, and his lip trembled when he got yelled at, so there was no hope for him.

James took to teasing Lily to try and get his point across. Lily thought it was horrible. Why was he being so horrid if he supposedly fancied her? Why did he even fancy her in the first place? Somebody like her, a witch from non-magic parents, and somebody like him, a pureblood wizard?

It wasn’t until one day in potions she told him just what she thought of him. His tormenting had gone on too long. He had bewitched one of her pigtails to tug on its own from across the room.

“You are foul, James Potter!” She had shouted, resulting in thirty points from Gryffindor. James had just beamed.

James was a smiling mess, really. For starters, she had said his name, out loud, to him. Secondly, her nose scrunched when she was angry.

Anybody would notice a girl’s nose scrunch when she was angry, surely?

In second year, he announced that this would be the year she would want to marry him too. Alas, no luck. If anything, this year, she came prepared with snarky remarks to his teasing. It made him swoon.

In third year, Lily Evans overheard the boys whispering in the common room.

“What are you four planning?” She had asked, plopping down beside her lanky, slightly edgy looking best mate Remus. She avoided James’ eyes.

“Look at this, Mrs. Prongs come to join the party.” Sirius chuckled, and James punched him in the arm.

“Mrs. Prongs..?”

“SIRIUS.” James hissed at his friend who was doubled over.

In fourth year, she had begun to tolerate him. The teasing from Sirius was what did it. James was bad enough, his almost-brother was as relentless as him, but for different reasons.

“Prongs and Lily, sitting in the Whomping Willow, S-N-O-G-“

“Sirius!” Lily and James shouted in unison, equally red.

Fifth year changed them both. This was when Lily realized Remus was a werewolf. She swore secrecy, and promised to tell nobody else, as long as she lived.

James had already known. Once a month he was running in the woods as a stag, pushing his half-wolf friend around playfully with his antlers- or should I say prongs? ;)

In sixth year, Remus Lupin noticed Lily sitting in the stands, watching Gryffindor’s quidditch practice.

“What’s got you here? Marlene isn’t at practice today?”

Lily had turned a shade almost as red as her hair. “Oh Remus, don’t make me say it,” she hissed. Remus was in a fit of giggles.

“You fancy James!”

“Hush!” And she whacked his arm with her textbook.

To be honest with herself, this was not the beginning of how she felt for James. It had been a fluttering feeling in her tummy when she noticed him in the common room a few weeks earlier, sweater sleeves rolled up, reading over the quidditch signups. His messy hair, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose..

But, anybody would notice the way a boy’s sleeves were rolled up, exposing brown skin and pretty veins, surely?

Lily never knew this, but James had noticed her watching him. He kept the smirk to himself. He felt the flutter too. Ah yes, twitterpated.

Sixth year was also the year they learned how to cast a patronus. A silver doe shot from Lily’s wand on her first try, which elicited squeals from the girls and cheers from the boys. The deer pranced around the room, as if looking for something. As if missing something.

James purposely disrupted the class that day, so he could be sent out. It cost 50 points, but he didn’t care. He knew as soon as he cast the stag that would shoot from his wand everybody would know, and he just couldn’t do that to Evans.

In 1977, when the Marauders and co. went on their camping trip, James and Lily really had only stayed up talking that night, despite the somewhat knowing looks Sirius tried to pass to James in the morning.

It had been late, after Remus had come out, and the other girls crashed in their tent. Sirius had gone down to the beach after him.

“Sirius ought to leave him be, reckon that was difficult to admit..” and James scratched the back of his neck. Lily had turned to him then. Their eyes met.

“Are you joking? They’re both gay, you idiot. They’re very clearly in love. Look at the way Sirius looks at Remus, he looks at him the way I look at you.”

Their kisses had been hot and heavy in the darkness of their tent, but that was it. Kisses the two had waited far too long for.

That night, James admired the girl lying beside him. He pulled out his wand and cast his patronus, and due to the size of the tent the stag was tiny, dancing over their heads. Lily blushed and cast hers. For the first time, the doe wasn’t searching anymore. She had found the stag.

Their relationship was as expected. Letters all summer, Lily even taught her boyfriend how to use a muggle phone. Then, in the autumn, they were all over each other. Holding hands in public, snogging in broom closets,

“You are foul!” Lily had giggled, smacking her boyfriend on the hand as it slipped up her skirt in potions.

“What was that, Princess?” He murmured, and she couldn’t argue with him anymore

James admired her every minute he had the chance. How she looked reading, sleeping, spilling tea down her sweater, and especially how she looked at him with her heavy, fluttering eyelashes.

Because, how could he not admire the prettiest girl in the world when he was on top of her?

After they graduated, they immediately moved in together. Due to the war, Lily promised her muggle parents she would be safer. Although they didn’t understand (or like) the idea of their daughter fighting a war, they let her go with warm goodbyes.

They fought. They attended order meetings. They had lunch with Peter and Sirius and Marlene and Mary and Dorcas when they could. They fretted over Remus’ whereabouts. They paced.

Lily proposed. Well, I suppose James proposed first every damn year at Hogwarts, but she meant it for real that time. They were married by the fall. They invited everybody still alive, and they danced, and they seemed to glow under twinkling fairy lights. They had cast their patronuses again that night, just so the doe and the stag could dance over their heads.

“Reckon they like each other?” James smirked, and Lily just laughed.

When she found out she was pregnant, James slung her over his shoulder and spun around with her, and they laughed. They laughed until they cried because holy shit, we’re having a baby!

He talked to her belly every time he had the chance. “Hello little boy-“

“Could be a girl,” Lily objected, leaning against the headboard, guiding James’ hand with hers over to where the baby was kicking.

“Right. Whatever they are, they’ll kick ass on the quidditch pitch, huh bub?”

In July, with a scream and a cry and a push, a slimy baby was placed on Lily’s chest. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe she was here, with this boy who chose her, looking at their beautiful boy. James was right, and he was ecstatic.

“A son! I’ve a son-“ and then he was too choked up.

They taught Harry how to hold his head up, they both tried to get him to say “Mumma” and “Dada.” They took polaroids of his drooly smiles and his giggles. They took pictures of Uncle Moony and Padfoot holding him. They had a picture of Uncle Peter with Harry on his hip, and the pen on the bottom read ‘future chess master ;)’

When they went into hiding, their only real fight was about whether Remus was the spy.

“He’s our friend,” Lily had argued, angrily picking up baby toys from the floor and putting them into the toy bin.

“But he’s a were-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Lily said, tears threatening her waterline. “Remus is a good man. He’s as good as you or Peter, or Sirius. He is our friend. He’s my friend. He would never.”

And although that night they fought, James still told Lily to take the baby and run, because even though they were angry, he’d die before he ever let Voldemort touch her.

“James, wait, I’m sor-“

“You and me, right Lily?” His voice was strained. He almost couldn’t look at her. At the fear in his eyes that reflected in hers- the eyes he had to see every time he looked at his beautiful son. He wanted to run with her, but he knew he couldn’t. “Take Harry and go. It’s him. I’ll hold him off.”

Lily Evans made it upstairs by the time the front door was blown open. Harry had been asleep. She cradled him in her arms, preparing for the blast of the door being opened.

“Harry, Mumma loves you. Dada loves you. Be brave, Harry.”

James Potter died thinking Lily Evans had made it out alive. It wasn’t until the stag saw a familiar silver doe at the edge of the woods, waiting for him, that he knew.

—

#imsosorryyall

#im fucking crying #why did i write this #lily evans #james potter #atyd #fashion #fiction #novel #harry potter headcanon #marauders headcanon #jily headcanon #jily love #patronus

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years

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Hi would you like some rage about She-Ra season 5?

If the answer is no, please don’t click below. For real. Really for real. I’m not looking to piss in anyone’s Cheerios. I think if you were satisfied (or better!) with the show, that’s fantastic and I envy you. As I have always said, love what you love. My opinion is mine and means precisely nothing beyond that. If you think you may be even a little bummed reading about how someone didn’t like it, skip this post and go on with your day, I promise you’re not missing anything worthwhile.

IN A SIMILAR VEIN: If -- before, during, or after reading -- you feel inclined to argue with me, I am begging you to please not. I cannot begin to tell you how much I don’t want to be argued with on this right now. I’m still extremely disappointed and cranky, and I’m not much in the mood to have a measured, reasoned debate about my feelings. Much as my opinion has no bearing on you, your opinion has no bearing on me, and as I’m giving you the option to opt out, I’d appreciate the same courtesy. If you want to write your own post on your own blog, go nuts! Just please leave me out of it. I PREFER TO BE CRANKY AT TELEVISION SHOWS THAN PEOPLE.

The rest of you, come on down. I don’t promise coherency, but I DO promise a lot of stuff said in all-caps!

---

Hello! Thank you for joining me! We watched the remaining few episodes of She-Ra last night! I hated them! Yaaay!

What did I hate? OH HO HO MANY THINGS FRIENDS MANY THINGS. It’s not just stuff from the final couple of episodes either, I want to clarify. It’s the entire final season, settling on last few episodes like the freshly fallen snow on your front lawn that some frat boys decide to pee their names into. By the time we’d gotten to these last episodes, there was really nothing left for me but confirmation of all the shit I’d come to hate. SO THANKS I GUESS FOR PROVING ME RIGHT

Which isn’t to say there was nothing to enjoy in the final episodes! There was!

5. She-Ra’s Triceps. GET BUFF GIRL. I LOVE how Adora and She-Ra look similar, but very much not identical. Adora’s no slouch when it comes to physical stuff, but they go the extra mile to show us how She-Ra is that much more. HOW RARELY DO YOU GET TO SEE A WOMAN WITH MUSCLES. I’ve been nothing but impressed by the ways the show drew the line between Adora and She-Ra, and however I felt about its handling of other elements, it didn’t let me down here.

4. Sometimes A Family Is A Twink, A Lizard, And Their Imp Baby. I don’t have further commentary on this, and I need none.

3. Welcome Home, Daddy. THIS WAS SO SPECTACULAR. Glimmer had, I would argue, the most realized arc in the story. It was so gratifying to see this as a culmination, not just of her own struggle with her magical power and ability to harness it, but her willingness to do what needs doing, however personally difficult. That was a stumbling point Angelica could never overcome, continually trying to micromanage and protect Glimmer rather than trusting her and recognizing her for the asset she was. Also though, more succinctly: YESSSS BITCH

2. A Shanty! THIS WHOLE SCENE WAS PERFECT NO NOTES. Just the right blend of silly and sincere, a genuine delight as even brainwashed Mermista had had enough of Sea Hawk’s shit, AND so much more clever than it seemed at first glance. THIS IS THE ONLY VALID HETEROSEXUAL RELATIONSHIP IN SHE-RA I AM NOT TAKING QUESTIONS AT THIS TIME

1. Shadow Weaver. SHADOW FUCKING WEAVER. What a complicated, fascinating character, bar none the most interesting in the entire series. I do think they pulled their punch right at the very end with her, but I AM capable of remembering I’m watching a kid’s show, so I can only get so disappointed about it. Mostly, she remained a beautifully morally complex character, and she was one of my greatest personal delights from beginning to end*.

(*) Boy did this show have one single solution for mommy issues though.

THAT WAS ABOUT IT. So let’s get to why we’re all really here, and that is MY SCREAMING OH MY GOD WHERE DO I BEGIN

Nah, I know exactly where to begin.

GLIMMER AND BO JESUS MCTRISKET I AM GOING TO EXPLODE AND SHOWER THE UNIVERSE IN THE SHRAPNEL OF MY HATE

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

WHERE DID IT COME FROM

HOW CAN I SHOVE IT BACK IN THE HATEFUL SPEWHOLE THAT SIRED THIS BULLSHIT

WHY WHY IS THIS HERE WHY IS THIS IN MY FACE WHERE MY EYES HAVE TO SEE IT FUCK ME SIDEWAYS THIS IS THE MOST UNNECESSARY SHOEHORNED IN HET ROMANCE FUCK A DOODLE NONSENSE I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO BEAR WITNESS WHAT IS IT DOING IN THIS OTHERWISE EXPONENTIALLY GAY CARTOON

WERE YOU PANDERING TO THE STRAIGHTS

WHY ARE YOU PANDERING TO THE STRAIGHTS I ASSURE YOU WE ARE COVERED BOTH HISTORICALLY AND FICTIONALLY

ALSO NEED I REMIND YOU THAT YOU HAVE ALREADY ACHIEVED HETEROSEXUAL PERFECTION

NO MERMISTA NO WE ARE NOT ALL JUST LIKE OKAY WITH THIS

Oh my FUCKSTICKS, I could’ve rolled with so much more that angers/disappoints me about She-Ra’s ending if every single thing I feared about this hadn’t proved true.

AND. IT. WAS. SO. UNNECESSARY.

What exactly did pairing off Glimmer and Bo do for the story? For their characters? THIS IS THE PART THAT’S STABBING ME IN THE DELICATE WEBBING OF MY TOES. Because -- COME WITH ME A MOMENT SWEET ANGELS -- because I was under the impression that, oohhhh, I dunno, FRIENDSHIP WAS A HUGE FUCKING IMPORTANT PART OF THIS PASTEL HELLSCAPE

Is it, She-Ra? IS IT REALLY???? When not one but BOTH of your childhood friendship pairings end in romance? When you close out your five seasons with romantic relationships so painfully and specifically sown across the character landscape like an overzealous gardener turned loose on the world?

You know what you have at the end? DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID

THIS ISN’T A BEST FRIENDS SQUAD IT’S A DOUBLE DATE THAT NEVER MERCIFULLY ENDS

And again I ask, Why?? What was it about Glimmer and Bo’s relationship that needed them to become romantic? What was LACKING that this was the solution?

THIS IS WHAT MAKES ME LOSE MY GODDAMN SHITTING MIND I AM SO FUCKING DONE WITH THIS INSIPID MYOPIC TRASHBAG OF A CONCEPT

I believed She-Ra’s entire premise about friendship, I believed it wholeheartedly, and I’m so PISSED that at the close of day, narratively, it swept it all the bin. AND YES, YES IT DID, otherwise, WHY IS IT THERE. It serves no story-based need, it serves no character-based need, it has no NEED at all. So is it meant to be a “reward” to Bo and Glimmer for winning the war, as if their lifelong friendship were not reward enough? Is it meant to show they’ve walked through the flames and emerged with stronger, deeper bonds, because of course a relationship can only go SO deep without fucking. There’s no avenue to Romantic Relationship that doesn’t simultaneously point to something lacking in Platonic Relationship, AND I AM FURY PERSONIFIED

I am so tired of this. I’m SO TIRED of this.

And it didn’t need to be there. They didn’t even TRY to give us a good reason. That may be the part that makes me the angriest. Of COURSE they hook up romantically, of COURSE their platonic love would grow into “more”.

Fuck YOU, She-Ra. I thought you were better than that. YOU WERE SO CLOSE TO BETTER THAN THAT

THEN THERE WAS CATRA

I get it, I guess. I mean, I think it’s shittily written, but I GUESS. Honestly, end of day, I just don’t care about Catra enough to really get too angry about it, particularly when as I’m so fucking incendiary over something much more important to me. But it’s also the show’s greatest creative failure, and even if I HADN’T gotten angrier at other choices, it would’ve still cut its own legs out from under it.

Catra’s “redemption” was weak and sad and did a disservice to her and everyone involved. She started self-centered and shitty, and she ended just as self-centered and shitty, only we’re fine with that now. She learned nothing and changed nothing, but also nobody ever demanded it of her, so I can only lay so much at the character’s feet. The problem is ultimately creative, where I think Noelle Stevenson got lost in her own love of the character, and somewhere along the way forgot that if you take them out that far, you have to be willing to walk them the long road back. Compare to poor Glimmer, for fuck’s sake, whose greatest sin was being desperate enough to be manipulated by the character whose entire fucking DEAL is being THE manipulator. How much shit did she get for that? How long was she punished? Meanwhile Catra becomes THE Big Bad for a while, nearly unravels all of reality in a fit of supreme lesbian angst and self-pity, directly leads to the death of the planet’s ruling monarch who also happens to be GLITTER’S MUM and DIRECT FRIEND TO THE SHOW’S HEROES, but that’s fine, you did one sorta good thing one time and even though it was also wrapped in a thick film of self-pity and a final fuck-you at Adora, all is forgiven!

Speaking of, Adora suffers just as much from stunted growth. From the beginning, her thing was control, unable to free herself from the responsibility of everything and everyone. What did we have at the end? Adora as the only one who could save everything and everyone. Yeah, they kept asking what it was SHE wanted, BUT THEN SHE NEVER ACTUALLY GOT TO CHOOSE. NOT activating the failsafe wasn’t an option for her, and while she wound up not having to die to do it, even that wasn’t her choice in the end, it was Catra’s. (Don’t even get me started on her nth hour “You love me?” fuckery when it wasn’t once for one single second shown to be a question of such life-turning importance.)

All of which could be interesting! That Catra and Adora went through all this, came so far to wind up right where they started? AWESOME. LOVE IT. FUND IT. But really all that happens is nobody minds now that Catra’s a self-involved little shit and tee-hee another Best Friends Squad Mission being bullrushed by Adora within five minutes of ending the last one isn’t that funny?

I can’t even dig much enjoyment out of Adora and Catra as a trope subversion (if one of them was a male, their romantic involvement wouldn’t have even been a QUESTION), because the show lost its fucking mind with romantically pairing everybody off in the final five minutes. WHICH BRINGS ME RIGHT BACK TO MY PREVIOUS SCREAMING SO I’LL STOP THERE.

There was other stuff, of course. I think it was a TERRIBLE decision to spend the last season with the focus split between the two groups of rebels, and writing half the cast into brainwashing. I think the Nettossa and Spinnerella stuff was wasted and lacked any punch at all because the show for some reason or another couldn’t be bothered to let us spend any time with them to care. The waste of Scorpia and Mermista especially (to people named Jet Wolf who are me) was fucking CRIMINAL. Speaking of Scorpia, wouldn’t her showdown with Bo have been so much more poignant if they’d had really any kind of interaction before that moment to build from? (Sure, it’s Scorpia, so if you’re going to sell the lack of context with anyone it’s her, BUT ALSO.) Hey, remember Huntara? No? NEITHER DID THE SHOW.

All my details aside though, MY MANY MANY MANY DETAILS, what kills/rages me most about She-Ra was how so much potential from the first four seasons was just flushed away. Whether it was the creative team shooting itself in the foot or corporate pressure and rushing from Netflix, I don’t know. I don’t CARE. This is the show I was given, so this is the show I have, and that kind of fall after that kind of potential doesn’t just irritate me, it makes me SAD. I wouldn’t be this disappointed if I didn’t think it could have been -- WAS -- so much more.

Time will tell if I can separate out the final season from how much I loved those that came before it. I like to hope so, because I did love it intensely and loved whenever I got the chance to really dig in and talk about it.

WHATEVER ELSE I SUPPOSE I WILL ALWAYS HAVE THIS

Again please remember that I am not at present looking to argue or debate my feelings and opinions. I get to just be angry and disappointed, as a treat!

#jet wolf watches she ra #a novel by jet wolf #ANYWAY THAT'S ENOUGH ENERGY SPENT ON THIS CHILD'S CARTOON FOR ONE 24 HOUR PERIOD

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writingfortoomanyfandoms · 5 years

Text

Neighbourhood Barbecues

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Summary: Its been a rough couple of months for him so he returns home at the plea of his mother and gets reunited with a distant friend from school

Requested: It won the vote so I guess it kinda was

Warnings: Swearing, it’s also excessively long so I figured that deserves a warning as well

A/N: I’m actually really happy with this one, I loved writing it and that’s probably why it’s as long as it is. I hope you guys like it as much as I do! This is another fic it would be cool to do spin-off blurbs for so if you have any spin-off requests then just let me know! Please remember to let me know what you think, if you liked it then please reblog or comment or send me an ask telling me so, I love hearing from you guys, getting those messages honestly make my day :)

Calum regretted coming.

If it wasn’t for the facts that he’d promised his friend he’d make an appearance and that he’d already rung the doorbell and that his arm was aching from the beer he had brought, he would have scarpered.

He figured he’d suffer through awkward conversations with old acquaintances for a bit and try to ignore the fact that most of them were just showing an interest in him because of his fame and then hang out by the food table and make use of the fact the food was free and so was the alcohol being provided.

And then he’d return home and find a new Netflix series to start binging and there he’d try and ignore his mother’s disappointed eyes on him.

God, she would be disappointed in him.

She had been so excited when Calum had said he was going to a barbecue today. He had been trapped inside the house almost the whole time he had been home so her excitement at his plans was understandable. He knew how worried his mother had been about him recently. He didn’t want her to hurt anymore than she already was.

He supposed he could stretch the awkward socialising from an hour and a half to two hours, just to keep his mum happy.

“Hey! Caleb said you’d be coming!” The smile on the woman’s face was wide and Calum desperately tried to place her, knowing that she must have been someone he went to high school with.

“Yeah, hi - he said it’d be fine if I came along?” He offered awkwardly.

“Yeah, course it is, Calum!” Yeah, he should definitely know who she was judging by her familiar tone of voice. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Who is it, bro?” Another voice called from the hallway and the woman who Calum assumed to be the hostess of the barbecue turned around to grin at the other woman who was walking down the hallway, a bottle of beer in her hand.

“Calum - you remember Calum right?”

“How could I forget Calum! He once kicked a football at my head,” this woman he recognised.

She looked different from the last time he saw her - though that was understandable considering that they had last seen each other in high school. She wad a little taller than before, held herself with more sureness but the smile on her face was the same, as were her eyes.

Yeah, perhaps she was difference appearance-wise but her mannerisms remained the same.

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Not until I get pay back and kick you in the head with a football,” Y/N assured him, placing her arm around the hostess’ shoulders. “I came to tell you that Rowen decided he’s a real man and so he’s in charge of the barbecue. I figured you should know before... you know, the house burnt down or something.”

“Fucking hell, again?” The other woman groaned, turning back to Calum. “Make yourself at home, Cal - it’s nice to see you again.” Y/N’s eyes fell onto Calum as her friend walked away, a half smile tugged at her lips.

“Admittedly it’s probably my fault - I’m on Rowen duty today but sometimes it’s just so funny to watch him when he’s pissed.” Calum was surprised by the laugh that her words caused in his chest.

“He still can’t handle his alcohol?” Calum asked in disbelief.

He remembered Rowen from high school - he was the life and soul of most of the parties held once their year group had discovered alcohol. Rowen was famous in school for being a complete lightweight and not giving a shit about it, and it was comforting to know that nothing had changed.

“I think he’s actually worse than before,” Y/N confided, turning to walk back through the house. She paused when she realised Calum wasn’t following and looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “You coming? I mean, I know we kinda annoyed you in high school but I promise we’re not quite as insufferable anymore.”

“You didn’t annoy me in high school,” Calum protested, following Y/N into the house.

“Dude, we pissed off everyone. We were all so fu-hecking annoying but we’re slightly less so now.” Y/N scoffed.

“’Hecking’?” Calum quoted, his eyebrows raising.

“Oh right - yeah, these barbecues are a no-swearing zone. Didn’t Caleb warn you?” Calum shook his head and Y/N let out a breath. “You have been gone a while, Hood - a lot’s changed since you got too good for us small towners.”

“That’s not what happened,” Calum immediately said and Y/N let out a loud laugh that Calum wanted to join in with.

“I’m joking, Cal.”

“So... you say a lots happened - fill me in,” Calum insisted as they moved out into the garden of the woman’s house, filled with the familiar smell of barbecue food.

Y/N led Calum over to the table of drinks for him to deposit his beers down on.

“Well... that’s the reason over there that we’re a no-swearing zone,” Y/N nodded over to the other side of the garden.

A man he vaguely recognised was over there holding a toddler in his arms as he chatted with some friends - Caleb included.

“One of your lot has a kid?” Calum asked and Y/N nodded in confirmation, tipping her beer bottle up and finishing it off, throwing it into the trug being used as a bin and getting herself another one, seeing Calum’s look she scoffed.

“It’s my second, Cal, don’t worry,” she picked up a bottle opener and Calum picked up his own bottle, holding it out for her to take the top off of. “But, yeah, Alistair had a kid - she’s two years old and the sweetest child in the world. Her mum, however, is a complete bitch who we don’t talk about,” Y/N filled in and Calum nodded.

“Okay so... what else is new, then?” Y/N looked at him with cocked eyebrows. “Come on, I don’t care about you judging me for being so out of touch with the people I went to high school with but I don’t want all of them to think I’m a complete arsehole.”

Y/N watched him for a minute with a level gaze before nodding.

“Alright - well, I can’t imagine this coming up in conversation but Rowen is asexual and aromantic, a new thing. He cried when he told us and his parents weren’t best pleased either so it’s still a bit of a touchy subject anyway-”

“Why did his parents care?”

“Oh, none of us know. Rowen doesn’t either but hey ho, his parents always were dicks.”

“I thought it was a no swearing zone,” Calum deadpanned and Y/N raised her middle finger at him.

“Kind of an important one, actually but, you know...” Y/N gestured at the woman who was hosting the barbecue who was stood at the barbecue with the rather drunk person who Calum assumed to be Rowen.

“Yeah - I can’t remember her name, though,” he admitted a little sheepishly.

“Good - that’ll serve you well. They came out as non-binary a few years ago and while they’d understand you getting it wrong because you haven’t seen them since, try and make an effort?” Y/N suggested and Calum nodded, guilt flooding him from the assumption he had made. “Hey, don’t worry, Cal, you’re not the first one and you will make an effort so Charlie - that’s what their name is now - will be understanding.”

“Y/N!” The woman looked away from Calum and towards Alistair who was calling her.

“Yeah?”

“Can you watch her for a moment?” He requested, approaching her and Calum. Caleb was behind him, clearly only now noticing that Calum had arrived and he raised his hand in hello before walking towards Charlie and Rowen, clapping his hand on Rowen’s shoulder and Calum could hear him let out a loud laugh.

“Of course I can!” Y/N beamed, handing Calum her beer, who took it so that Y/N could take the young girl from her father. “Heya, sweetheart, you look exhausted,” Y/N chuckled. The young girl nodded tiredly against Y/N’s body.

“Who’s that?” She mumbled, her eyes only half open and fixed on Calum.

“That’s Calum - he’s a friend from school and he’s back in town for a little while.”

“C-Ca-Cal.” The girl struggled to say his name and Calum felt a smile come to his lips.

“Just Cal is fine, buddy - what’s your name?” He crouched down a little to be more on eye-level with the small girl.

“Emma,” she mumbled.

“It’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

“You know, Em, Cal’s really talented,” Y/N stated and Calum had to restrain himself from letting out a sigh, having reserved a slight hope at the back of his mind that Y/N wasn’t going to bring up the band and hark on his ‘talents’. He was having a nicer time than he had expected talking with his old distant school friend. He didn’t want it to be ruined now.

“Why?”

“Cal used to play football for the school team.”

“With Uncle Caleb?” Emma asked, her head perking up in interest.

“Yeah, that’s how we all met Cal, through Caleb.” Y/N confirmed.

“And I was in some of your classes.”

“Yeah but you only started talking to us because you made friends with Caleb on the team,” Y/N pointed out and Calum gave a conceding nod of his head.

“Where?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” Y/N asked, her attention returning to Emma, who was reaching a little for Calum. He placed their drinks down and took Emma from Y/N’s arms.

“Where?” She insisted.

“Where has he been?” Y/N offered and Emma nodded, curling up closer to Calum, her eyes drooping tiredly.

“I’m in a band, Emma.”

“A band?”

“Yeah - we go touring so I left Australia a while ago which is why I’m... never here.”

“But he’ll be coming to our barbecues, right Cal?” Y/N said, grinning at the bassist.

“What?”

“This is a weekly thing, Cal,” Y/N laughed. “Come on, Caleb must have told you.”

“I guess he mentioned something.”

“So you’ll come, right? Next week it’s at Rowen’s? He probably won’t be quite as drunk.”

“I - uh - I don’t have his address.” Calum mentioned and, truthfully, that was the only thing he was thinking about.

Because he’d spent half an hour with these people - with Y/N and her friends. And it was like he was back in high school, with nothing more to worry about than just one friend being a lightweight, than thinking of a funny comeback to a friends response.

It was the first time since leaving high school that he’d felt truly normal. Surrounded by people like Y/N. People like Caleb, Charlie, Rowen, Alistair and little Emma. Their other friends who he hadn’t yet managed to speak to.

“I’ll text it to you, Cal - and Emma will bring her trainers and you and Caleb can continue her football lessons.”

Yeah, Calum reckoned he could manage a few more barbecues.

///

“Calum! No way man! When did you arrive back in town?” Calum was surprised by the hug Rowen brought him into.

“Ro, dude, seriously how pissed were you last week?” Alistair asked, raising his hand at Calum from behind Rowen in the hallway.

“Were you at Charlie’s barbecue as well?” Rowen asked in shock, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember.

“Yeah, we actually had a very similar conversation and hug last week as well. It’s still good to see you again, though,” Calum told him, a smile on his face. Rowen stood back and allowed Calum to enter into his house. “You doing alright, Alistair?”

“Not bad, Calum. Yourself?”

“Yeah I’m good, thanks.”

And it was true. For the first time in a while, Calum was actually feeling good. He felt normal. At Charlie’s barbecue Y/N and Calum had exchanged numbers and they had been texting almost all week, about irrelevant things. It had started with Y/N sending him a photo of a dog she had seen on a run in the park that she thought he’d appreciate the photo. It had sparked a conversation and Calum found himself smiling more than before.

The day after the dog photo Y/N had added him to a WhatsApp group chat. She had texted him immediately after, apologising because she had realised she forgot to ask him if he wanted to be added. He didn’t mind at all, it was the only group chat other than the one with his bandmates that he hadn’t muted.

It was almost constantly going and it had taken a couple of days with Y/N encouraging him for him to get in the swing of writing responses.

“Wait - are you on the group chat?” Rowen asked, following Alistair and Calum through his own house. Calum and Alistair looked at each other in evident amusement and Alistair chuckled, shaking his head.

“Come on, man. Y/N has been waiting for you to turn up so that you can take her place in ‘football training’,” Alistair informed him, clapping his hand onto Calum’s shoulder in a friendly gesture and Calum’s heart soared at the mention of Y/N looking forward to see him.

“Oh - about that! I remembered Y/N saying that Emma was into football? And I saw what you were saying on the chat about, y’know, getting her some actual boots?” Calum said awkwardly.

“Oh, Calum-”

“No, no, man... I was just looking through some of my old stuff and I found my first pair of football boots and so I know they’re not much and it’s a kinda crappy gift but...” Calum reached into the bag he found and brought them out as an awkward offering. Alistair looked between Calum and the football boots before nodding.

“If you’re sure then... that’d be great... Emma’ll love them.”

“Okay, uh, cool,” Calum smiled and put the boots back in the bag to pass to Alistair.

“Go give them to her,” Alistair laughed, shaking his head a little. “I’m going to get some beers from the fridge - you want one?”

“Yeah - oh, can you put these in the fridge for me, then?” He asked, holding up the box of beers he had brought with him.

The moment that he stepped outside he felt his heart flood with instant relief, he felt free upon entering Rowen’s garden, surrounded by his new friends. Especially when he caught sight of Y/N. She was running around with Emma and Caleb. Emma was in a swimming costume and a pair of armbands, Caleb in a pair of trunks and Y/N was in a bikini and a pair of shorts, a flannel shirt unbuttoned adorned her shoulders and a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose.

The three of them were barefoot, kicking a football around, Caleb and Y/N taking it in turns to help Emma and ensure she didn’t stumble and fall.

“Cal!” Emma changed course quickly and Calum laughed, dropping his things to the floor to accomidate her rushing towards him.

“You made it!” Caleb cheered.

“I did,” Calum agreed, sweeping Emma up.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Y/N said, her tone a little soft and Calum wished she would take off her sunglasses so he could see her eyes.

An hour later, when food was being served up, Calum joined Y/N by the edge of Rowen’s pool, sitting down with his own legs dangling over the edge and into the cool water. Y/N looked over at him and offered him a grin.

“You stink,” she informed him.

“Well some of us have been entertaining children all day.”

“If you’re trying to bag a spot as being Emma’s favourite aunt or uncle then I’m afraid you’ve already missed the boat and you’re looking at her - she’s more loyal than you’d think.” Calum joined in with her laughter.

“I wanted to say thanks.”

“What for?”

“Y’know... all of this,” he gestured at the people around him and shrugged. “Just wanted to say thanks.”

“It was Caleb who invited you, remember? The rest of us just put up with that decision.” Calum smiled down at his plate of food and shook his head.

“Tell me something?”

“What’s up?”

“If Rowen’s parents were so pissed about... you know... him coming out... why do they let him have all of you guys at their house?”

“Well... he’s their only kid, you know? They’re... trying to get better with it all and... they’re on holiday anyway for the summer so they wanted someone to house watch.”

“It’s weird that you’re all back home for the summer.” Calum commented and Y/N shrugged her shoulders sighing and allowing her head to drop and land on his shoulder. Calum felt his heart rate pick up.

“Well Alistair moved back so Sydney a little after Emma’s mum abandoned them to be with his parents for support and all, and Tate moved here a couple of months ago for a job, and I guess you know why Caleb’s home,” Calum nodded, remembering what Caleb had told him about his mothers health. “Jess recently got together with Tate - but they think none of us know that - so while she says she’s back all summer to spend time with all of us we know that’s just a lie,” Calum laughed a little. “And then Rowen agreed to house sitting in an attempt to appease his parents.”

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you back all summer?”

“Well it’s nice being home and seeing the family, Calum. Not all of us have a rockstar life in LA to be missing out on,” Y/N said with a meaningful glance his way, her eyebrows raised in challenge and Calum understood the meaning behind her words.

“Well I’m glad you’re here,” Y/N’s expression softened as she listen to him and took in his somewhat bashful appearance.

“I’m glad you’re home too, Cal.”

///

“So are you feeling better, Cal? After being back home?” Michael asked his best friend down the phone.

Calum had been in Sydney for approaching three months and for two of a half of them he had been spending going to the weekly neighbourhood barbecues held by Y/N’s group of friends. He had very quickly been accepted into the group and had formed close friendships with most of them, the only two who he wasn’t as secure with being Tate and Jess, but Y/N had assured him that that was because the two of them were too wrapped up in each other at the present moment.

And he and Y/N had gotten especially close. He liked being around her. He appreciated the feeling of contentedness she brought him. He liked that she made him feel normal. He liked that she made him feel wanted as more than just ‘the bassist of 5 Seconds of Summer’.

“Yeah, man… I feel a lot better than I did.” Calum agreed. He was currently walking over to Y/N’s house. It was her week to host the barbecue, admittedly some of the others had had to have it multiple times but it was fair enough seeing as though Y/N’s parents were still home for the summer as well, but had agreed to get out of the house for the day to allow Y/N to play hostess to her friends.

Y/N had joked down the phone that it really was just like being in high school again, having to wait for her parents to be out of the house for her to host a party.

That was another thing, him and Y/N spoke almost constantly. Outside of the barbecues that were fairly regularly scheduled, almost always landing on the same day every week, often at the same time as well, they would invite each other out to get coffee or ice cream or walk down the beach. Much of his summer break from the band had been spent accompanying Y/N when she took Emma to football practice to help out Alistair as much as she could.

Calum would likely never admit it to anyone but it was fairly doubtless in his mind that Y/N was much of the reason he was getting better by being back home in Sydney.

“That’s good…” Michael trailed off and silence fell between them over the line. For the first time since Calum’s somewhat downward spiral had begun, though, it wasn’t an awkward one. It felt as though he could feel the happiness radiating off of his best friend that he was feeling better, the pride that Michael felt in him that he was taking steps towards recovery. “I think-”

“I’ve been-” they began to speak at the same time, the two of them letting out chuckles. “Sorry, what were you…”

“No, no, you go first,” Michael said. Calum wasn’t surprised by that response. He hadn’t been willingly speaking much in the past few months before returning home so his friends encouragement made sense.

“I was just going to say I’ve been writing again.” Calum admitted as he began the walk up Y/N’s front garden to her door.

“Really?” Michael’s excitement was almost painful to hear and Calum winced, it hitting then (not for the first time) how much his mental state had been affecting his friends.

“Yeah! I was… I was thinking about maybe emailing what I have to you? You can check it out, see if its worth anything, you know?” He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

“Dude, I don’t think you’ve ever written a bad song, even when we were first starting,” Calum was laughing at Michael’s words when Y/N opened the door, raising her eyebrows as she saw Calum on the phone.

“Who is it?” She mouthed.

“Michael,” Calum audily answered.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Oh, shit. Sorry man, Y/N wanted to know who I was talking to,” Calum explained as Y/N stepped back to allow him into her house, mild amusement dancing over her features.

“Wait, Y/N from high school?”

“Yeah, Y/N from high school,” Calum confirmed, giving the aforementioned girl an exaggerated eye roll and Y/N covered her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

“The same Y/N you harboured a crush on for, like, three years and invited to our first concert to impress her?” Michael teased and Calum felt the blood rush to his cheeks, infinitely grateful that Y/N couldn’t hear Michael’s side of the conversation.

“Yeah, that Y/N… plus, at least I invited someone to that who actually showed up.”

“Is this your first concert?” Y/N asked Calum quietly and he nodded. “Showed up and brought friends - remember, Rowen somehow got in.”

“Yeah, remember how she brought a friend who got completely smashed?” Michael remembered at the same time, the coincidental nature of the situation causing Calum to laugh again.

“Is he coming home as well?” Y/N questioned and Calum relayed the question to his friend.

“Ah, yeah that was what I was trying to tell you - we’re all coming back for a couple of weeks. We’ve had our tickets booked for a while but didn’t want you to think we were checking up on you.” Calum explained Micahel’s answer to Y/N who nodded thoughtfully before grabbing the phone from his hand. Calum made a noise of indignation and chased her down the hallway and out into her garden.

“Cal’s having a barbecue at his next week, you should come! And the other guys too,” Y/N invited.

“It’s my fucking house!” Calum complained, but he didn’t really mind, truthfully he was thrilled at the idea of Michael, Ashton and Luke meeting his new friends properly.

“Language, Calum!” Alistair scolded, Emma was giggling in his arms after having heard Calum swear.

“Sorry Em!” Calum called, still chasing after Y/N.

“Yeah, of course they can come! I didn’t realise you were engaged, Mike, congratulations! And Luke’s really got a girlfriend? I figured he was still too awkward to talk to girls. He almost shit himself that time I congratulated him after the gig.” Y/N mused. She turned around and couldn’t stop herself from letting out a yelp of surprise when she saw how close Calum was. “I think he wants his phone back,” Y/N explained. “Yeah, it was nice speaking to you too, Mike… yeah, see you next week then!” Calum had his hand stretched out and while he tried to hide it his amusement from the situation was clear in his eyes. Y/N was reluctant to pass Calum the phone but placed it in his hand nonetheless with an innocent smile.

“She seems like fun.” Michael commented and Calum met Y/N’s eyes as he replied.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.” Y/N’s embarrassment was clear and she excused herself away, joining Jess and Tate, stepping in the middle of the ‘secret’ couple and clapping a hand on each of their shoulders.

Calum and Y/N met again almost an hour later. He was last in line for food - all vegetarian this time since Y/N’s whole family were veggie and Y/N refused to cook meat and they walked together over to where two deckchairs were on the patio outside of her house, giving them a view of their friends.

“You okay?” Calum asked after a moment's silence and Y/N nodded. “You just seem quieter than normal,” he mentioned and Y/N sighed a laugh, leaning to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Sorry - I get a bit nervous when it’s my turn to host,” she admitted.

“Well it’s all been pretty great,” Calum assured her. “Excepting the lack of meat, of course,” he added, nudging her gently and Y/N laughed again.

“Cal?” He made a noise of acknowledgement. “Why… why are you back?” For the first time, the silence between them felt awkward. “Sorry - you don’t have to answer, I was just…” Y/N sat up, shaking her head. “I’ll go.” Calum’s hand was working on its own when it reached out to stop her from standing up.

“Stay,” Y/N looked at him, her eyes a little wide, unsure at his command but she gave hesitant nod. “My mum told me to come back,” he admitted and suddenly their closeness didn’t feel close enough. He wanted the comfort being near her brought him and he tugged her closer.

Y/N didn’t fight back against his affections and moved over from her deckchair to his, allowing his head to fall into her shoulder.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t doing well in LA. I mean, I was. The band was doing great, we were planning for the tour and the next album and everything but…”

“But you weren’t great?” Y/N offered gently and Calum let out a long sigh before nodding.

“I was sad… I was just so sad so much of the time and I couldn’t find inspiration to write, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I didn’t want to go anywhere and I just didn’t feel like me… do you know what I mean?” Y/N gave a wordless nod of understanding, knowing that if she spoke now, Calum would never finish his confession and she got the idea that he needed to get it off of his chest. “And I knew the others were worried about me - Mali wanted me to visit her in London because she thought a change of scenery was what I needed, Ash offered to let me move in for a bit but then my mum called and… she basically begged me to come home.”

“I’m glad she did,” Y/N confessed, rolling over so that they were face to face, her hands gently playing with the curls of his hair. He smiled gently at her, nodding.

“So am I… with you and the others I feel more like me than I have in a while,” he admitted.

“Because we’re all a bit more fucked up than you?” Y/N offered and Calum laughed, shaking his head.

“Because you don’t just see me for the band.”

///

“Am I early?”Calum was equally shocked at seeing Rowen on his doorstep.

The man was the least prepared of the whole group, consistantly late to anything they organised, always forgetting to respond to messages on the group chat and when he did send something it tended to be prefaced by something dumb he had done, he was almost always borrowing food from other people because he would forget to do his weekly shop.

Rowen was an idiot, but they all loved him.

Though it was the aforementioned reasons that their friends gave for not putting Rowen as their accountant, despite that being what his job was.

“Yeah, man - you feeling okay?”

“Yeah - I’m fully going to rub this in all of their faces when they arrive, though,” Rowen declared, entering through Calum’s house before pausing in the hallway and turning back.

“What?”

“I left the beer at home.”

“It’s probably for the best for you, Ro,” Calum mused, patting Rowen on the back. “And I know I said you’re early but there are already some people here.”

Ashton, Luke, Sierra, Michael and Crystal had arrived in Australia two days ago and had barely left Calum’s side the whole time. While they had assured him countless times that they weren’t checking up on him, Calum was well aware that they were, in fact, checking up on him. As a result of his friends suddenly developed clinginess, it was unsurprising that they were already at Calum’s house helping him prepare for the barbecue.

“Y/N also said she was going to try and come a little early,” Calum added after informing Rowen of his band mates presence.

“That was something I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” Rowen added as they moved into Calum’s back garden. “Dude you didn’t say you had a pool!”

“I one hundred percent did, but what did you want to talk to me about Y/N for?”

“Oh shit yeah. Right so, are you planning on telling her you like her or not?”

“Valid question!” Michael called from where he was attempting with Luke to light the barbecue.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered out, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“He’s lying!” Ashton called from where he and the girls were arranging the drinks in the coolers on the table. Calum flipped off his friends.

“It’d be cool if you did because she likes you too.” Rowen informed him and Calum froze.

“She-she does?”

“Please, Y/N is never normally this friendly to anyone,” Rowen scoffed.

“She’s lovely!” Calum argued, growing a little defensive of the girl he had been harbouring a crush on.

“Yeah she is but she’s also a sarcastic bitch a lot of the time,” Rowen pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Either way, my point was that you should tell her.”

Rowen walked away to take a beer from where Ashton, Sierra and Crystal were, leaving Calum stood stock still alone on his porch, his mind racing.

“He’s right,” Ashton said as he approached his friend, passing Calum a beer as he joined him.

“Not you too,” Calum sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Dude, this is the happiest I’ve seen you in months and I know for a fact its thanks to her, I’ve never heard you talk about any other girl in the same way that you talk about Y/N so… you need to tell her.”

“I can’t, Ash. She’s so painfully too good for me that the idea of telling her I like her with the hope of her liking me back is laughable. Actually, she probably would laugh if I told her. Look, you’ll meet her today and you’ll see what I mean.”

“I don’t need to see her to know she’s out of your league but that’s beside the point,” Ashton argued.

“You’re doing a great job at boosting my self esteem and building my confidence, by the way. Have you ever considered going into counseling if the band doesn’t work out?” There was a knock on the door and Calum gave Ashton an incredibly pointed look. “I’m going to get that. When I come back I want you to have learnt how to shut the fuck up.”

Calum walked away from Ashton, his friends infectious laughter following him down the hall and bringing a smile to his face.

“Sorry - I know I said I’d be earlier than this,” Y/N greeted him apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it - the guys were here to help set up,” Calum assured her, taking the box of alcohol from her hands.

“I just need to grab the rest of the stuff from my car,” she smiled.

“Do you need a hand?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll see you out back?” Calum nodded his confirmation and carried the box of booze she had brought out to his garden.

“Did you tell her?” Luke hollered across the garden, everyone but Calum erupting into laughter as the bassist groaned heavily.

“You make me want to slam my face into a table!”

“Don’t do that - you have quite a nice face,” Y/N responded as she came out of the hallway into the garden carrying two carrier bags. Rowen wolf whistled loudly and Y/N struggled with her luggage for a moment before managing to extend her middle finger at him.

“What do you even have in there?” Calum questioned, trying to move so that Y/N couldn’t see his face, which he knew would be red from embarrassment at her compliment.

“I made too much food last night for tea so I brought some leftovers for Al, Emma and Ro. And then I also picked up a bottle of wine for your parents to-”

“To thank them for letting you come over?” Calum interrupted, seeing where Y/N was going and she nodded. “Wow, we really are back in high school.”

“Fuck you,” Y/N groaned. “I’ve met your parents, like, once and we literally have come over and kicked them out of their home so we can be here and have a barbecue instead, I feel bad.”

“Trust me, they like you because they think you single handedly are the reason for me being happy again.”

“Are you trying to say that’s not the case?” Y/N gasped in offense, her hand going to her heart.

“Come on, we both know that Em was at least half the reason.”

“Valid point - I also bought some champagne that was on offer? Figured we could celebrate your band coming back or, if that’s too cheesy then there’s more alcohol for us to drink away our sadness with!” She cheered, bringing the champagne out of her bag.

“I like the sound of option B,” Luke chipped in, joining Calum and Y/N.

“Bro, you look absolutely nothing like I remember you,” Y/N commented, her eyes widening in surprise as she looked Luke up and down.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” Y/N assured with a smile. “I’m Y/N, by the way. Not sure if you…”

“I remember you,” he confirmed, grinning and his gaze slid over to Calum. “Besides, with the amount Calum-”

“Alright, Luke, that’s enough,” Calum had never been more grateful for Sierra’s presence. “Hey, I’m Sierra, Luke’s girlfriend. It’s lovely to meet you.” Calum watched Y/N take her hand, her smile a little more nervous than he had seen it be before.

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you too. Mike mentioned that you and…” Y/N’s face dropped a little, her eyes widening as she seemed to search her mind for the name.

“Crystal,” Calum filled in for her quietly.

“Yeah, of course. He said that you and Crystal would be coming,” she confirmed, turning to give Calum a grateful smile.

“Luke, I need your help with something,” Sierra mentioned and Calum and Luke’s faces both furrowed in confusion until Sierra shot a look at Calum and he quickly cottoned onto what she was trying to do. Calum shook his head, his eyes wide but the couple left, giggling as they did so.

“Everything alright, Cal?” Y/N asked, seeing the panicked and mildly pissed off look on his face.

“Uh, yeah! I was actually going to ask you the same thing, you seem nervous,” he added, allowing his concern to outweigh his own personal worry.

“Ah, I’m just not great at meeting new people.”

“You’ve already met the guys.”

“I never spoke to any of you guys really in high school, though,” she pointed out and Calum nodded a little, conceding to her point.

“You didn’t seem nervous talking to me,” he said after a moment of thinking.

“Yeah, but… I dunno, you’re you, you know? Plus, I had all the others to fall back on if you did decide you hated me so that was less pressure than this,” Calum snorted in laughter.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

“I take pride in it.”

Calum could feel the eyes of his bandmates, their girlfriends and Rowen burning into them as they lapsed into conversation. When there was another knock at the door, Calum was unsurprised to hear someone else call to say they’d get it.

“They’re… they are all acting kind of strange today, right? I’m not just imagining it?”

“Oh no, they’re definitely acting strange.” Calum confirmed.

“Do you know why?” She asked, observing them, though now they had gone into their own individual conversations. Calum had a feeling it was to try and play off that they were watching him and Y/N.

Calum sighed. He had a feeling that it was better to just tell her rather than have Rowen or Luke drunkenly blurt it out, knowing that the likelihood of that happening was quite high.

“I need to tell you something,” he began and his nerves came to hit him flat in the face when Y/N turned to give him her absolute full attention.

“That sounds serious,” she said, a nervous smile on her own face. “Is this a ‘sit-down-with-a-beer’ kind of serious talk or a ‘stand-up-and-shut-the-fuck-up-Y/N’ kind of serious talk?” Calum chuckled, his nerves easing just a slight bit from her familiar mannerisms.

“The second one, but I don’t want you to shut up,” Calum took a deep breath. “In fact, I’d gladly listen to you talk forever,” Y/N’s expression softened a little. “I… I’ve been really lost for the past few years of my life. Perhaps… perhaps I never really knew who I was because of what happened to the band happened so early in our lives that we never got a chance to figure out who we were. And the months before I came to Sydney I thought that… that maybe I wasn’t anyone other than ‘Calum the bassist from 5 Seconds of Summer’ but… when I’m with you I feel like I know who I am,” he explained, his gaze dropping down to his hands. “I thought being home would be shit, just another reminder of who I am and I thought when I went to Charlie’s barbecue that anyone I met there would just see me for the fame and not see me. But… you never did. You saw me for me and you accepted me and looked out for me and cared for me despite me being kind of standoffish that first barbecue,” when he risked a glance up he saw the tears in her eyes and sadness swamped him. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Calum lifted a hand to her cheek to catch the tear that slipped from her eye and Y/N giggled a little, leaning into his touch.

“Happy tears, Cal, I promise - now go on, you were about to profess your undying love for me,” it was teasing, of course it was, but Calum could hear the underlying insecurity in her words, the worry that she may have misinterpreted what he was going to say.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

It was easier to say than Calum thought. He thought the words would be groundbreaking, momentus and earth shattering. But no. It was easy. Simple and sweet and natural. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Everything with Y/N was easy.

Just like how it was easy to allow her arms to wind around his neck.

Easy to place his hands on her waist.

Easy to relax and let her tug him down to meet her.

But easy wouldn’t be the word to describe their kiss. Groundbreaking, phenomenal and otherworldly wouldn’t be quite right either.

No, their lips sliding together, the kiss tasting of beer and spearmint gum, the way that when they broke apart they laughed gently into one another's mouths, it wasn’t any of those things.

Being with her like that was natural.

#courts writings #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5 seconds of summer imagine #Neighbourhood Barbecues #calum hood #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fluff #calum hood angst #calum hood x you #calum hood imagines

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thecorteztwins · 5 years

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These are all scenes from my longass ALT-MARAUDERS FIC PITCH and you don’t need to read the whole pitch because it’s huge and a fic in itself, but basically what’s going on is Xavier ordered Miss Sinister, Madelyne Pryor, Pyro, Haven, and the Shaws to work together as a crack team accomplishing bringing “home” mutants like the Marauders but probably also other stuff too. I don’t really care what their mission is though because it’s about their relationships. Also it looks like ALICE is now the adopted team baby, at least for Madelyne and Haven (maybe Pyro too, I like to think he looks out for her) sorry I don’t make the rules OH WAIT I DO AND I SAY SHE’S TEAM BABY honestly she really fits the theme/the team, given her history? So I’m down for it. Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes since you showed interest in it and since it’s got YA BOY PYRO and @hexiva since you asked about it too, though no obligation to read it, or to read all of ‘em! I feel like you might like “Scientists” though, Hex. CONTENTS A Box Full of Darkness - Sebastian/Haven Canvas - Madelyne/Alice Scientists - Claudine/Haven Like An Old Married Couple - Group Parties, Pleas, and Promises - Pyro/Shinobi Sea & Sky - Madelyne/Haven Awkward - Pyro/Sebastian Stories - Madelyne/Pyro Out of the Frying Pan - Sebastian/Shinobi Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream - Pyro

*** A BOX FULL OF DARKNESS "Do you care at all for poetry, Mr. Shaw?” The ship had a small sitting room that also served as a library, shelves lining three of its walls. The wood, the carpet, the small chair, the atmosphere, all made one forget that one was at sea, and not in fact in the nook of some old college’s study. One had to wonder who had chosen the books. ”No, Ms. Dastoor, I can’t say it has ever appealed to me. Most of the arts do not, particularly the ones that are not visual in nature. I do not see the point of endless stanzas and pentameters to say in metaphor and allegory what could be said much more clearly and succinct in a single sentence of plain simple prose.” ”Then I hope you shall forgive me for sharing a bit---it reminded me of you, you see.” There was one in her hand. ”Ah, what was it? Something from the Decadent movement? Or perhaps some pretencious Bohemian lampooning the upper class from which he came himself? Dare I hope for Ozymandias, perhaps, and will it be Smith’s or Shelley’s?” He was smirking slightly. Perhaps he thought he was being funny. Or it might just be his face. ”You seem to know much about the subject despite a disinterest in it. I rather admire that you took the time to learn,” and she did sound genuinely approving, encouraging, “But, no---Mary Oliver, someone much more recent, and much more recently deceased. I am paraphrasing her here so that my meaning, my reason for seeing you in this, is not confused: Someone once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” He smiled wryly, “Is that how you see me, Ms. Dastoor, a box full of darkness?” “No,” she said, her gaze rising back up from the open pages to meet his, her large dark eyes unreadable as they drank him in, boxes of darkness in themselves, “And I do not agree that evil and suffering---if we must use ‘darkness’ to mean those things, which I also do not agree with, but is what I believe Ms. Oliver may have meant--is ever a gift, no matter what we may get out of it through our own power to come back from it...but I believe you see it this way, do you not?” There was no accusation in her tone, no disapproval. There seldom was. She was only asking, only observing. At least, Sebastian thought, that was what she wanted to seem like. He always suspected her motives were more, and that she was simply trying to disguise the fact she was trying to needle him, rather than making it pointedly obvious as, say, Emma, might. Coward---but then, he knew that of her. “Perhaps in less poetic terms, yes. I’m a practical man, Ms. Dastoor. I used to work in a steel mill. I saw how heat and pressure forged the worthless in the valuable, how the smelting process pulled the precious iron from the rest of the ore and shaped it through force into something useful. The same can be said of people---and I do indeed say it. You have heard me. Is that the darkness of which you speak?” ”The steel you speak of and the shapes it was forced into were valuable and useful...by the definitions of what the humans shaping it needed and wanted. But ore and iron and metal and stone, all these have no intrinsic value, or lack there of. There is no objective difference in the value between steel and granite, glass or diamond, gold or plastic. Thus, too, I believe that when it comes to people, you are deciding what is valuable according only to your standards. But is there objective worth to your perception of strength over your perception of weakness, beyond what is merely your perception?” And yet again, her voice was calm, not accusing, merely observing and asking. Sebastian returned, just as calm, if slightly smug, “Is there objective value in your perception of kindness and morality, Ms. Dastoor, beyond that it is merely your perception?” “I believe it has practical applications, but I have also never claimed an objective standpoint in our discussions, have I? Whereas you have, if I am recalling corrective,” Again, there was nothing aggressive in her tone. She was polite as could be. “I have and I do, but if I am to have it be put to a test of authenticity, I must require you to subject your own beliefs to the same scrutiny. It is not fair for the burden of proof to only fall on my shoulders.” Still also calm, still slightly smirking in his turning around on her. “That is quite true. I apologize,” she relented, ”But, to my original point---while I may disagree with Ms. Oliver’s sentiment, is it not one that appeals to you, one that you share?” Sebastian, too, relented with his smirk becoming a smile, “Yes.” The smile widened, knowing and amused,

“And despite your claim of not sharing the poem’s sentiments, I believe you see me as your box of darkness---and you are excavating me in search of some gift.” He put one hand in his suit pocket and began to depart, though he turned once, the smirk returned, and said, “Do let me know if you find it.” *** CANVAS “It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Alice, interrupting Madelyne’s angry rant, “I’m not real.” Madelyne Pryor had just explosively dragged the girl away from Claudine, insisting that the child shouldn’t have to see that...that...MONSTER...at any point on the voyage home. And if Haven hadn’t stopped her, she’d have ensured that Alice wouldn’t have a chance to, by KILLING the other woman, whom Madelyne now realized was aptly named “Miss Sinister” for fare more than her looks. She might still do it... But first--- “Don’t give me that!” Madelyne suddenly rounded on the girl she had just been comforting, been supporting, been swearing she’d never have to see her abuser---that was what it was to breed and clone someone just for the sake of their violation, abuse, beyond abuse!---again. But Alice had hit a nerve. And for the same reason Madelyne Pryor had so much empathy for her, she now had ire too. Madelyne’s snapping did, at least, stop Alice from crying. She’d been about to start, but the shock of Madelyne’s sudden change halted her in mid-tear. “You’re made of real flesh and blood, right?” Madelyne demanded rhetorically, “And you have thoughts and feelings right? Well you're real! The flesh being shared doesn't make it less real, just not unique. So you’re no less real than someone’s identical twin. And even they’re not really copies, because they have different personalities. So the only way you could be a copy---which you’re not---is if you had the first Alice’s same genes AND same thoughts and personality and everything! And you don’t, right” “Um,” Alice sniffled, a little afraid to correct the woman, who was so fierce whether she was defending Alice or berating her (or at least, it seemed like that was what she was doing...Alice wasn’t sure), “Actually...actually...I get all the memories of the previous Alices, so...so....I am a copy, actually...” “Oh,” Madelyne felt her argument just get ripped out from under like a trick rug someone had pulled. Her empathy came flooding back from the girl...and shame for shouting at her. Especially since she knew who she had REALLY been shouting at. “Well...” Shit, what did she do now? She’d just as good as told the girl she WAS a copy! How did she salvage this now? Come on Maddie, she told herself, What did you need somebody to say to you when you found out? “Listen, Alice,” she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, firmly but gently. Her tone matched. “Yeah, you’re a copy. So am I. But we’re still real people, for all the reasons I said. No one gets to treat use like Claudine---or Colcord---treated you. No one should, anyway. It DOES matter. Being a clone, a copy, it doesn’t make you less alive. And so what if you’re a copy? You’re still YOU. You become more and more your own person with every moment you’re alive. Think of it like...like...” A Xerox. It was what she had compared herself to when she’d told Jean what she was. A Xerox that lost a lot in translation. What memories she’d had were either lies manufactured by Sinister...or worse, remnants from Jean that had bled into her mind when the Phoenix brought her to life. “Think of it like a Xerox machine, okay?” she said, more gentle than ever now, voice soft, and little tears of her own welling up, “When it first comes off the copy machine, yeah, it’s a duplicate...but then you can draw on it. You can write on it. You can crumple it up or throw it in the bin, or you can paint over it until it’s something new entirely on the paper. It’s up to you. It won’t stay a duplicate for long though. Either you can change it...or someone else will. But it’ll happen either way. And you know what?” Madelyne put a hand on Alice’s face, looking into her eyes, “I bet you can paint a real masterpiece.” *** SCIENTISTS “Are you alright, Claudine?” Madelyne had whisked Alice off. Haven had been going to do that originally, but since Madelyne had stepped in, Haven would leave it to her. She didn’t need to be the hero every time, and Madelyne...Madelyne had much in common with Alice. She might be better for Alice. And Alice might be good for her. But Haven’s next concern after Alice and Madelyne was Claudine. Claudine was the victimizer, yes. She had done awful things to Alice, to the Alices before her, to the other children. She had also been a victim too, and no one else here had pity for her now that they knew what she’d been besides that. No one else but Haven. “No moral outrage, Radha?” Claudine smirked slightly. She’d retreated to her lab, and it was hard to tell if she’d been expecting Haven to follow or not. “Of course,” said Haven calmly, “It horrifies and revolts me that those girls were bred only to be used as their hosts, their entire personalities, their souls, displaced for yours. Horrifies and disgusts me. Just as it horrifies and disgusts me, on just as deep a level, that the same was going to happen you if you did not escape in such a way.” “So because I was in danger of something terrible happening, you can excuse what I did?” Claudine sounded curious, mocking somehow, tapping one red-pink nail against a porcelain cheek. “Not excuses,” said Haven still calmly, “But I understand. And I still care if you were hurt just now.” “It’s more than that, isn’t it though?” said Claudine, still sounding amused, “You want to see if I’m wracked with guilt or not, if I hate myself. You want to see if I’m remorseful or tortured like you, like you want me to be maybe. Like you hope I am because it proves I must have some good in me, and you can comfort me and feel good about that. And if I’m not remorseful at all, you want to see why that is, if it’s because of Sinister or if it’s just me. And then if it’s just me...you want to figure me out too. Like you do with dear Sebastian.” Haven blinked, her sole sign of surprise, “That’s quite a lot of conjecture, Claudine. But...you are not incorrect, no. We do like to divide things neatly into victims who could do nothing, who had no power, and the victimizers who are wholly monsters...but that’s not wholly true, is it? Sometimes, the victims can do something. And sometimes, the only thing they can do is a monstrous thing. They’re caught in a Catch 22---either they don’t do the one thing they can, and thus will feel they are to blame for what happened. Or they do it, and they must live with the guilt. I can’t tell you if you were right or wrong Claudine, because---” “---sometimes there is no right or wrong, because the entire situation was wrong, and that’s not your fault.” Claudine finished, “I’ve heard how you talk with the kiddies, Haven. Like those little ones we pulled out of the fight pit. Or the one who pushed his friend forward at the flesh market so he’d get taken instead. You’re just oh so understanding, aren’t you? Seeing things from all sides.” “I would hope so. I certainly try to be. But, I admit, I’m not seeing something right now...why do you say that with what sounds, to me, as a mocking tone? Am I misinterpreting you, Claudine?” “A bit. I’m not mocking you, really I’m not---but I am teasing a little. It’s just so funny, you know?” Claudine’s index finger was next to her smiling mouth, “How you’re always thinking, always watching, and how I’m the only one who notices. What do you think the others would think, if they knew?” “I’m afraid I’m still not understanding you, Claudine. Would you mind helping me by putting it a bit plainer?” “Ever so polite. Come on now, Haven---as well as you know people, you must know they don’t like being put under a microscope. Everyone likes the IDEA of someone who “gets” them, who knows just what they’re feeling and what they need without them ever needing to open up all their vulnerable little insides like clams willfully tearing themselves out of their shells...but when it actually comes along, they don’t like it. Especially if it doesn’t feel earned, or specific to them. Because when they say they want that, they’re thinking of a partner, a lover, one single person who knows them that well because they’ve been with them that long, and love them, just them, that much. But telepaths like me, we get all that without having to see them as special at all. We don’t have to love them or spend time with them to KNOW them. We don’t have to open ourselves up in exchange. That’s why people don’t like us. And that’s---” She stepped close to Haven and bobbed her fingertip just above the other woman’s nose, “---why they wouldn’t like you. Oh yeah, you’re great when you’re sensitive and empathetic and all that, when you just know when someone needs a cup of tea or a shoulder to cry on...but it’s only to a point. Underneath all that soft silk and sweet words, you’re a lot like me---a scientist. We see the data. We gather it. We examine it. We analyze, we classify, we theorize. People call Xavier creepy these days but I think he’s just finally being honest.” She picked up Haven’s right hand, and raised it up, Haven allowing her. “So,” Claudine met her eyes, still smiling, “When are you going to be honest too?” Haven smiled back, with kind sincerity as always, “May I be honest now, Claudine?” “Of course.” Haven put her other hand on top of Claudine’s, sandwiching the unnaturally pale paw between her two soft brown ones, “Everything you say is accurate. But it’s also a deflection. You could have told me that you just did not wish to talk about Alice, you know. I would not have pried or pushed you. You know I never do.” Claudine laughed, and it was the laugh of someone who had just been proven completely correct. *** LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE “We’re going to need you to go undercover for this mission,” Xavier explained to the team, “It’s been decided that Sebastian and Haven will do best in this environment. Naturally, you will be outfitted with image inducers, and provided with all the false documentation required.” He slid a folder across the table to them, explaining, “You will be posing as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. King.” “King. I’m sure you thought that was very clever, Charles,” said Sebastian, picking the folder up and perusing it, “And I see our first names are...Abraham and Lakshmi. Is that a reference to something?” “Lakshmi is the goddess of which Radha is an aspect,” Xavier explained, “And Abraham...well, that just sounds slightly like Hiram, your middle name, or so I thought. I thought it might help the pair of you remember your identities, without being obvious to others.” “Well, thank you Charles. It’s good to know you put a man on the Quiet Council of whom your opinion is so low you think I can’t remember two names for a single night,” said Shaw, getting up and taking the folder with him, without excusing himself. The rest of the team follow suite, save Haven, who of course said the politest of goodbyes and thanked him for arranging the false identities. clever, and our first names “We’re leaving in the next five hours, so there’s hardly any time to prepare,” Sebastian said, plainly speaking to Haven even though he was looking ahead, not at her, “Ms. Dastoor, come with me so that we may discuss the details of our ruse.” Pyro watched the pair like a hawk as they went in a different direction from the rest of the crew. “Jealous, Pyro?” Claudine quipped, “I confess, I didn’t think Sebastian was your type...then again, he does have a certain resemblance to Dom I suppose...” Pyro was in no mood to play, however. “If he touches her I’m a-toast him from the inside out, see if his stinking GUTS are fireproof!” he proclaimed, a small jet of flame emanating from his wrist-shooter for emphasis. “Husband and wife...what’s Xavier thinking?! And she’ll be all alone with him and have to keep up the act if he does anything!” “Don’t sweat it,” Shinobi assured, “ I know my dad. She’s like ten years too old for him to be interested.” Pyro looked confused, “Isn’t she YOUNGER than him?” “Yeah,” said Shinobi. A look of disgust came over Pyro’s face. “Don’t look shocked,” Madelyne told him, “Don’t forget, he dated someone under ten once.” And that garnered...about the expressions you’d expect. Even from Claudine. “Me, you idiots! I was making a joke!” Madelyne clarified, seeing their shock and horror on their faces, “I’m technically like twelve years old max! God, you people...”

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Haven’s conversation in the former’s ship office was not far off. “With all that covered...” Sebastian finished as the last of their act was hashed out, “I have to bring us to what will likely be the most difficult part of this for you. Ms. Dastoor, I am not sure what the norms are for married couples in public in your country, but at some point in the evening...I will most likely put my arm around your shoulders.” “I understand,” said Haven, with the solemn gravity required for such a thing. “There will hopefully be no need for anything else, but if dancing occurs, there is a chance that a hand on your waist will be required as well. Can you allow and “act natural” this without displaying any discomfort?” "This will be tolerable if need be, Mr. Shaw, though not preferable. Will your hand be on mine, outside of potential dancing?” Sebastian cracked a smile, amused, “Husbands and wives don’t hold hands, Ms. Dastoor. I’m shocked you’ve never noticed that. It’s far too intimate for a married couple.” “I’m afraid you lost me, Mr. Shaw. Too intimate for a married couple? Is this a Western peculiarity?” “Men don’t slap their wives bottoms, Ms. Dastoor, “Sebastian explained, “They slap the bottoms of waitresses and flight attendants when their wives aren’t there. Does that help illustrate it better? “Yes, I think I see, Mr. Shaw.” “We probably haven’t had sex in the last 25, 35 years. At least not with each other.” “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” “ Our marriage bed is as dry as the Sah—” “Thank you, Mr Shaw.” It was the first time that Sebastian had ever heard Haven cut him, or anyone, off. He would have taken offense from someone else, but he actually liked this, and smiled. He found it amusing he’d managed to get under her skin enough to prompt such a, for her, dramatic reaction. He’d have to make a note of this. *** PARTIES, PLEAS, AND PROMISES These Krakoa portals were truly a godsend. For many mutants, that was because the X-Men and other agents of Krakoa could now come to them easily and bring them to a safe place. For others it was because it enabled them to keep contact with their family and friends while also not having to leave what they felt was at last a place they could belong. But for Pyro and Shinobi...it meant bar-hopping from Manhattan to Moscow to Mexico! to Bulgaria to Bangkok to Taiwan to Timbuktu! In Manhattan, a cute guy with a nose piercing bought them beers and guided them through the city with his friends, boyfriends, and cousins til 5 AM when the guy’s cousin decided she really wanted spahgetti, so they all went to her house in the Harlem projects where she made them some and then they watched 90s hip hop music videos together. They stayed til 10 AM, then hopped a portal to Mexico, and went to a resort strip, where they got piss drunk again by doing shots with a guy covered in tattoos who might have also been involved with the cartels---Shinobi said he knew him from his dad’s black market business---and then Pyro got in a fight with the bouncer while Shinobi snorted molly in the bathroom stall. Got drunk again in Shanghai, fell off the bouncy dance floor, made friends with some Ukrainian tourists and went back to their hotel, walked in on an orgy, and when in Rome... Next thing they knew, they were in downtown Tokyko, drunk again, running on foot from the Japanese police, each of them holding a marijuana plant in a pot, laughing uncontrollably. Shinobi grabbed Pyro’s hand and they phased through a wall, only to fall down through thin air into an underground parking garage. Their potted pot plants shattered as they hit the concrete, and this just made them laugh more despite their own bruised tailbones as they lay there between a couple of cars. Eventually, when the giggles ran out, Shinobi slurred, “Man, I’m so glad...so glad our last night is awesome.” “Wha?” Pyro said, not sure he’d gotten that right. He was pretty boozy right now, after all, “What’d you mean, last night?

"Well, I, uh,” Shin said, obviously uncomfortable, “I decided...if I can’t hang out w’you anymore...gonna make the last time a good time.”

”Wh--” Pyro started, then his expression soured, “It’s yer dad, isn’t it?”

No answer.

”I knew it! He told you...tol’ you you couldn’t...be mates with me no more...that it?”

Shinobi mumbled.

”Listen Shin...forget him! You a grow...grown man! Y’don’t have to do what that old douchebag says! He’s just a...just a cunt, a right cunt, y’know? Fucking cunt...” Pyro wobbled back and forth, so vehement was he in his support.

”Well, we’re workin together now...” Shinobi said weakly.

”Yer workin WITH him though not for him! And why’re you even doing that? C’mon, he he wasn’t any good to you why should you do anything for him?”

Shinobi looked shocked, then angry, demanding, “How d’you know that?!” "Pfft, I’m not as thick as your old man thinks, you know! I can pick up a hint or two! Especially when it’s you telling me.” Shinobi looked shocked again, and Pyro, still swaying in place, clapped him on the back and explained, “Ah, I don’t expect you to remember but you’ve said a few things when you were as full as the back of a plumber's ute.Don’t worry, weren’t nothing too personal, no specifics, so don’t look so scared alright?” Pyro knew how it was to want to keep some things private, things that hurt, and even drunk he was trying to be sensitive to that, sensitive as someone like him could be. He continued, “And anyway, would have still guessed. He’s such a right bastard to everyone, can’t imagine him being some warm old papa bear behind closed doors. “He’s---” Shinobi started, about to tell Pyro about just how horrible his father was, and then remembered how ‘sympathetic’ Warren had been, and instead went back on the defensive, “Well it’s none of your business!” Pyro shrugged, not deterred, “Sure it’s not but I’m a journalist, so what do I care? It’s been my job to go where I’m not wanted. And you can do what you want, Shinobi me mate, but you can’t expect ol’ St. John to just keep his trap shut on anything, you know that. Calls it likes I see it, me. Thought you liked that.” There was a sobering silence between the pair for a moment, sitting on their butts in the silent garage while the noise of the Tokyo nightlife sang beyond the concrete walls of what they were missing. “Don’t...don’t tell him I said anything,” Shinobi said at last. Pyro promised him he would not. For he heard the plea in his new pal’s voice. *** SEA AND SKY (Context: Happens just after THIS) “Haven?” Madelyne arrived to the rescue, praying she wasn’t too late. She’d thought she was when she saw the wreckage, but she also saw Haven within it. And she wasn’t lying there like a body, she was sitting up, kneeling over...something. “Haven, thank god! Are you injured? Stay right there, I’ll come over and help---oh dear lord.” As Madelyne had begun to move forward, she’d seen what Haven was kneeling over, its half-charred head in her lap. “Is he---” “Yes,” said Haven, calmly, sadly, distantly. Madelyne didn’t ask how; it was obvious, the explosion killed him. She’d thought his powers would protect him from that kind of thing; it must have been specialized to combat that. Freaking Pierce. She didn’t bother to question how Haven was alive, but if she had, she’d assume maybe it was something also designed only to kill humans and Haven had been in a safe place during the explosion and then found Sebastian’s remains after. Something like that. “Alright, come on,” she said gently but firmly, taking Haven by the arm, trying to pull her up, “There’s nothing you can do for him now. He’ll be reborn on Krakoa by the time we go back to pick him up anyway. Wait, what are you doing? Haven, put that down, that’s disgusting!” Haven was carrying the...torso. She was tenderly cradling the great hunk of lifeless meat, needlessly supporting the neck and head as one would for an infant. The sight out Madelyne in mind of a bizarre Pieta scene. Madonna of the Charnel House. “Haven, he’s dead!” “I know, Madelyne, I know. But isn’t it...wrong to just leave a body here? I know he will have a new one on Krakoa, but it still feels obscene to leave the old one unburied, unconsecrated, uncared for.” “Haven...” Madelyne started, not sure what to say. And she thought of something she never had before. What had happened to her body? Her first one? The original? The one that died at the end of Inferno? She’d come back first as a being of pure psychic energy disguised in a human form, a very solid ghost, essentially. That was all she was for a long time, walking and talking and fucking, all while TECHNICALLY still being dead. It was only recently that she had really become flesh and blood again, Jean Grey’s DNA spliced by Arkea into the body of a woman named Ana Cortes, altering the physical appearance of the young Columbian into that of the redhead and allowing Madelyne Pryor’s consciousness to take up residence in it...meaning Madelyne was still, as ever, occupying a body that wasn’t really her own. And her first hadn’t been her own either, just a copy of Jean’s, but she wondered now, what had been done with it? Knowing the X-men, they gave her a perfectly proper funeral. Maybe they even cried. But she wished, perverse as it seemed, that they had thrown her out with the garbage, had the HONESTY to treat her in death as they ultimately had in life, than PRETEND that they really saw her as a loss. She knew they didn’t. Even the ones who knew her FIRST, Rogue and Psylocke and Longshot, who had met her BEFORE they met Jean, even they had wanted that witch instead of her at the end.... “Yeah, okay, just...just put it somewhere it won’t...rot,” she said uneasily, “And we’ll call Sebastian when he...when he wakes up. See what he wants to do with it.” It should be, Madelyne felt, his choice, and Haven agreed. When he did get the call, his reply was firstly being rather disgusted they had kept it, and then, without any emotion, said they should just thrown the “damn thing” overboard. “Funeral at sea then,” said Madelyne as she turned off the phone, “You want to do the honors, Haven? Since it was your idea.” Not like anyone else wanted to be a part of it. Well, except Shinobi, who had suggested launching it like a cannonball and then having Pyro set it aflame in the sky. They thought they were funny. “Would you mind helping me terribly, Madelyne?” Have asked, “I’d rather lower it down gently, and if your telekinesis could that, I would appreciate it...but I also understand if you don’t wish to touch something so gruesome, even psychically.” “I’m not squeamish,” Madelyne smirked. As she performed the task, she noticed Haven was silent. “You’re not gonna...say a few words, or anything?” “Mr. Shaw has told he isn’t religious, so I don’t think he would want it. And he isn’t...well, he isn’t dead. So what does one say, really?” “Hell if I know,” said Madelyne, “It’s funny---I’ve been dead a lot, you’d think I would be an expert on it.” As she began levitating the chunk of meat that once house Sebastian Shaw’s mind and soul, if he had the latter, she continued, “I never even thought about what should be done with my body...which isn’t really even mine now actually, don’t ask...I guess cremation is most appropriate. Fire, you know. It’s kind of my thing, whether I like it or not.” “I’ve always wanted a sky burial, myself,” said Haven. “I’ve never heard of that,” Madelyne sounded very interested. The word ‘sky’ had piqued her interest as a former pilot. “It’s a practice among my mother’s people, the Zoroastrians, as well as many other people, such as Tibetans. The body is placed on a mountaintop to be decomposed naturally by the elements and the animals. In Ancient Zoroastrianism specifically, it was placed on the Dakhma, the Tower of Silence, to be desiccated by the sun and consumed by birds of prey. I realize this sounds ghastly to a Western point of view, but--” “No, no, I get it. You’re just...going back to nature, becoming a part of everything else again, right? That sounds like your kind of thing.” Haven smiled at her, “It is.” Below, the body gently broke the surface of the waves, and Madelyne released her hold, allowing it to sink. “I guess that’s sort of what we’re doing here. Just with fishes instead of birds. Me though...that’s not for me. I don’t want to be a part of everything. Not when I’ve fought so hard...to just be ME.” *** AWKWARD “Hey! You got a problem with me, fuck knuckle?!” Calmly, Sebastian turned his head in the direction of the insult just hollered at him from the the far end of the deck, “Why, several, Mr. Allerdyce. Though most of them stem from the back you quite clearly have a problem with ME.” The Australian was drunk, but Sebastian knew from experience that the scrawny little bastard didn’t need THAT to be rude and belligerent, in particuliar rude and belligerent to Sebastian. Sebastian could ALMOST appreciate the balls on him, if only he could back them up. But without his fire to intimidate---and it could not intimate Sebastian---he really was just like one of those irritating little rat dogs peeking from ladies’ purses to bark challenges at true canines. “You’re damn right I do!” Pyro returned, “For starters, you’re---” And then continued with a really rather impressive listing of all his opinions on just what made Sebastian Hiram Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club---er, Trading Company---just such unbearable company. Sebastian listened in a detached, blaise manner, quite unruffled by the display of uncouth unruliness, and ready to simply throw the fool overboard should he come close enough to grab. “And on top o’ all that, yer a homophobe to boot!” What. Sebastian blinked. Nothing else had surprised him in the entire rambling rant, but this? This he had not seen coming. “Come again, young man?” “You heard me! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re always tryin’ t’get between me and your son! You don’t want him catchin’ the gay any worse than he’s got, eh?” Sebastian stared at him for another moment. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned away, and put his fist up to his lips, as though stifling a cough, “Excuse me.” Did that fucker just laugh?! Pyro wondered. “Excuse my boot up yer arse, you old dicknob! Listen, it’s 2020, and you can’t get away with---” He is laughing! He was indeed. Pyro had not been prepared for this. “Hey...hey what’s so damn funny, huh?!” “Nothing, nothing,” Sebastian waved a hand, but it was clear from his voice he was still trying VERY hard not to laugh again, “Please, do go on about my bigotry. After all, I’m very conservative when it comes to sexual practices, as I’m sure you know.” Something begin to click in Pyro’s intoxicated mind. Something that suggested...he might have made a mistake here. And an admittedly pretty hilarious one. “Oh god yer in the fucking Hellfire Club, “ he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Of course you don’t care about that...” “Well, it was funny though,” Sebastian said, and the bastard was actually SMILING, “Thank you, Mr. Allerdyce, I haven’t been that tickled all week. But, no, I know about my son’s egalitarian predilections with regards to sex and gender----he inherited them from me, after all.” Oh. Oh god. Of all the things Pyro HAD NEVER WANTED TO KNOW OR IMAGINE. A moment ago, Sebastian had been planning to throw Pyro overboard. But now? Now Pyro was considering just doing it to HIMSELF. *** STORIES “And then I got to Cambodia and let me tell you---food is great. People say don’t ask what’s in it but me, I got to ask---it’s my job, see---and yeah, they eat things ‘Mericans never would, or most Aussies, but I say, why’re we judging? We eat pigs and those’re way more intelligent than spiders or half-hatched duck eggs, seems we’re the savages for that, y’know? Not that I’m givin’ up pork any time soon but you know what I’m saying?” Pyro and Madelyne were sitting on the ship’s edge, watching the sun go down over the water, sharing a few beers, talking about what they’d done before all this. “You don’t look like you ever ate pork in your life, string bean,” replied Madelyne, “ But yeah. You say Cambodia? What part?” “ Senmonorom, capital of Mondulkiri Province.” “No kidding! I dropped cargo off there once!” Madelyne exclaimed, “When I was a pilot! Spent the whole rest of the day there since I had the time. Couldn’t understand a word but I loved the---oh no, hahaha, I loved the food!” “Ha! I’m sure it was just noodles you got, love.” “Mmm...pretty crunchy noodles, then...” She paused, and looked pensieve, more serious, “It’s crazy. I can really remember the texture. Not the taste though. He must not have known what it tasted like.” “He?” Pyro asked. Madelyne was suddenly sober in more ways than one, as she explained, looking away, “I never went to Cambodia. I never flew that plane. That cargo never existed, and neither did whatever I ate.” “Well, y’don’t need to lie to me get me to like you, Madelyne.” “No, you don’t understand---they’re not lies. I mean, they are, but---they’re not to me, I---but they are---I hate them, but I forget that they’re not---” She was clutching her hair now, and looked distressed. “Whoa, whoa, hey there mate, what’s the matter?” Pyro placed a hand on her back, trying his best to calm her down, something he wasn’t great at even for himself, “Listen, Maddie...I been through some crazy shit. And I heard crazier on Krakoa from people. We mutants...or, people who are, I dunno, mutant-adjacent like you...we live weird lives. You don’t GOTTA tell me but I’ll believe you.” Madelyne took a deep inhale, “It’s not that. I know you’ll believe me. It’s just...I never really talked to anyone about it, you know?” Pyro was uncomfortable now. He braced himself. He didn’t like going deep, he wanted everything to just be fun and casual. But he wasn’t going to run away or brush it off either. He owed his friends better than that; when he’d been on his last legs with the Legacy Virus, his friend Avalanche had been everything. He knew their value. Madelyne, too, needed to amp herself up for this. “So you know I’m a clone, right? Of Jean Grey?” “It’s come up, yeah.” “I was grown to full adulthood in a...in a vat, basically. But Sinister---the man who did it---didn’t want me to KNOW what I was. Would spoil the plans he had for me and...for me and Scott. So he gave me some false memories. Mostly I had “amnesia” but I could remember being a pilot. To explain the memories of flight and fire that I got from Jean----what memories don’t come from him, are from her. Well, the Phoenix actually...it’s complicated.” “Yeah, I’m getting that. That’s rough, buddy,” oh god he sounded like an idiot, “ But in my book, you still went to Cambodia.” He was answered with an eyebrow quirk from his friend, and so he elaborated, “Look, I’m a journalist, and I’m a writer, and I...I write stories. Even when it was something true, I’m still making a story about it. And when I make it up entirely, it’s as real a story as when I wrote the one about the real event. Ah fuck, I can’t talk, can write a damn novel but I fuck up all the words when I try to SAY it...look, Maddie, what I’m saying is,” He put a hand on her shoulder, “When I met you, it wasn’t who you are now, or who you were when you came out of that vat. It was some human bird running with the X-Men in Dallas. Yeah, I noticed you looked a hell of a lot like Jean and I thought that was who you were the whole time. Then I saw the broadcast they made, where you talked to your husband---shit, wait, he married you and Jean, what the fuck---telling him to find your baby---oh fuck I’m just realizing why you’re so mad at him, holy hell--before you gave up your life to save the world. That’s who I remember. And your memories, real or fake, well they’re a part of you, they’re your stories. Stories...they make us who we are. And even if they were made up, who you are, what you did, isn’t. You’re a story, yeah. So are we all. Fuck I’m really mangling this but you know what I--- oh.” Madelyne was hugging him. Holy shit. Well, he must have done something right, then. Damned if he knew what, though, he thought he’d fucked it up royally with that Trump-level rambling. And when she released him, she looked up at his shocked face, and said, “St. John?” “Y-yeah?” “Eat some damn pork. You really ARE a string bean.” *** OUT OF THE FRYING PAN Sebastian Shaw was indeed generally immune to explosions. And also to fire. He simply absorbed the thermal energy, rendering it harmless to him, if annoying. Afact that a certain Australian had exploited mercilessly. But Pyro was not here now, and so he could not stop the blaze that Shinobi was trapped in, that Sebastian had escaped but Shinobi had not yet. He’s not out yet, Sebastian thought nervously as he watched the blaze, waiting, Must be unconscious, must have hit his head, the fool, idiot boy, told him to stay in super dense form, stupid stupid stupid child He’d burn to death, if smoke inhalation didn’t get him first. He would die, and be reborn on Krakoa. It would be fine. And the suffering, the death, would serve him right, for being so foolish as not to listen to his father, to do the sensible thing and stay dense, why had he let himself get caught there? If you were weak enough to die, you deserved it, deserved it for KEEPS. Sebastian could say that, and admit it applied to him too. He would not DENY the second chance given to him by Krakoa, but nor would he pretend that Emma didn’t earn his death by virtue of being ABLE to do it. If you could do it, if you did do it, then it was within your rights to do it, was how Shaw saw things. Right of power was the only right that mattered, and you did no favors by RESCUING someone, you only prolonged their weakness. Any moment now, he thought, Any moment...if he’s going to make it out, it will have to be soon. There was a horrible cracking as a wood beam crashed down into the flames. The building was coming down. And Sebastian Shaw’s feet were suddenly moving. But was it by his deliberate decision? Or his own accord? He didn’t know. He sprinted into the structure, careful not to let his body bash through what supports remained---it might not hurt him but it would crush Shinobi if the boy was still alive---heedless of the fire, though the smoke stung his eyes, and he knew he was not immune to the effects of breathing it. If he was going to do this foolish, stupid, NEEDLESS thing, he had best do it fast. He scanned the room through the gray haze, and caught a glimpse of purple obscured by some rubble. He tossed it aside, digging through it like a terrier on the scent of a rabbit, until he found his boy, unmoving but still breathing, and hauled him from the wreckage. His body hair sizzling against his heat-proof skin, the sweat turning to steam the moment it left his brow, he gathered the limp form of his son into his arms, and ran from the flames, this time not caring about the beams he knocked aside, ran right through as though they were as intangible as Shinobi could be. When they were out, and a safe distance away from the blaze, Sebastian laid his son down, and waited for him to wake up. As soon as Shinobi did, as soon as his eyes opened, and he began to speak, and to realize what had happened, to start to express his shock at the fact his father had just saved his life at risk to his own... Sebastian’s fist landed against the boy’s ashy face. And again. And again. Until Shinobi was dead. He left the battered corpse where it was, and begin making his way to find the other Marauders, and tell them they needed to head back to Krakoa when most convinient, that Shinobi had died and would be waiting there. And when they arrived and picked him up, Sebastian knew he would have the good sense to say nothing to anyone. And he’d have a talk with him about the importance of handling oneself in such future situations. He really did try with the boy, dammit, but there was just no teacher like experience, he supposed. And painful experience worked best. *** NIGHTMARE DRESSED AS A DAYDREAM

"Look it’s the Marauder!” everyone cried out in awe and admiration as Pyro entered the party. His grim, stoic expression, his majestic stride, were in contrast to the lascivious frivolity around him of the swimsuit-clad crowd, but this difference only made the girls come swarming to him faster. He accepted their fawning adulation, but only cooly, as it was just his due. He was, after all, the handsomest, most power, Supreme Mutant, and this was all normal and natural. It was only when he began passionately lip-locking with Jean Grey on the hood with Jean Grey that-- Wait, what? This was wrong. This was so wrong. It had to be a dream, but even then it was WRONG. He’d never had a dream of this kind about a woman in his life, let alone Jean Grey. And if he was going to, why would it be JEAN? That felt extra wrong, given that he was pals with Madelyne now, was this some kind of weird-- “GET OFF ME!” cried a man’s voice, and Pyro broke away from the embrace, looking up. Some several dozen feet away, Fabian Cortez struggling with an amorous Avalanche, who seemed to have been engaged with the same activity with the redheaded ‘Supreme Mutant’ as Pyro just had with Marvel Girl...and Dom was wearing the same outfit Jean was. “Oy, what in the--” Pyro started to demand, when suddenly a huge head ---Mr. Sinister’s head, specifically-- erupted from the ground. It was bedecked by yet more scantily clad girls, with a throne on top it in which sat Claudine, being accosted by them, and she looked as confused as Pyro and Fabian were, confused and horrified. Then the rain began, endless rain, and Pyro was all alone, all alone in the mud as the rain came down, rain and pain, so much pain, coming from parts of his body he’d never had in his life, his womb, his-- “All right, that’s quite enough of that!” the voice of Emma Frost echoed throughout all of existence, and the lights came back on in the world again as Pyro woke up. “Freakin’ kids,” he muttered, as he realized what had happened. There was a baby telepath in the latest batch of rescues, and the little bugger had gotten their dreams all mish-mashed together. Happened more than once before. Grunting, he turned over, and went back to sleep...though a little uneasy this time. He wondered, who had that last part come from?

#fic #writing #alt marauders #out of cortez

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mimisstudy · 4 years

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Ash - character study

We are doing a new project called ‘write what you know’ which means writing a film about something that has happened to you or around you. Mine is about why people don’t report things straight away as this is something I see complained about a lot with #metoo

Ash is the main character ~17, and based on me. She lived with her dad who emotionally and sexually abused her, and then moved in with her mum when she was ~16.

this is a super long post btw

Personality

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic? Pessimistic - considers herself a realist, prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

Are they introverted or extroverted? Introverted - was great at making friends as a kid but really struggles to since living with her dad.

What bad habits do they have? She keeps things to herself far too much - she wasn’t allowed to talk to her dad as he would make it about himself and so, despite not living with him anymore, she still internalises until she can’t anymore

What makes them laugh out loud? Shitty puns

How do they display affection? Giving gifts - listening to what they like and giving things related to this

How do they want to be seen by others? Smart (was always told she was smart so doesn’t want to seem dim)

How do they see themselves? An idiot, weak, a bad person. Then she moves. Smart, funny, kind, brave, creative/inventive

How are they seen by others? Funny, kind, smart, gentle

How competitive are they? Competitive with themselves, doesn’t care so much about competing with others but hates when she does something worse than she has before.

Do they make snap judgments or take time to consider? Indecisive but once set on a plan, she will do it to the max.

How do they react to praise? Struggles to, not used to it

How do they react to criticism? Also struggles as not used to it. Never really praised or crisitised, just sort of blends in

What is their greatest fear? Wasps. Being abandoned.

What are their biggest secrets? The abuse

What is their philosophy of life? Fuck it, might as well try.

When was the last time they cried? A wasp landed on her while she was on a hike and she had a panic attack

What haunts them? Her dad. she is starting to see him on the streets and in her dreams.

What are their political views? Prioritising people's safety and well-being over the economy

What will they stand up for? Equality, environment, women's rights, sexual assault

What quality do they most value in a friend? Honest / real

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be? Their past, though she wouldn’t actually change it. Or make themselves more confident

What is their obsession? gardening

What are their pet peeves?

What are their idiosyncrasies? Autistic. Stampy feet flappy hands.

Friends and Family

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of? Small - Taylor (sibling), mum and dad. Lots of extended family but she has moved too much to bond with them.

What is their perception of family? Used to hate her mum but now appreciates her. Loves Taylor but weird sister relationship as they didn’t grow up together

Do they have siblings? Older or younger? Taylor, 3 years older.

Describe their best friend. Does not have any - struggles to bond with people long term

Describe their other friends. Mainly extroverted people that talk for her.

Past and Future

Did they grow up rich or poor? Not obviously poor (she wasn’t aware of it) but far from rich. Under the poverty line a few times but didn’t go to food banks

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected? Felt nurturing but was rather emotionally abusive

What is the most offensive thing they ever said? ‘I would like to live with mum/dad’

What was their first kiss like? Awkward school dare - she’s not that into dating but did hook up with someone while in a depressive episode to avoid thinking

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? ‘Basically everything ever’

What are their ambitions? To help others get through what she did. set up her own music label

What advice would they give their younger self? Say no clearer

What was their childhood ambition? Be a musician

What is their best childhood memory? Camping at Tolpuddle music festival and the way the musicians interacted with the audience.

What is their worst childhood memory? The dad experience

Did they have an imaginary childhood friend? No. She would talk to her blanket though.

Love

Do they believe in love at first sight? No. She is aro/ace, she thinks

Are they in a relationship? No.

How do they behave in a relationship? She has only been in one proper relationship and this was a depressed escapism one - she was sleeping with her as a distraction from her life but wasn’t sexually or romantically attracted to her. she was nice to her but was mainly there for the sex - though she is terrified of insulting people so was still respectful and kind

Has your character ever been in love? No

Have they ever had their heart broken? By her family, yes

Conflict

How do they respond to a threat? Disassociating - she struggles to speak and is very slow. She also stims a lot which leads to rubbing her skin raw and has many scars because of this.

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? Neither but her tongue if really having to.

What is your character’s kryptonite? Loud people/sounds

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? Her blanket that she has had since she was born

How do they perceive strangers? No one is trusted until they do something big

What do they love to hate? Sound design

What are their phobias? Wasps

What living person do they most despise? Certain political leaders and CEO’s that are fucking up the plannet

Have they ever been bullied or teased? No - they aren’t really noticed at all. Taylor used to tease her constantly though - mean, even for a sister, but they are far better together now.

Where do they go when they’re angry? To her garden plot. She has one away from the house.

Who are their enemies and why? She doesn’t pay attention to anyone enough to hate them that much.

Work, Education and Hobbies

Do they have a job? Yes

What is their current job? Editing music videos for a band that she knows from secondary

What do they think about their current job? She likes doing it but hates that she could mix the songs better than them - they wont let her change anything though

What are some of their past jobs? They worked at the sweet shop round the corner for a few months before she moved in with her mum.

What are their hobbies? Mixing, baking, minecraft, gardening

Educational background? 7+ (the new uk grading system) in all subjects at secondary. Working on a music and media course at college - predicted distinctions.

Intelligence level? Very smart but struggles understanding basic things often

Do they have a natural talent for something? Baking but she doesn’t enjoy it so doesn’t do it often.

Do they play a sport? Are they any good? Swimming - she’s good enough to not drown but mainly enjoys just floating around

What is their socioeconomic status? Working class. Her mum is slightly more well off (upper working) but both parents kept their money troubles to themselves.

Favourites

What is their favourite animal? Snakes

Which animal do they dislike the most? Wasps

What place would they most like to visit? Havana, Cuba due to all the music that has originated there.

What is their favourite song? We’re going to be friends - the white stripes

Music, art, reading preferred? Music

What is their favourite colour? Green

What is their password? Chrysanth3mum

Favourite food: Bolognese but the pasta separate.

Who is their favourite artist? The Crane Wives

Possessions

What is on their bedside table? (Kubrick was obsessed with bedside tables, he thought they spoke the truth about an individual). Three books: one on music theory, Percy Jackson but she’s barely got through it, and one on gardening. A bedside lamp. A mug. Her glasses. A spray. A hat. Sweet wrappers. A pen and pencil. Her journal, open.

What is in their bin? A years worth of receipts after she finally emptied her wallet. Seed packets. Tissues.

What is in their purse or wallet? Lots of receipts and business cards. A few bank cards. Lots of change but no notes.

What is in their pockets? Her phone and earplugs. Her jacket pockets are stuffed: rocks and shells she likes, seed packets, tissues, gloves, various bits of rubbish she has picked up, pens, a tiny notebook

What is their most treasured possession? Her hardrive

Spirituality

Do they believe in the afterlife? She hopes is doesn’t exist - the idea of still being alive after you die is horrifying

What are their religious views? She was into all the spiritual wiccan things at one point but fell out of it during her last depression spell. She still uses crystals and tarot cards though.

What do they think heaven is? Heaven is in the moments of bliss

What do they think hell is? The world we are currently living in

Are they superstitious? She thinks other things are out there and around us but she isn’t scared of that. She likes to leave apples outside for the ghosts and fae

How would they like to die? Either by her own hand (again, depressed) or drowning. Old age would also be nice.

What is their zodiac sign? Taurus

Values

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? Not listen to them

When did they last lie? ‘No, its fine’ - when asked if they wanted to talk about what he did

What’s their view of lying? Lying is bad, it’s just really confusing. That being said, she is okay with it when you are doing so to protect yourself

When did they last make a promise? They don’t make promises

Daily life

What are their eating habits? They won’t eat things if they are in the wrong order. Eating is boring so she wont do it unless she is actually hungry. She has lots of ‘bad’ foods - tomatoes (puree is okay), cucumber, bananas, mushrooms, dates, oranges (orange juice is okay). Fizzy drinks. ARFID

Do they have any allergies? no

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? Hoarder. Everything looks like a mess but it all has a reason for being where it is.

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Clean teeth, shower, water, food, pack bag, get dressed, clean teeth, check the lights and plugs, college.

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon? Edit and then do some gardening

What do they do on a Friday night? Make pizza and play minecraft and drink

What is the soft drink of choice? She doesn’t like fizzy drinks. She will have ribeena

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? Blackberry liquor that her mum makes for social drinking. She has a habit of getting very drunk with vodka and smoking to dull her mind

Miscellaneous

Who is their hero? Elton John

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? She doesn’t celebrate halloween and instead tries to do Samhain rituals.

Are they comfortable with technology? Yes but she does tape over her camera and is always using a vpn

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? Taylor

What is their greatest regret? That they didn’t say no enough. Thinks about the butterfly effect constantly though so wouldn’t change anything in her past if she could.

What would they do if they won the lottery? Split the money between her, her sister, her mum and a little tiny bit for her dad so he doesn’t hate her. She would set up her own music label and get a farm but almost the rest of it will be for setting up charities/donating. She wants one charity for helping victims of abuse, another to go to an orphanage, and then to alazhiemers and autism charities.

What is their favourite fairytale? Snow white and rose red

Do they believe in happy endings? No

What is their idea of perfect happiness? Sat on her farm, her music playing softly in the background, many cats and goats and chickens, and a bowl of soup.

If your character could travel through time, where would they go? They would stay right where they are. Although, she would quite like to tell the guy that came up with autism to not be a sexist twat.

What sport do they excel at? They are weirdly good at golf but don’t like it as it is such an unnecessary use of green space

What sport do they suck at? Frisby

If they could have a superpower, what would they choose? Invisibility or the power to change chances

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the-pontiac-bandit · 5 years

Text

catch your dreams

in which amy santiago and jake peralta watch a presidential primary debate with their children, and one of those children is enamored with governor knope of indiana.

also on ao3

“Welcome to the first debate of the 2036 election! My name is Cecile Stafford, and with me tonight is my co-moderator Cooper Liddell. We’re thrilled to welcome you to this exciting primary contest--”

“MOM!” Ana’s shout from the kitchen table drowns out the TV. “I CAN’T FIND MY FOLDER!”

“Oh! I think I saw it earlier!” Jake shouts back from the master bedroom down the hall.

“Um...where?” Ana sounds surprised--his father loses things even more frequently than he does, and only twice in the thirteen year-old’s memory has her father ever been the one to find something lost.

“UNDER YOUR BUTT!” Jake’s uproarious laughter draws eye rolls from his wife and older daughter, seated side-by-side on the couch, and a giggle that matches his own from the small boy seated between them. Rey has a journal open on her lap, a pencil (she would never dare use a pen on the couch--those things can stain) already scratching away at the top of a new page. Her social studies teacher promised her extra credit for her thoughts on the debate, and she’ll be damned if she isn’t going to earn it.

Her mother pipes up from next to her, for the benefit of eight year-old Eli, curled up in the crook of her arm. “Jake, potty words stay in the…?”

“Potty,” comes the somewhat subdued response from the bedroom. Satisfied, Amy turns her attention back to the kitchen.

“Ana, did you check your backpack? It’s by the front door.”

Ana’s sigh of annoyance is audible, even over the audience applause coming from the TV’s top-of-the-line surround sound speakers (Jake had purchased them in order to better appreciate Avatar in all its cinematic glory). “Mom. I already checked there.”

“Well--” Amy starts to reply, ready to list the other places where her seventh-grader habitually leaves her possessions (it’s truly a miracle how easily the Jake and Ana manage to lose things in an apartment so small she has to share a bathroom with her teenage daughters).

“AHA!” Ana cuts her off triumphantly. Then, her voice turns sheepish. “I found it.”

“Where?” Amy asks, a hint of smugness in her voice betraying her certainty that the folder was in her daughter’s sequin backpack, thrown unceremoniously by the door five hours before.

Ana’s voice is sheepish. “...I was sitting on it,” she admits reluctantly, sticking her head around the door to the living room.

Then, a clatter from the bedroom startles all of them. Jake emerges with a triumphant shout, “I was right! It was under your butt!”

None of them hear him, though. They’re all too busy staring--while they’d been peacefully doing the dishes, Jake had been pulling a Tupperware bin of costumes out from the hall closet and adorning himself with every bit of red-white-and-blue attire the Santiago-Peralta family possessed.

“What?” he says, in response to the four pairs of eyes trained on him. “I had to get ready for the debate!” On the word debate, he leaps into the air, doing his best to imitate his fifteen-year-old ballerina daughter. He lands loudly, rattling the decorative plates hung on the wall behind him, and looks up at his family, a mohawk wig worn six years ago to Charles’ Fourth of July barbecue sitting crooked so his graying curls are visible underneath.

The entire family pauses for a second, a commercial about some adult-onset asthma medication droning on in the background. Then, everyone is laughing. Jake hops on the sofa next to his daughter, bouncing everyone around while his son’s cheeks turn rosy pink with his deep belly laugh and his more serious daughter’s soft giggle fills the room.

Jake and Eli are still laughing, Jake’s wig now perched on Eli’s much smaller head, covering his eyes, when a sudden swell in patriotic music and applause jerks them back to reality.

Rey has her hand on the volume button, eyeing them defiantly. “It’s starting,” she informs her father seriously as the speakers approach their maximum volume.

Ana, now laying on the floor with the previously-lost folder full of crumpled pages of math homework, grabs a pillow to cover her ears with an eye roll as Amy snags the remote from Rey. “Quick, turn it down!” she says, still breathless from laughter. “Before the neighbors call again!”

She switches the volume back to acceptable levels, but Rey doesn’t even seem to notice. Jake leans over and notices that she has columns for each candidate in her notebook, with her neat handwriting listing names, previous qualifications, and current offices.

“Our senator’s running, you know,” Rey announces. “Foster Cromwell. He’s supposed to win. It’d be cool to have another New York president. I think I’d vote for him.”

“You shouldn’t vote for someone just because they’re from your state,” Amy explains. “You want to vote for the person with the best ideas.”

“But you think he has good ideas! You voted for him last year!” Rey retorts.

“I do,” Amy concedes. “Senator Cromwell is very smart. But let’s see who else is on stage before we start committing our votes!”

Rey nods, writing furiously in her notebook as Harris finishes his opening statement. Seven candidates follow him, with opening statements so rehearsed and identical that Jake starts to nod off by the time the eighth candidate gets her minute.

“My name is Leslie Knope, and I’m the governor of Indiana. I may be new to the national political scene, but I’ve worked in government longer than any of the people on stage with me. My career began in the local Parks and Recreation department in--”

Something in her voice makes Jake snap to attention. His eyes open, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Amy sitting up straighter, too. Even Ana, pretending to be entirely disengaged from her spot on the carpet, has stopped writing.

The moment only lasts a few seconds, but it captures Jake’s attention. The tiny blonde woman on the far edge of the stage is electric, and her story about a swing, national parks, conservation, and hard work feels like it could be much longer than a minute.

The audience in the room seems to agree, with a swell of applause so loud that Amy has to turn the volume down another few notches.

“Who is she?” Amy asks her daughter.

Rey consults her notebook. “Governor of Indiana. She used to work at the Department of the Interior, and in the National Parks Service before that. She’s from...Pow-nee, I think is how you say it.”

Eli laughs. “Pow-nee’s funny.”

“Pow-NEE, Pow-NEE,” Jake repeats, poking his son in the stomach on each syllable while his son giggles.

“Shh!” Rey shoots a death glare--scarily like Amy’s--at her father as the moderators ask the first question.

Jake rapidly gets lost again in the technical language about public options, data privacy, and global trade pacts, so he settles on watching his wife, who clearly seems to know what’s going on. She’s enthralled, fascinated by the detailed policy discussion. Meanwhile, Rey is scribbling furiously.

“Governor Knope, one of your most-discussed achievements in Indiana is your prison reform bill, which aided the state’s recovery from the opioid crisis and restructured policing in the face of drug crimes. “Which such reforms are necessary at the national level, and how would you pursue them?”

As Governor Knope launches into a response about her work with the local police chief and how that translated into statewide work on bias training and accountability, Rey stops writing, her jaw slowly dropping.

When Governor Knope finishes, the debate cuts to a commercial break, and Rey turns sharply to her parents.

“Grandpa Ray talks about that stuff all the time!”

Amy smiles at her daughter. “He does. He’s worked hard on some of those policies in the NYPD for years.”

“But government people do it, too?”

“They can.”

“Do government people in New York do it?” Ana pipes up.

“Sometimes, but not as much as we want them to. That’s why Grandpa Ray has been working so hard--to change those things from the inside, since people aren’t changing them from the outside.”

“Oh.” Rey looks thoughtful. “Do you have to be a governor to do that? Change it from the outside?”

Amy looks thoughtfully at her daughter before starting an explanation about the endless nonprofit groups, researchers, and government employees who help elected officials make decisions like Governor Knope’s. She’s quickly cut off, though, by the music indicating that the debate has returned, which cues her daughter’s attention back to the candidates and her notebook.

----------

Amy’s surprised the next day when her daughter brings home five books from her high school library about the history of government and criminal justice reform. Rey dives in headfirst, and it’s all she talks about for months. Later that year, Amy’s just as surprised when Governor Knope surges from behind in the polls and captures the nomination, and even more surprised when she denies a strong Republican president a second term.

By April of her oldest daughter’s senior year, Amy’s only a bit surprised when Rey confidently announces that she’d like to turn down NYU and move to Washington, D.C., and study political science. When Jake and Amy are on a train back from Georgetown the next fall, having just moved Rey into her new dorm, Jake can’t stop crying about their baby moving away. Amy smiles as she pats his shoulder as their two younger children roll their eyes.

And six months after that, when her daughter calls screaming about an internship with President Knope’s special commission on national criminal justice reform, Amy’s hardly surprised at all.

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #jake peralta #amy santiago #parks and rec #parks and recreation #leslie knope #well #president leslie knope #rey and ana and eli #kidfic #yall i wrote next-gen fic #about the fucking democratic primary debate #as i have been saying all day #this was an ACCIDENT #i was in a dangerous zone between parks and rec and b99 and my actual major #so anyway #my writing #lmk what you think

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kegareki · 5 years

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What are your top three stories from each list?

i could’ve answered this a lot quicker if i didn’t write summaries for the stories in 2 of these lists LOL the bolded two are the ones i 100% recommend

from the “engaging reads” list:

in “the earth is online”, strange black towers appear all over the world. for six months, they do nothing; as people research their origins and possible effects, they become strange parts of the landscape. conspiracy theories abound. what do the towers mean? how did they get here? what will they do?

then, on november 15, 2017, an announcement comes from the black towers. “the earth is online. in three days, all players are asked to eliminate any player. this is including, but not limited to, games.”

at the end of those three days, 400 million people are left on earth.

the black tower provides them three rules. one: the black tower will explain everything. two: the game time is between 6:00am and 6:00pm. and three: all players, please strive to attack the tower.

this is a survival/adventure/mystery, and it’s done so well. i cannot recommend it enough. the worldbuilding is incredible, and the characters actually fit into the world and are shaped by it. the characters--from the main characters to recurring characters to side characters--are all individual and distinct; i forgot names sometimes but i’d always remember who they were through their words and actions.

there is romance involved, but it doesn’t take precedence over the story being told, and the attraction and progression of their relationship from wary strangers to people that they understand and trust without question is believable.

(trigger warnings: depictions of violence and cruelty, as well as (the aftermath of) cannibalism and monsters eating humans. there’s a lot of death and murder.)

"don’t pick up boyfriends from the trash bin” follows the typical chinese transmigration system BL pattern of “at the time of death, the main character is offered a second chance by a mysterious system, on the condition that the main character completes a series of trials”.

the main character, chi xiaochi, transmigrates to a certain number of worlds of varying difficulties into the body of someone who has been wronged in some way, and the completion of his trial depends upon the “regret level” of that person’s partner. when the “regret level” reaches 100, he moves on to the next world.

in-story, it’s mentioned by his system that most players increase the partner’s “regret level” by becoming a tragic figure and allowing themselves to be abused and then die. chi xiaochi is unique in that he thinks mainly of the original owner of the body that he has transmigrated into: how can he seek justice for the ways in which they have been hurt? how can he put them into a better position? how can he give them a future?

from what i’ve read so far, there’s a level of care for the original owners of the body that just... isn’t present in a lot of other transmigration stories, and the direction that this takes the worldbuilding looks promising

(trigger warnings: implied/referenced rape and abuse of varying natures. the first arc involves emotional abuse and isolation tactics employed by the partner. the second arc involves implied/referenced rape and physical abuse.)

“i play the role of (villain/heroine) in a japanese-style otome game” takes a long look at the isekai genre and follows the typical pattern of “the heroine is a beautiful and naive young lady with a special gift rare in its occurrence and power; everyone is attracted to her as a result” until it doesn’t. what does it mean to have a special gift if that gift will inevitably cause someone to try to kill you? what does it mean to have a special gift if that gift is, by its nature, something coveted by an entire species, and your non-human classmates want to eat you?

what does it mean to have a special gift if you can’t save your best friend with it?

i haven’t read this in a while so my memory’s rusty, but i remember being really taken aback at the direction it went in. gathering a reverse harem isn’t for love; it’s to figure out a way to save the “villain”, chako. the “heroine”, yui, keeps going back in time and keeps doing things differently and keeps approaching different people in hopes of controlling the increasing variables involved in chako’s death

(trigger warnings: a lot of death and manipulation of characters’ feelings.)

from the “feel-good” list:

“ghostly masked prince xiao: pampering and spoiling the little adorable consort” involves a 20-year-old college student of the modern age transmigrating into the 9-year-old body of chu qingyan in ancient china. through circumstances that are meant to harm both her and the 19-year-old male lead, they become engaged. the male lead, xiao xu, is the first prince, but his mother--despite being empress--had not been beloved and therefore neither is he. he’s very much a tragic hero: although filial and of upright character, although his actions have always been for the betterment of the empire, he has never been loved by his family and has always been viewed as a tool.

all of his previous fiancees have been murdered before their wedding. chu qingyan is a child, and he doesn’t want her to die. he gives her opportunities to leave and orders his subordinates to aid her in her escape--but, unexpectedly, she stays, and thus begins one of the fluffiest stories that i have ever read. xiao xu doesn’t know how to take care of a child and asks his military generals how to treat children. as you can imagine, their response is “dote upon them!”

xiao chu is earnestly doing his best to treat chu qingyan right, and in her own way, chu qingyan is doing the same for him--especially as the story progresses and she discovers more and more about his past and the ways in which he has been treated by people that were supposed to love him.

i’m sensitive to age gaps in relationships and i don’t know how i’ll feel about, like, actual romance between the two of them, but right now it’s just. a teenager is given a child and is experiencing a “loving family” for the first time in his life. is experiencing what it is to look at a child who depends on you and know that you would do absolutely anything for them. and it’s so sweet and heartbreaking

in “reborn little girl won’t give up”, the titular character is reborn into a world that involves magic and monsters. she is born to a noble family that maintains the barriers that surround their kingdom in order to keep the monsters out. her mother dies during childbirth, and for the first while of her life, her father and her older brother cannot stand to see her as a consequence; but once they begin interacting with her, they can’t not love her.

things go well until they don’t.

the main character is kidnapped to the boundary of the barrier, and moments before she can be saved, her mount--a dragon who has come to see this child as one of its own--flees to the frontier outside of the barrier. if not for a group of hunters that come across her, she would have died.

now her goal is to find her way back to her family--while also making new family along the way.

“death progress bar” follows shi jin, who transmigrates at the time of his death into the body of a character with the same name, from a novel that he had read. the novel’s shi jin has five older brothers who had tormented him and eventually led to his death; the transmigrated shi jin enters this world soon after the death of the novel shi jin’s father, and discovers that he has a “death progress bar.” as his system explains, when the number reaches 999, he will be taken over ‘by the story’ and be led to his death.

the bad news: the progress bar is only a few points away from 999.

one of the ways in which to lower the progress bar is to get as far from his brothers as possible, so he gets away from them--only to stumble across a new person and a new progress bar: the system’s “darling,” lian jun, whose death factors seem completely different from his own. lian jun is also the head of an underground organization whose protection greatly decreases shi jin’s death progress bar.

new goal: find a way for both of them to survive.

the romance is slow and sweet, and--very uncommonly--the male lead is compelling in his own right, separate from his relationship with the main character. i find him likeable as a person, not just as a romantic prospect.

this is a feel-good without being necessarily fluffy or sweet. reading it just makes me happy.

(honorable mention to “there will always be protagonists with delusions of starting a harem”, which is written by the same person who wrote “death progress bar”. it’s another transmigration system story where the main character has to go to a certain number of worlds and complete a task; in this case, the task is to “prevent the protagonist’s harem,” because the harem will somehow result in the end of the world. the main character and the male lead fall in love during their first world together, and at the end of the task when the system asks if he would like to move on to the next world, the main character chooses to stay within the current world. it is only after the male lead’s death that he continues on to the next world… and, there, he discovers that his partner has reincarnated, as well. in every world, they find each other.

in order to aid with the prevention of the harem, there are progress bars for every harem member that are “the likelihood of falling in love with the protagonist.” they begin at 100, and the goal is to get them to 0, thus breaking their flag and ensuring they will not become part of the protagonist’s harem. the main character’s thoughts on these characters and the dropping of their progress bars are frequently funny.)

for the “guilty pleasure” list, i’m not going to write summaries because these are. very guilty pleasures.

“nurturing the hero to avoid death”

“if i happened to tame my brother well”

“our binding love: my gentle tyrant”

#keg wrecks #keg recs #thank you for asking anon!!#Anonymous

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madscientistjournal · 5 years

Text

Fiction: Jehovah's Feathers

An essay by Mary Magdalene Farconi, as provided by K. Kitts Art by Leigh Legler

Strapped in his bouncy seat, my son Tyler went off at the exact same moment as the kitchen timer and the doorbell. I verified that nothing was actually gnawing on him and rushed to the brownies. Paul would have to get the door.

From the living room, Cissie yelled, “It’s the bird people.” Being a good girl, she knew not to open the door to strangers, especially those from another planet.

I yelled, “Paul, get the door,” while I yanked the brownies from the oven.

The Home Owners Association bake sale started at 10 AM, and it was already 10:10. In my head, Mrs. Topher, the HOA president, admonished, “In my day, people respected each other and were on time.”

As I dashed toward Tyler, I mumbled, “Yeah, back when Moses parted the Red Sea, most mothers of young children didn’t have to analyze a 270-page watershed impact statement by Monday.”

Before I unbuckled Tyler from his seat, I smelled his problem. The doorbell rang again. “Paul! Get the door!”

From the living room, Cissie yelled, “The bird people are still here.”

I hustled down the hall with Tyler at arm’s length. His room also served as Paul’s home office. Sure enough. Paul had his earbuds in and was playing some computer game. I hip-butted the back of his chair.

Startled, he yelled, “What the–” but stopped in time. We try not to cuss like muleskinners in front of the kids. I handed Tyler over.

“I’m working, Maggie. You do it.” He tried to pass Tyler back.

The doorbell rang a third time. Cissie called, “The bird people are still still here.”

I said, “One, since when is slaying boss monsters a part of your job? And two, it’s Saturday. We agreed on Saturdays you have to help. No questions asked.” As I stomped to the front door, I muttered, “That is if you ever want to have sex again.”

Hand on the knob, I breathed in deeply and exhaled. Bird people are sensitive. I didn’t want to frighten them because they’d take off in a flurry of feathers and shrieks and dump whatever they had in their cloacas. I didn’t have time to hose off the front porch.

I’d worked with several bird people when I’d served as an analyst for the newly established Alien Affairs Bureau. That was until the AAB’s work rules changed and became intolerable for nursing moms. Two months after Tyler was born, I moved to a clean water non-profit with a short commute. The work wasn’t as important, but my hair had stopped falling out. However, when I opened the door, I wondered whether I’d been out of the loop a little too long.

Instead of a group of sleek greenish-blue peacock-cranes, there stood two bedraggled and dull office drones dressed in modified white button-downs and khakis. Their tails were clipped and their wings pressed tightly against their backs. Even the frills on the tops of their heads drooped. They were both so dull in color, I couldn’t tell whether they were male or female, but given the office casual, I guessed males.

Clutched in one of the T-Rex arms that protruded from beneath his breast, the left bird person held a black book. His colleague grasped a plastic sheet upon which text flickered.

I asked, “May I help you?”

Book bird bobbed his head and pressed the first icon on the squawk box on a chain around his neck. In a mellifluous voice, the box intoned, “Good morning! We are in your neighborhood seeking to expand our flock.”

I frowned. If they were looking for females, they were out of luck. Our HOA categorically refused all building permits for aviaries. And with such poor color, I doubted any female would give them the time of day.

He cocked his head and pressed the second icon. The box asked, “Have you been saved by Jesus?”

I face-palmed. Flocking was extremely important to them. It made sense they’d become a target of some strip mall prophet, but where was their female, and why would she allow this to happen? “To which home nest do you belong?”

“Reverend Vernon P. Hogg,” said the plastic paper bird. He passed the flickering sheet over.

The title read: The Watch Perch. The address running along the top was the old non-denominational church that had sold its parking lot to the highway extension.

Articles flitted past on how Jesus could save the faithful from obesity, drunkenness, and bird lice. “No, I mean your mother bird. Who is she?” I tried to return the plastic paper, but the bird refused to take it.

“Our Most Supreme Singing Heart,” he said.

The book bird squawked and his box translated, “She who laid us has asked us to go into the world and find a new flock.”

That was odd. I’d worked with Singing Heart when they set up the reservation. Alpha females never let go of their sons until they could find another female to take them in. Things had to be bad on the Rez for her to cut them loose.

“Where do you sleep?”

The book bird’s box said, “At the church.”

“Except on bingo night, knitter’s club night, and days with AA meetings.”

“Then we sleep in the park.”

“But that’s more difficult now. They cut down the bushes to keep the homeless out.”

These two were definitely nest-mates.

The phone rang and Paul yelled, “It’s Mrs. Topher. She wants to know where you are.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go. Good luck in finding new flock members.” I shut the door before the bird people could object.

I dumped The Watch Perch into the electronics recycle bin and changed from my mommy clothes–puke-stained shirt and yoga pants–to my work clothes of white shirt and blue pants. My resemblance to the male drones was not lost on me. I grabbed a not too stinky towel from the clothes hamper and nestled the hot pan of brownies on the front floorboards of the van. After fetching Cissie and buckling her into the child seat, Paul strolled out with my purse and Tyler.

He asked, “Aren’t you going to take him with you?”

I tucked my purse behind my seat. “Did you clean out and refill the diaper bag like you promised?”

He made a Homer Simpson d’oh face.

I smiled sweetly. “Then, there’s your answer.”

As I backed out of the driveway, Paul came running from the front door, waving the plastic paper. I powered down the window.

“Take this with you. It keeps crawling out of the recycle bin. It beeps and says you owe at least a five-dollar donation.”

Making a face, I took the paper. “I’ll drop it off at the church on the way back.” I shoved it under the brownies. They were no longer hot enough to melt it. Too bad.

Mrs. Topher was a sturdy woman with a toad-like mouth: thin-lipped and broad. This week her hair was an auburn color on the orange side. She lived on the biggest property with a pool deck the size of our entire house. I would’ve thought a competent stylist was within her budget.

Cissie joined the other kids playing tag outside the HOA’s clubhouse, and I settled in the folding chair next to Mrs. Topher. As I cut and bagged the brownies, she added the label and the price.

“Are these boxed or homemade?”

“I baked them myself.”

She marked them two for a dollar and tossed them in the boxed section. “Because you were forty-five minutes late, I assume you’ll work the table until 12:45?”

It wasn’t a question, but I didn’t mind. There were activities for Cissie, and Mrs. Topher pounced on any poor victim who wandered within ten feet of the table, giving me time to wade through the impact statement. An hour in, Mrs. Topher became agitated after receiving a series of texts and calls.

I tried to ignore her harrumphing and heavy sighs, but it was a losing battle. “You seem upset, Mrs. Topher. Is there anything–”

“The cretin bailed on us.”

I could see Mr. Topher in a cluster of men near the parking lot. So it wasn’t a marital issue.

“This is the third investor. Third! They say they’re interested, but once they see the engineer’s report, they lose my phone number.”

Now I understood. The HOA had been trying to get an investor to take over and finish up the subdivision. The bake sale was to help with attorney’s fees. The original builder had gone belly up when he discovered it was harder to drain a swamp than he’d imagined.

“This idiot is suggesting we donate the land to the state as a designated wetlands.”

“That would take care of–”

Her penciled-in eyebrows arched. “If you’d attended the last meeting, you’d know that the tax write-off will not offset the loss in fees. We’ll have to raise the rates again. If there were only some way we could squash that stupid report.”

“Cuz that wouldn’t be illegal or anything,” I said.

Mrs. Topher stared daggers at me.

By 1:15, Cissie and I were at the church. Vernon P. Hogg himself was setting up chairs for the 2 PM book club. Vern looked forty, despite being much younger. From his teeth, I suspected his drug of choice had been meth.

I handed him the plastic paper. “If this thing finds its way back to my house, I’ll report you for littering.”

He sighed and punched in a code. He dropped it in a pile on an old piano with chipped keys. It calmly sat there no longer flashing or inching toward me like a possessed credit card bill.

“Let’s talk about the two bird people,” I said.

“No, let’s not. I was just trying to help them out, and all they’ve brought me is trouble.” He opened a side door and yelled, “Hey, Larry and Curly! Get your feathered asses in here.”

Cissie hid behind me, staring at the scary man. I folded my arms. “If they’re Larry and Curly, who are you? Moe or Shemp?”

“Very funny. I didn’t pick the names, they did.”

The two bedraggled bird people hustled in, bowing and bobbing their long necks. In unison, they clicked an icon on their boxes. “How may we serve you, Father Hogg?”

I raised an eyebrow. Vernon said quickly, “I tol’ you boys. You’re supposed to say, ‘How may we serve Jesus, Father Hogg?'”

The two bird people looked confused and corrected the text associated with that icon.

“It doesn’t matter.” He waved his fingers as if to shoo chickens. “You two are fired. Get out of my church and go darken someone else’s doorstep.” He turned to me. “Are you happy now?”

The two bird people screeched and flapped their clipped wings. “What have we done wrong? How can we make amends?”

They kept tapping the icons repeating those two sentences until Vernon grabbed a mop handle and threatened to beat them. Cissie burst into tears and threw herself in front of the bird people. Her little arms out wide, she yelled, “I won’t let you hurt them!”

Cissie’s action shocked Vernon. He sighed. “I told you all they do is get me in trouble.”

I rested my hand on Cissie’s head. She melted into my leg, wiping snot and tears on the back of her hand. The bird people clustered behind me and froze, as if that made them invisible.

“Jesus!” Vernon shouted. One of them had dumped his cloaca. “Look what I have to clean up!” He spun around twice on the broken-down heel of his faux alligator boots. “I got people comin’! Payin’ people!”

Good thing he didn’t have a cloaca.

“I don’t want them fired,” I said. “I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of them.”

“Taking advantage, hell. I’m helping them out!”

I pointed to the pile of The Watch Perch. I would’ve waved one in his face, but I feared touching them.

He whined, “I paid their vagrancy tickets for sleeping in the park.”

Hands on hips, I asked, “Did you clip their wings?”

He shook his head. “They have to be clipped to get off the Rez. Some new regulation ‘cuz people claimed they were peeking in windows and messing with security.”

I’d heard about no-fly zones, but I hadn’t thought through all the implications. “Can you keep them for a couple more days while I figure something out?”

“Not those two. They’re dumber than pigeons. I’ll keep the other three.”

“Five? You’re housing five bird people?”

“There’re a dozen under the bridges near the river. They’re pouring off the Rez, and they’re all looking as sad as these two. I think they’re starving.”

I looked at my phone. If I ignored the speed limit, I could get to Singing Heart’s compound in two hours. I called to Cissie, “Sweetheart, help the bird people into the van.”

Cissie’s entire being lit up. “I knew you would save them, mommy. I knew you would!” She herded them like ducks outside. I felt a flicker of pride before reality hit. I hadn’t saved anyone.

Larry and Curly strutted through the backyard, eating insects, while I told Paul what happened. He squatted to Cissie’s level. “Did you really do that? Protect those bird people?” She nodded fiercely. He gave her a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

My heart swelled. I kissed Paul on his neck. “You’re a good man.”

Cissie ran off to tell her dollies about her adventures. I fetched the car keys.

Paul shook his head. “It’s late.”

“I’ve got to see for myself. Something’s up.”

He looped his arm around my neck. “Sweetie, you can’t save the world.”

“No, but I simply walked away, and that’s not working for me either.” The emotion made my voice crack.

“You were burned out. With the commute and Tyler��”

“Yeah, but if I don’t do anything at all, then I’m part of the problem. I don’t want that to be the lesson I teach Cissie.”

He met my eye. “After what Cissie did today, are you seriously worried?”

I smiled but hung my head. Paul got out his wallet and handed me cash.

“What’s this for?”

“Gas. But I’m keeping the rest ‘cuz I’m not making dinner. I’m ordering pizza.”

I entered Reservation land at 4:40. It bordered the river in a swampy valley that produced mostly mosquitoes. Singing Heart’s high status had afforded her first choice in picking her home nest site. It was the closest to the blacktop. The climate was hot and humid, but the birds liked it that way. I kept my windows up and the AC on. Singing Heart’s people on average looked better than the two drones, but there were no children in the crèche and even the females were out in the river working.

The two male guards at the entrance of Singing Heart’s aviary were still resplendent with long tails, elegant wings, and piercing black eyes. They sported the sharpened beak spikes and leg spurs of their class. One recognized me and asked me to wait. He sent a small messenger male inside. After a few minutes, I was ushered into the geodesic dome that functioned as Singing Heart’s main dormitory.

Inside resembled a rain forest arboretum. Industrial fans created a slight breeze and made it easier for me to breathe. I walked slowly to keep from sweating too much. Designed for visitors and fledglings, the path wound upward. The adults glided from perches set along the struts two-thirds of the way up the sides. The top of the curved path opened onto a platform for meetings. Above that sat Singing Heart’s nest. One of her daughters roosted in it. The other nests lay empty.

Singing Heart’s frill was up and her feathers fluffed. On the platform, her brown and green plumage shone brightly in the late afternoon sun, but in the dappled places among the plants, she’d have blended in perfectly. Her neck extended, she stood tall. My eye met her beak. For the first time in her presence, I felt the flutter of discomfort and fear, as if the trouble–whatever it may be–was somehow my fault. I asked, “Did you release two males?”

Singing Heart’s wings came away from her body, and all the other birds in the dome came to attention. “Yes. Why?”

Out of nowhere one of the male guards landed with a thump next to me.

I put my hand out in a placating motion. “They’re at my house.”

Singing Heart lifted her knees one at a time and shook out her feathers. The other birds relaxed, and the guard bird moved to the edge of the platform but did not fly off.

“They are good men, but we have no room for them.”

“May I ask why?”

“Come. Walk with me.”

Singing Heart could’ve glided to the exit in a heartbeat, but she walked slowly, one long stride after another, so I could keep up. Once outside of the dome, Singing Heart flicked her tail feathers. The guard remained behind.

“Children can be impetuous and impatient,” she said.

“Are you talking about these two males?” I asked.

“No. My eldest daughter. She couldn’t control herself and fertilized two eggs. I’m sure you saw her nesting.”

“Are resources so tight that you don’t have room for two more?”

“It’s a matter of leadership. If my home nest doesn’t control its population, I can’t ask that of others.”

“The valley looks lush, is there a shortage of food?”

“Your government insists that unless we put in a water treatment plant, we can have no population growth. They say we’re putting too much nitrogen into the water, but they won’t allow us to sell our technology, or use it to back a security you call municipal bonds.”

I pretended to examine the foliage to hide my chagrin. Singing Heart could read facial expressions, and her sight was superior to humans. Like most avians, she had an extra protein in the back of her eye and could see into the ultraviolet range. Her home star was very active and produced a lot of UV. In fact, it had become so active, it was eroding their planet’s atmosphere. That’s why they’d come to Earth, refugees from a natural disaster.

It was my fault. The clean water non-profit I worked for had been responsible for some of those clean water laws. Talk about unintended consequences. Now I understood why the state hadn’t fought the legislation. It was never about clean water. It was about population control. The non-profit and I had been suckered.

“How about making a home nest in town where there are sewers?” I asked.

“None of my daughters can get building permits.”

My own damn HOA had contributed to that problem.

We continued to the river. The water was clean but the banks boggy. Singing Heart waded out into the dark mud. She stretched her neck. It ballooned and she made a whooping roar that ended in a bellowing meow. All the females stopped what they were doing and responded. She called and they repeated for several rounds. The tone and pattern changed but not the volume. From downstream came a second set of calls and responses. When it did, Singing Heart shook her feathers and rejoined me on hard ground. The call would wind its way down the river to the end of the valley.

I didn’t need the translator. It was a gratitude psalm. A tear dripped down my cheek.

“Magdalene? What distresses you?”

My chin quivered. “How can you sing of gratitude considering how we treat you?”

“You’ve taken in my two sons. You cannot imagine my relief.”

It had been a sheer accident. And for how long could I keep them? An aspirin for a brain tumor.

Singing Heart asked, “You left the AAB because you were having difficulties with a fledgling? Is he well?”

“I left because it was too much stress to deal with a toddler, a nursing infant, a sexist boss, and an hour commute each way.” I blushed, ashamed of my pitiful problems. “I can’t imagine how you handle the stress of this place.”

Singing Heart bobbed her head. “I don’t do it alone. I have my flock. Your culture of complete independence is foolish.” She clucked and the box intoned, “You will do better now that you have my two sons. We have more to teach you than technology.”

“Technology!” I pointed to the birds in the river. “Your daughters all have equivalents of Ph.D.s, and they are reduced to stringing nets in a river.”

“Do you feel reduced when you take care of your fledglings?”

I remained silent. There were seasons in life, but my boss and my culture didn’t understand that, so I did feel less than no matter how wrong it was. I lifted my chin. “I make no promises, but now that I understand the issues, I can work on solutions.”

Singing Heart brushed me with a wing a sign of gratitude. But in this case, I took it as a gesture of forgiveness.

On Monday, instead of summarizing that 270-page impact statement, I presented the plight of the bird people. The staff members were divided as to what to do, but they agreed to an emergency board meeting to discuss the possible realignment of the mission of the non-profit. We were small and disorganized, but it was a start.

Moving on to the second prong of my master plan, I cornered Kendra–our one and only lawyer–before she could slip away to pick up her kids from school.

I handed her a flash drive with the HOA covenant rules. “My question is simple. Can I force the HOA to accept an application to build an aviary?”

“You are taking this personally,” said Kendra.

“I want to change the narrative from NIMBY to YIMBY.”

“YIMBY?”

“Yes, In My Back Yard.”

Kendra smiled. “I’ll go over this tonight and get back to you.”

A week later, I was sitting in Mrs. Topher’s living room with the finished proposal. Mrs. Topher’s décor was 1970s day-glo. It explained the clown hair. I wanted to get down to business, but Mrs. Topher wanted to play hostess. She provided fat-free, taste-free cookies and iced tea so sweetened the sugar had precipitated into the bottom of the glass. My fillings ached.

“I hear there are two avians living in your home,” said Mrs. Topher.

I’d read the rules so many times I knew that unrelated folk were frowned upon, but not live-in help. I smiled. “They provide childcare and cleaning services.”

I expected Mrs. Topher to warn me of the dangers of salmonella or something, but instead she nodded slyly. “Yes, I’ve heard the labor laws don’t apply. You don’t have to pay unemployment or match social security.” She patted me on the knee. “How smart of you. It must be nice to finally be able to afford help.”

Ripping off Mrs. Topher’s arm and beating her to death with it would not advance my agenda. Instead, I asked, “So you have no issues with bird people?”

“Not if they have a job, know their place. Of course not. I’m not a racist.”

“Excellent. I have a buyer for the rest of the subdivision.”

Mrs. Topher lit up, and not just from her spray tan.

I explained the details of how Singing Heart’s daughter would buy into the subdivision and build an aviary. “And here’s the best part, because they’ll be part of the community, they’ll pay yearly fees. It’s a win-win.”

Mrs. Topher’s face darkened like a summer thunderstorm. “It won’t pass.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll vote against it. This is a human community.”

My time at the non-profit taught me not to argue. I’d just have to go grassroots.

Mrs. Topher opened a leather slipcase and produced a typed list. “I’ll save you time. These people will vote with me no matter what. I engender loyalty that way.”

Was she bluffing? I reminded myself not to engage. I thanked her for the list and tried to let myself out, but Hercules and Atlas were loose. I had to wait until Mr. Topher corralled the two guard dogs. They were well muscled, but a little too lean. I wondered if they were actually vicious or just hungry.

After dinner, I made some phone calls. Mrs. Topher hadn’t bluffed. She had a solid thirty-five percent. The vote would fail. I wailed in frustration and flopped facedown into all the maps and papers I’d spread out on the table. Larry tapped the floor with one foot. I rested my chin in my hand. “Need help getting Cissie to bed?”

He typed on his controller, and the box said, “You are distressed. It is our role as men of the house to relieve that distress. How may we help?”

Just being asked made me smile. I hadn’t explained about the proposal to shield them from disappointment, but the worst had come to pass so there was no point in hiding it. I explained the situation. While doing so, Curly joined us with Cissie padding right behind, her Disney toothbrush in hand.

I pointed on the map. “The woman who lives here will vote against the proposal, and all the people on this list,” I held up the paper, “will vote with her.”

Larry touched my shoulder with a beak, a very personal gesture. “Then all is not lost. All you have to do is change one person’s mind instead of thirty. We have faith in you.”

“Of course we do, mommy.” Cissie hugged me.

Yeah. Only one.

After the kids were in bed and the bird people asleep, I gathered the covenant rules and binder clipped them. I found a loose page under the map of the subdivision. It outlined the rules governing utility easements. Something caught my eye. I compared the Google satellite view with the subdivision map. The original map didn’t have Mrs. Topher’s giant pool and deck. I checked the property lines, the easements, and compared it to the satellite view.

“Son of a–” I fished out two steaks from the deep freezer and shoved them into the microwave to defrost.

Twenty minutes later, dressed all in black with a measuring tape in one hand and a bag ‘o steaks in the other, I stood at the Tophers’ fence. Hercules and Atlas barreled up barking and snarling.

“Hey, boys.” I waved the steaks. “Let’s find out. Are you vicious or hungry?”

The next day I again sat in Mrs. Topher’s living room, suffering another glass of sludge tea.

She smiled unctuously. “You said you needed a change to the agenda?”

I’d used that as the excuse. There was no way this woman would forfeit an opportunity to gloat. “Yes.”

“Do you want to cancel the vote?”

“No. I have discovered a violation.” I leaned in. “A serious violation. The board needs to know so they can act.”

Mrs. Topher licked her lips. “Do tell.”

I handed her a manila folder. Eagerly, she flipped it open. She scowled. “This is my address.”

I grinned. “Yes, and your pool crosses into the easement by nine inches. You’ll have to rip it out.”

“I’ll get a variance.”

“That’ll take 2/3rds too. Do you think you’ll have that many friends after they find out you could’ve solved both the swamp problem and reduced their fees by allowing the aviary?”

She tossed the folder onto the coffee table. “That’s blackmail.”

“May I count on your vote and those of your friends?”

As I rounded the van to the driver’s side, Mrs. Topher released Hercules and Atlas. They bolted straight for me, but instead of mauling me, they tried to lick me to death. Disgusted, Mrs. Topher slammed her front door. Such bad doggies.

Two months later, the subdivision threw a party for the groundbreaking. Larry and Curly’s flight feathers had filled in and their tails were elongating. Their crests stood high and their eyes shone. By Christmas, they might be ready for their own set of leg spurs.

They followed Tyler, as he stumbled across the lawn. He’d grown into a mobile terror, squealing and clapping his hands. Seeing the three of them walk across the lawn, my heart warmed. Flocks were nice.

The ceremony had called all the displaced birds from miles around. They would all apply to become a part of the newest home nest. All but Larry and Curly, of course. First, she was their sister, and second, they’d become fully integrated into our household. I had become their mother bird.

Paul strolled over with Cissie on his shoulders. Behind them stood Mrs. Topher, her hair now a yellow-orange. She preened for a local news team. “Yes. We are a progressive neighborhood. I was instrumental in getting the permits.”

Paul nodded towards Larry and Curly. “Boy howdy, are those two working out, especially now that you’re back at the AAB.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” I said. “Soon, we might not be able to afford them.”

Paul frowned. “Why?”

“My next project is to get the bird people labor protections.”

Cissie said in her father’s ear, “Yes, daddy. Do you know what labor protections are?”

As he bee-lined to the food table, he said, “Yes, I do, Cissie. But please explain them to me anyway.”

My attention turned to three clipped birds in white button-downs and khakis who rushed toward Larry, Curly, and Tyler. The leader of the three clutched a black book. The other two clutched plastic papers, which flickered with text.

The leader squawked and the box translated, “Good day, gentle birds. We are seeking to increase our flock. Have you been saved by Jesus?”

Larry and Curly stood tall, their necks extended. In unison, they said, “Thank you, but we have already been saved, saved by Mary Magdalene.”

Ms. Mary Magdalene Farconi, a working mother, is a G-11 in the Labor Protections Department of the Alien Affairs Bureau. She supervises a governmental hotline for reporting labor abuse of Avian Nationals and is currently working with cities all over the US to design and develop aviaries within human communities.

Dr. Kathy Kitts, a former geology professor, served as a science team member on the NASA Genesis Discovery Mission. Before that, she directed a planetarium for nine years. Her latest speculative short fiction has appeared in Amazing, James Gunn’s Ad Astra, and Mad Scientist Journal. Her latest short story collection, Getting What You Need, is now available on Amazon. Born and raised in the southwest, she is currently living in the high desert of New Mexico.

Leigh’s professional title is “illustrator,” but that’s just a nice word for “monster-maker,” in this case. More information about them can be found at http://leighlegler.carbonmade.com/.

Fiction: Jehovah’s Feathers was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#HOA #K. Kitts #Leigh Legler #Mary Magdalene Farconi #Xenobiology

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bymyside-fic · 6 years

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Exchange (1690 words) read on AO3 // AFF

- January 7, 2006 -

“Guess what finally came today,” Kibum said as he took up the empty spot beside Minho at the Hufflepuff table. When Minho looked up -- his mouth full of pancakes -- Kibum shook the small box in his hand, the Boötes necklace rattling inside.

“Is that my Christmas present?”

Minho’s shoulders drooped when Kibum nodded, and Kibum’s smile turned to a frown. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t have one for you yet.”

“You mean you didn’t get me one during the break?” Minho hung his head, half-heartedly cutting another bite out of his pancakes. “Min, I’m kidding. You don’t have to get me something.” He slid it toward him on the table. “I just saw this while we were in Diagon Alley and I thought you’d like it.”

Minho tore his eyes away from the box. “Can...this wait until after we go to Hogsmeade today?”

Kibum’s eyebrows rose as he pocketed the little box. “Sure.” The door on the left side of the dais opened and shut, seemingly of its own accord, until he saw Flitwick come around to the front, a bundle of what was probably sheet music in hand. “Hey, I gotta go to practice.”

“Have fun! We’ll head down after I get out of Quidditch practice.”

“Wait, you still have to practice today?”

“Yeah..?”

“But it’s snowing!”

Minho snorted into his pumpkin juice and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That doesn’t mean practice gets canceled. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. The uniforms are surprisingly warm.”

“Sure, okay.” He got up from his seat and started for the dais.

“Are we meeting at the courtyard?” Kibum gave him a thumbs-up over his shoulder without turning around. Once he rounded the corner of the Hufflepuff table, he jogged to where Flitwick and the rest of the Frog Choir were gathering. He took his music from Flitwick, glancing over the new song.

When he looked back to where Minho was sitting, he found that he was already gone.

* - * - *

Minho’s teeth were still chattering by the time he reached the outdoor courtyard. He huffed a laugh when Kibum glared at him. “I’m fine, Bu -- “

“You sure sound fine.”

So maybe now wasn’t the best time that he almost slipped off of his broom during practice because of the ice coating the stick.

“Ready?”

Kibum turned and Minho jogged a couple of steps to catch up to him. Their boots crunched in the snow, the loudest sound in his beanie-covered ears. He blinked the snowflakes off of his eyelashes as he looked around.

The Black Lake was mostly frozen over, snow drifting against the rocks that peeked out of the ice. Dull gray clouds covered the sky, heavy with the promise of more snow. Wispy white clouds blew past the gray one, the wind carrying them toward the castle. Minho shivered at the memory of the wind that tossed him this way and that during practice and he hovered a little closer to Kibum as they walked.

The warm torchlight from Hogsmeade dotted the horizon, illuminating the falling snow. As they drew closer, it engulfed the snow-covered village and the countryside beyond, setting it all aglow.

Minho grabbed Kibum’s arm and dragged him inside the post office before they did anything else. He pulled his Christmas money out of his pocket, as they waited in line. It took a bit of discussion to get his ₩ 50,000 exchanged to the wizard’s currency, but they eventually walked out of there with 7 Ģ, 2 Ş, and 8 Ķ.

He clinked his change in his hand before he shoved it into his pocket. “So, where do you want to go?”

They agreed on getting hot cocoa first. To-go, this time. The bell above the Madam Pudifoot’s door didn’t jingle as they stepped inside, and Minho stopped to look up at it. Kibum stepped up to the counter, ordering for them and Minho shook his head as he moved forward to join him there.

Deja vu was the weirdest thing.

He paid for their drinks, and soon they were on their way to explore the shops, their cocoa warming them up with every sip. Kibum wanted to go to Tomes and Scrolls first, and Minho kept a close eye on him, gauging his expression with everything that caught his interest. There were a couple of books he made a mental note of, but soon they moved on to the next shop.

Nothing at Maestro’s or Dervish & Banges or Scrivenshafts seemed to excite him, even if they did have fun looking around at the shops. His expression just wasn’t lighting up like Minho wanted to see. As he followed Kibum into Gladrags Wizardwear, he hoped his panic wasn’t showing on his face. Maybe he should just slip away and get that book that caught Kibum’s eye. What was it called again? Murders and Mysteries by Magical Means? Whatever, he’d know it when he’d see it.

When he was about to turn away, he glanced over at Kibum and stopped in his tracks. Kibum’s mouth was slightly agape as he took in the whole shop. Minho looked around for himself, blinking at the bright swath of colors in the fabrics from all of the clothes. He followed Kibum around for a little while, amused by his reaction to the Muggle clothes section -- which looked like it was taken straight out of the 80s...or even 70s.

He started to peruse the store himself, scanning the racks and shelves for something that screamed: “Kibum would love this”. He stopped at a bin of socks, sifting through them. There were pairs that screamed when they needed to be cleaned, which, as funny as it was to imagine Kibum wearing them, they didn’t seem like his sort of thing.

He dug a little further in the pile, pulling out a pack of four socks. For Every Season, they were called. Minho looked over his shoulder to see where Kibum was, snorting when he held up a hideous sweater to his chest as he inspected it in the mirror. He laughed a second later, the sound carrying through the shop.

Minho flipped over the bundle of socks to read the label on the back. Are your feet always cold in the winter? Too hot in the summer? Look no further than For Every Season socks! These socks were knitted with magic to maintain the perfect temperature for your feet, no matter what! “Huh...” He slowly flipped through the socks in his hands, enchanted by the seasonal scenes coming to life across them. “I wonder if these actually work.”

It would be nice if they did since Kibum’s feet were almost always cold. He would tuck the tips of his toes under Minho’s thigh when they were studying up in the closet to warm them. This might be something he would need...but also really like, because the seasonal scenes were kind of pretty.

Would it be stupid to get him socks, though? No, he could actually use them...he just didn’t want Kibum to be disappointed with his present.

With a heavy sigh, Minho made his way to the counter with the socks in hand. Another glance over his shoulder told him that Kibum was distracted by the shoes now. The woman behind the counter rang him up and wrapped the socks for him when he asked. He tucked the package into his coat, patting it down as he went over to where Kibum was watching shoes dance across the floor.

“I don’t even know,” he said when Minho stepped up beside him. “Do you know what dance that is?” Minho shook his head and watched the footwork pattern for a minute before he tried to copy it.

HIs attempt only made Kibum laugh, and he hung onto Minho’s shoulder to catch his breath once he stopped trying to dance. “Ready to head back?”

Kibum’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you already buy my present?” Minho nodded. “When?”

“Just now.”

Kibum reached into his pocket and pulled out the little box, handing it to him. In return, Minho grabbed the bundle beneath his coat and passed it to Kibum. He averted his eyes as Kibum tore into the paper, focusing intently on opening his box as slowly as possible.

“Oh my god, these will be perfect!” Minho’s breath caught as he looked back over at Kibum, relieved to see him grinning as he inspected each of the socks. “I could really use them.” He froze when Kibum met his eye as when went over to the bench. “Hurry! Open yours!” he said as he sat down and pulled off his boots and old socks.

Minho popped open the lid, gasping when he saw the silver necklace with the Boötes constellation as its pendant.

“Okay, so I already love these. My feet were so cold until, like, right now.” Minho nodded absently without looking away from the necklace. Soon, Kibum’s hands infiltrated his view, and he pulled the necklace out of the box. “Crouch down a little.” Minho did, and his lifted his chin as Kibum held the necklace around his neck and fastened the clasp.

Minho examined the pendant a little bit longer before he tucked it inside his coat. “Thank you, Kibum,” he said softly.

“I’m just glad you like it.” He went back to the bench to put his boots back on. “Do we want to stay here or head back to the castle?”

“Castle. But let’s get another cocoa before we head back.”

“First the socks, now this? You’ve got nothing but good ideas today!”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Kibum scoffed -- which made Minho laugh -- as he shoved his old and new socks into his pockets, and he followed Minho to the door. Both shivered as they stepped back outside into the cold, and they huddled as close to each other as they could while they walked back to Madam Puddifoot’s shop.

A/N: I've got four out of the seven chapters I need to write before I can post again done! Posting this today as a thank you for your patience with me ^^ I'll be back with the main story sooner rather than later, don't worry!

#Minkey #SHINee fic #SHINee au #SHINee drabble #SHINee #bonus material #year: third #yeah so i actually figured out the exchange rate from won to pounds to g/s/k lmao #so it's not just a random amount of galleons/sickles/knuts #do i show Minho's pov too much? I want them to be equal as much as possible #some of the subplots lean more toward one than the other #spoiler but not really: i feel like Kibum is a little more favored in terms of pov in the upcoming chapters #but i could be wrong #i don't actually keep track of who has the most word count but yeah #it's not perfect (none of these drabbles are lol) but i'm really just not in the mood to edit today lmao #okay and for the record: Kib laughing at Min's dancing is not me somehow implying that i think Min is a bad dancer irl #because the exact opposite is true #Kib is just v amused by his bff #just in case anyone thought otherwise

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notanotherwotter · 6 years

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Is that KJ APA? Oh, no, that’s just ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER, a SIXTH YEAR of RAVENCLAW. I heard that HE is a MUGGLEBORN [ADOPTED] who is praised for being ADROIT and INTUITIVE but also known for being PROUD and WITHDRAWN. I wonder what the future has for them.

If there was ever a word to describe Albus Severus Potter, it would undoubtedly be inquisitive. Since he first learned to communicate the boy was always bursting with questions. Why is the sky blue? Why does the sun only come out at day? Why is Uncle Ron balding? He had this knack for questioning positively everything and desperately seeking the answers - a habit that teetered on annoying for some members of his family. He was like this intellectual sponge, constantly soaking in all that was around him. A quiet child prone to observing, he spent all his time trying to make sense of everything. Maybe that’s why it didn’t take the sorting hat too long to declare that Albus Potter was a Ravenclaw. His studious and curious nature practically made him the poster child of the Hogwarts house that took pride in wisdom and learning.

Questions weren’t always aimed at simple things, like why his female cousins became so irritable once a month. As he grew older some more pressing questions began to eat at Albus. Why did people always whisper and stare whenever his family went out in public? Why did he notice the family name in large print on the newspaper crumpled up in the bin? Why was it he didn’t really resemble either one of his parents when James and Lily had shared so many physical traits with them? Questions began to flood a young Albus Potter’s mind, keeping him up late at night simply because for the first time in a while he couldn’t find the answers to everything. While most would be answered in due time, one in particular began to plague his every thoughts. It all started when a stranger had commented to Albus and his mother while on an errand on what “pretty, dark brown eyes” he has. ”Where did those come from?” Ginny had been quick to scoff at the question before leading Albus away, the interaction quickly forgotten to her it seemed. But it was all Albus could think about, especially as he sat quietly at the dinner table, avoiding his food, and watching his family chatting. They all had such lovely light colored eyes, while Albus’s were so dark in comparison. It was the first in a series of observations that would lead to a startling revelation.

He has quickly begun to feel a little bit like an outsider in his own home. When he and his siblings had all started at Hogwarts, he was the only Potter not sorted into Gryffindor - parents included. While his parents were quidditch stars and fanatics, Albus couldn’t care less for the sport and hardly understood it. He would rather have his nose wedged firmly in the pages of a book instead of being planted firmly on a broom. He noted that he was far more quiet and withdrawn than his family members, and a lot more timid and antisocial that his siblings. He was moody and distant and prone to brooding while everyone else seemed slightly more chipper. The new behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed by Harry and Ginny, who opted to sit down with their tempestuous son to get down to the bottom of his sudden bout of teenage angst. When Albus confronted them over his findings, all they could remark was on how he was very much a Potter and their son and that his differences were exactly what made them love him so much. It was a loving sentiment, and managed to calm Albus. Temporarily, that is. The thoughts still haunted him and something continued to feel really off about everything.

Albus started to question everything at a relatively young age, but the truth wouldn’t come until the summer before his sixth year. Albus couldn’t help but notice his parents being a little tense when around him and began to feel that uncomfortable sense of missing out on something. That was when the rumors started. Word had been spreading of an exposé written by Rita Skeeter, naturally, that would expose the Potter family secrets. It was a tell-all book that was promising to be enlightening and undoubtedly scathing in its portrayal of the wizarding world’s favorite family. Albus didn’t buy into the craze, he doubted anything Skeeter was going to write would be anything but fanciful fabrication. He wasn’t worried... not until his parents asked him to sit down and talk privately. Nothing prepared Albus for what was to be revealed to him that late summer afternoon, just two weeks shy of the start of term.

He’d thought they maybe just wanted to chat about school but quickly they explained that what they were about to reveal was serious. ”But it doesn’t change the way we feel about you and how you’re our son.” They unfurled a story which may have been given to Rita Skeeter as material for her book. It spoke of muggle relatives from his father’s side who knew about magic and the wizarding community and who had come to despise it. Karma hadn’t been the best to them. It seemed that destiny had a funny way of punishing these people when a new addition to their hateful clan popped up with uncanny abilities. The muggleborn was quickly abandoned by them, unwanted and ignored much like Harry had been. And the only thing Harry and Ginny felt they could do was take the little guy into their home and make him a part of their family. It made sense, after all he was just that - family. They took the baby in, a beautiful boy with dark brown eyes they named Albus Severus Potter and called their own. That was the secret they guarded so quietly, all in hopes to bring the boy up in a home where he was deeply loved and understood. Albus wasn’t Potter. Not biologically. He was actually a Dursley.

This news has shattered Albus, who had already doubted his place in the Potter family. Feeling betrayed and lied to by the people he was supposed to trust the most of all others, he has quickly grown withdrawn and distant from his family. The alleged exposé threatening to reveal this secret publicly has yet to be published so very few are aware of the truth of his parentage, including his relatives who may simply look at their cousin/brother as being a moody and temperamental brat at the moment. Albus feels like he’s lost a part of himself, a foundation to his identity has been compromised and he feels like he doesn’t really know who he is anymore. Each day he seems to pull further and further from his family and friends, withdrawing into himself and his dark thoughts. What will they all think of him if they know the truth? Does he really belong in this family? Riddled with angst and conflicting, stormy emotions, Albus continues to put distance between himself and others as he tries to piece together these new revelations and decides just where he feels he actually fits in - racing against the clock to figure it out before the news hits and everyone knows he’s not a real Potter.

#colhqintro #I’ll post victoire’s tomorrow #this is so messy I’m sorry

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countessofbiscuit · 6 years

Text

Dollface

For @celebrate-the-clone-wars’ Writing Wednesday Prompt “Your Reputation Precedes You” Rating: M Words: 2414 Inspired by The Adventures of Doll Rex.

(If there isn’t a 69′s in a universe with a 79′s, I’m calling bs)

Having spent themselves silly, the boys in blue who’d brought the house down were long gone, and 69’s grew dull again. The exhibitionism continued, sure, the dancing was always pleasing in a kind of mindless way, and when things got really boring, the massage droid in the break room had a lekku setting that induced comas—it was almost enough to make a showgirl consider marriage.

But the circus this wasn’t. There used to be wardrobe brawls and stampeding reeks and everything. The only adrenaline high to be had here was shaking up assholes who tried to stiff her colleagues until their credits and their shame fell out. A civilian crime, and a dwindling one. The soldiers never did that. Ursula fleeced them for admittance—the bigot—then got mad when the staff stretched the poor sods’ pocket change by giving them free drinks because they were polite and very, very pretty. Oh they made noise. Lots of it. But they viciously policed their own and didn’t put their hands where they shouldn’t. And not just because they thought they might get charged.

They were … “shiny.” And two meters of broad, blood-red Twi might scare the shit out of anybody whose first experience with boobs was two hours ago and three levels up, when they got squished against someone on the dance floor or got flashed by a waitress.

Hence the boredom of a somewhat self-conscious girl who doesn’t like working a room for tips.

“Lala, that’s for you,” chirps Diohn when Laa’let returns from the freshers.

She stops fidgeting with her bra and rebuilding circuses in the sky and glances at the Zabrak bartender. Diohn points at the counter, then returns to digging through the mixer chiller.

A doll is sitting on the end of the bar.

It’s propped up around a bright red cocktail, looking stupidly drunk, resting its chin on the rim of a glass about as wide as its comical face. Laa’let narrows her eyes at the arrangement. A clone. She recognizes the little flared skirt and shoulder decoration—and the golden top of one of those boys in blue. She scans the club for any that fit the description, but it’s just a throbbing sea of maroon sweats and crumpled greys, with a shrinking handful of businessmen pressed against the edges of the room; the only troopers in plates are the wrong color, and most of them are sitting along the rack, where they’ve figured out that two shoulder wings promise some seriously advanced recon—a much more exciting and personal show than anything happening at the bar.

“Who?” asks Laa’let.

“Didn’t see,” Diohn shrugs from inside the chiller, “they just left credits. And a note.”

Laa’let slides up towards the drink, ignoring the vulgar garnish—a cherry shoved in between a split taffy stem. The script is very regular, but the napkin is torn on the angles, like they couldn’t get the pressure right:

For the Ruby Rancor ♥

She grates the sharp tips of her teeth together. “You said you wouldn’t make it a drink.”

“I didn’t! I swear!” Diohn takes her own dulled molars to the cap of a bottle and spits it in the trash. “But you should stop fighting it. It’s definitely caught on.”

“Then what’s with this,” Laa’let says. It’s not just the garnish that’s offensive. Diohn’s clearly chosen her most bulbous glass, and she must have some campari, premixed to the perfect shade, chilling in a jug somewhere.

“That’s just me doing my fucking job. Now you should do yours.”

Diohn won’t share her tips forever, but Laa’let has her limits. Maybe too many of them for this career. “It’s not my job to talk to dolls.”

“Talking to cute faces with nothing but stuffing between their ears? I’d say that’s definitely in your contract. Roll out some carnival tricks.”

Laa’let’s lekku stiffen. “Circus. And I was a fucking acrobat.”

“Whatever. There’s still an audience—and maybe they’ll tip.”

It’s not an audience if you didn’t invite it, she refrains from saying, it’s an embarrassment. Too much like real life. With a frown, Laa’let swipes the drink, and the doll flops face down onto the chromium counter. Pathetic.

“Hand me that,” she says, snapping her fingers at an open bubblezap bottle.

Diohn giggles and swiggs the dregs. “Awww, someone’s had one too many!”

Laa’let maneuvers the doll into a seated position against the bottle, mindful of the oversized head. Its eyes are fixed off to the side, as if deliberately avoiding her boobs. “I need to get on his level. Is this a double?” she asks, stirring the drink once with the garnish.

One of Diohn’s liberal shots cascades over her peach fingers as she preps a line of Fuzzy Yodas—frothy, green, and strong enough to make you talk backwards. “You’ll have a nice time. I promise.”

Laa’let pulls out one of the lethris barstools and drops onto it. She hates sitting on these chairs. They’re sticky and undersized, like everything else here—even the ceiling is too low to accommodate her best tricks on stage. It’s maddening to be reduced to pantomime, the feeling of holding herself by halves, but Diohn’s right. She’s still a consummate performer, she’s still on the clock, and she’s still fucking broke.

“So,” Laa’let begins, taking a long sip that melts her sinuses and makes her damn nipples hard, “I’m new to this job and don’t have a lot of conversation up my sleeve, so do you want tragic backstory or tragic backstory?”

The little soldier makes big eyes at the turquoise Togruta on stage, but doesn’t indicate a preference.

“Tragic backstory it is. You might think it all started when my parents sold me to some charlatan in a travelling circus. Or when my growth spurt went on two years too long and I couldn’t get health insurance—did you know organs over a meter long are considered a pre-existing condition?”

She’s got her lekku draped over her shoulders and she shakes the tip of one in the little soldier’s face.

“Speciesist, I know. Free Porn Taa is laughably small in every department, so it’s not a priority for him. And the Togs aren’t represented in the Senate—not that healthcare is a priority there either.”

“Ugh, Lala,” groans Diohn, loudly dumping an armful of bottles into the bin as she passes by. “Politics? At my bar? No wonder he’s bored.”

Laa’let makes a rude gesture at Diohn’s back. “Anyway,” she says to the disinterested doll, “things really didn’t go downhill for me until the fucking Zillo Beast.”

The rack around Tosha’s stage erupts in applause when she finishes her routine. Another charming clone thing. It’d never occurred to them not to clap.

“Did I see it? You bet your plastic ass I did. Three of its gnarly legs came crashing through the roof during my act.”

Just for something to do, Laa’let takes the garnish from her drink and starts to trace a wet rendering of the monster that ruined her life on the counter.

“Squashed half the audience. I fell into the netting, along with all the buttresses, and was buried with broken ribs for three damn days. And this is where having no health insurance, no transferable skills, and no tolerance for animal abuse lands you,” she says, gesturing at the room, humid and a hazy red in the house lights, like an oversized womb.

Laa’let follows the little soldier’s gaze again. Tosha’s now working the rack for tolls. She’s got her knees on either side of one trooper’s ears, gripping him by his red shoulder wings as he gently tucks some funny money into her panties, ruffled and pink like cotton candy.

“Look, I know she’s topless and I’m not, but you could at least pretend to pay attention.”

A trooper in purple plates, very much paying attention, suddenly materalizes next to the doll. Laa’let takes in his double wings and his skirt—has she been performing for a fancy ARC?—and then moves onto his hair. It’s shaved into a landing strip across his skull and down his chin, and she can’t help wonder if the landscaping extends below the belt, too.

“There you are, Rex!” he declares, smiling broadly like he’d be very happy to enlighten her. “Who’s your pretty friend?” He gives a wave with one of the doll’s stubby arms.

This part always makes Laa’let nervous. What seemed like a good idea when she was eighteen and angry now made her job—wooing credits out of beings already much smaller than herself—very difficult.

“Doesn’t your friend know it’s rude not to stare?” she says, as softly as she can over the synth-glimmik pumping from the speakers, shielding her fangs with full lips—the only gift her mother gave her.

“My apologies, ma’am,” answers the trooper while ogling her tits for both of them. “He said he knew you, but he was probably talking out of his shebs.”

“Nah, he’s just shy. He doesn’t know how to ask,” comes a rumble in her cone. Another trooper pokes his head over her shoulder and starts taking mental soundings down her cleavage.

Mindful of the bulk of her lek, she turns to glance at his plates—also purple, also winged. “Ask what?”

The second one tilts his pretty face up. His hair curls in a way Laa’let recognizes as attractive to humans, and thick black stripes on his cheeks somehow brighten his green eyes, which sparkle at her with all the optimism of someone about two drinks in. “How much to blow bubbles?”

Laa’let takes a moment to parse this phrasing. The soldiers have a funny way of talking, but blowing bubbles is a far cry from their usual slang, crude and derived from military words she doesn’t understand. But eyes speak a pretty universal language, and theirs are glued to her red rack. If anyone’s going to introduce face fapping to the clone lexicon, it won’t be her.

But Green is far too cute to be allowed to bury those sweet cheeks so soon. The cheroot smoking on his breath is making her heart flutter, and she downs the rest of her drink.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Jock, ma’am. And that fastidious fucker’s Muse.”

She struts her long fingers atop the bar towards the doll and starts to toy suggestively with his little skirt. “Well, Jock, boys in blue get things on the house,” Laa’let teases with a smile, not bothering about the fangs. If these two are going to spook, better get the disappointment over with.

Muse sits his ass straight down for the long haul, and Jock hovers even closer.

“And boys in other colors?” he mumbles, brushing the back of a finger down her shoulder, evidently still full of hope. That he doesn’t go straight for her plushy lek says he’s got manners, and Laa’let feels her bum go warm on the barstool.

“What makes purple boys special?” she asks, genuinely curious. She’s not encountered any troopers in this soft shade before, and 69’s does a good trade in color—every dancer’s got their favorites, but it’s considered good luck to get crisp tips off a new one. They think it means you’re a trooper’s first; Laa’let just suspects a counterfeit operation somewhere.

“We’ve got walkers and big, fuck-off tanks with psycho warfare tech” and “we’re an elite, hypermobile, armored reconnaissance unit” are the simultaneous answers.

Muse makes a disapproving face at his comrade and straightens up a little when he clarifies. “We’re the 113th Armored Infantry Battalion, ma’am.”

“And the color?” she asks, fingering the lining of Jock’s skirt. Maybe she could get him down to nothing but this, then bribe it off him? The lethris on these things is pretty lush, given it’s army issue.

“Commander’s orders,” says Jock, beaming. “Matches our Jedi’s sabers.”

“Who’s your Jedi?” Laa’let prods, wondering how much two elite soldiers will leak over big tits.

Jock squints at Muse. “I think that’s classified?”

“Definitely classified.”

“He’s sealed tight but … I’m working on it,” Jock assures her with a wink, mischievous and loaded. She can’t tell if he means his Jedi, Muse, or both, but his playfulness is certainly working on her. Even if Diohn hasn’t just made herself conspicuous, inquiring with gestures about the status of flimsi in fingers.

Laa’let smiles, plucks the doll from the counter, and dumps him headfirst into her cleavage.

“Steady on, Rex,” gasps Muse, wide-eyed, grinning stupidly between the doll and slack-jawed Jock.

“For you two,” she begins, giving the little head a very illustrative shake, “this is ten…”

Using the nubbed arms, Laa’let pushes the golden top of her dress down, popping out one ivory nipple, then the other, conscious that she’s already given away about fifteen credits. “Handsies is twenty...”

Flipping the little doll over by the arms, she lets him come to rest where creamy fabric melts into the divot between her hips. Her senses are alight with human! now that Jock’s knees have failed him and his head’s propped up on her shoulder. Her right lek tingles against his balmy cheek. She returns Muse’s puppet wave. “And anything more is subject to performance review.”

“We…” Muse begins, opening and closing his mouth like a blurrg on spice, “we’ve only got twenty between us.”

Laa’let bites her lip and bounces the doll in her broad lap, like she isn’t preparing to inflate more than just their manual scores. She’s flipped her glass and her tits are out. Diohn better be getting her a fucking room.

“Tell you what. Twenty plus this little trooper and you might find I’m big enough to share.”

. . . . .

[CT-61-6898] Are you seated

[CT-27-5555] in briefing w some top squares knock me down my ombre hombre

[CT-61-6898] … RIP Cpt Rex

[CT-27-5555] ! what did those dumbfucks do

[CT-27-5555] its only been 12 hrs we r still in the system ffs

[CT-27-5555] facts tho he was ltd edition not even rex actual has one

[CT-61-6898] unnamed.holo

[CT-27-5555] ! u perv what did u fucking do to him

[CT-61-6898] Shit That wasn’t for you Wrong holo

[CT-27-5555] too late ...rip smokecheck

[CT-27-5555] commdr tano likes ur paintjob

[CT-61-6898] You fucking wish (...but I’ll pass on the compliment)

[CT-27-5555] so he didn’t get creampied good 2 know what happened

[CT-61-6898] rexnruby.holo

[CT-27-5555] !

[CT-61-6898] Is he scuba qualified

[CT-27-5555] !

[CT-61-6898] Muse is sorry not sorry Rex was sacrificed for the mission He did give me a datachip instead

[CT-27-5555] WORTH IT

Smokecheck belongs to tiend. The 113th bros and Miss Laa’let are mine.

#writing wednesday #clone troopers #the clone wars #captain rex #fives #laa'let #biscuit fic #the little alor'ad #don't share toys kids #age appropriate clone shenanigans #clones

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