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hangovercurse · 4 years

Text

Thesis

After a bad day, Colson comes over to take care of you, only to find out about a secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Request: “I was wondering if you could do a Kells fic where he's dating the reader and finds out she is c*tting, and helps her. Its total ok if you aren't comfortable writing this though 🖤”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: discussion and depictions of self-harm, cursing, angst

A/N: Gonna get really serious with this one: If you are struggling with self-harm (in all forms, not just those discussed in this text) or issues with your mental health, please reach out to someone! Family, friends, anyone. I know it’s hard and you may feel like no one cares, but I promise someone does. If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone you know, message me. My page is a safe space and I will never judge you. I promise you, the world is a much better place with you in it and you deserve to take up space, you deserve to be happy.

On that note, do not read this if you feel it may be triggering to you, please.

Word Count: 2457

You sighed as you read the email subject Re: Y/L/N Final Thesis Revised 2. Every time your doctoral advisor sent you an email in response to any work on your thesis, it wasn’t good.

Ms. Y/L/N,

I regret to inform you that the corrections that you have made are still not adequate enough for submission to the board. Please read my notes attached for further work to be done.

You didn’t even bother reading the rest of the email, instead choosing to slam your head down against your wooden desk. “Fuck!” You yelled to your empty house.

You had rewritten your doctoral thesis 4 times already and submitted for approval twice, both of which were rejected. Your advisor was trying to be patient with you, but you could tell his tolerance was running low. “What am I doing wrong?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the wood.

Maybe you’re just not smart enough. That unhelpful voice in your mind chimed in, making you groan. Seriously though, if you were smarter, then you would have been approved already.

Your chest started tightening and you felt nauseous, tears coming to your eyes. You reached around for your phone, hearing Colson’s voice in your mind. “If you have a bad day, text me. You can always talk to me.”

Hey

You texted him, hoping he would respond soon. Your breathing was getting heavier and you just wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t the voice in your head.

Hey, I’m in the studio rn, everything ok?

My thesis got rejected

Again :(

I’m sorry babe

Wanna see you

Colson didn’t answer for a few moments, and you had a feeling he was letting out a frustrated sigh. You hated bothering him at work, it always made you feel like a nuisance to him.

I can’t leave right now

You’ll be okay

It’s just a paper

Now it was your turn to let out a sigh. Colson didn’t exactly understand why this was so important to you. Every time you got upset after it didn’t turn out well, he told you the same thing, “It’s just a paper, you can just rewrite it.”

But it’s not just a paper. It’s currently the only thing standing between you and a doctorate degree. And you’ve rewritten it four times before.

He’s just sick of you whining about it.

You annoy him

He doesn’t care about you

You got up from your desk and made your way to the bathroom, not sure if you were going to throw up or do something worse. The voice kept speaking, her incessant words running through your head.

You know what’ll make you feel better.

And you did. You had been trying to stop, and you were doing pretty good until a few weeks ago. Up until that point it was rare, a few times a month. Now it was 4 times a week; more days than not.

You reached under your bathroom counter, pulling out the small, inconspicuous makeup bag. You brought it over and set it on the edge of the bathtub, sitting on the floor next to it.

The zipper felt familiar under your fingers as you pulled it, the metal coming into view. Your secret stash of hellish paradise.

You pulled one of the razers out, feeling the coolness on your skin. Pulling up the sleeve of your sweater, you placed the sharp edge against the fragile skin on your wrist. You took a deep breath as you slid it across the skin, not even wincing at the pain. The blood rolling out of the wound was beautiful to you, a therapy in itself. You laid the arm over the bathtub, taking another slice at your wrist.

You had to be careful not to go too close to the hand or else the sweaters you wore could ride up and expose you, and you couldn’t make too many cuts or someone would be bound to notice.

Once you had made 4 slits in your skin, you stopped. The razor fell to the edge of the bathtub as you watched the blood drip down your arm, gravity pulling it towards your hand to pool in your palm. As fucked up as it was, you liked the view. The pain barely registered to you anymore.

It felt like all the fears were draining from your body with the blood. You knew it would all come back eventually, but in this moment, you felt peace. Your stomach stopped turning and your chest loosened. And for just a little while, the voices in your head were gone.

You laid there for probably 30 minutes, the peaceful silence engulfing you. Eventually you came back to your senses, realizing the mess you had made. You sighed, standing up and turning the faucet on. You watched the blood that sat in the tub wash away before running your arm under the water. It stung a bit, but the blood disappeared from your arm, leaving you with the visual of 4 dark red cuts.

Once the tub was clean, you moved to the cabinets under the sink again, this time grabbing a package of band-aids and covering the marks that were bleeding slightly after the water pressure opened them up again. You ran the blade under water from the sink to clean it before throwing it back in the bag and hiding it. Satisfied that all evidence of your sins was gone, you pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and made your way to your couch to watch a true crime documentary.

A little over a half hour later Colson texted you.

Picking up your favorite food :)

Be over in 10

You smiled at your phone for a second before guilt crept into your mind. How could you think that he doesn’t care about you? He’s never done anything but love you.

You are the world’s worst girlfriend.

You bit your lip, trying to make the thoughts go away. You didn’t want to be upset when Colson got there, it would spoil his whole night.

It didn’t quite work, but you were able to put on a fake smile when he got to your door. He set the bags of food on your coffee table before flopping on top of you on the couch. His face buried into your neck, pressing soft kisses onto the skin all over. He did this whenever he knew you were sad, it made you laugh.

He sat up, looking down on you, “how’s my girl doing?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Better now that you’re here.” You mumbled, throwing your clothed arms around his middle and pulling him back against you. He chuckled and flipped you around so his back was against the couch and you were resting on his chest.

You smiled at him, you don’t deserve him, the voice screamed. You ignored it, burying your head into his shirt, the smell of him filling your nose. “What’re we watching?”

Your voice was muffled by the fabric, “The Vanishing of Elisa Lam.”

He looked up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “of course we are.”

“We can watch something else.” You mumbled. Colson chuckled and sat up, pulling you with him to rest in his lap, your back against his chest.

His long arm reached to grab the food off the table, setting one box in your hands. “Your weird true crime show is fine, babe. You choose tonight.” He kissed your cheek, making you smile and sink further into his chest.

A little while passed and you had both finished your food, placing the empty boxes on the table. Colson’s arms were around your waist and you moved to hold his hands. You had tried wrapped your palm over the back of his hand, but he flipped his hand so his palm encased yours. As the documentary played, he began to rub circles into your skin subconsciously, moving down your wrist slowly.

In his arms you momentarily forgot about your session in the bathroom from earlier, but when his thumb brushed against the bandage on your arm you were shocked back into reality. “What’s that?” He mumbled, chin resting on your shoulder and looking down to the shirt sleeve.

“Nothing, I cut myself doing dishes earlier.” You lied, it being second nature at this point.

Colson’s hand moved to the edge of your sleeve, moving to roll it up. “You’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You yanked your arm out of his hand as you felt the fabric moving up, “what are you doing?” You asked, holding your arm closer to yourself subconsciously.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I was gonna kiss it better.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the TV. He didn’t like that answer and based off of your reaction, he could tell something was up.

He reached to hold your arm again, and you relaxed into his touch, thinking he would just hold your hand. Instead, he dragged your sleeve up your arm, exposing four band-aids on your wrist and older, exposed scars.

“Colson!” You yelled, standing up and wiggling out of his grasp.

He had a shocked expression on his face that slowly turned into a mixture of concern and hurt. He tried to form words but was struggling. Finally, he got out a whispered “why?”

You bit your tongue, arms wrapped around your body as you faced away from him. Your breathing got heavy and you could feel tears coming to your eyes. He’s definitely gonna leave you now.

When you didn’t respond he stood up slowly, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. His lips met the top of your head briefly before replacing them with his chin.

The feeling of his embrace was enough to send your walls crashing down, tears finally falling down your face. You shook in his arms, your knees buckling under you. He whispered as he held you up, “hey hey hey hey, I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You can talk to me.” He led you back to the couch, pulling you back into his lap. You turned towards him and buried your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had before.

Your sniffles filled the room, followed by your quiet “I’m sorry.”

Colson shook his head, taking your face in his hand and moving it away from his skin so you were forced to look at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You nodded and he slowly wiped the tears from under your eyes. The soft motion made you calm down ever so slightly. After a few minutes of being held, your sobs stopped, tears not falling as hard. “Can we talk about this.”

You sniffled but nodded your head, your eyes not meeting his. “I’m not gonna be upset with you, or angry. I just need you to be honest with me, okay?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. You simply nodded again, turning your head all the way down so your nose was parallel to the floor. The top of your head pressed against Colson’s chest.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, but it held an infinity of emotion.

You mumbled out a response, “a while.” You could feel how fast his heart was beating, “Before I met you. It’s just gotten a lot worse lately.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in. “Why didn’t you talk to me? You know you can always talk to me, darling.”

New tears fell from your eyes. “I tried to.” You whispered, feeling guilty. His hand moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He took a few moments to remember what you were talking about before he sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so upset. I didn’t know.” He whispered, “But I know now, so from now on you gotta tell me if you feel like doing this to yourself.”

You nodded against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He asked

You shrugged, “sorry you have to deal with me.”

He grabbed your face again, this time forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever say that again. Okay? I fucking love you. You’re going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you. I don’t want you to ever think that.” As he spoke his harsh tone got softer, quieter.

“I just don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything.” You slumped into him, your head laying on his shoulder.

His arms pulled you further into him, “Y/N, you are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re literally about to become a doctor! That’s fucking incredible. I am so proud of you.”

“’m not really gonna be a doctor.” You mumbled, “I can’t get this fucking thesis approved.”

He sighed into your hair, “You are going to get through this. You have worked your ass off to get here, I know you’re not gonna let a stupid paper get in your way.” He pressed a kiss into your hair and you looked up to him, a pout still on your face. “Baby you aren’t just good enough, you’re better. I know it feels shitty right now but you’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be right here with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. It took a second, but you kissed him back. “Thank you.” You whispered when you pulled away, reaching up to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I love you.” He whispered, “do you think we could throw your blades away?” He asked softly.

“I might need your help.” You whispered. He nodded, lifting you off his lap and standing up. He grabbed your hand and you led him to your bathroom. You found the bag and handed it to him. “I can’t…” You whispered, trying to stop the tears you felt behind your eyes.

Colson nodded, taking it from you and opening it, frowning at the metal inside. “I don’t want to throw them away here, because you could get them out of the trash later. So, I’m gonna take them back to my house tomorrow and I’ll throw them out there.”

You nodded, hand squeezing his. You moved closer to him, resting your free hand on his shoulder, and pressing your cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

He smiled down at you, wrapping his arm around you, “I love you too.”

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst #colson imagine

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purpleyellow · 4 years

Text

Recovery pt 2

Seventeen 14th member

Hayun’s masterlist

“She’s home, and it’s time for the 97+maknae liners to watch Hayun”

a/n: Some of these are shorter, so I apologize. Also, I couldn’t find gifs of mingyu and dino that fit the “aesthetic” so sorry again. Feel free to let me know your thoughts as well as send me some requests💙. Ask box is also open to random chats.

The8

(italics are Chinese)

“Myungho!” Hayun called out from her spot on the couch and waited for a few seconds before screaming again “Minghao! The8! Whatever name you respond to”

“I’m here woman, calm down” The boy rolled his eyes as she extended her arms to give him her notebook. Minghao took it without a second glance and sat on the floor next to her to read the sentences she had written since he had last left her. “Nice job”

“Do you have any pointers to give me?” She smiled paddling her feet on the couch and he gave her back the notebook.

“Your calligraphy still sucks” He snickered making her chuckle “But I told you that the last three times you called me”

“Yeah, you did,” Hayun twisted her pen, looking from her laptop to the pages before noticing the boy hadn’t left like the previous times “What?”

“Why the sudden interest in Chinese?” He blatantly said, making her close her notebook and shrug her shoulders.

“I needed something to distract me and turns out it’s very easy to get a language certificate through the internet,” The girl said without a break, smiling triumphantly at the end which made him giggle at her proud face. “I might need you to help me revise some stuff though”

“I don’t have much time before I need to go back to pledis so write down your questions and I’ll help you when I get back” He patted her arm and got up from the floor.

“Yeah, go ahead and leave me like everyone else” Hayun threw her head back dramatically making him look at her sassily.

“You do know we’re making you richer right?”

“Yes. And you know that I like to communicate with people” She raised a finger and poked his chest “And I can’t do that if someone is not around to teach me their mother tongue”

“Isn’t three languages enough for you?”

“I want to be one of those smug polyglots. Once you’re done with me I’ll call Yuto to help me with Japanese. There’s this idol who can speak German I think, I’ll talk to him too” She joked with a wink and Minghao shook his head laughing.

Mingyu

Mingyu pushed the door with his elbow and set the tray of food on Hayun’s nightstand. Pushing her arm until she woke up from, what he assumed, her nap.

“What?” She groaned holding his hand and turning away from him.

“I made you food” Mingyu chanted sitting on the bad and moving the platter to his lap

“Is it pizza?” She asked, burying her face in the pillow.

“No?”

“Then I don’t want it”

“Noona, you have to in order to get better soon” The boy rolled his eyes poking her side and she groaned again.

“Is it ramen?”

“No” He answered, expecting her to at least sit up to see what it was. In reality, Hayun stayed still in her spot, pretending to fall asleep again and have him go away. Huffing, Minngyu poked her again “I tried a new recipe, you need to help me see if it’s tasty or not”

Raising her head like he expected, she checked what he had brought and whined while sitting properly.

“You made soup” The girl pouted making him laugh. “I want something greasy”

“You can’t have anything greasy for now” Mingyu shook his head and brought the spoon out of the bowl, leaning forward to feed her a little “Say ahh”

Shutting her mouth, Hayun shook her head making him groan and retreat the spoon annoyed. Smiling mischievously, she opened her mouth again and as the boy took the bowl out of his lap she instantly closed it.

“Can you be a little cooperative?” Mingyu complained laughing and she shrugged, allowing him to properly feed her a spoonful. “How is it?”

Making a disgusted face, Hayun quickly changed it to a pondering one and then smiled satisfied.

“Not bad, Chef Gyu”

“Not bad” He repeated her in English making her laugh and nod.

“Next time, maybe add a little more spice”

“A package arrived for you” Seokmin sang while walking inside Hayun’s room and she shot up from her bed “Wait, calm down. We don’t need your stitches to rip open”

“I’m taking them off tomorrow” She rolled her eyes taking the package from him. As he was walking away she waved him inside, shaking the big box with a smile “Stay, you’re going to like what I ordered”

“Ohh, what is it?” He sat along with her on her bed and helped her rip open the cardboard.

“I ordered a hammock” Hayun smiled satisfied as she made her way to the fabric “I’m going to hang it in my room and chill in it”

“Cool,” Dokyeom got up, holding an end of the object and spreading it out so they could get a perfect view “How are you going to hang it?”

“Uh?” The girl blinked, her smile turning to a frown as she looked at him.

“The hammock. You’re going to need a place to hang it”

“Oh. True” She sighed and let go of her end, throwing her body back on the bed and repressing a very mild discomfort. “I didn’t think about that”

“I guess we’re going to need a drill or something professional like that” The boy kept muttering, walking around her room while looking at the walls and dragging the hammock along the floor.

“There must be a tutorial somewhere on the internet. I’ll look for it later” She sighed carefully pulling herself upwards. “Or you know… my very strong groupmates can hold it up while I lay in it”

“Ah, I think you got the wrong person” DK shook his head grinning and she leaned her head forward doing the same movement.

“No, I don’t. C’mon, Seokmin-ah. Do a favor for your sick Noona” She smirked, making him tumble laughing.

“Wow, just a minute ago there was nothing wrong with you” He managed to say in between laughs and she grinned, leaning on her side and shrugging calmly.

Seungkwan

“Are you going to hold my hand?” Hayun asked Sengkwan as soon as they made it to the hospital, the boy rolling his eyes with a big exhale before taking her hand in his and making her laugh “I meant when they take out the stitches dummy”

“Of course I knew that” He scoffed, throwing her hand away. In revenge, Hayun looped her arm around his waist and forcefully made him hug her shoulder as they walked together. Whining, Seungkwan said under his breath “Noona, not here”

“There’s no one in the hallway, stop pouting” Hayun giggled gently slapping his butt, which caused him to widen his eyes and look around to see if she was telling the truth.

“Aren’t you a little bit worried?”

“Not really. I’ve had stitches before” She shrugged as they walked inside a room and sat on a waiting list. “But in all seriousness, I do want you to hold my hand while they do it”

“Why?” He whined again resting his head on her shoulder. “You said you weren’t scared”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want some support”

“Okay then” He sighed and they stayed in silence for a few seconds before Seungkwan turned to her serious “You’re probably not going to like hearing this”

“Oh my, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I just feel bad” The boy took her hand again and looked down ashamed “I kind of feel better about not doing the entire performance after you had to step out”

“What?” Hayun frowned and he shook his head, realizing how that sounded.

“I’m not glad that you had to take a break. The members know I complain about wanting you with us all the time” He smiled gently making her chuckle “It just made me realize how lucky I am that I didn’t have to sit out everything”

“Strangely enough I don’t feel attacked at all” Hayun laughed patting his head and gesturing for him to rest on her shoulder again “I’m glad you didn’t have to either Boo. Please keep taking better care of yourself”

Vernon

“Is that my sister?” Vernon frowned, leaning down over the back of the couch to check out Hayun’s phone.

“Oopsies, gotta go,” Sofia said over facetime and instantly hung up the call, making the boy frown at his own reflection on the black screen.

“You were facetiming my sister?” He looked at Hayun confused and walked around to sit next to her.

“Yeah actually. I do talk fairly often with your mom too.” She quirked up an eyebrow and crossed her arms “You better step up your technology game because I’m stealing your family”

“What?” He chuckled, leaning back and taking her phone to check the latest calls, laughing harder when he realized she was telling the truth.

“I mean it, boy. Your mom said she’s getting me a Christmas stocking this year”

“Well, you’re going to be a great addition to the family” Vernon snickered not knowing if she was being honest or not.

“I’m aware”

“Are you going to do something right now?” He asked side-eyeing her and she shook her head “Good. I’m going to need you to help me out with something I composed”

“You know. Technically I’m still on my work hiatus” She smirked poking his side and Vernon snorted. “But, we are at home after all so I don’t think that’s a problem”

“I know, that’s why I asked” He laughed and opened an app on his phone.

Dino

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Hayun said as soon as she heard Dino entering the room backstage.

“You came!” The boy beamed running to hug her and she replied with a giggle rubbing his back.

“I wanted to surprise you guys after the last stage” She smiled and shrugged looking to see if anyone else was around “Please don’t tell the others”

“Okay. Oh my, I saw you this morning but I can’t believe you are here” The boy chuckled making her pat his cheek.

“Why did you come back?” Hayun asked frowning “You’re supposed to be on stage in two minutes”

“I left my phone inside my pocket again” Chan giggled embarrassed and took the device, setting it on the table. “Aren’t you going to be lonely while we’re gone”

“Nah. I’ll look around to see if there’s anyone bored too”

“You were supposed to say ‘watching you is enough for me’” Dino made an annoyed face and both of them started laughing.

“I’ll look around after watching the performance, don’t worry” She rolled her eyes and held his hand “Talking about it. If you guys come back and I’m not here text me. I either lost track of time or one of the managers sent me home”

“The managers don’t know you’re here?” He said amused “How did you even come? You’re driving already?”

“I took a cab. But now that you said, I can drive again. I don’t know why I didn’t do that”

“Okay, Noona” Dino laughed stealing a look at the clock “I have to go, please don’t wander around too much”

“Good luck with the performance!” Hayun smiled sending him a flying kiss before he bolted off the room.

#Hayun #seventeen 14th member #seventeen oc #seventeen au #Seventeen Additional Member #seventeen addition #seventeen female addition #seventeen female member #seventeen female oc #seventeen extra member #seventeen imagines #seventeen x oc #seventeen x 14th member #kpop addition #kpop au #kpop #female!oc #female!kpop #female!addition

192 notes · View notes

fanfickers · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER TWO

(No warnings, nothing inappropriate, nothing you wouldn't see in a typical Marvel Movie in theaters)

-I don't own any of this, don't sue me- haha

The knock on the door was one their whole family knew, it was a melodious knock that signaled she was back. Peter beat her by opening the door before she could unlock it, he opened it wide and stepped back so Viktoriya could walk into the apartment. She shook the excess rain off her coat and tousled his hair as she walked further into her home.

“Hey!” He complained and swatted at her hand, but she was already in the kitchen and heating up some water to make some warm tea. It was only September but the rain was starting to bring a chill in the air that felt closer to November.

“Did you call your aunt May?” She called out to Peter, he threw himself onto her leather couch and grabbed the laptop he’d been working on earlier.

“We just hung up the phone, she told me to tell you thanks again for letting me crash here while she’s at the FEAST seminar.”

She nodded to the empty kitchen and when she came back to the living room she had two mugs with steam wafting the smell of honey throughout the apartment.

Peter excitedly reached his hands out and began making fists while chanting, “Ohhh, gimme, gimme, gimme!”

She held out the mug but drew it back when his hands almost touched it, “It’s scolding hot and I don’t think superhuman strength stops burns from boiling water.”

Peter rolled his eyes and kept his hands outstretched for the mug. Viktoriya placed in on the table in front of him instead and grabbed her book from beside it, smacking Peter in the knee as she stood straight again

“Sit up and put your laptop on the table so you don’t accidentally spill on it.”

Peter did as he was told, only rolling his eyes slightly since it was Viktoriya and not Aunt May or Tony chastising him.

“What are you working on Pete? I thought you finished your homework already?” She sipped at her mug and sat herself down into the recliner in the corner.

“I did, this is just some Spider stuff I’m working on, new webb composites and cartridge designs. Now that Mr. Stark has agreed to the revision on the suit he gave me, I wanted to update some of the tech.”

She smiled against the rim of the cup and nodded at his words of excitement. She loved that he was going to be spending the week here with her. Having Peter in her house made it feel like a home. Maybe she was just getting baby hungry, but she did love getting up early and driving him to school.

A buzz sounded and she looked towards Peter, he jumped from the couch and rushed towards the box by the door

“That’s Ned, sorry I forgot to ask you before you got home from work. We wanted to go over some more decathlon stuff together. Is that alright?”

Viktoriya nodded and rolled her hand, gesturing for him to continue. He smiled and pushed the comm button, calling for Ned to come up.

“I think he’s bringing the new kid, too.” Peter threw in as an afterthought.

“New kid?”

Peter nodded and rushed out, “He just started last week, his old school kicked him out for getting into a fight. But he’s been nice to me and Ned.” He went into the kitchen and came out with his arms ladened with snacks and sodas.

“Is all this necessary to study for the decathlon?”

Peter smiled sheepishly, not meeting her eyes.

“I might have told Ned he could sleepover.”

Viktoriya folded her arms and stood, her book now forgotten.

“Ned’s parents and his Lola said he could sleep over on a school night?”

Peter winced, “Well… They weren’t exactly thrilled by the idea, but once Ned told them the address, his Lola said it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Viktoriya scoffed at her little brothers words

“So you used my apartment and money to flex and get Ned’s family to say yes?”

Peter threw his hands up in self defense, dropping all his junk food.

“Well, if you're gonna say it like that it sounds bad.” She shook her head and then the furious knock pounded against the door, alerting them to Ned’s arrival.

Peter snapped the laptop shut and launched himself across the couch to pull the door open. He and Ned completed their handshake before he opened the door wider and two bodies entered.

Viktoriya started to make her way towards her bedroom while the boys chatted about teaching their new friend the handshake as well. Each boy grabbing the food Peter had dropped.

Peter’s voice stopped her in her tracks as he called out, “Guys this is Viktoriya, she’s kind of my adopted older sister?”

He was always so awkward when it came to introducing his family, Viktoriya rolled her eyes but turned back to the small group and said, “Just say older sister, Peter, it saves a lot of time–”

She froze for a moment as she was met with a very familiar face. Dark curly hair with bright blue eyes that shone with excitement and recognition.

“Superlady!” The boy cried out, pointing at her.

“Harry?” She blurted in confusion.

“Woah, your sister knows Harry? Is this illegal?” Ned wondered out loud and Peter pushed his shoulder

“No, no, no, it’s not illegal, right?” He looked to her for reassurance

“No, it’s not illegal, are you serious you two? Harry and I met at a charity gala a few months back.”

Harry nodded and turned to his two new friends, “She totally snapped some creepy guy’s wrist.”

“Woah.” Both boys chorused.

Viktoriya blinked as she felt a small amount of exasperation fill her mind. They were teenagers, this was fine, and they both technically knew she worked for the government. No harm, no foul. She took notice of Harry’s everyday attire, his dark hair was sticking up on one side and his shirt had a math joke on the front.

He looked just like Peter and Ned, she wondered if they were aware of just how rich Harry actually was, or if they knew who his father was.

The sudden thought of Doctor Osborn had her mind flood with the image of their parting and she blinked past a heat in her cheeks. This was not the time to remember work.

She cleared her throat and then gestured between the boys

“If you are sleeping over I only have one pull out bed, the other will have to sleep on an air mattress. Fight for it, gentlemen.”

Harry’s head cocked slightly in confusion

“Uh, Harry, I was going to ask once we went into my room, but Ned’s sleeping over tonight if you want to, too?”

Harry’s face lit up and he nodded, “Yeah, that sounds awesome! I have to call my dad first and make sure it’s ok.”

He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and put it to his ear in haste. It rang for less than a second before they could all hear the voice on the other end

"Is this the light of my life calling?"

"Dad!" Harry's face burned bright red while Ned and Peter exchanged smirks. Viktoriya found it touching.

"Dad, I was wondering.. my friends are having a sleepover and I wanted to ask for your permission to stay too?"

The line was quiet and with each ticking second Viktoriya could see Harry deflate.

"Son… I'm not so sure about that. You've never slept over at a friend's house before, and I don't know them. I'm just not sure how comfortable I would be with --"

"But dad!" Harry interrupted, "You do know them, it's the super lady from the gala. The one who broke that guy's wrist!"

Ned stared up at Viktoriya, "Who breaks someone's wrist at a gala?"

Viktoriya bit her knuckle and shrugged, if this was how the Osborn family remembered her it wasn't so bad. There were worse reasons to be remembered. Like kissing someone you just met in order to hide, and ultimately run away, from some bad people.

"You're with Ms. Stark?"

"Yeah, here I'll put her on!"

Viktoriya tried to put her hands up, to shake her head and whisper no but Harry ignored it all and tossed his very expensive phone right at her, and her reflexes caught it before she could process what she'd done.

She signed and held the phone to her ear and breathed out, "Hello again, Doctor Osborn."

"Ms. Stark, I didn't know that Harry was going to your home… I assume that this Peter Parker I've heard nonstop about is your brother we spoke of during our dance."

She turned away from the gaggling group of teens behind her and focused on the voice in her ear

"One and the same. It seems our paths were destined to cross one way or another, Doctor."

"Indeed."

She waited for him to make the next move, she wasn't sure where to go from here. Hopefully he'd just let Harry stay and she'd hang up the phone and be done with it.

"You're the only one home? Are you sure three boys aren't too much work?"

She shook her head and responded, "If it weren't these three I might agree with you, but thankfully these ones are good kids who won't cause trouble. And if they do, I'm sure I can find a way to keep them in line."

Norman chuckled into his phone as he signed off on another spreadsheet. He really didn't want to say yes, but having friends was good for Harry, healthy even. And he'd be in the home of a superhero.

"I suppose it would be fine for Harry to stay."

Viktoriya heard the boys behind her begin to dance and cheer wordlessly.

"May I come by with a night bag for Harry?"

Oh.

"Of course!"

The silence returned

"I'll need your address Ms. Stark."

Oh!

"Right! Sorry, I'll have Harry message you right after we end the call. Thank you for letting him stay, Doctor. I promise to take care of him."

"I'm sure you will, Ms. Stark. I should be done here in a little under an hour. I'll head home and pack some things and be there as soon as possible."

"Drive safely, Doctor Osborn."

They ended their conversation and she handed the phone to Harry who promptly thanked his father, gave him his love and told him he'd see him soon.

The address was sent and the boys filed into Peter’s room, her guest room, as she slipped into her own. Locking the door behind her. And mentally preparing herself for this visitor.

The boys were laughing and talking so loudly they didn't hear the buzzer go off. Viktoriya rushed to the front door and called out, Doctor Osborn's voice returned to her ear as he answered.

She allowed him entry and waited while he took the elevator up. It was quicker than she thought and she jumped slightly as the door was knocked.

She opened it quickly and paused when she saw the flowers. She stared up into Doctor Osborn's face a little confused.

"These are for you Ms. Stark, thank you for being willing to indulge a group of hoodlums."

She took the beautiful assortment of orange, yellow, and purple flowers.

"It's really no trouble at all, but I'll always accept a bouquet of gorgeous flowers."

Seeing Doctor Osborn in a suit again made her black joggers and white long sleeved shirt seem underdressed, but then again he's been in the presence of some very important people just now.

"How was work?" She asked as she shut the door behind him. She walked towards her living room and leaned against the back of the couch. Norman followed and set the small duffle bag down on the white linoleum floors.

"It was as boring as usual, unfortunately."

She tilted her head slightly

"Remind me what you do again, Doctor?"

"I own a small company named Oscorp industries."

Oscorp, why did that sound familiar?

"And what exactly does Oscorp industries specialize in?"

He matched her relaxed form and sat down on the arm of her couch.

"We're first and foremost a chemical manufacturing company. But we've just received funding in order to finally begin the work I've dreamed of. Cross species experimentations."

"Doctor Osborn, you aren't trying to create a Jurassic Park, are you? I believe we already know how well that ends."

He chuckled and shook his head

"No, I'm looking into the possibilities of the Human genes. We started this world as nothing more than cells. I believe we have only just tapped the vastness of human potential."

"How poetic."

He hummed at her praise. Neither spoke for a moment, just stared at the other as they processed this conversation. A loud thud sounded from the guest room and both adults stood and headed over.

Norman was first and he knocked before opening the door. All three boys were laughing and spread out on the floor, their hair standing on end.

"Oh, hey, Viktoriya! Sorry, are we being too loud?" Peter glanced up at his sister while lying on his back.

"Dad!" Harry proclaimed and stood up quickly, he patted his hair down as he walked forward and hugged his father.

"Harry, what are you three doing?"

"We were thinking about the possibilities of electricity and decided to try out an experiment. Peter rubbed his feet on the carpet, Ned was our ground, and I grabbed the metal framing on the bed."

Doctor Osborn smiled softly and Viktoriya shook her head.

"Self-experimentation rarely leads to success, boys, please remember that." Viktoriya advised.

Peter, ever the gentleman that he was, reached out his hand and shook Doctor Osborns.

"It's nice to meet you, sir."

"You must be Peter, Harry has told me all about you. I've heard your grades are no laughing matter and science is your best subject to boot. You know, I'm something of a scientist myself."

"Dad," Harry groaned.

Doctor Osborn tousled Harry's hair before pulling him into his arms for a hug

"I put your things on the couch in Ms. Stark's living room. Please call me when you wake up, before you go to school. I love you, Harry"

Harry's ears were a little red from being watched but he buried his head into his father's chest and squeezed him back.

"I love you too, Dad. Thanks for letting me stay."

Viktoriya and Doctor Osborn left the boys to their own devices and headed back towards the front door.

"Here, please, this is my personal number. If anything happens or if he does end up being a little too much to handle, call me anytime."

Doctor Osborn held out a simple white business card with his name and number. She tucked it into her pocket and nodded, although they both knew she wouldn't be calling tonight. Harry was going to be fine.

"Thank you for letting him stay, Peter really needs good friends and I think your son is going to be someone he'll rely on for the rest of his life."

"I feel the same way, but from Harry's point of view."

They paused for a moment before Viktoriya opened the door. Doctor Osborn stepped out into the hall and turned to say his farewells. His grin seemed a little impish and she could swear there was a glint in his eye as he whispered out,

"Am I to give you a kiss goodnight, Ms. Stark?"

She chuckled softly and leaned against the door frame. He remembered.

"Only if someone will come chasing after you afterwards."

One side of his mouth turned up at her remark before he finally bid her goodnight and left.

She closed the door softly behind him and realized she was still smiling. Did they just flirt? No. No, of course not. He'd made a joke.

She passed by the guest bedroom and from inside she heard Ned exclaim,

"If Mr. Osborn and your sister get married, Harry'd have to call Peter his uncle!"

She froze for a moment and tried not to laugh at the ridiculous comment and she heard both other boys gag in response.

"Ned, come on man, please!" Peter laughed before he put on a false serious tone and said, "But I expect respect from my nephew."

All three boys broke into laughter and Viktoriya finally slipped into her own room to finish her book. But not before she sent a text to Doctor Osborn, just to make sure he had her number as well. For Harry.

#spiderman #spider man: no way home #spiderman no way home #spiderverse #peter parker #harry osborn #norman osborn #green goblin #green goblin x oc #marvel #Norman Osborn x oc #original female character #original character #fanfic #fanfiction

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xhollandbabex · 3 years

Text

Add some spice (TH x Reader)

Warnings: smut and no plot, oral (m and f) unprotected sex, the use of a vibrator, shy!tom, cursing, probably some typos, non revised so don’t hate me.

A/n: this was requested and I’m hella sorry for not getting to it. But I promise that every request will get written, it just might take a while

:readmore:

Tom was pacing all anxious as I walked in the door with pizza in my hand and groceries weighing down my arms.

“A little help?” I call out laughing.

“Of course darling, msorry” he said rushing to my aid to help me with bags.

As we walked over to the table to set them down I noticed that the energy he had was panicky.

Once I set the bags down I was quickly turned around and a sweet pair of lips met mine.

“Ooh, hello” I said in between smiley kisses.

He kissed down my neck but he was hesitant to move his hands. Which is unusual for him bc he is the neediest, touchiest, handsy-est, man in the entire world.

I pulled away from his cash money lips and held his face at his sharp jawline.

“What’s wrong? You seem nervous.”

“I bought something I wanna try, but only if you want to..”

“Okay...” I said skeptically.

He grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom where he quietly told me to sit on the bed as he shuffled to the walk in closet.

He came back out with a smooth black box with rhinestones on it.

“Rhinestones?” I asked with a cheesy grin.

“This was the last one they had, also I’m not tasteless”

I giggled at his ability to lighten up any topic or situation.

“I bought something to spice up the bedroom” he nervously chuckled out. “And we don’t have to use it-“

“Show me.” I said with a smirk. He looked in my eyes and matched my energy.

He opened the box for a upscale vibrator wand to be inside.

“So..?”

I reached in and pulled the blue and shiny wand out of the box. I turned it on and I felt it radiate my whole arm.

“Jeez! Trying to make me jelly for a week?” I asked jokingly.

“Maybe.” He said as he leaned in closer to kiss me with that trademarked smirk of his. I leaned back on the soft bed and let him settle in between my legs.

He kissed up and down my neck as his hands wandered from my boobs to my sides to my ass to my thighs.

There’s my boy.

I whimpered as he squeezed my hip and sucked on my sweet spot.

I gripped at his shirt in desperation.

“Eager are we?”

“Only for you.”

That made his eyes go dark with want and he went back to attacking my neck.

He ground his hard on down on my pussy, and I moaned at the feeling.

I moved my hands down to palm him as he sat up to rip his shirt off as well as mine.

He groaned as he looked down at me shirtless.

He scooted down and ripped my pants and underwear off in one go.

He reached for the toy and looked up at me for conformation.

I shook my head as he turned it on the lowest setting and started to roll the head of the wand around my outer lips and inner thighs.

These sensation made me mewl in pleasure.

“Love watching you get soaked for m love” he said as he kissed my hips and left hickies at my v line.

He moved the wand onto my soaked core and the vibrations buzzed my whole body and left my skin with a beautiful burn.

“Tommy, please.” I massaged the back of his head before I tugged at his locks. He closed his eyes for a second to savor the feeling.

He loves it when I do that.

Without warning he leaned forward and started to lick on my clit in small kitten licks.

The pressure was an amazing change of pace and his cool tongue added the texture I needed to orgasm.

I gripped his hair as he hummed around my clit and he started to suck.

“That’s it love, so fucking good mm”

I was a whimpering mess for him. My whole body was shaking at the feeling of his hands wrapped around my hips and his face in my pussy.

His hair was soft yet strong enough to take a rough pull when I wanted to. I loved his breath of his nose fan on my body and his groans that added vibrations to my clit.

I like it when he does that.

The knot in my stomach was about to burst but he suddenly stopped his movements. He gave me a kiss on my kitty and slid back up my body.

I shot him a look.

“I know..” he said giggling and smirking.

“But I didn’t buy this for nothing” he deadpanned as he held the wand up again.

He always knew how to make something funny.

“Either way you’re cumming on my cock”

I kissed him and pulled him back down to me.

“Then let me try something” I said as I pushed on his chest for him to sit up.

I rolled over onto my stomach and put a pillow just under my belly but above my hips so that my ass was on full display for him.

“Mmph, fuck.” He said biting his lip and giving my ass a nice smack/grab.

He moved so he was in between my legs and he swiped his tip up and down my folds.

“So wet baby,”

He stopped for a second and I didn’t know why until I heard a familiar buzz.

It was slow, and teasing.

He placed it on my clit without warning and my upper body relaxed into the mattress as my hands gripped the sheets.

It wasn’t enough to get me off but it got me needy and desperate.

“I got you darlin’”

He swiped his cock up and down my folds until he reached my entrance.

“Alrigh?”

“Mmhm please Tommy”

“Fuckin love when you beg for me.”

He slid in slowly but easily because I was soaked to the point my thighs were wet.

He turned up the speed on the wand and it made me moan embarrassingly loud.

“Fuckkkk” Tom groaned as he bottomed out.

He started to move and it started to tip me over the edge.

With each fast paced thrust the knot in my stomach started to build. The more he fucked me into the mattress the wave that was crashing over me became a tidal wave.

“Tomm-“

“That’s right darling, come for me”

My face got hot as I let go of the knot in me. My thighs shook as Tom kept going to ride me though my high.

The cool air soon took over me as my body came down.

“Fuck baby,” Tom started.

I was fucked out and he knew. So he stopped his movements and pulled out.

“Are you okay?” He said as he kissed my temple.

“Yes,” I said refreshed as I turned back over.

I looked in between our bodies.

I saw that he hadn’t came and he was sweaty and rock hard.

“Baby, let me take care of you.”

He was sweaty and desperate so he just shook his head.

“I like that idea,” he mumbled under his breath.

I turned him over gently and his body relaxed.

I slid down his body and gave him kisses all down him.

His chest, his abs, v-line, and his hips.

“Don’t tease,”

I look up at the most beautiful sight I think I’ve ever seen.

Chiseled Tom, flushed cheeks, sweaty, eyes pleading, and lip caught between his teeth, and his hair was a floppy sweaty curly mess.

“Please” he continued.

I grabbed his cock into my hands and pumped him a few times before I enveloped his tip into my mouth and started to suck.

Poor boy didn’t last very long and came with a grunt and a small

“Fuc- mm.. I’m close”

I released him from my mouth and swallowed all of him as he watched.

“You...are...perfect”

Tom claimed lungs kicking at his chest.

I leaned back up and kissed him.

~~~~~~~~~

After we cleaned up and I peed we settled down to watch a movie.

I was laying on his chest with his arms around me.

“Don’t be afraid to ask to try things.”

“Trust me, never again. Best sex of my life.” He said giggling leaning in to kiss me.

A/N: Thank you for reading this. This was a request, I hope I did your request justice. Feel free to request what y’all want, I’ll write (mostly) anything.

#tom holland #spider man #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker

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7r0773r · 3 years

Text

Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh."

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them.

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)

#Kiese Laymon #book quotes

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thecassadilla · 4 years

Text

Of All the Apples

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,752/AO3

Summary: Though Kristoff is uncertain about his relationship with Anna, he agrees to go apple picking with her, where he is forced to confront his feelings.

Author’s Note: Though Kristoff is uncertain about his relationship with Anna, he agrees to go apple picking with her, where he is forced to confront his feelings.

Author’s Note: Okay, so there may be a teeny bit of projection here - I really wanted to go apple or pumpkin picking at some point during this month. I doubt it’ll happen, so I may as well just write about other people doing the things that I want to do, right? Anyways, for some strange reason this was *incredibly* difficult to write - I think I revised it 30 times. I still don’t know if I’m completely satisfied, to be honest. I don't even know if it makes any sense?? But I'm just going to post it anyway. Enjoy!!!

Hearing the doorbell ring had become a familiar and expected sound. Every single day, around the same time, Anna rang the bell and patiently stood on Kristoff’s doorstep. She waited to be invited inside, even though he had told her multiple times to just come inside when she felt like it. He left the door unlocked for a reason, after all.

“Come in!” he called. He heard the door open and close from where he was, and dainty footsteps made their way towards the living room. In no time at all, she had made it to the couch, quietly collapsing into the empty spot next to him. For some reason, it made him think back to the first time they had met.

He remembered it like it had happened yesterday instead of a year ago. He’d just moved into his new rental - the tiniest house on the street - which happened to be right next door to the grandiose mansion Anna and her sister had inherited from their deceased parents. Anna, still very much a stranger at this point, had shown up on his doorstep with a store bought box of chocolate cupcakes. After apologizing profusely for not baking them herself, oversharing about her lack of skills in the kitchen, and apologizing again for assuming he’d like chocolate, she handed him the box and welcomed him to the neighborhood. That very day, he fell in love with the girl who lived next door.

She walked into his life on her own volition and for some reason that he couldn’t understand, she kept coming back. Since their initial meeting, much had changed. Before he knew it, she was spending more time at his house than she was at her own, and they were sharing intimate conversations and passionate kisses. Their relationship evolved before his own eyes - from neighbors, to friends, to starting an incredibly fulfilling sexual relationship.

Despite the fact that he was completely and utterly in love with her, he spent nearly every waking hour convincing himself that she’d never want to be more than what they currently were; that every shared moment between them was some form of pageantry as opposed to something very, very real.

Instead of believing in the possibility that she could be as in love with him as he was with her, he attempted and failed to keep her at an arm's length; she was intoxicating and it was too difficult to stay away from her, no matter how much he knew that it would hurt when it ended and she moved on with someone else. So, he kept his feelings to himself and never defined their relationship.

But today, something was off. She wasn’t acting like her normal, perky self; she was quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.

“Nothing is wrong per se,” she answered with a sigh. “But I have a question for you and I think that I already know what the answer is going to be.”

“Go for it,” he encouraged her.

“I know you hate going places, but I really want to go apple picking tomorrow, and I was hoping that you’d want to come along with me.” She gave him a hopeful smile, batting her eyelashes at him.

Though she always attempted to make plans with him outside of the house, they rarely went out in public together and when they did, it was only to the grocery store. He was too afraid to be seen with her because in his eyes, a guy like him didn’t deserve a girl like her. “Oh. I don’t really think I’ll be useful -”

“You’d be useful!” she insisted enthusiastically. “Because you’re so tall! And I would really love to go with you. Can you please come apple picking with me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Somehow it was the best answer that he could come up with. He didn’t have a real reason to say no, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to say yes, either. He cleared his throat. “Elsa’s busy?”

She forced out a laugh. “Bold of you to assume that Elsa wants to spend her day off with me.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned.

Any hope she had quickly melted away and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s okay, I get it. I can go by myself, I guess.”

She moved to stand up, and acting on an impulse, he grabbed her hand, knowing that he may come to regret it. “Wait!”

She turned to face him. “What?”

“If it’s really that important to you, then I’ll go with you.”

She hardly gave him a chance to finish before she was throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Kristoff!”

He awkwardly patted her back. “You’re welcome.”

She pulled away suddenly. “Oh crap, I forgot my phone charger at home! I’m just going to go grab it and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded, and she smiled before rushing out of the house.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn’t sure what time she had snuck out of his bed that morning, but she was gone when he woke up just after ten. She hardly ever woke up before him, and it was even more unusual for her to have left at all. He rubbed at his eyes a few times before reaching for his phone, and sure enough, she had sent him a text explaining her whereabouts. She was right next door, in her own house, getting ready for their excursion. He sighed, knowing that she must have been extremely excited to have gotten up so early when they weren’t even leaving for several more hours.

So, he climbed out of bed, aware of the fact that for the first Saturday in a long time, Anna wasn’t with him. He had grown used to their sleepy weekend mornings together, half-dressed and sitting at his kitchen table with plates of pancakes in front of them. Without her there, he followed his weekday routine; he ate, showered and got dressed, keeping it casual with jeans and a black t-shirt layered under a red flannel. And then, he waited.

When the time had finally come, he went out and stood by her car, hoping that she’d be out soon. His jaw nearly dropped when she finally did. Clad in a grey v-neck sweater and light wash skinny jeans, she paired the outfit with ankle boots. Her hair was half-up, half-down and softly curled.

“Hey,” she smiled when she saw him waiting. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready. You look great, by the way.”

“So do you, I really like that flannel. You should wear red more often.”

“Thanks,” he blushed, looking down at his shirt. “Aren’t you worried about getting dirty though? We’re going to be walking around in the dirt.”

She laughed. “I don’t plan on rolling around in the dirt.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to ruin your shoes or something.”

“It’ll be fine,” she assured him, before unlocking the car doors and tossing her purse in the backseat. “Climb in.”

He did as he was told, sliding into the passenger seat.

“This is kind of a rare occurrence, huh? Me driving you somewhere,” she observed aloud as she started the engine. She crossed the seatbelt over her lap and glanced over at him.

He shrugged. “I like driving.”

“Yeah, but you’re not my chauffeur. I should drive you around more,” she remarked. “Which would mean that we’d have to go out more.”

He shook his head. “I don’t...we shouldn’t -“

“Oh god, do you think I’m a bad driver?”

“What? No!”

“I swear, I’ve only gotten one speeding ticket in my entire life and I wasn’t even going that fast.”

“Anna, your driving is fine. I was just going to say that you don’t have to worry about driving me around because we shouldn’t really be going places together.”

“Okay then,” she responded, noticeably taken aback. “May I ask why you think that?”

“It just seems like a bad idea.”

“So going to dinner after this is out of the question?”

“We could order takeout,” he suggested. “Or I can cook for you.”

She muttered something inaudible and for a few miles they sat quietly, listening to the radio. He stared out the window and admired the fall foliage, hoping that the day would go by smoothly.

Anna finally spoke up when they were about a mile from the orchard. “So, I want to get enough apples to bake a pie -”

He snorted. “You? Bake a pie?”

“Yeah,” she answered confidently. “I know I’m not great in the kitchen but I’ve never made an apple pie before and I want to try. I could really use your help.”

He glared at her. “Do I look like I’ve made an apple pie before?”

“No, but you’re more competent in the kitchen than I am.”

“Cooking is straightforward. Baking is precise. You mis-measure one ingredient and the entire thing is ruined,” he explained. “That’s why whenever you mention wanting dessert, I always go to the store and buy it.”

“I know the grocery store sells pre-made pie crusts. We can stop there after the orchard, and then that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“I did a little research about the orchard that we’re going to and they sell pies in their store,” he pointed out. “You can save yourself the stress and just buy one.”

“But what’s the fun in that?”

“I guess that’s why we’re going to a farm to buy apples and not to the grocery store,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“This is what people do in October. Apple picking, pumpkin picking, corn mazes. It’s fun!”

“They do that stuff to get likes on the Internet, too.”

She didn’t answer, but simply pursed her lips.

He sighed. “Let me guess, you want me to take pictures of you for Instagram?”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you stop at a Starbucks and get a pumpkin spice latte to pose with while you’re at it?”

“Rude.”

“It’s what people do in October,” he said, mimicking her sentiment from moments ago.

“Stop criticizing fall, it’s my favorite season. And I’ve never had a pumpkin spice latte, so ha,” she said, before sticking her tongue out at him.

“I’m not criticizing fall. I’m criticizing what people do in fall.”

“As we’re pulling into the parking lot of an apple orchard, to pick apples.”

“Your idea, not mine,” he reminded her.

“You agreed to come, mister.”

“Because you need someone to grab the hard to reach apples for you. Remember?”

She shook her head, though a knowing smile spread across her face. “Can you at least try to have fun?”

“No promises,” he answered, a small smile of his own appearing.

The lot was packed with cars, but she was able to find an empty spot with ease. They climbed out of the car, and walked toward the picking area. The attendant at the entrance handed Anna a basket, provided some instructions for them to follow, and told them that the apples would be weighed for purchase when they finished their walk-through.

When they finally entered the picking area, Anna spoke up. “What should we do first? Apples or pictures?”

He shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Apples first, then.”

There were kids and families everywhere, running from tree to tree, snapping pictures, and chattering away. They walked side-by-side along the center path, trying to avoid bumping into the other people. After walking a few feet, her fingertips brushed against his and he bit down on his lip, trying as hard as he could to ignore it. She moved to take his hand in her own, but he gently pulled away and took a step to the side to create a bit of distance between them.

“Do you not want to hold my hand?” she laughed.

“Oh, um,” he started, looking down at his palm before offering it to her. “I do.”

She accepted with a smile, and laced her soft fingers through his. “This is really nice, we should do stuff like this more often.”

“Apple picking is a seasonal thing,” he remarked, trying to deflect.

“That’s not what I meant,” she giggled. “I meant we should go out more in general.”

“Hey, this tree has a lot of apples.” He pulled her toward it, hoping that it would distract her. He dropped her hand and motioned to the tree. “Pick away.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

She handed him the basket, and reached for an apple that was hanging near her head. “Yeah, you are. Is something bothering you?”

“No,” he lied. She gently placed the apple in the basket before trying to take it back from him. “Only one apple?”

“This place is huge, we don’t have to get all of our apples from this one tree.”

“I’ll carry the basket for you,” he insisted, hoping that it would prevent her from noticing that they weren’t holding hands anymore. It didn’t work.

“Can you hold it in your other hand? Or should I just walk on the other side?”

“I’ll hold it in my other hand.” He transferred the basket and she immediately took his hand again.

They walked for a while, occasionally stopping at trees and picking a few apples before repeating the same routine. When they were approaching the last section of trees before the weighing station, Anna paused.

“Since we’re almost done and there aren’t that many people over here, we should stop for a few pictures now,” she said, dropping his hand and digging through her bag. “If you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah that’s fine.”

She dug out her phone and handed it to him, dropping her purse by his feet and taking a few steps towards the trees. He placed the basket down next to it before opening up the camera app on her phone.

There was no simple way to describe how beautiful she looked as she posed for the camera; between the sunlight that was bouncing off of her hair and the radiant smile that was spread across her face, she was absolutely ethereal. He was so entranced, that he hardly noticed that she was moving toward him and continued snapping pictures until she was much closer than before.

“Can I see how they came out?” she asked, holding her hand out. He placed the phone in her hand and she swiped through them. “They came out great! You’re a pretty good photographer.”

“I guess,” he shrugged.

She slid her phone into her back pocket and then held out her hand again. “Give me your phone, I’ll take a few pictures of you.”

“I don’t need any pictures of myself.”

“You can post it to your Instagram!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve only posted to Instagram, like, three times. I hardly use it.”

“It’s never too late. Don’t you want your friends to see what you were up to this weekend?”

“Not really. I don’t have a million friends to impress.”

“I don’t have a million friends and I’m not trying to impress anyone,” she scoffed. “I just think that it would be nice.”

“Which is why I took pictures of you for your Instagram. You don’t have to worry about me.”

She opened her mouth to argue back, but was interrupted when a woman approached them. “Hey, would you mind taking a few pictures of my boyfriend and I?”

“Of course!” Anna answered, accepting the phone from her.

The couple posed and Anna snapped a few photos before handing the phone back.

The woman looked through the pictures. “Thank you so much, they look really good. Do you want me to take a couple for you guys?”

Before he could say no, Anna was handing her phone to the woman. She grabbed his arm and dragged him back a few steps. Before he knew it, she was pressed into his side, her arm wrapped tightly around his lower back. He was unsure what to do with his own arms, and at the last minute, he draped his arm around her shoulders. He was positive that the pictures would perfectly encapsulate the tension he was feeling in his face, but he did his best to smile. After what felt like an eternity, the woman handed the phone back to Anna.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” she said to the woman, who smiled in return.

“Please don’t put those on the Internet,” he begged once the couple had wandered away.

“Why? You look great,” she said, holding the phone out to him. He took a quick look, and just as he expected, they looked way too couple-y for her to casually post it online.

“Just...don’t.”

“But we look so adorable! I want all of my friends to see it.”

“You’re probably better off just posting the pictures of you alone,” he insisted. “Your friends may get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?”

“You know, they may make assumptions.”

She looked up from her phone, and stared directly into his eyes. “What assumptions do you think they’ll make?”

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to look away from her.

“I need a legitimate reason for not posting this picture,” she insisted. “Tell me, what assumptions do you think my friends will make?”

He hesitated, thinking of how to properly phrase the thoughts running through his mind. “I don’t want people to think we’re a couple when we’re not. It’s weird and embarrassing.”

“We’re not a couple?” she asked incredulously, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

He was suddenly questioning everything he was certain of a mere moment ago. “Are we?”

“I assumed we were! We’re always together, and you know all of my secrets, and not to be too candid in a public place but we have a physical relationship - oh god, have I been reading this wrong? Are we just friends with benefits? Is that why you didn’t want to hold my hand? Are you, like, embarrassed of me?” She blinked a few times, not taking her eyes off of his.

“No!” he exclaimed loudly, causing a few people to turn around and stare in their direction. Grotesquely aware of the fact that people were paying attention, he continued in a hushed voice, “I didn’t think you’d want to be my girlfriend.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” she squawked, raising a shaky hand to her chest.

He could feel his world crumbling around him. “I’m me and you’re...you. You’re amazing and gorgeous and funny and I’m a boring, grumpy homebody.”

“You’re so much more than that; you’re kind and caring and respectful.”

He took a breath, trying to hold it together. “I don’t think I’m as great as you think I am.”

“I’m in love with you, Kristoff,” she confessed suddenly, the words tumbling out of her mouth with little regard as to how they’d be received. “I wasn’t planning on telling you like this, but you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I need you to know that.”

Though the revelation had hit him like a ton of bricks, for the first time ever, he felt at ease with his own feelings. “I love you, too.”

“You do? You aren’t just saying that because I said it?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean it. I’ve felt this way for a long time but I’ve been too much of a coward to say anything, too busy convincing myself that you’d be better off with someone else.”

She was in his arms, then, squeezing as tightly as she could, her cheek smashed up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. “You silly, silly boy, we have got to work on this self-deprecating attitude of yours. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” he grimaced, biting down on his lip.

“And for the record, I don’t think that I’d be better off with anyone else.”

He nodded against her instead of answering.

“I would kiss you but people are staring at us,” she said, pulling back slightly so she could look up at him but still keeping her arms firmly around his waist. “We should get out of here.”

“Good idea.”

“Can I please take you out to dinner tonight? I know you don’t -”

The smile on his face was enough for her to stop speaking mid-sentence. “That would be great.”

She heaved a sigh of relief, finally letting go of him so she could grab her purse and the basket. They walked hand-in-hand to the weighing station, where she bagged and paid for the apples they’d picked before walking back to the parking lot.

“Thank you for convincing me to come today, Anna,” he said as they walked to the car. “I’m really glad that I came.”

“I’m really glad that you came, too. And I’m glad that we were able to clear up that misunderstanding.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that. I spent a long time convincing myself that there was no possible way that you’d want to be with me, and it became believable.”

“I wouldn’t spend every single day with you if I didn’t want to be with you,” she assured him. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” he nodded.

“I’ve lived on our street for my entire life, and tons of people have come and gone, obviously. I can faithfully say that I have only ever welcomed one person to the neighborhood, and that was you.”

“Really? Why?”

She smirked. “I needed an excuse to talk to the cute boy who was moving in next door.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, feeling his cheeks warm up.

“I haven’t stopped bothering you since,” she said, matter-of-factly.

They climbed back into her car, and buckled their seatbelts before she started the ignition.

“And by the way, you should check Instagram,” she remarked, as she started to back out of the spot.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and launched the app. He had a few notifications, but the most recent one led him to a post that he’d been tagged in. Anna had posted the picture of the two of them with the caption: “All the apples in the orchard, and I’d pick him every time.”

He smiled to himself before liking the picture. “Would you mind sending me the pictures we took? I want my friends to see them.”

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fic #my writing

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nightklok · 4 years

Note

For the angst prompts, something about #1 says Pickles to me. Bonus points if it’s not about Nathan (I love Nickles but it’s too close to what happened in the show in this case XD).

Angst Writing Prompts [Open]

I am deeply sorry this took so long firstly! D: It was hard to not pick Nathan or Charles for this one tbh! But I think I found someone that actually fits for this more; Skwisgaar!

1. “You say you love me. So what? You wouldn’t be the first you most certainly won’t be the last.”

Trigger warnings: Drinking/alcohol use

Skwisgaar may not look like it but he was the type of person to fall head over heels in love. And who could blame him? Love was such a wonderful and sweet feeling that made him feel a thousand times lighter and feeling so much more alive than he ever had before. It was so much better than the meaningless one-night stands he had over the years; so it made all the more worth it to drop those one night stands at the drop of a hat the moment he fell in love.

And falling in love is what ended up happening when he met Pickles, the singer for the disbanded band Snakes N’ Barrels and now the new drummer for Dethklok.

It wasn’t fast with falling in love. No, it crept up and slowly consumed him before he could even be aware he had fallen in love with a bandmate. It was something that never happened before and while the familiar warm feelings of falling in love surfaced, there also came the uncertainty. It was unprofessional though he was never one to follow rules. Though if he said anything and Pickles quit, it meant having to go through drummer (and possibly guitarist) auditions all over again. And Pickles felt like the perfect piece to their mismatched puzzle of a band.

But when was the moment he had fallen in love with Pickles?

They were alone in the apartment they called Mordhaus for the first time. Magnus and Murderface had gone to do some side gigs to earn them extra cash. Nathan was scouring around a different town with their recently made demos in hand to hope that some venue would let them perform. That left Skwisgaar and Pickles in the apartment alone.

Pickles was going through a can of cheap beer and trying to write some songs while Jeopardy was playing in the background. He was one of the few that could write music but also one of the many that couldn’t exactly read what he wrote. It would mean Magnus, or Murderface would have to revise what he wrote and give him additional feedback if needed. Skwisgaar couldn’t read music for the life of him; he just simply went where the music flowed.

Still, he wanted to be of some use. He approached the drummer, “Hey, Pickle.”

“Oh, hey Skwisgaar,” Pickles looked up at him with a grin that made his heart slowly pound for whatever reason, “What’s up?”

“Uh, just wanteds to asks whats your doings...” He answered. He had no idea why he even bothered approaching, “Or if you wanteds somethings.”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though. But I’m trying to write whatever Nate left for me. Don’t know if I’m doing a good job but it’s something.”

“Yeah,” He looked at the sheet of music that contained all sorts of random symbols and music notes he couldn’t read. What he wouldn’t give to be able to read music at the moment, “Maybes I can helps you..if you wants...”

“Sure. Just get your guitar, wanna see if this part sounds good.”

Skwisgaar went to his room to pick up his guitar and sat down next to him, politely rejecting the beer offered and tuned his guitar as the other got ready.

“Okay, you remember what Nate talked about right?” Pickles asked.

“Yeah, he wanteds the songs to be fasts...rights?”

“And heavy too,” He answered. To any other people, fast and heavy wouldn’t mean a lot or carry a whole lot of weight but to them, it sure did mean a whole lot.

“Okay, he told me he wanted my drums to kinda follow your lead so I’m trying to learn your part to figure out my own.”

“Can you evens plays that fast?” The words tumbled out before Skwisgaar could think. For a moment, he feared that Pickles would be offended but thankfully he laughed instead and his fears quickly diminished. He never really heard him laugh before and it was actually cute.

“I am in this band so I think I can. Why don’t you go show me how you’re planning to play?”

Skwisgaar nodded and once he felt he was ready, began to play. It was a fast progression as Nathan had wanted, no build up to it or anything to be able to prepare an inexperienced guitar player for such swift playing. Pickles seemed unphased, concentrating on how his fingers hit each note and studying each fret and string hit similar to studying for a test.

“It’s actually really good, Skwisgaaar,” Pickles smiled at him when he finished playing, “Why don’t you play it again and I try and keep up with the drums this time?”

Pickles got the drum kit ready, adjusting and doing whatever he needed to do. With a nod, Skwisgaaar began playing. It took a moment or two before Pickles quickly began to play. It was a little too fast and rushed but by the time they got the first verse done, a steady drum beat was made. It had kept up with Skwisgaar’s in a call and response kind of way and it worked surprisingly well. By the time they finished the song, there was the adrenaline rush from a good performance.

“I should’ve asked you to help out sooner, we really did it!” Pickles grinned at him and it made Skwisgaar’s heart beat rapidly once again.

“Oh it’s no problems,” Skwisgaar managed to say with a smile of his own.

“I’m gonna get us food to celebrate; you don’t know how long I’ve been stuck with this song, dude. I really owe you one!” Maybe Pickles was too wrapped up in his own excitement but he had given him a very brief hug before grabbing his car keys and leaving to grab said food.

Skwisgaar was alone with a very flushed face, rapidly beating heart and confused feelings.

______

Okay, so he was in love with Pickles. Totally fine. Totally okay. Totally not something that will backfire if all goes wrong.

He was one to confess feelings the moment he felt them but he had a feeling that it wasn’t wise to do it on the spot. He was impulsive but he also had to use his brain. And band romances are such a tricky situation to go through.

And as he got to know Pickles better, he also realized how much pain he had gone through.

From a family that never loved him to relationships that crashed and burned, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had sworn off falling in love. He already gave a feeling that he was hurt. And so badly did he want to help him. No person should be in that much pain internally but he didn’t know how to help.

He tried to initiate more contact with him as appropriately as he could. Brushing hands against him, leaning against him during movie nights, all that subtle stuff. He knew those things were platonic and the band was surprisingly casual about that stuff around each other. Pickles luckily didn’t seem to mind but most likely took it as a platonic thing.

There was one night where he drank a bit more than usual and got a little too brave. He rested his hand on top of his and didn’t know what to expect out of it.

And this would happen various times after that night like Pickles realized something he didn’t want to realize. Anytime Skwisgaar touched him, there was a moment of comfort, like it was something he had craved and wanted for so long. But then the moment would disappear and he would excuse himself or move himself away. It was like he had put up a wall between them and he didn’t know how to get himself out of it.

So who could blame Skwisgaar if he decided that enough was enough and he should confess? Maybe Pickles needed the reminder that someone did love him. Not someone who thought of him as a one night stand but someone who had lived with him, gotten to know him, and fell in love with who he was as a person rather than idealized image people may have of him?

It must’ve been close to a year and Skwisgaar never stopped falling in love with him. He wanted him to know. He wanted him to know that he was who he thought about when he woke up or went to bed, how he fantasized kissing him or holding him close until they fall asleep. He wanted to kiss him and do all those lovey-dovey couple things that would never grow old. He just wanted to make him feel loved.

They were alone in the apartment once again but this time for the night. Nathan had gone to a family reunion, Magnus was going on some road trip with some friends and Murderface was spending the night with his old bandmates as it was their reunion or something.

Skwisgaar asked Pickles if he wanted to watch a movie with him. And Pickles thankfully agreed. They sat on the couch of the living room, watching some horror movie that was on cable but neither were really paying attention. There were drinks and a box of pizza that sat half empty.

‘Hey, Pickle?”

“Yeah?”

He had to say it. He just had to. It was now or never, “I ams in loves with you.”

There was silence for the longest time before an answer was made that made his stomach churn, “How much did the guys bet you?” Was all Pickles said with a laugh drier than the wine he was drinking.

“Wha-no-I never tolds anyones! I’m serious!”

“Skwisgaar, it’s a very funny joke but not really. Just drop it.” His voice turned bitter as he looked at him with confusion, hurt, and anger.

“I ams not. I reallies, reallies, do,” Skwisgaar said quickly, “I haves been in loves with you for a longs times.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

“I...just ams! You’re talenteds and good lookings and nice to mes, it just happeneds!”

“Dude, you’re not in love with me. Besides, you got other people to be with, no?”

“No, I never evens had peoples over to fuck. Have you ever noticed me bringings in someones over for the nights?”

Pickles had to pause and realized that it was true. Skwisgaar hadn’t brought over anyone in such a long time. It still didn’t help words from coming out like he was convincing himself that it couldn’t be true, “How many times do you think people have said those things to me? So what if you said you love me? You wouldn’t be the first and you won’t be the last.”

“What ams you so afraids of?” Skwisgaar had to ask.

“Me? I’m afraid of nothing, you just don’t know who you’re saying that stuff too.” The lights may have been off but it was easy to see the shine of tear streaks against his cheeks from the glow of the TV.

“...I don’t wants to hurts you, Pickle. Please.” Skwisgaar said and placed a hand on top of his. When Pickles didn’t pull away, he continued, “I...knows that it mights be difficults but you don’t haves to do anythings if you don’t wants to. It’s okays if you don’t haves feelings for me...Just wanteds you to knows.”

For that moment, he could truly feel what Pickles must’ve felt. The fear of falling in love and the fear of heartbreak. He must’ve never known the feeling of falling in love and feeling like the world was just right for once. Their faces were close now. Skwisgaar reached a hand to touch the side of his face to gently pull him closer. He paused every so often to give the other a chance to back away or tell him to stop. He only moved forward when he felt him move closer to him until their lips touched.

It was soft and light but eventually turned deeper. The taste of wine and vodka was apparent but it didn’t bother either of them. There was warmth and a spark and it felt like falling in love for the first time. And it felt so, so, right to kiss each other.

And for that reason, Pickles pulled away. He didn’t even meet him in the eyes, his face flushed but seemed to be going through all sorts of emotions, “I-uh-gotta go. See you later.”

Skwisgaar watched as Pickles left before giving him a chance to speak. His own face felt flushed and he was probably running through the same emotions as well. It felt like they were just going somewhere, finally going a few steps forward, but now everything crashed back and they were probably back to square one.

Maybe other people would give up at this point. And maybe it was what Pickles expected; after all, any other person would label him a lost cause and move on to someone more worth their time. But to Skwisgaar, he was worth the wait for so much and more. He knew that there was something and he knew the other felt the same. He just had to go about this in a manner that would reassure him that he wasn’t going to give up on him and he wasn’t going to hurt him.

Despite the feeling of heartbreak, he still was in love with him. And he was determined to prove it to him no matter what.

#metalocalypse #skwisgaar skwigelf #pickles the drummer #skwisgaar x pickles #Anonymous #pairing: Skwisgaar x pickles #my writing #not on ao3 #Thanks for asking :D this has been on my mind all october so glad to finally write it sdlfjk #I now ship this in a doomed/unrequited kinda way rip

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apparitionism · 5 years

Text

Run

This is a pointless AU, a little idea from elsewhere that’s in the process of turning into a story-esque thing, not a comedy or a drama as such, just a “here’s another way two people might find their way to each other” tale. Also I’ve never deployed a Giselle character, really, and I figured I might as well try. She’s not a bad guy, mind you, nor even an obstacle; the only obstacles, at base, are misunderstandings and circumstances. Conventional ones. They might accurately be called clichéd. Anyway, this is some kind of starting line. Bang. (That’s meant to be a starter’s pistol, by the way; don’t be getting any ideas.)

Run

At four in the morning, Myka Bering sat three steps from the bottom of the dark staircase in her apartment’s foyer and pushed her feet into new running shoes. They looked like nothing special: a standard navy blue faux leather, with their manufacturer’s stylized “Z” logo embossed in silver on the sides. The pristine white of both the slim soles and the no-tie laces pleased her, despite the fact that their just-out-of-the-box luster would of course start graying at the first exposure to the city.

Myka stood up in the shoes and bounced on her toes, her ritual commencement of every day’s run.

The instant her heels left the ground, she understood just how difficult her life was about to become.

For this decidedly unspecial-seeming shoe—the Deceit—represented the latest attempt by the Zelus athletic corporation to gain an insurmountable advantage in the sport of running.

Myka’s job was to stop them.

At her desk at work later that morning, Myka revised, for accuracy, her overly dramatic thought of the morning: a small part of her job was to help stop them. Her actual job was to co-direct certification and compliance for Athletics Authority International, the globe-spanning organization that governed running, jumping, and throwing events. The organization regularly dealt with issues of equipment inappropriately boosting performance; thus Deceits, understood one way—nondramatically—were just the latest technological challenge to the idea of a level playing field.

But based on her morning’s run, Myka did not think Deceits could be understood nondramatically.

“Did you try the Deceits yet?” she asked Pete Lattimer, her co-directing partner. They had taken to joking that in their area, he was the “athletics”—an Olympic-team-alternate decathlete—while she was the “international,” for she’d got her job based largely on her wide-ranging language fluency. Myka suspected that today, athletics aside, his answer would be “no”; they’d received the shipment of test shoes only a few days ago, and Pete was focusing more on language than sports lately anyway, Duolingo-ing his heart out in Spanish so as to one day be able to impress Kelly Hernandez, head of Latin American outreach, such that she would first agree to go to lunch with him and then, swayed partially by his language skills but mostly by his charm, acknowledge that they were destined to spend their lives together. Myka wasn’t at all sure Kelly was going to persuaded by Pete’s bilingual (or “bilingual”) flirting... though he was also concentrating heavily on vocabulary related to sandwiches, so he’d probably end up with at least a food-related happy ending.

“Nah,” he said, confirming her prediction about the shoes. “I’m guessing you must’ve, though. They as crazy as those trials records make ’em seem?”

“Crazier,” Myka said. “To me. But I want to know how they really feel. To a real athlete.”

“Somebody needs a real athlete? I see why Lattimer’s not up to it,” remarked a tall woman as she approached Myka’s desk. Myka looked up and smiled.

“Same goes for you, Giselle,” Pete said, but with cheer. “How’s communications?”

“Turn those children over my knee if I could,” Giselle replied, equally cheerful. “That’s where you can help: how’s your javelin these days?”

“Why don’t you just run away? I thought you were supposed to be fast or something.”

Giselle Wade was fast—Myka knew it, and she knew Pete knew it too. Giselle was a legend in East Texas, where she had shattered high school track records, particularly at the longer distances. She’d done the same to NCAA times, placing some out of reach for what would probably be generations. U.S. bests had fallen to her too, though worlds had been elusive... but she had some impressive Olympic hardware all the same.

“Outran you,” Giselle said, which was true; her 1500-meter times were faster than Pete’s had ever been.

They would have gone on for a while before they wound down, but their jabs gave Myka the opening she needed. “Speaking of running,” she said to Giselle, “did you try the Deceits?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And exactly what you think,” Giselle said. Before Myka could get her to clarify, she went on, “And this very morning I heard Zelus wants to push a version with spikes for sprinters.”

Myka objected, “But the thin soles!” Sole height was a major issue. The Deceit’s predecessor shoe, the Zelus Induct—which had also given runners a clear advantage—had been recognizable due to its oversized sole, packed with lightweight foam, that effectively lengthened a runner’s legs. The sole contained within the foam a carbon plate that acted as a spring, enabling a stride that used less leg energy and thus translated into distance runners having more kick over an entire race. AAI had rapidly banned that shoe, but the Deceit upped the ante because it somehow managed to do all the Induct’s dirty work, and apparently even more, in a standard-sized sole. Sprinters’ soles were basically flat, though, so how could the foam and plates fit? Not to mention: “Why would Zelus want to start a fight on another front?”

“Some other company rolls out skinny little cheat spikes first if Zelus doesn’t get on it? Old story about the toothpaste and the tube? You know.” Giselle shrugged. “All we can do is try to slow it down.”

“Ha!” Pete barked. “I see what you did there! Slow it down! Fast shoes!”

Giselle shook her head and murmured “that man” mostly to herself, but a little bit to Myka, who nodded in sympathy a commensurate little bit. Then Giselle said, “Thank sweet Jesus I don’t have to run in Deceits or against them. Glad I’m out of that part of it now.”

“I’m glad I was never in it,” Myka said.

“You know you got the discipline,” Giselle said. She’d told Myka this before.

It was a real compliment, but: “I don’t have the gift,” Myka responded, as she had in the past.

“Discipline counts. Makes up for a lot.”

“Those Deceits do too,” Myka said. “I barely even broke a sweat this morning.”

“That’s a shame.”

Myka offered a “huh?” expression, though she was pretty sure she knew what was coming.

“You, all hot and sweaty?” And Giselle sighed, a parody of infatuation. “Yes indeed...”

Myka rolled her eyes, and then they both laughed. It was a ritual: Giselle “flirted,” Myka “suffered,” they laughed.

Some months ago, not long after Giselle had been brought on board by AAI, she’d asked Myka out.

“I have a boyfriend,” Myka had said, because that was what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that.

“Well,” Giselle said. “Look at me, getting the wrong impression. Sorry, Myka. Guess we’ll keep it professional.”

Giselle tended to put a drag on the last word of every sentence, a vocal habit that kept a listener hanging: would she say more? It might or might not have been intentional, but it was effective, particularly when combined with her linger of a Texas drawl. Thus her “professional” came out “pro... fess... io... nal.” Myka half-expected her to follow up with “or not.”

“Well,” Myka said back, when it became apparent that no more was in fact forthcoming, “not totally professional. We can still get coffee, right?” Because she did like Giselle.

Ah, there it was: Giselle gave her a still-flirty head toss and said, “Not to make the same mistake twice, but I did ‘get coffee’ with a lady one time and it turned into three days in Monaco. So we’ll see...”

Myka rolled her eyes, but then she laughed, and Giselle did too: the start of the ritual.

That should have been that.

But an international athletic governing body was apparently like every other semi-hermetically sealed social environment: a school, a team, a lab. Things got around. Mere hours after that conversation—which, granted, had taken place in the 40th-floor elevator lobby, the transit funnel for every employee of AAI, which occupied the entirety of that skyscraper level—Pete had marched back into their area from lunch and confronted Myka with, “I heard Giselle asked you out.”

Myka had tried not to respond, because really, what was there to say?

He went on, “And I heard you told her you have a boyfriend, which is what you said way back in history when I asked you out.”

“History? That was less than two years ago.”

“Anyway, I heard she believed you. Just like I did.”

“That was the idea. With her and with you.”

“I still don’t see why you didn’t just say ‘Pete, I don’t want to go out with you.’ It would’ve been fine.”

“I’d barely met you. I had no idea if you’d be a decent guy about it.”

“But I am a decent guy. About everything! So it would’ve been fine.”

“But I didn’t know you were a decent guy.” She had barely started at AAI; all she’d known about Pete Lattimer was that he’d been a decent decathlete. And that was no help at all, for every new coworker she met was a former Olympian or member of some national team or at least a famous ex-coach. It all made her feel as if she had no business working for the organization in the first place. They should have said that “athletic” was a requirement... each successive introduction seemed to drum with more force into her that a law degree and several languages were nothing against a sub-four mile.

Given that insecurity, she hadn’t needed any additional inputs or variables, so when Pete had said, “We should get dinner after work sometime,” she’d said what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that. It had become a reflex because regardless of any other complicating circumstances—such as a new job where her body itself didn’t belong—it was easier. It was almost always easier than whatever might follow her saying anything else.

Pete said, “You didn’t know I was a decent guy, so you lied about having a boyfriend. And now you’ve lied about it again.”

She’d winced at the word “lied.” It was accurate, but she didn’t like it. Then you probably shouldn’t do it, her conscience told her. She told it to shut up. Then she told Pete, “I know that and you know that. Giselle doesn’t need to know that.”

“But you already like her better than you would’ve ever liked me.” At that, Myka started to protest, but he waved her off. “You know I mean because she’s a lady. Why didn’t you say you have a girlfriend?”

Speaking of what was easier: “boyfriend” was easier than “girlfriend.” It raised fewer questions, and it raised fewer... thoughts. And that was easier too.

It was supposed to raise fewer thoughts, anyway.

Fortunately, Pete hadn’t waited for an answer, or for Myka to start thinking any thoughts, instead moving on to what he clearly found most important: “And lady-wise, don’t you think she’s hot? I think she’s hot.”

Myka sighed. “Yes, I think she’s hot. In fact I know she’s hot. I have eyes.”

“So go out with her. She’s hot, you’re hot. Sizzle!”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Then why didn’t you go ahead and tell her that? Do you think she isn’t a decent guy?”

“Pretty sure she’s not a guy at all,” Myka had said, trying to joke him into just... stopping.

She didn’t want to get into the complicated conversation that would have ensued if she’d admitted to having genuinely, if fleetingly, regretted her reflex—because he certainly wasn’t wrong about Giselle being a woman, and he double-certainly wasn’t wrong about her looks. She was stunning; she’d had that wildly successful athletic career, then transitioned with seemingly no friction at all into modeling, at which she was even more wildly successful. Her legs were as long as the miles she used to run, and Myka was certainly, in that sense, human.

But Giselle had already developed a reputation at AAI, despite her brief tenure, for what could charitably be called a... short attention span. Maybe it was the inevitable result of her having been able to have just about anything—and anyone—she wanted, in not one but two elevated realms, or maybe it had always been Giselle’s personality as a romantic socializer, but while Myka had no trouble observing it from the outside, as a characteristic of her friend Giselle, she didn’t particularly want to be subjected to it. What if she slipped and overinvested? Exactly the kind of difficulty she didn’t need, regardless of any other complicating circumstances. Exactly the kind of difficulty she had never needed, and if she had slipped and fallen into it in the past? Well, that was the past, and she certainly didn’t need to revisit any part of that, much less repeat it.

These months later, however, some days Myka had a vague sense that a day should come when she should talk herself into telling Giselle she didn’t have a (nonexistent) boyfriend anymore. A day, that was to say, when she should ask for Giselle’s attention, if only for a short span. It seemed normal, human, to think that a short span of time, even if it led to a complicating slip and overinvestment, might—should?—be better than nothing, and so some days, Myka tried to want to talk herself into that.

But on different days, she’d think, definitively, I don’t want to. Because talking herself into it felt dishonest. Even if Giselle subscribed solely to Pete’s “she’s hot, you’re hot; sizzle” theory of the case, even if both of them might have enjoyed much of that short span of time: dishonest. Inauthentic. Deceitful.

“You’re not very good at having fun, are you?” Pete had asked her once, when she’d told him, in response to his sincere inquiry, that she had never actually dreamed of having Disneyland all to herself for a day. She’d agreed that no, she really wasn’t very good at having fun, and he’d said, “You need to get out more. Maybe not to Disney, but you need to get out more.”

You need to get out more. She’d laughed at him, because the most out she ever got, away from work, was for her 4am run. That, she could talk herself into without feeling dishonest at all. Far from it: she reveled in the discipline required for that strict self-persuasion every day, which was probably why she’d found that she could, ultimately, work well—reasonably well—with athletes. Athletics at its highest level was discipline, and Giselle and Pete and most of the others could see that Myka got that, even had that, as Giselle kept telling her.

But as Myka always told Giselle in return (not that Giselle needed telling), for real athletes, that discipline had to be kissed by the divine, and Myka had no access to such physical divinity. None at all. She was an exercise runner, lowest of the low in terms of athletic esteem. She knew because that was how the athletes said it, with a twist of pity: exercise runner. That was what she was, and she knew it.

Until she ran in the Deceits.

They were named, of course, for their unassuming look and for the illicit advantage they gave the world-class athletes. But for Myka-the-unesteemed, they were differently deceptive: they made her feel like A Runner. Giselle and her peers had been born with the kind of legs these shoes changed Myka’s into, springing from the ground with power, creating a feeling of “this is my body; this is what it can do, and if I push, still more,” and miraculously—deceptively—there was still more it could be pushed to do. Myka felt like her body before the Deceits had been Clark Kent, like it had been waiting for the chance to reveal that it wore the suit and had superpowers, like this had always been how she could run.

It wasn’t real. But it felt real.

So she understood why Deceits were breaking records—speed records now, but eventually, they would break sales records, too.

She also understood, very clearly, that they should be banned.

Even for exercise runners like her: deceiving oneself, Myka felt, was worse than deceiving others, regardless of whether they were fellow competitors or the outside world in general. Just as she didn’t want to talk herself into Giselle, she didn’t want to run every morning in those shoes. If she did, that self-deception would become a habit of mind, and Myka deep-knew that being clear-eyed about oneself was essential. A moral duty, her inner rector told her, and even though she would probably have been happier to not live her life quite that ramrod-straight (to, for example, be better at having fun), it had been her thought as she’d begun that first run in the Deceits. She’d kept on thinking it, throughout her entire route, as she devoured the miles with her newly athletic strides. Clear-eyed, mor-al, du-ty. Right-left, right-left, right-left.

Administratively, the world of athletics moved at a speed inverse to that of the track. The relatively “rapid” ban of the Deceit’s predecessor had taken six months to work out and implement, so it was no surprise that several weeks elapsed before AAI even scheduled negotiations with Zelus reps over the new shoes. They would be delicate, the negotiations, for Zelus money was essential to the sport. It was imperative not to make any penalties too prohibitive or too “insulting” to the company or its affiliates. Could already-ratified world records set in Deceits be voided? Would that lead to Zelus-sponsored athletes boycotting competitions? Could Deceits be banned? Would that be at all enforceable?

Myka knew that Dan Badger, the president and CEO of AAI, would be scrutinizing everything she and Pete and their team proposed. Newly appointed to show that AAI was turning a regulatory corner, he had made clear that his watchword was “integrity,” and that applied not only to the sport as a whole, but to every athlete who participated in it, every piece of equipment they touched, every employee under his purview, every official action they took. Unofficial actions, too: there was, as far as Myka could tell, no ethical give in Badger’s worldview. Where prior heads might have made a handshake deal of some sort with Zelus’s own CEO with regard to the Deceits—and Myka suspected something along those lines had occurred for the Inducts, most likely involving a wink-nod to the already-in-the-pipelines Deceits—Badger would have considered the mere suggestion of such a thing a personal affront.

“Why doesn’t Badge like you more?” Pete once asked Myka. “You’re exactly like him.” Myka wasn’t, in fact, exactly like him, for Badger was an athlete’s athlete, a hurdling champion from a decades-ago golden age of British track and field. That gilded aura was a carapace around him, deflecting whatever might have been directed his way from beings he considered lesser, including nonathletes like Myka. It wasn’t actively insulting or cruel, just... clear. The athletes called him “Badge,” among themselves and to his face, while Myka had the sense that if she uttered that collegial syllable, no one, and certainly not the man himself, would even perceive that any sound had escaped her lips.

Pete wasn’t entirely wrong, though; Myka had enough consonance with Badger that she couldn’t quite bring herself to resent him. His absolutely unimpeachable reputation was supplemented by the fact that he looked exactly as an athletic lion of his age and era should: face appropriately tanned for health and creased for character, hair silver and full, height calibrated as if to the millimeter to be imposing but not incongruous. He was the ideal figurehead for an organization that wanted to burnish its standing as a virtuous guardian of all that was competitively good in athletics.

In the end, Myka’s own inclinations aligned with her need to fulfill Badger’s expectations, yet neither she nor he could change the underlying economics of the sport. She might have been moved, under other circumstances, to restore her single-run-sullied Deceits to their silver Zelus box and push that box to the back of her closet, but instead she spent an inordinate amount of time looking at them. Was there any way at all to tell, just by looking, that they could do what they did?

Enforcement was a matter of measurement and testing, but these shoes were a drug for which no test existed. AAI had hired a group of materials engineers to take them apart, so Myka now knew how they did what they did: even newer foam, plus two carbon plates, set at angles to each other. They really might as well have been springs—invisible to the outside-shoe naked eye, but springs all the same.

AAI could nominally ban double-plate soles, but it couldn’t possibly dismantle every Zelus runner’s footwear at every event to ensure that the ban was being respected. Myka saw no way out other than to ban Zelus shoes across the board (for she’d been thinking, too, of what Giselle had said about spikes), but that brought her back to financial impossibility. And around she went again. And again. And again.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the rest of athletics administration proceeded without heed for Deceits, no matter how long Myka stared at them, no matter how many negotiating scenarios she tried, unfruitfully, to game out. Meets and championships and trials all continued, requiring level upon level of authorization and accompanying paperwork...

One morning, Myka was concentrating, squint-eyed, on a spreadsheet when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Pete,” she began, still squinting at her screen, “I told you if I don’t approve the new certification tables for posting this morning—”

“I’m so sorry,” said an English-accented female voice, “but I’m not Pete. And I seem to be lost.”

Myka looked up. No, you’re not, was her first thought, which resolved into: You’re not Pete, and you’re not lost. You belong right here.

TBC

A few notes, just because:

I made up the governing body; it’s intended to be vaguely like the real organization World Athletics (formerly IAAF), which determines what’s allowable in track and field competition, but I’m not trying to replicate its structure at all. Further, the actual organization maintains that it doesn’t consult with shoe companies before making regulatory decisions... whether you believe that claim is of course entirely up to you.

Two passages from Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents are in some sense guiding my thinking here (because I’m like that). The first is this: “Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary organs he is truly magnificent; but these organs have not grown on to him and they still give him much trouble at times.” He’s talking about cars and eyeglasses and such things, but obviously the idea is applicable to athletic tech. An idea from a little earlier in the book seems relevant as well: “What we call happiness in the strictest sense comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree, and it is from its nature only possible as an episodic phenomenon.” Right? We’ll see about that latter part though, Dr. Freud.

Finally, as that rude anon suggested some months ago, I’m obviously speaking to a community that’s mostly inactive now. But I’m a keeper of faith: one of the things I do best is wait. So one point of this story is that it exists. I’m waiting. C’mon and wait with me, if you like.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #AU week

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tivaholic4 · 4 years

Text

Dead Weight Revised

Dead Weight. He wasn’t dead weight. He thought that maybe just maybe she would think of him as something better than that. But no, she referred to him as Dead Weight. As they made their way to the plane, he wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t speak to her. He just wanted to get this over with. But no matter how much she upset or angered him, he wanted to go with her to ensure her safety. No matter what, he was still in love with her and would make sure that she was okay. He sat on the seat opposite of her and wouldn’t look her way.

“Are you okay, Tony?” She asked about an hour into the flight. He nodded his head, still not making eye contact with her. She let him be, seeing as he wanted to be left alone.

He just couldn’t help but feel like shit. This was the woman that he went to the ends of the earth for. The woman he was willing to die for. And she considered him as dead weight. Something that would ultimately get in the way. That hurt him. That she thought that he would get in the way of the mission. When has he ever done that? Whenever it came to missions, he was always serious. He wouldn’t ruin this.

As they landed, he walked off the plane and followed Ziva. They were given a car to a “hotel” if that’s really what you want to call it. When he met Monique he played it off that he was impressed. He did what he does best, he flirted. He could see the glare from Ziva out of the corner of his eye.

Trading Ziva stories made him laugh a real laugh for the first time since they arrived. He didn’t trust this Monique but he wasn’t going to say anything as Ziva looked up to her. He didn’t need her calling him any more names or insulting him anymore.

As they were shot at he had to protect the chaplain, even when he would rather be protecting Ziva. Seeing that she was okay, she looked his way, he nodded that he was fine. On the video call to Gibbs, he voiced his concerns that Monique couldn’t be trusted, which ended with a yell from Ziva. Monique knew about the attack before it happened, yet she didn’t warn them. That leads to mistrust and Tony wasn’t down for that. He didn’t speak to Ziva for the rest of the day.

They found their missing pair and the missing chaplain. It was time to go back home.

Tony still sat opposite from Ziva, still not wanting to be alone with her just yet. He still couldn’t get over the “Dead Weight” comment. Did she really think so little of him? About 4 hours into the flight, she walked over and pulled on his arm, tilting her head, telling him to follow her. ‘Great.’ He thought. She wanted to speak to him. What did she want to tell him now? That if he disrespected Monique again she’ll kill him with a paperclip? This is not what he needed right now. She pulled him behind some crates for more privacy. Once she checked that they were alone, she turned to him, looking him in the eye. “What is going on with you, Tony? You have barely said a word this entire trip unless you were spoken too. Did something happen?” Her tone was soft. He looked her in the eye when he spoke. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have I been a dead weight?” Ziva sighed and looked down at the floor. She knew that was going to come back and bite her in the ass. “Tony,” She started but Tony cut her off. “You know what, no. I’m gonna talk. That hurt Ziva. For you to think of me as dead weight. I have gone around the world for you more than once. I do everything that I can for you and suddenly I’m dead weight." She looked up at him, not saying a word.

“So sorry for ruining the trip, Ziva. But I’ve had a lot on my mind.” He turned to walk away when she grabbed his arm gently and pulled him back to her.

“Please, Tony.” He was looking anywhere but her. After all their time together, he would think she would have more to say.

“Tony, please look at me.” He hesitantly looked at her. It was then that he noticed she had tears in her eyes, one pooling out, running down her cheek. His thumb moved on its own accord and wiped the tear off her cheek. Noticing that she leaned into his touch.

“I am sorry, Tony. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t want anyone to come with me on this trip.”

“Why? Tell me? What could possibly be so important that you would insult me?

“Tony.” She said softly, making him look at her again. She was beautiful. No matter the tears and her hair sticking in multiple directions in her ponytail.

“I never intended to hurt you with my comment.” Tony huffed, why couldn’t she tell him? Why was this so important to keep inside?

“That’s not good enough for me, Ziva. I don’t know what’s going on inside your head right now, but I can tell you one thing. This isn’t you. I can’t even look at you right now. And quite honestly, I don’t want to talk to you.” he moved to move away again. Ziva grabbed his arm to pull him back again.

“I haven’t seen Monique in a very long time. I could sense that something was wrong on the feed in MTAC. I wanted to talk to her, but if anybody else came, she wouldn’t. She doesn’t trust many, Tony.” Tony didn’t look convinced, giving her a glare as she spoke.

“No. That’s not true. You said it yourself, you’re a terrible liar. I’ve always been able to tell when you lie to me, but I let it slide. Not this time. I want the truth or I’m walking away.” Ziva’s eyes were glistening with tears. She knew he deserved the truth.

“I have spoken a lot to Monique about my life in America. About the people I work with, the people I care about.” She hesitated and looked down at the ground.

“I spoke mostly of you, Tony. How much you care. She has always said that she wished to meet you and I was scared of what would be discussed.” Tony’s eyes narrowed.

“You think I care about what she says of you? I have my own opinion of you Ziva. Have for a while now. Nothing is going to change that. You have changed. What she says about you will not make me run. You’re my partner.” Ziva shook her head.

“You do not understand.” She tried to reason.

“You’re right I don’t understand.”

“Tony, when I met Monique, Tali had just been killed. I was hellbent on revenge and I didn’t care who I hurt along the way. It got to the point where Monique had to step in and stage an intervention. I was ruthless, Tony. I want to bury that part of my life. I am a different person now. I have changed for the better. It is ridiculous. You have every right to be mad with me. I only said it to try to deter you from coming. It was never intended to be hurtful but it was and for that, I am sorry, Tony.”

“Even if you tried everything in your arsenal, Ziva, I still would’ve come. You’re my partner. My best friend. I have your six, Ziva. Always have and I always will.” Ziva nodded, another tear running down her cheek. Tony, again, brought his hand up to her cheek and wiped it off.

“I am sorry, Tony.” Tony nodded.

“I know but...it hurt me, Ziva. I have been thinking for the last couple days that that’s really what I am to you, just Dead Weight.” Ziva brought her hands to both sides of his head, bringing his eyes to look into hers.

“No. You are my partner. Someone that means a great deal to me. I know it was the wrong thing to say and if I could take it back, I would. But I cannot, no matter how much I want to. All I can do is try to make it better and I will try my very best to do just that. I promise, Tony.” Tony smiled, he knew she meant it. He could see it in her eyes. He had always been able to read those beautiful brown doe eyes.

“What hurt the most was that the woman I love said it to me.” He blurted, not meaning to. He bolted up to look at her. He just revealed something that he had kept close for so long. Something that he was scared to let out. Ziva met his eyes, looking at him with an intensity he had never experienced from her before.

“You love me?” Tony smiled, tears now forming in his eyes now. He nodded, he couldn’t bring himself to speak at the moment, afraid of rejection.

“I love you too, Tony.” She smiled, tears running down her face as she spoke. His smile was as wide as it could go. She loved him. Even after all this, his heart fluttered with excitement at the fact that she loved him back.

He moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. He could see the guilt and the love in her eyes and he just wanted to kiss her senseless. God, what this woman could do to him!

He leaned his head closer, capturing her lips with his. They both closed their eyes and reveled in how good it felt. He gently pushed her against the wall behind them. They were behind the boxes, blocking them from view to everyone else on the plane. He deepened the kiss by mixing his tongue into the mix, making her moan into his mouth. He pulled back and placed kisses along her neck, hearing her whimper in his ear made him pull back and smile. She looked back up and smiled her Mona Lisa smile, almost making him kiss her again. He knew that he would lead somewhere else and he didn’t want their first time to be like this. On a plane in the middle of the ocean, people not even 15 feet away, and behind boxes. She deserved better than that. The gentleman in him wanted to take her on a date first, a real date. No take out, no movie, that all could come later. He wanted to show her how much he loved her, how much he adored her.

They needed to get home. He wanted to start right away.

#NCIS #Ziva David #Tony DiNozzo #Dead Weight Revised

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hes-a-rainbow · 5 years

Text

A Rose By Any Other Name (Part One)

(Banner by @tiostyles)

🌈🌈HI GUYS! IF YOU’VE BEEN FOLLOWING ME A LONG TIME, YOU MAY REMEMBER THIS AS MY FIRST EVER FIC WRITTEN IN 2017. I’VE RECENTLY REVISITED IT AND HAVE DONE SOME REVISION/REWRITING. I DECIDED TO RE RELEASE ONE CHAPTER EVERY OTHER WEEK ON TUESDAY’S, STARTING THIS WEEK ON SEPTEMBER 10.

THIS STORY STILL MEANS A LOT TO BE BUT I LOVE THE FEEDBACK (GOOD OR BAD) NONETHELESS.

THANK YOU GUYS AND I APPRECIATED EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WHO HAS READ, LIKED, OR SHARED ANY OF MY STORIES.🌈🌈

“S’beautiful innit?” Gemma asked with a grin. The morning sun was still shining bright so Fiona had to shield her eyes with her hand to look up at the building.

Fiona and Gemma were currently moving into their new apartment. Fiona hadn’t known Gemma very long, but they were good work friends and both their previous apartment leases happened to be up at the same time. And with a monthly lease at that price in that part of London, seemed to seal the deal for them.

The moving truck still rumbled behind them as the exhaust fumes filled their lungs. They had only just managed to park it without hitting any of their new neighbors’ cars.

“Harry should be ‘ere any minute, he doesn’t live that far away.” Gemma climbed into the opening of the moving truck where their whole lives were stored.

They had only moved a few boxes onto the sidewalk when a black SUV pulled up, parking in an open space with ease. A lengthy brunette man jumped out of the car quickly. Fiona kept her eyes on him as he lazily sprinted over to where Fiona stood. She had never met him before, but going off of what Gemma had described, this must have been her little brother.

“’M here! Sorry I’m late.” He yelled over the sound of the trucks engine.

“Was beginnin’ to think you wouldn’t show up.” Gemma remarked as she hopped down from inside the truck. She pulled her not so little brother in for a hug. He squeezed her back and then looked over Gemma’s shoulder to Fiona. He eyes swept over her figure quickly before he regained his manners.

Gemma had described her new roommate and co worker before but didn’t mention how truly stunning she was. She stood in the morning sun, hair falling slightly under her shoulder with bangs that barely reached her eyebrows. He noticed the scattered black ink on both of her arms, much like his own. Her freckles spotted over her nose as she squinted to look up to him.

“Hello… ‘m Harry.” He said as he untangled his arms from his sister’s waist. He walked over to Fiona and held his hand out.

Fiona slide her right hand out of her baggy jean overalls, taking Harry’s hand in hers, “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Fiona. Thanks for helping us out today.”

“Oi, not from around ‘ere are ya?” Harry commented with a smirk on his face. Behind him, Gemma rolled her eyes. She had definitely told him Fiona was American.

“Very observant.” Fiona responds in a sarcastic tone. Harry breathed out a laugh, only then realizing he was still shaking her hand. He pulled it out of her grasp, wiping his hand on his blue jeans. He assumed it was the early summer heat making his palms so sweaty.

He was handsome, Fiona thought. His short hair looked effortlessly flawless and those dimples weren’t too bad either. He was only wearing a faded well worn t-shirt and blue jeans, but he still looked good enough for a red carpet.

“I try my best…and I’ll always find an excuse to help a beautiful lady.” Harry shrugs.

Fiona’s lip tightened as she tried to contain her laugh. Gemma told her Harry was cheeky but she didn’t think he’d be so upfront about it.

Harry could tell he was already getting under her skin, she seemed nice and wasn’t that hard on the eyes either. She wasn’t tiny, almost the same height as Gemma but Harry still managed to tower over both of them.

His eyes wandered over her tattoos again, he was just about to ask her about them when Gemma interrupted, “A’right, calm down boy. Now that that’s done with, all of our boxes are labeled so we’re really just bringing them up right now.” Gemma pointed to the boxes littering the sidewalk. Harry nodded and headed over to a box that was labeled ‘plates’.

“Lead the way.” He said to no one in particular.

It was half past 2 when they finally finished moving all the boxes from the truck and into their new apartment.

“A’right ‘m gonna go return the truck to the rental place and then get an Uber back. Should be back in about half an ‘our.” Gemma said while typing rapidly rapidly on her phone. She grabbed her new house key and was out the door before anyone could respond.

Harry was screwing in the bed post in Gemma’s room while Fiona was unpacking the kitchen ware, “S’done.” Harry said as he walked out of Gemma’s room and into the living area.

“Great, do you mind helping me out with these boxes?”

“S’why I’m here.” Harry smiled at her as he walked over to the kitchen opening up a new box a few feet away from her. They worked in silence for a few minutes with just the sound of Fiona’s phone playing over a wireless speaker in the living room.

“You have some really nice ink there.” Harry looked up to find Fiona in front of him. He didn’t even hear her walk over. She was pointing at his arms. He did have his fair share of tattoos ranging all over his body.

“Ah, thanks, been working on it since I was a teen.” Harry rolled up a little more of his sleeve to show her some more of his arm.

“May I?” She asked kindly. He moved his arm towards her as she examined his art up close. She traced her fingers over some of the designs. He shivered, feeling the goosebumps rise on his arms. Her hands were cold but also surprisingly soft.

“Do these all mean something to you?”

“Some of ‘em. Most of em have meaning but the other 5% are just drunken spur of the moment decisions.” She continued looking at both of his arms. He was growing warm under her touch.

“And the mermaid…?” She asked with a small laugh.

“My friend did that one, I didn’t think he was gonna put her vagina right there on my arm, not my mums favorite, that’s for sure.” They both laughed. This up close to her, he could really see the details of Fiona’s face and God, was she pretty. No, more beautiful, he thought. It didn’t look like she had any makeup on and he could see her hairline was still wet with sweat from walking up and down the stairs so many times today.

“I have more.” Harry said pretty loud. Fiona jumped a little bit from him being so close to her. She just stood back and nodded her head toward him indicating for him to go on.

He reached for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

Fiona face was now directly in front of his chest, she moved her hand to the two birds on his upper pecs, she was about to touch him when she suddenly stopped and looked up at him. She was silently asking if this was alright, she had only just met him and she already had him shirtless in her kitchen.

He just looked back at her, giving her a single nod of approval. It was then when she realized how close she was to his face. He looked down at her lips for a split second but she caught it. She huffed out a tiny laugh as she stepped away from him, stuffing her hands in the front pockets of her overalls.

“Beautiful…So do you want a beer or something?” She asked while she walked backwards towards the refrigerator. Harry nodded and put his shirt back on. He sat down on one of the stools in the middle of the kitchen. When Fiona opened the fridge he could see they only had bottled water and beer bottles. She took two bottles out and handed him one. She stood on the other side of the kitchen island. He wasn’t sure if their whole exchange made things awkward, but he could tell a blush was evident on her cheeks. She ran her hand through her ponytail and tightened it at its end.

“What about yours?” Harry asked while moving his head towards her arm, indicating he meant tattoos.

“I’ve collected quite a few, that’s for sure.” she rolled up her right sleeve and pointed to one right above her elbow. It was two hands, almost touching but not quite.

“This was my first. It’s from the Creation of Adam; I just always thought it was such a beautiful painting.” She held her arm out for him and he reached over and took it gently. He mimicked her by tracing her tattoo this time.

“S’beautiful, very intricate.” He looked in her eyes again.

“Yeah, it was only a month later when I went back to get this one” She turned to show him the back of her left arm which displayed an old record player.

“Always loved music…” She trailed off as if she was thinking of a certain memory that went along with that tattoo. She rolled her shirt sleeves back down.

“Gotta a whole bunch more, but it’s mostly random things.” He could sense a change of tension as she avoided his eyes. Fiona wasn’t usually this open with people she just met, but there was something about him that caught her off guard. And she wasn’t quite sure she liked that.

She brought the beer bottle up to her lips but stopped before taking a sip, “Favorite ones on my thigh though,” she stopped for just a beat before adding, “but you’re gonna have to get a few drinks in me before I show you that one.” She winked at him confidently.

He was caught off guard with her blatant statement. Was she talking about the fact the she had on long jean overalls and would have to literally take off her whole outfit to show him? Or was she flirting with him? And why could he not figure it out? He was usually pretty clever when it came to girls, but he just couldn’t seem to gauge her tone of voice. And was he interested? And if he was, could he do anything about it? She was Gemma’s roommate for God’s sake; he’d have to see her all the time. And what if they did start something and it ended badly? Would he never be able to come over Gemma’s again? But most importantly, why was he thinking so much into this?

He felt his phone vibrate in his jeans and dug it out of his pockets to read a message from his roommate, Niall.

Did ya ask G if she wants to go out tonight?

Harry had totally forgotten that he was supposed to ask Gemma and her new roommate if they wanted to grab a few beers with him and Niall. He was pretty sure Niall only wanted to see what Gemma’s new roommate looked like and see if he had a chance with her.

“D’you have plans tonight?”

By now Fiona was downing the rest of her beer. “Probably just going to unpack; why, what’s up?”

“My roommate Niall wants to know if you want to grab some beers with us…Gemma too, of course.”

“Yeah, that sounds like fun, did Gemma already say yes?”

“O’course, guess she forgot to tell you.” Harry lied. He was afraid that Gemma might say no and then he wouldn’t get to spend more time with Fiona. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her but at the same time he didn’t know what he would say.

“Awesome,” Was all she said as she went over to start unpacking a new box.

A/N: Thank you for reading! And don’t forget to like and share

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #hslot #one direction #one direction one shot #one direction imagine #one direction fluff #one direction blurb #one direction smut #niall horan #hs #nh #original writing

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elopez7228 · 4 years

Text

Scenic Route 4/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

Jessica was both overjoyed and terrified when she recognized Rey’s voice over the phone. She was shouting with a mixture of glee and rage about something along the lines of worrying to death and never being happier to hear something in her life.

Noticing Jessica’s sheer levels of anxiety, Rey strategically omitted certain details. She confirmed that she had arrived safely and had spent an unforgettable night in a luxury hotel—all at Finn’s expense, of course. She also downplayed the fact that her phone had run out of battery.

On the other end of the table, Ben Solo was trying very hard to pretend that he wasn’t listening. Rey knew that he didn’t miss a single word she said. She didn’t like the idea of being indebted to him, so she cut the call short, simply asking Jessica to tell the others that she was doing just fine and was having a splendid holiday.

Except for Finn of course. Finn could go die for all she cared. In fact, she really hoped he would.

She handed the phone back to Ben, who was still pretending to be disinterested.

“Problems with the boyfriend?”

Rey narrowed her eyes, dismissing the question as inappropriate.

“None of your business. Thanks for the cellphone. How much do I owe you?”

“Your digits. Then we’re even.”

Was he actually flirting with her? Rey sighed disdainfully.

“After nearly killing me with your Monster Truck, you’re trying to flirt with me? You have some gall, don’t you? Have a nice day, and thank you for the call.”

Picking up her damaged suitcase again, she waved politely to the waitress, who waved back. Then she headed over to the door. At the shopping center, she withdrew 500 dollars in cash, some of which she used to buy an adapter and a shoulder bag. She judged the new bag to be more suited to her trek across the country than her current roller model (which wasn’t doing a whole lot off rolling anyway).

The encounter with Ben Solo kept gnawing at her. The man was both intoxicating and insufferable, like over-sharp cologne that gave you a headache and made it harder to think. He was a bullish, arrogant show-off—and yet something about him mesmerized her. The way he chewed his lip when he was deep in thought, the constellation of beauty marks on his face, or the involuntary grace in the way he ran his fingers through his hair. It made him seem vulnerable, utterly human. A far cry from the apathetic snark he pretended to be.

Emerging from the shopping center, she peered around the corner to make sure the pickup was no longer parked there. Reassured that it had disappeared, she walked over to the Night Owl café in relief now that Ben Solo had left the premises.

The new customers were hipster types, likely students, clad in harem pants, plaid, and oversized glasses. They typed away on their laptops, sipping from fancy drinks graced with floating scoops of ice cream.

“Hello again, can I hang around here while I recharge my phone? Should I order something else?” She asked, approaching the waitress again.

“No need, go ahead and make yourself at home. You can stay as longs as you want. I’m sorry about that annoying customer. Are you alright?”

Manners dictated that Rey should simply have responded fine, thanks, but the words that left her lips instead were “It’s absolute hell, I want to die.”

She blushed immediately, chewing on her lip. What had possessed her to open up to a stranger?

The waitress looked up at the clock mounted on the wall.

“I’ve got some time before the lunch rush, wanna talk? I can make you some fresh squeezed orange juice, it’s loaded with vitamins, it’ll help you recharge,”

“I—well…alright. That’s kind of you. By the way, I’m Rey,”

“I’m Rose, nice to meet you. I have a feeling your trip hasn’t gone to plan. Have you been here long?”

“Since yesterday,” Rey sighed, taking the glass of orange juice that Rose offered. She plopped down onto a bench and when Rose sat across from her, she told her everything: Finn, the wedding, the annulment, Poe, Jessica, the honeymoon trip, Ben Solo and his pickup.

Rose listened attentively, occasionally nodding mhm to encourage Rey to keep going. Finally she asked, “But how much money do you have for this trip?”

“Not much, really” Rey shrugged, “Finn and I took out a loan to pay for the wedding, but now I have to reimburse the suppliers, give back our apartment, and whatever else I have to budget for the next five years. I’m generally better off the less I spend. It wasn’t the idea of the century to go on a two-week holiday with barely a quid to spare.”

Rose pursed her lips, assessing that last sentence. “I know someone who could use your services, if you’re interested. The job will make you some cash and take you pretty close to San Francisco.”

Rey hesitated. Silent alarm bells went off in her head, a gut instinct to pull away. She responded without thinking, “Is it prostitution or something? Because even if I’m penniless that’s out of the question,”

“No, not at all! It’s completely harmless. It’s just that I don’t have time to do it because of the café and all. No one will force you into anything.”

“Is it drug trafficking? Cannabis? That’s legal in Colorado, isn’t it? Will I make enemies in the police department?”

“No, none of that,” Rose giggled, “It’s actually just taking a car up to California. And knowing your situation, I thought you could really use a ride. But if you don’t feel like it we can figure something else out.”

“And what does that entail exactly? What’s in this car?”

Rose jotted down a number on a Night Owl business card, handing it to Rey.

“You can contact Leia Skywalker using this number, she’s a friend. She’ll explain everything. I would do it myself but like I said, I just don’t have the time. And it would be a two-way trip for me anyway. You would only be driving one way, it’s totally convenient.”

Rey slipped the card into her pocket and drained her glass, rising to her feet.

“I’ll think about it, thanks a load,”

“You’re welcome, thank you too. I hope it all works out for you…”

Rey threw her bag over her shoulder, taking out her phone, she made her way to the exit.

“Yeah, I hope so too...”

She found herself on the road again. Inside her pocket, her fingers fiddled with the glossy edges of the business card.

The thought of that card in her pocket distracted her throughout the day.

She went to the Black American West Museum on California Street, to broaden her horizons on a culturally and historically relevant fieldtrip. She didn’t retain anything however; distracted by hard realities like not knowing where she was going to sleep that night.

She ate a cheeseburger and an Oreo milkshake at this “Jack in the Box” place, where the hundreds of options at the soft drink machine left her feeling indecisive. Looking at the advertisements, this Jack fellow was an odd mascot who only appealed to American sensibilities; his prim suit contrasted comically with his ballooning head, which looked like it was decorated by a child no older than five.

She travelled on foot to the Santa Fe Art District, where she wandered without really admiring the bright murals and art galleries. It was getting late and she was feeling tired due to the lingering jet lag. She needed a room for the night.

Worn out from her day-long walk, she slumped onto a bench. It was there that she saw the poster, in the corner of a shop window across the street.

Howl at the Moon presents: Kylo & the Knights of Ren, June 30th to July 4th: Free admission

Where had she seen that name before? Kylo and the Knights? What a bizarre name, but why was it so familiar?

It dawned on her. Kylo Ren was written on the bumper sticker of that pickup. The one belonging to what’s-his-face Ben Solo. It was a rock band.

Well, then! Instead of finding a place to sleep, she had stumbled upon the perfect place to spend the evening…

When she made it through the doors at 7 PM, the place was still quiet. It was too early for the show and the scene was deserted. Rey ordered a beer and a club sandwich at the bar. Gritting her teeth, she sat down at a small, empty table in a quiet alcove. She had a good view of the stage while taking up as little space as possible. Why had she come? Objectively, she had no desire to see Ben again, the unbearable arse. And yet—and yet she was curious. If he was any good, she could ostensibly revise her judgement.

The venue filled up slowly as the music blared. The crowd was tight-knit, greeting each other with smiles and pats on the back. The drinks kept flowing all night. At first Rey thought she would garner attention, a girl sitting all alone with her beer. But the crowd thickened, and soon she was safely just another silhouette in a sea of hundreds of others.

The sound of a few stray guitar notes made her look up. The band was onstage. There were seven of them—four women and three men. Clad in that many shades of black, they left no doubt that they were a rock band. They had it all, the leather and denim, Doc Martens, miniskirts and crop tops. Their hairstyles ranged from expertly shaved to long flowing locks and intricate braids. In center stage was Ben Solo (or was it Kylo Ren?) microphone in hand. He chewed on his lip and ran his fingers through his hair, habits that Rey had already picked up on after just two encounters. He had an unusually deep, almost guttural voice—Rey would be lying if she said that her interest wasn’t piqued. The music was a perfect sort of chaos—the melodies hypnotic under the savage rhythm and relentless beat. Rey surprised herself by singing with the crowd, repeating the refrains that she hadn’t memorized yet but which descended upon her ears and lips as though they had always been there.

Realizing that she was finally smiling, Rey thought of how the past hour had rid her of her worries for the first time in a long while. It was cathartic—she felt alive again. She had no desire to leave this place, to go back out there and find a room, as common sense would dictate. She wanted nothing more than to stay there a little while longer, a carefree spirit enjoying the music as she basked in the anonymity of the crowd.

She stayed for just about the entire evening. The band descended into the crowd after the show to drink a few beers with a small group of regulars. They laughed like old friends. Rey couldn’t help but notice their guitarist. Her style was gorgeous punk, complete with an immaculate mohawk and studs in her nose and ears that contrasted beautifully with her ebony skin. She never left Ben’s side. Shoulder to shoulder, her hand on his arm, her subtle touches and accidental brushes seemed to multiply.

Stars, I’ve never seen a girl more madly in love, too bad for her that he doesn’t look like he will ever reciprocate it.

And as though it was meant to contradict her, Ben’s hand shifted to rest on the girl’s hip, subtly pulling her against him. Rey raised the beer bottle to her lips, and found herself eye to eye with him as he looked up.

He was so shocked to see her that he began looking around, perhaps to make sure that it wasn’t one of those tacky hidden camera shows. As nothing continued to happen, he got up and walked in her direction.

The guitarist let him go, but not without seeking a reason for the sudden desertion. Her eyes locked on to Rey. Suddenly, Rey felt that she hadn’t exactly made a new friend.

“Good evening! Lovely concert there, Kylo Ren,” Rey said sweetly as Ben towered over her.

“What are you doing here?”

The question could have been unexpected if she wasn’t so naively spontaneous. Rey took a large swallow of her beer.

“I saw the light and I wandered in, what a small world, right?”

“Denver is a small town. And the nighttime rock scene even is even smaller. I didn’t realize that you liked rock music.”

“Well I don’t mean to brag but I have all sorts of hobbies apart from throwing myself at moving vehicles, really. But we never got around to that. How long have you been playing?”

“A few years.”

He wasn’t talkative and Rey pursed her lips as she scratched her brain for topics of conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rather impatient guitarist and seized upon the opportunity to ask him about her.

“Lovely guitarist you’ve got there, is she your girlfriend?”

“None of your business.”

Rey took the blow. It was fair play. She finished her beer and turned to leave.

“Well, then! Alright Ben Ren, Kylo Solo, or whatever your name is, thank you for the evening—it was a memorable performance. I had a great time but I ought to leave.”

She rose and slung her bag over her shoulder again, as it caught Ben’s eye.

“New bag? You were right to buy it, your other one was completely useless.”

“Yeah, someone was nice enough to tell me that it didn’t match my outfit. Goodnight, then.”

She had only taken a few steps toward the exit when he called out behind her:

“Where will you be staying tonight, Rey from England?”

“Nowhere. I’m a free woman in the Land of the Free.”

Her response was drowned out by the voices of late-night conversations between party diehards and smokers who congregated in packs near the door. Rey was feeling lightheaded and tipsy; she took a few wobbly steps onto the sidewalk before he called her name.

“Rey, wait!”

She turned around to see Ben cutting through the crowd in her direction, as she hit the lamppost hard. I must really be drunk then, she reasoned before giving in to the darkness.

#reylo #fanfiction #Modern AU #Scenic Route

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imacrowcawcaw · 5 years

Note

1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 13, 15, 17, 20, 23, 29, 38 😘❤️ Hope you’re having a wonderful day!

Hi mimi thank you so much for all the questions!!! This is gonna be really long lol - also, sorry it took a while, Tumblr kept glitching and erasing EVERYTHING

1. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them? Oh my god SO MANY! I have roughly 50 works in progress, and so many more ideas running through my head - I just haven't had the energy or the time lately to actually work on them. One that keeps coming back to me is Sam and Danny chilling in bed on a lazy Saturday, after a sleepover, and Sam announces that if they had sex, it would be the best either of them ever experienced. They debate for a while, and of course end up getting it on... it'll happen someday.

4. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic. There's a lot of fluff and heartfeltwords; I try to keep it lighthearted too, though, and throw in what I hope is some funny stuff; smut of course, or at least some kissing; metaphors and figurative language galore. I feel like I'm still very much trying to find my voice and my style, so I think my fics differ a lot in their styles, but there are things that I generally like.

5. Share one of your strengths. Hmm, I was going to say that I know how grammar works (that feels rude but- ) actually I'm going to say that I always turn out things that I really enjoy. That may be more of a personal strength - i.e. it only matter to me - but if I post something I am satisfied (enough) with it. I like my work! I write what I want, even with requests, and I put my all into my writing because I want it to be such good quality that it would make me squeal if I came across it.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

"Dude, that's disgusting."

Danny just smiled at Josh, showing off a rather gross mouthful of mangled food, and kept eating his pineapple pizza.

"Seriously, pineapple doesn't belong on pizza. Can't you just eat regular toppings like the rest of us?"

Danny shook his head and swallowed. "Nuh-uh, I can't. I'm not like the rest of you."

"Hmm, you know, you're right: you're not like the rest of us. It's way hotter in the Wagner corner." Josh looked at him coyly, licking BBQ sauce from his chicken wings off of his fingertips.

Danny froze and Josh laughed, using a napkin to scrub away the rest of the sauce and continuing to messily eat his 'regular' pizza. Danny shook his head, closing the lid of his box to save the rest for later.

Idk if anyone other than @satans-helper would be interested in Josh and Danny (like, together, or at least flirting) but.... I thought this was good. It was fun to write - still not anywhere near done, though - and I think it captures them pretty well. I think dialogue is good when the characters speak for themselves, literally, without having to rely completely on prose to give it meaning.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

"The bass pumped through Sam in the same rhythm as his cannabis-speckled blood, sludgey warmth crawling in his veins as he took a second hit of the blunt being passed around. Hidden away from the eyes of management constantly trying to tighten the reins, as if they weren't rock stars in - or perhaps even before - their prime, he let the dark corner he and a few new acquaintances occupied be his cover from an eventual scolding."

Let this be a little teaser for the Collab Zara and I are doing (!!!) lol. I think it's some of my best writing; lyrical but not too long as I'm learning how to do it right, offering information with every little part, setting the scene in a concise but not info-dump way, some bit of irony and humor.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write? Ohhh man, well there have definitely been MANY that I've gotten stuck on for months, if not over a year -- but, the finished fic that was hardest was probably "Forever", to be totally honest. I think it turned t out very well, but I revised over and over and over, and scrapped a very large portion of it. I know what I wanted, but it wasn't coming for a very long time.

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write? "Blood Brothers". It just flowed so well, I sat and types furiously in my phone for a good 3 hours without stopping, and it was born.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across? There's quite a few pieces that I always think of: write what you want to read, adjectives and adverbs slow the pace (learned this recently and it's very handy), sometimes straight-forward is best, don't be afraid to scrap things and start over.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose? Oh man, that's a hard choice. I think that "Eyes of Juniper" (metallica fic, not finished 😔) would actually be the best choice, because it's funny, I would love to see the guys in the 80s, and, while it deals with bodies/nudity/sexuality it wouldn't be a straight up porn film lol.

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? A mix of both, I think it just depends on how my ideas are flowing. If I'm really on a roll and know I won't be interrupted, then I'll just write it chronologically. But, if I have a small idea, or I know how I want to end but dont know how to begin, then I'll just start writing something. I'm always afraid I'll forget what I want if I don't write it down, so I work on what I'm able to and fill in the rest later.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions. Well, I usually end up doing the most of my writing hunched over sitting on me bed in the dark and furiously typing on my phone lmao. I would love to get a laptop and a dedicated space, but it's just not gonna happen rn. So, I'll go with dark, undisturbed, comfortable

23. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why? there are quite a few that I can look back at and be like noooo what was I doing. I think, though, one that could be really really amazing if revised would be "Black Dog", a guns n roses fic I wrote. It was good, but one of my firsts. My style has improved, and I think I could just make it a lot better, and the dialogue at the end could be a lot more clear and realistic sounding

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose? Oh mannnn there are so many fics that have made me want to somehow write/find more, I'll go with "Angel of Apple Valley" (pairing: Duzzy fandom: gnr, on rockfic, I cant find it rn though sorry). It was so amazing and I still think about it. I don't think I could do anywhere near justice to the original, so of course I wouldnt actually, but I just really want more

38. Talk about a review that made your day. Ohhh ok pretty much every review makes me suoer hapoy, but the lovely helena_s_renn left me a comment on Ch. 4 of "Skin on Skin, Hearts Laid Bare" and it nearly made me cry

"Girl, I think you've discovered your voice. This has an intensity beyond any of your other work that I've read thus far (not saying the previous isn't good - it is!!). I was glued to my phone by the eyes, didn't want it to end, and yet it did in what seemed like 5 seconds. Danny's acceptance of Sam's physical needs without asking anything more of him than "just sleep with me" is love. On that subject, I think you've thrown more words at the wellspring of Sanny Love from Sam's perspective than one would have thought possible, and they all ring true."

Like, holy shit thanks?!?! Lol. But really, I've been seriously trying to find my style, and to hear this from one of the writers I respect the most was huge. I felt like a favorite teacher was giving me a hug and telling me i did good!!!

#mimi🌼#asks #asks answered #im sorry this qas really long

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roman-deserves-love · 6 years

Text

Go To Sleep Goddammit

Hey so @officialwaterfairy I'm your secrets santa for @marsupials-of-mars' SS. The cuddles aren't until like 2/3 of the way through I'm sorry.

~1.6k words

Pairings- Prinxiety(could be platonic? I guess?)

Triggers- none of the top of my head, food mention, lack of sleep I guess?

-----------------------------------------

There were two (2) things about himself that Virgil Calavera would go to any length to prevent his roommates from knowing.

1. His middle name. Keeping that a secret was easy enough, as driving made him too anxious to even consider doing something that would require him to show his driver’s license. He suspected Logan knew, mainly because what didn’t Logan know, and he was the one who talked to the landlord and filled out paperwork on the behalf of all four of them, and thereby most likely had seen a fair amount of Virgil’s records.

2. The dread fact that, when Virgil was extremely tired, he got, as loathe as he was to say it, affectionate. Capital ‘a’, capital ‘ffectionate’. Not in the verbally affectionate way, oh no, that would be too easy. Rather, when he was sleep-deprived, Virgil was like a cat. An alarmingly cuddly cat. That was more difficult to hide, as Virgil had an oh-so slight (though Patton would certainly contest that) tendency to not sleep.

Now, usually Virgil was aware of his tired self’s antics, and kept to his room when he hadn’t slept, though that may have also been because if he left he knew that Patton would find him, lecture him, and convince him to sleep with one of his Patton-tented (heh) Dad Looks™, and Virgil didn’t want the father figure to have to waste time parenting him.

Fortunately, on this particular night, Patton was out at work, as well as, to his knowledge, Logan and Roman. Knowing this, Virgil felt comfortable hauling himself away from where he had been editing his third draft for the last ten consecutive hours to stuff some sustenance in his food hole so his hunger pangs, which had been distracting him, to go away so he could retreat back to his room and keep revising. Of course, before he’d been editing his draft, he’d been writing it, which meant that over the last two and a half days, he’d gotten one, count it up, one, uno, one singular hour of sleep, so, as one could expect, he was really fucking tired.

Virgil slogged into the kitchen and opened the pantry, peering at the meager offerings it had to provide. A sandwich would require a measure of effort Virgil was unwilling to expend in his current state of exhaustion, so that was out. Was that a Pringles can? Yes, but it was tragically empty. Damn it, Remy. It’s not even your apartment. He glanced at the rest of the kitchen. The bowl full of fruit that Patton insisted on buying was empty, and from where he was standing, he could see a cereal box stuffed haphazardly into the trashcan, ruling out that as an option. For a kitchen stocked by two different parental figures and the most high maintenance person this side of the century, there was shockingly little. Whatever, coffee’ll stave off the hunger. Damn necessary bodily functions. Alas, they were also out of instant, and as stated, Virgil was not in the mood to put time into his food. He wanted something quick and lazy, like the damn millennial he was. A random-ass tumblr post popped into his head, something about water tricking the stomach into feeling full. Virgil privately thanked god for the internet, helping sleep-deprived writers work since whenever the hell the internet was created. Virgil didn’t give a shit, he just wanted to retreat back to his room, so he could work, and his editor would get off his ass about deadlines.

As he stepped away from the pantry, tearing his eyes away from the spot above the dust-gathering oven that he just now realized he’d been staring blankly at for the last minute, a decidedly unexpected voice sound came from the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “Fancy seeing you here, Johnny Depp-ressing. You’ve been in your lair for the last four days.”

Virgil grunted at the figure before him, before responding in a voice gravelly from disuse and lack of sleep. “First of all, Princey, don’t compare me to that asshole. Second of all, it’s been maybe three days since I came out. Maybe.”

The prince arched an eyebrow, his face displaying a look of… was that concern? Virgil had always assumed that Roman hated him, since all he ever did was give him insulting nicknames and mock his admittedly cliché style. Whatever, Virgil was too tired, and his deadlines were too close to bother with reflecting on the actions of the regal man still standing in the doorway. As he considered this, he didn’t notice Roman opening his mouth to speak again, snapping his fingers in the emo’s face “Virgil? You there? You’re staring at me.”

Virgil snapped back out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” He attempted to push past Princey back towards his room, ready to call this excursion a failure and get back to work. Instead, he bumped directly into Roman, who was now blocking Virgil from getting to the stairs, and thereby his room and his laptop. So, ignoring his tired lizard brain telling him how warm Roman was, he squinted up at the taller man and tried (operative word being ‘tried’) to push him out of the way. “Dude, let me through. I have shit to do, my revised draft is due in a week and I’m only through chapter five.”

Roman pushed him back gently, placing a hand on each shoulder and taking a good, long look at Virgil’s present state of dishevel. Virgil would never admit it, but his Lizard Brain™ pouted at being taken away from the heat. “You, you self-destructive storm cloud, are going nowhere except to bed. God, when was the last time you slept? You look dead, Virgil,” Virgil opened his mouth to protest that he was fine, that he had shit to do, but Roman beat him to it. “I am perfectly aware that you have work to do, J. K. Scowling, but if you push yourself you will burn out, I can promise you. If you won’t sleep, then at least do something besides write. I know I’m hardly one to talk about creating too much, but this isn’t healthy, Virgil.”

God, Roman clearly didn’t get how editing worked, but whatever. “Fine, but I’m going to my room. I’ll just scroll through Tumblr for a while or something,” Virgil fibbed, ducking out of Roman’s arms, and walking to the staircase. “Happy?”

Unfortunately, before he could get to the stairs, Roman grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Oh no you don’t, Goth Dun. If you go up to your room, you’ll just go back to work. You need a break, Virgil. I’m not making this up to annoy you, I’m trying to help, so just let me Goddammit!”

Virgil wrenched his arm out of Roman’s grasp and stalked over to the couch, crossing his arms like a petulant child as he sat. “Fine, Princey. I’ll take a break. If I can’t go to my room, what should I do? Twiddle my thumbs? Hunt for food that doesn’t exist?”

Roman displayed a grin that made Virgil wish he hadn’t said anything. “Why, Angstella McCartney, I thought you’d never ask!” Roman quickly walked over to the DVD case, humming to himself as he did so. After a minute of rummaging and awkward silence, Roman finally brandished a DVD in the air triumphantly. “Ah-ha! I knew the devil couldn’t hide from me!” He stood up and pivoted towards Virgil, still waving the disk. “Since you asked so nicely what you could do, I would propose that we watch a movie, so that I can ensure that Dad-vid Beckham doesn’t find you keeled over on your laptop because you, Sunshine, worked yourself to death. And for our viewing entertainment,” he turned and slid the disk into the video player, “A true classic- The Little Mermaid.”

Virgil groaned. He liked one (1) animated movie musical, and it was decidedly not the tale that Roman had decided was to keep him from ‘overworking himself’ and ‘keeling over’. Whatever. An hour or two couldn’t hurt too much, could it? And Roman was being far nicer than usual, and Virgil would hate to waste this window of kindness. “Fine, but I’m warning you, Brenin, if you start singing, I will yeet myself out the goddamn window.”

“Roger that, Calavera,” Roman plopped onto the couch besides Virgil and winked at him. (Winked? What the sweet Mary mother of fuck?) “I suppose not singing is a fair price to pay for keeping you out of the hospital.” And with that, he clicked on the movie and the pair spoke no more.

However, as Virgil sat, only half paying attention, his Lizard Brain slowly took over, and he no longer had the wherewithal to fight it. Slowly, slowly, he gradually shifted closer to Roman, who was totally absorbed in the movie, moving so subtly that he himself didn’t even notice until halfway through the movie, when he found himself close enough to hear his roommate’s breathing. Virgil found himself wondering what the worst thing that could happen would be if he were to scoot just a tad bit closer.

He was torn from his thoughts by a pressure around his shoulder. Roman had put an arm around him and was currently tugging Virgil into his side. At this point, Virgil made the wise, well-educated, well-thought-out decision to say, ‘Fuck it’ and leaned in, curling himself into Roman’s side and relaxing, and oh God Roman was so fucking warm, it was like sitting next to a heater, but who gave a fuck? Not him. He was warm, and his Tired Lizard Brain was happy, and Roman was carding his fingers through his hair, and Virgil was so fucking exhausted and so comfortable that when his eyes drifted shut, he didn’t bother stopping them.

-------------

That's all, sorry if it's a little short

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urdbell18 · 5 years

Text

A Seed Hidden in the Heart Chapter 18: The One Where the Fight Ends

AN:Because I'm unoriginal, the second Judge in the story is the anti-pope from the series. So just picture him when you read that part.

The rest of the school year was smooth sailing for Zelda. All but two of her classes have been cleared out when the seniors graduated. It gave her time to catch up on whatever grading she needed to do and to revise her lesson plans, scrapping ideas or making adjustments based on how well her students did or didn’t do or where they struggled. Though she was spending more time in her office than in her classroom there was one added bonus. She got to spend more time with Mary. Mary’s classes were upper and honor or GT level, she had two of her own classes end when the seniors graduated. Along with her planning period Mary and Zelda’s free periods lined up with first, third and sixth. It meant that when they arrived in the morning Mary didn’t need to leave until second period and they would meet up at the end of the day. They still had lunch together, of course, it was the only time that they didn’t have to talk about work. They, despite what Shirley thought, didn’t do anything scandalous. They sat together, mostly in silence, as they worked on their respective subjects. Occasionally Mary would ask Zelda to decipher a students handwriting but that was the extent of any influence that they may have had on the others grading.

The night after her first day in court Zelda sat down with her family after she placed Vida to bed. She was ready to talk to her family about the looming issue but still wasn’t ready to talk to her daughter. She didn’t think her heart could take it. Her family was understanding and they all kept their eyes out for the social worker that was supposed to come. She came the following Wednesday morning around the time Hilda left to drop Vida off at school and then goes to work. According to Hilda she talked to the social worker at the book shop, completing her interview, and scheduled another visit when Zelda would be home. Zelda thanked her sister for what she did, they might not have always gotten along but Zelda trusted Hilda with something greater than her own life and she knew Hilda wouldn’t let her down.

The social worker’s impending visit meant that Zelda had to talk to Vida. Since this was something that she needed to do on her own Zelda did Vida’s usual nightly routine alone. It didn’t take much convincing to get Mary to step back, she just knew and gave Zelda a quick kiss before letting her go. After bath instead of setting Vida in her own bed Zelda took her to hers. Vida didn’t seem to mind, she snuggled against her mother as she read. After a while Vida noticed that there was something wrong. Her mom kept trailing off and she never seemed to realize when she finished a page.

“Are you okay Mommy?” Zelda took a deep breath through her nose and softly closed the book. It was now or never.

“Vida… have you ever wondered why you don’t have a dad?”

“You mean like Sabrina?” Zelda nodded. She explained to Vida about Sabrina’s mother and father a while ago when she wondered why she and Hilda were ‘aunt’ than mom. It lead to a conversation about their family but surprisingly Vida didn’t ask about her dad. At the time Zelda didn’t question it, the less she had to think about Faustus the better. Vida tilted her head to the side in thought.

“Nope. I have you and Aunt Hilda and Ambrose and Sabrina and now Mamma.”

“What if I told you that you did have a dad?”

“I don’t think I’d like it. I like my family how it is… Is Mamma going away!?” Vida’s eyes shined with freshly sprung tears and it broke Zelda’s heart, just a little because it also swelled over how much Vida loved Mary.

“Mamma isn’t going anywhere.” Vida nodded and rubbed her hands over her eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“Before you were born Mommy was special friends with a guy. At one point I found out that I was going to have you. When I told him, he told me that he never wanted to see me again so I left. I had you and it was the happiest day of my life. You are the best thing that could ever happen to me. The guy that I was seeing has gone to a special place called a court to try to take you away from me-”

“I don’t want to go away!”

“I know you don’t baby and I don’t want you to go away either. Remember when you and Mary went to the park and I went to Dr. C’s book shop? I met someone there that is helping me make sure that you are staying here with me and Mamma and your Aunt Hilda and your cousins. But Vida know that whatever happens I’m your mother, nothing is going to ever change that, and whenever you feel scared or unsafe or alone I’ll be right here okay?” Vida nodded and hugged Zelda, clinging to her. Zelda tightened her hold around her daughter. She didn’t like to think about losing her daughter but it was important to say, she needed Vida to know that she will always be there. When Vida calmed down she loosened her hold and pulled away a little. “There is going to be someone coming to the house to ask questions. When that person comes I want you to answer anything that they ask you honestly okay?”

“Okay Mommy.”

“Bedtime.” Zelda carried her daughter to her bed, tucking her in and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight my darling.”

“Night. I love you Mommy.”

“I love you too baby.” Vida closed her eyes and went off to sleep. When Zelda turned the light off she noticed that her daughter’s night light was missing. How long has that been gone? Zelda joined her family downstairs. Mary was waiting for her at the edge of the stairs with a tumbler of whisky in her hand which she gave her. Zelda took it with a small smile. They went to the couch where Zelda curled herself against Mary. Mary wrapped her arms around Zelda’s waist, resting her head on Zelda’s shoulder. When Zelda was done with her tumbler of whisky Mary took the glass from her, setting it down on the table.

“How’d it go?”

“Taxing but I think she understands. How long has Vida’s night light been missing?”

“Oh! I knew there was something I was forgetting to tell you. When you were away her night light burned out. I offered to fix it but she said no. So we buried it.”

“I’m sorry did you say that you buried the night light?”

“Yes. Vida wanted to give Ellie a proper burial so we found an old small empty box, put the night light in it, took it outside and buried it.” Zelda looked at Mary completely flabbergasted. She never heard anything like it but it was 100% something that Vida would do. She could just picture Mary and Vida with a shovel of some kind as they dug a hole in the yard all for a night light.

“Did you give it a headstone? A eulogy?” Zelda almost couldn’t say it with a straight face. The laughter inside her was bubbling up so much just waiting to come out.

“No.” Mary said it with the straightest face, like she couldn’t understand why Zelda was snickering. But that look on Mary’s face was enough to send her into full blown laughter. It took Mary a while to realize that Zelda wasn’t laughing out of malice but out of just general ridiculousness of the whole thing. When Zelda’s laughter died down she turned around so that she was facing Mary.

“Thank you.” Mary smirked and nodded. Zelda didn’t say what she was grateful for but Mary knew. Zelda kissed Mary, it was soft and slow. They shared several kisses, Zelda would never call what they did making out but it was closest to what they were doing. When the clock sounded the eleventh hour they made their way to bed. After Mary was dressed she kissed the top of Vida’s head and whispered to her ‘goodnight’. When Zelda and Mary settled into bed they shared one last kiss. Of course the second that Zelda moved to her side Mary’s arm was around her waist. Zelda just hummed in contentment and drifted off to sleep.

___________________

The social worker came the next Thursday. It was a day that Mary was supposed to advise her W.I.C.C.A. meeting but she was able to switch it to Wednesday. She was serious about wanting to be there and she proved it. The social worker came a little after five. Everyone, minus Hilda, was home at that time so it was perfect. The social worker, a middle aged woman with pale blonde hair in a plain black suit was let in by Sabrina and led into the kitchen where Zelda was.

“Ms. Spellman.” Zelda and the social worker sat down at the kitchen table. Mary set down a cup of tea for everyone before taking a seat next to Zelda. “I’m Janice Lewis and as you know I was asked by the courts to visit you. It’s rather unusual to be called that way. Normally there is an issue that needs to be addressed and from there I know what I’m looking for and what questions to ask. So, I’m just going to ask some basic questions now and when we look around if I have any additional questions I’ll just ask. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes that’s fine.”

“Okay. So I know from court documents that the child is a four, almost five, year old female. Is she your only child?”

“Yes, but I share custody of my niece Sabrina with my sister.”

“I see that. How long have you lived in this house?”

“All my life. The only time I wasn’t here was when I was in school.”

“Out of state?”

“Over seas.”

“You are currently employed?”

“Yes. I’m a teacher at Baxter High as is my girlfriend Mary.” Zelda indicated to Mary. their hands were on the table clasped together. Since no questions were directed her way Mary let Zelda take the helm. “My sister also works at a local bookstore.”

“I’m aware of that. I conducted Hilda’s interview at her place of employment. Lovely lady. Is Vida currently enrolled in school?”

“Yes. I was able to enroll her into an all day preschool. Though she goes in after I have to be in for work Hilda takes her when she leaves in the morning and then I pick her up when her school ends.”

“Who currently resides here?”

“Myself, Vida, Sabrina, my nephew Ambrose, Hilda, and Mary.”

“Mary...?”

“Wardwell.”

“Ms. Wardwell is this your address on record?”

“No. I moved in in April. By then not only were my taxes filed for the previous year but with the school year over half way over I didn’t feel the need to start a process that wouldn’t finish until the school year would conclude. By then I would have to fill out the same information again so I rather just wait. My license also expires in July, I’d rather only deal with one trip to motor vehicles than two.”

“Understandable. What is a typical day for Vida?”

“Well, I have to be in work by seven but I usually don’t wake Vida until eight thirty so I assume that’s the time that Hilda wakes her. From nine to four in the afternoon she is in school, I pick her up from there no later than five. Around six thirty or seven we have dinner, until then Vida does homework. If Vida’s homework isn’t done before dinner she’ll work on it and if she needs help I’ll assist her. If she’s done then we do something like a puzzle or a game. By nine I take Vida upstairs to get her ready for bed. Before settling her down we read a book and then I tuck her in.”

“Okay. May I see her room?” Zelda nodded and led her to her room. Ms. Lewis looked around, taking note of Vida’s bed in one corner against a wall and Zelda’s bed almost in the center of the room. “She shares this room with you?”

“Yes. We’re tight on space so there was never any room to set up a nursery so she has always been in here with me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking you are actively dating again and your partner is also in this room. What do you two do for privacy?”

“Mary still holds ownership of her house whenever we need alone time we go there but we always make sure that someone, either my sister or my niece, is here to watch Vida.”

“Okay. If you had to move Vida from this room where would she go?”

“That depends. Next year Sabrina would be starting her junior year of high school and would start looking at colleges. If she is thinking about going out of state then we will move Vida into her room. If not… I don’t know. I guess we will clear out a space.”

“Okay. Can I have a look at the rest of the house?” Zelda nodded and gave Ms. Lewis a complete tour of the Spellman house. No room was left out, Ms. Lewis got a look at everything from the attic, one they used for storage the other where Ambrose resided in, to the basement that was their laundry room. Occasionally Ms. Lewis would ask a question, mainly if Vida was allowed in this room, why, and how much time did Zelda spent in said room. The only one Zelda spent any real time in was the basement. Mary refused to leave Zelda’s side, she was always there right behind her. Zelda didn’t mind, she liked the support that Mary gave her. When the tour was finished Ms. Lewis asked if she could talk to the rest of the family. Zelda consented and let Sabrina then Ambrose talk to Ms. Lewis. Ms. Lewis asked them the same questions, mainly how home life was, how was Zelda with Vida, was Vida happy. Basic stuff that didn’t take more than ten minutes each. The last person that Ms. Lewis talked to was Vida.

Vida was in the parlor, she said hi to them when Zelda was giving Ms. Lewis her tour but left them be. Unlike Sabrina and Ambrose’s interviews which were held in the kitchen Ms. Lewis interviewed Vida in the parlor, she knew that children Vida’s age were more open when they were comfortable and she was comfortable in the parlor. Since she was a stranger Zelda didn’t feel comfortable leaving Ms. Lewis in the room alone with Vida. Ms. Lewis understood and Mary, who was the perfect loophole because she technically wasn’t family, was allowed to be in the room, her presence would be comfortable to Vida but not interfering.

“Hi Vida.”

“Hello.”

“Do you remember who I am?”

“I know that you are the person who was coming to ask us questions.”

“That’s part of my job yes. Are you happy here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like your Mommy?”

“I love my Mommy. I would like to stay with her please.” Ms. Lewis smiled. She didn’t know Vida for long but could tell that this was a girl that knows what she wanted.

“What did you do today?”

“Aunt Hilda woke me up like she does every morning, we eat breakfast, and then I got ready for school. She then takes me to school where I stay until four which is when Mommy and Mamma pick me up. Sometimes Mommy drives so we go straight home.”

“What about the other times?”

“We walk back to her school and then drive home.”

“Okay, what do you do after you get home?”

“I do my homework then we have dinner. Sometimes we can do something fun like a game but only if I finished all my homework. At nine Mommy gets me ready for bed and we read a book and then I go to sleep.”

“How about on the weekends, what do you do?”

“I wake up, eat breakfast with my family, and then I help Mommy.”

“What do you help you Mommy with?”

“Laundry, she lets me fold stuff, or when we go to the food store she lets me pick out the produce. It’s gardening season so I also help Aunt Hilda in the garden.”

“How do you feel about your Mommy’s relationship with Mary?”

“I love Mamma and Mamma loves us.”

“Do you have any friends at school?”

“No. I have a bully his name is Judas, he’s mean. He tried to take Oso away from me.”

“Who’s Oso?”

“My bear. I’ve had him since forever.”

“Okay Vida thank you for talking with me.”

“Sure.”

With her last interview completed Ms. Lewis wrote down a few more notes before announcing that she would be leaving. Zelda walked her to the door which was where Ms. Lewis remembered a question that she almost forgot to ask.

“Ms. Spellman I have one last question for you if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“What is Vida’s relationship like with her father?”

“Nonexistent. Faustus had never even met Vida.” Ms. Lewis nodded, tucking the information away until she could write it down.

“Thank you for letting me come in and asking questions.”

“Of course, You are just doing your job.” With a nod Ms. Lewis took her leave. Zelda closed the door behind her, breathing a sigh in relief. The hard part was over, now it was back to waiting.

___________________

Faustus didn’t sit on the information for long. Not even a week after the social workers visit another court date was set. On Zelda’s behalf Mr.Webster fought for a late time, which she appreciated. After fifth period Zelda and Mary left to go to the courthouse where Hilda and Ambrose were waiting for them. An added bonus of Mary moving in was now they weren’t a one car household. That day Zelda and Mary took Mary’s car and Hilda and Ambrose took Zelda’s. Sabrina wanted to go but Zelda refused, someone needed to pick up Vida and she was the only one available. Faustus and his attorney were already sitting at their table. Mr. Morningstar’s eyes gleamed in interest when they landed on Mary, it made Zelda’s blood boil just looking at him now that she knew what he did to Mary. Mary for her part did not waver or acknowledge him, she sat on the bench right behind Zelda. The silence of the courtroom was deafening as they waited for the judge to take the bench.

“All rise for his honor Judge Pope.” They all stood as the judge entered. Zelda raised an eyebrow when she noticed that it wasn’t the same judge as before, was this normal? According to the confused expression on Mr. Webster’s face it wasn’t.

“You may be seated.” Everyone but Mr. Webster and Mr. Morningstar took their seat.

“Your honor what happened to Judge Methuselah?”

“Poor Methuselah suffered a heart attack yesterday. I as well as a few other judges have been covering his docket until he returns. Unless you gentleman object?” Though Mr. Morningstar hesitated Mr. Webster didn’t waste a single moment. The facts of his case didn’t change regardless of the judge, if anything this change was an advantage for him.

“No your honor. Ms. Spellman is eager for this matter to be resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Mr. Morningstar?” It took Mr. Morningstar a minute or two before nodding in affirmation. “Excellent. Now, starting with you Mr. Morningstar I must admit I’m… perplexed by your claim on behalf of your client. I read it and couldn’t find any real evidence to support your claims to sue for custody over the child.”

“In all due respect your honor we already proved that part of our case with Judge Methuselah. We must have made enough of an impression if he ordered a social worker visit.”

“Yes I know. I have read not only transcripts from the first appearance but the visit as well. The social worker found no evidence of neglect, abuse, or toxic environment in Ms. Spellman’s household. Did you receive the report Mr. Morningstar?”

“Yes but-”

“And did the report support the claims that you have mentioned?”

“No-”

“So why are we here Mr. Morningstar?” For the first time Mr. Morningstar didn’t have a response already prepared. “I’ll tell you what you are doing and that is wasting the courts time. I’m not quite sure exactly what is going on but if this case was presented in front of me the first time I would have tossed it and do you know why?”

“No your honor.”

“Read this.” Judge Pope gave the bailiff a piece of paper which he proceeded to give to Mr. Morningstar. Mr. Morningstar read it but not knowing what he was looking for he looked at the judge confused and a little lost. “That is the copy of the girls birth certificate. Tell me what it says on the box for father.”

“Unlisted, has expressed wishes to or terminated all rights. Your honor that doesn’t mean anything. That option was added in regards to sperm donors not two people who have been in a relationship. A woman shouldn’t be able to use this to hide her child from their natural father.”

“If Mr. Morningstar is arguing that my client deliberately kept her daughter from Mr. Blackwood I would like to see evidence that proves it. Ms. Spellman has not moved from the area. She has had the same address for the last twenty years and the child has been enrolled in a public school for almost a year. I see no proof of this so called hiding.”

“Mr. Webster is right Mr. Morningstar. If you want to make a claim you need evidence to back it up. So if you have any let us see it.” The judge waited a few minutes for Mr. Morningstar to make even the slightest of movement. He didn’t even twitch. “That’s what I thought. Being a father isn’t something that your client can turn on and off at his leisure. Either he is a father to this child or not. As I see it your client has two options. Option one he asserts his rights as the father and he follows whatever supervised visits with the child that the court deems fit on top of paying Ms. Spellman not only back child support payments but future ones as well. Option two your client officially signs away the little rights he has and only pay whatever he is paying you. Which is it Mr. Morningstar?” Mr. Morningstar conversed with his client in hushed whispers. Though it couldn’t be heard what they were saying Zelda knew that Faustus was not pleased with the situation, the tone of his whispering increased and became harshed. Eventually Faustus slumped back in his seat and waved his hand as to wash his hands of the situation.

“My client has informed me that he wishes to sign away his rights.”

“Excellent.” Judge Pope handed over the documents that Faustus would need to sign. He signed it in such a huff that the paper tore slightly. “A bit heavy handed are we Mr. Blackwood? Now before you think that you have 45 days to appeal my decision I am putting a rush on this order because your client has had more than enough time to assert these rights and have not done so. As of right now Mr. Faustus Blackwood has no legal claims in regards to the child Vida Spellman. That means Ms. Spellan you can now rest knowing that no one can take your child away from you. Also, if you feel that the time has come you can have Ms. Wardwell adopt the child with no challenge from her father. This case is concluded.” With a bang of his gravel the judge left his bench.

Zelda sat there in shock. She couldn’t believe that this was over. Her little girl was hers forever. She shot out of her seat and turned to her family in the gallery. They had the same happy shocked expressions as she did. Mary was the first to stand and like magnets she and Zelda came together. Mary’s hold was warm and strong and her perfume spicy. It was 100% Mary and it was all the confirmation that Zelda needed to know that this really happened. The stress and emotions that has build inside her over the last month came out and she cried deep and hard into Mary’s shoulder. Mary’s hold didn’t waver, she held onto Zelda even tighter, making their embrace even more awkward due to the railing between them. When Zelda had composed herself enough she loosened herself from Mary to be swept into an embrace by her sister and her nephew.

“Mr. Webster thank you I… I don’t…”

“Say no more. It was my pleasure. I’m glad the right thing was done here. I wish you and your family a successful and happy future.” With a bow, he took his leave, his job was done, there was no need for him to linger longer than necessary. There was a slightly awkward air when Mr. Webster left, Zelda felt like she should have said something more to him. Mary bumped her shoulder, bringing her attention back to her family.

“Shall we?” Zelda nodded and took Mary’s elbow. As they walked down the steps of the courthouse another part of the judges words sunk in for Zelda. Mary was free to adopt Vida if or when they were ready. It was a tempting option, Zelda has never loved anyone like she has Mary and Mary was already part of the family. On the drive back home Zelda looked at Mary as she gazed out the window, she seemed to sense that Zelda was looking at her and turned around with a slightly raised eyebrow. Zelda just shrugged and they both turned away. Zelda concluded that someday it would happen, but not today.

#Madam Satan #Zelda Spellman #madam spellman

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demiwitch527 · 5 years

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Chapter 1

"Does it count as saving someone's life if you refrain from killing them?"

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY ~ 1975

Isabelle was sat in Professor Slughorn's Potions class, which was held in a cold and not particularly large classroom in the dungeons with walls that were lined with pickled animals in glass jars. Isabelle shivered, though she wasn't sure if it was due to the cold or the dead animals that surrounded her. Maybe both.

For the past months, Professor Slughorn had been having them brew various potions in preparation for the O.W.L. exams that they were supposed to take at the end of the year. Today was no different. However, he did have them split up into pairs for this lesson, which wasn't a usual thing he had them do. The only plus side was that they were allowed to choose their partners.

The Slytherins shared Potions with those insufferable Gryffindors. Isabelle had no idea what she would've done if she got stuck with Sirius Black. She didn't want a repeat of the absolute worst Defense Against the Dark Arts class she had ever had. Her blood boiled at just the memory of it.

If she had any other options, she would've chosen to do the potion alone. She didn't need any help when it came to Potions, that was her area of expertise, after all, but Professor Slughorn wouldn't allow her. So she needed someone remotely competent.

Her choice had been Severus Snape, a fellow Slytherin, who had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. Isabelle didn't mind working with him much. It absolutely pained Isabelle to admit it, but Severus was pretty talented with potions—for a half-blood that is. Besides, her brother had taken Severus under his wing before he graduated. Surely there was something about him that Lucius saw was worth while.

Though, Isabelle wouldn't really know, she didn't really bother much with making friends during her years at Hogwarts. She'd always thought that her time was best spent doing something else. But don't ever mistake her for being ignorant of her surroundings.

The current potion Professor Slughorn had instructed them to brew was a Draught of Peace. A potion that was supposed to relieve anxiety and agitation. Ironically enough, it was a very difficult potion to brew. One mistake can have drastic consequences, which could take the form of a deep, irreversible sleep or an explosion.

This made her slightly appreciative of Severus's assistance. Slightly.

Severus continued to stir the potion as Isabelle added more powdered porcupine quills and continued to do so until the potion finally turned white. Once the potion started to simmer, Severus lowered the heat while Isabelle started adding the last ingredient, exactly seven drops of hellebore.

"Is that it?" She asked Severus once she was done adding the hellebore.

"Yes," he said, scanning the instructions in his textbook. "We just have to wait for it to turn a turquoise blue colour."

Surely enough, the batch began to change it's shade into that exact color. But before it was finished the liquid began to bubble. Wafts of sulfurous odoured smoke rose from the cauldron. Isabelle could already tell what was about to happen before it did.

"Duck!" She yelled.

She and Severus dove under their work table just as the cauldron exploded. There were gasps and screams coming from their classmates, followed by the sound of glass breaking and chairs toppling. Isabelle had to pull her robes up to her nose to prevent herself from inhaling any more of the putrid odour that was now spreading throughout the room.

A few moments had passed before Isabelle deemed the situation safe enough. She and Severus cautiously got out from under the worktable and at last saw the disastrous effect the sudden explosion of their potion had caused. The classroom was a mess. Broken glass and spilled potions littered the ground and tables. There were some parchments that had caught fire along with a few of the students's robes, like Severus who was frantically trying to extinguish his robe sleeve.

On the bright side, at least they didn't put anyone to sleep.

Isabelle glared accusingly at Severus. "What the bloody hell happened?" She demanded. "We followed the instructions exactly. What went wrong?"

"How am I supposed to know?" He said. "You could've miscounted the drops of hellebore, as far as I'm aware."

"Now, now let's all calm down." Professor Slughorn said, but Isabelle wasn't having any of it.

This pathetic half-blood had just caused her her grade for the day. She swore that she would throw him off the Astronomy Tower if this caused that Gryffindor mudblood, Lily Evans, to take Isabelle's place at the top of this class.

"Feel free to correct me if I'm mistaken, but it sounded as if you were blaming me for this disaster." Isabelle tried to keep her voice as level as she could.

Controlling her temper wasn't an easy task, however, she needed to take her position into account. It wouldn't look good for the newly appointed Slytherin prefect to scream at her fellow student, especially when there was a professor present.

But how dare this diluted breed accuse her of messing up the potion. This was what she gets for working with second class wizards. She most definitely learned her lesson.

Just then she heard sniggers coming from the back row of the class. She whirled toward the sound and surely enough, Sirius Black and James Potter were trying—and failing—not to laugh. Remus Lupin rolled his eyes at his friends. He was at the worktable next to Sirius and James's with Peter Pettigrew, who seemed to be trying desperately to disappear into the shadows once he saw that Isabelle had noticed his friends and was now making her way to them.

"Black, you son of a bitch." She scoffed, sending a murderous glare toward her least favourite Black. "I should have known this was your doing."

Sirius smirked, shrugging. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Either way, you can't prove anything, Malfoy. I wasn't anywhere near your cauldron."

There was a reason Sirius had suggested to his mates that they sat further away from Isabelle and Snivellus. He could barely contain his laughter as he watched the pair hurriedly hide under their table and the class spread out in a frenzy. And all that thanks to a little jinx he had cast on Isabelle's cauldron.

He smirked as Isabelle gave her a death glare he knew all too well. After all, he had been on the receiving end of it for the past four years.

"Ms. Malfoy, I know that you are upset, but kindly watch your language." Professor Slughorn said, before clearing his throat. "Unfortunately, Mr. Black is correct. You don't have any evidence that he had deliberately sabotaged your potion. I'm afraid I have no choice but to fail you and Mr. Snape for today's class."

Hearing himself be called Mr. Black sent a shiver down Sirius's spine. He didn't like being addressed in the same manner as his father. But even that wasn't enough to dampen his good mood. He just hit two birds with one bloody stone. He was having a perfect day.

"But—" Isabelle tried to argue.

"No buts. Better luck tomorrow, Ms. Malfoy." he said before returning to the front of the classroom. "Oh and kindly tidy up the mess."

Isabelle glared at Sirius even harder. And as soon as Slughorn was out of earshot.

"This. Isn't. Over." She threatened through gritted teeth.

Sirius just winked at her. "We'll just see about that, doll."

She turned away from him with a huff and started cleaning up the mess caused by her potion. Snivellus fixed Sirius and James with a nasty look before helping Isabelle.

Once it was only the four of them, James almost doubled over in laughter. He clasped Sirius's shoulder as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"That was ingenious, Padfoot." He said.

Sirius howled in laughter. "All in a day's work, mate."

Remus sighed in exasperation. "Idiots. Idiots is what you are."

Later that day, Isabelle laid on her bed in her dorm room at the Slytherin dungeon. She was revising for tomorrow's Potions class to make sure she wouldn't make a mistake. Thanks to Sirius, she needed a to get a perfect score tomorrow if she wanted to maintain her grades. And to top it all of, she still needed to think of the perfect revenge for Sirius. She wasn't going to let him get away with that little stunt.

Without any warning, the door to her dorm flew open as Regulus Black came rushing in, sweaty and still dressed in his green and silver Quidditch uniform. That's right, Black. Regulus was Sirius's little brother. But unlike his arrogant twat of a brother, Regulus was quite easy to get along with. He was actually like a brother to Isabelle.

Isabelle almost jumped out of her bed in surprise.

"Blimey, Regulus! Don't you know how to knock?" She chided, sending him a small glare.

Boys weren't technically allowed anywhere near the girl's dormitories, but for some reason Regulus had managed to figure out a way to get past the enchantment keeping the boys away. Which allowed him burst into Isabelle's dorm anytime he wanted, much to her frustration.

"Sorry," he said. "But I heard what happened during your Potions class today and I may just have the perfect idea on how you can get back at my brother."

Isabelle closed her book and sat up on her bed. This should be good. Regulus was a very clever wizard, he was just, more often than not, overshadowed by his infuriating brother. What Isabelle couldn't wrap her mind around, however, was how that was the case. Sirius was only more rambunctious and definitely much more of an arse than Regulus, who was quiet and more gentleman like. But when it came down to looks and smarts, Isabelle would say that the two were almost an even match.

"Well?" Isabelle prodded. "What's your brilliant idea?"

Regulus sat at the foot of her bed. He reached into his bag and brought out a box of tiny marble like things that Isabelle knew all too well.

"Hold on, are those the Prewett brother's dungbombs?" Isabelle asked.

She would never forget those horrid tiny things. In their fourth year, the Prewett brothers made their own version of the dungbombs sold at the Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. Ordinary dungbombs always left a person's hands dirty when handled, so they gave it a thin glass like exterior. They also made it smell extra putrid.

One time, Sirius had placed one of those under the cushion of her chair during Divination class. As soon as Isabelle took a seat, the glass marble container broke under her weight and the classroom was filled with the smell of crap, which of course came from Isabelle's chair. It was absolutely mortifying. She got back at Sirius for that by using the Dancing Feet jinx on him later on, which didn't wear off for an entire day. She even heard that his legs wouldn't stop moving even as he slept.

"Yes, but with a few of my own modifications, of course." Regulus said proudly. "I replaced the potion mist inside with skunk spray. I also made the containers extra fragile, so even just the normal amount of pressure could cause them to shatter."

Isabelle took the box from him, impressed and slightly pleasantly surprised. "When did you have the time to do all this?"

Regulus rolled his grey eyes playfully. "I have a life outside of you girls, you know."

"Sure you do." Isabelle ruffled his jet black hair, causing Regulus to grab her hand and pull it away from his head.

"Will you stop doing that." He complained, still holding Isabelle's hand in his. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Whatever you say." Isabelle chuckled. "So what's your plan with these?"

"We were thinking of maybe planting them in Black's dorm room." Emma Vanity, one of Isabelle's roommates and probably her closest friend, said as she entered their room. Like Regulus, Emma had just come from the Slytherin team's Quidditch practice and was still in her uniform. "Sirius Black, just so were clear."

"That goes without saying, Emma." Regulus said. "I would never plant skunk bombs in my own dorm room. I'm not daft."

"Wait a minute, you're in on this?" Isabelle asked Emma, gently pulling her hand from Regulus's grip. "I thought you didn't like getting involved with my feud with Sirius."

Emma snorted as she released her choppy brown hair from her ponytail. "You weren't the only one that failed today's Potions class because of Black's prank." She glowered. "I'm fucking out for revenge."

"Anyway," Regulus said. "There's one problem, however. How are you gonna get inside the Gryffindor common room?" He asked Isabelle. "It's not like you could just knock on their door and they'd let you in."

"Imperius curse?" Emma suggested. "Lucius taught you the spell last summer, right, Belle? Use it on one of those Gryffindors. That'll save us a whole lot of trouble."

"There's no bloody way I'm using the Imperius curse for a prank, Em. It's too risky." Isabelle said. "Magic always leaves traces, especially dark magic. There's a chance that they'll follow those traces back to me, if ever they discover the spell's involvement."

"She's got a point." Regulus agreed.

"So what now?" Emma asked.

Just as Emma said those words, an idea popped into Isabelle's head. She knew how she would be getting into Gryffindor tower.

"Don't worry about it." Isabelle said. "Just leave that part to me."

Sirius lazily lounged on the floor of his dorm room. James was trying to get him to attend the Quidditch practice. But he wasn't feeling up to it today. He was never even interested in trying out for the team in the first place, but he lost a bet with James last year and the deal was that he tries out for Quidditch. He didn't know that he would actually get selected.

"Our first match is in a few weeks, mate, and it's against Slytherin, we need to be in top shape." James said.

Out of all the classes and activities in Hogwarts, Quidditch was the only thing James ever took seriously, especially after he became the team's captain. Which was why he's getting so worked up about practice. But, like Sirius had mentioned, he didn't want to play Quidditch and especially not against Slytherin. He much preferred to put them in their place in other, more unpredictable ways.

"We'll be fine, Prongs." Sirius said, placing his arms behind his head. "Tell him, Moony."

Remus looked up from his book, he was sitting on his bed as he tried to block out his arguing friends. "Don't get me involved in this."

Sirius threw a small pillow at Remus. "Coward!" He said.

He blocked the pillow with his arm. "And I'm out." Remus said as he got up from his bed. "I'll be in the library if you need me. Good luck." he told James before heading out.

After Remus was gone, that's when Sirius noticed that they were missing one Marauder.

"Where's Wormtail?" He asked.

"Hmm?" James said, apparently also just realizing Peter wasn't present. "Probably already at the pitch." He said dismissively. Then seeming to remember that they were arguing, he said. "Don't try to change the subject!"

"I'm not feeling well, Prongs." Sirius said as he attempted to feign being ill.

Sirius and James argued for a few more moments until Sirius finally agreed to attend the practice. Sirius reluctantly got up from the floor and changed into his Quidditch uniform. It was scarlet and gold, like the rest of team's, with his last name, Black, written at back above the number 5, his player number.

"I fucking hate you." He muttered dejectedly once he rejoined James.

"Chin up, Padfoot. Look at the bright side." James said. "There'll be ladies watching us practice."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Maybe you'll even get lucky and find Malfoy there." James added. "Just imagine, hexing her twice in one day. She'll surely explode."

He smirked. "Now that's a thought."

Seeing Isabelle Malfoy's infuriated face after every prank was what always made Sirius's day. It's what made Hogwarts exceptionally interesting. They've been at it for years now, yet he never gets tired of seeing her fume in anger. The fact that the more he pranked her, the more she hated him and the more likely she was not to marry him, like their parents wanted, had turned into just a bonus years ago.

However, he knew that Isabelle never really involved herself in Quidditch. The last time he saw her out in the Quidditch pitch that he could think of was back in their third year, when she went all the way down there to support Regulus when he tried out for the Seeker position on the Slytherin Quidditch team. But hey, a guy could hope.

Sirius and James made their way down the spiral staircase of Gryffindor tower to the common room, where some students were relaxing after a long day of classes. Most of the girls looked their way once they heard the two Marauders coming down the stairs.

James's hand immediately went up to his hair and he casually messed it up—well, more than it already was. A few of the girls sighed dreamily, though Sirius knew that James was really just showing off for one girl in particular.

Lily Evans.

Unfortunately for his best mate, Evans was obviously not interested in him and she seemed to always hang out with Snivellus.

Sirius bit back a laugh at his friend's failed attempts to catch Evans's attention, completely ignoring the girls staring hopefully at him. Sometimes it impressed him how persistent James was to gain Evans's attention, but most of the time it's just a bit pathetic if you asked Sirius. He couldn't even imagine how a girl could have such an effect on a guy, but he was sure that that would never happen to him. He swore it on his mother's grave.

"Bad luck, Prongs." He whispered to James as they opened the back of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Evans is still ignoring you. Face it, mate, she'll never go out with you."

"Piss off, Padfoot!" James said.

They opened the portrait door and before either of them could step out, an all black cat with green eyes rushed through the door. Sirius had to raise his left foot to prevent the cat from hitting his leg, head first.

"Meow!" The cat hissed angrily at him as it passed.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder, and saw the cat rushing up the spiral staircase leading up to the boys dormitory. Strange. He can't remember ever seeing that cat before. But he just shrugged it off before stepping out into the lavish Gryffindor landing. Maybe someone had just gotten themself a new pet. Yup, that's most definitely the case.

"Looks like we're about to have some good luck today, mate." James said as they headed toward the grand staircase, referring to the black cat that had just passed them.

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