#SHUT THE FUCK UP THAT’S NOT HOW FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS FRIENDS END :(((
Note
Some ships to drop
Hysteria x Cindy
Cindy x Seviathan
Cindy x Frederick 👀
Cindy x Velvette (I remember we talked about it once
Cindy x Leviathan
Cindy x Cupid
Cindy x Pitch
Annnnd
Hysteria x Cindy x Seviathan (in which Hysteria and Seviathan constantly fight over the brain cell)
Ship bingo
Hysteria x Cindy
Look it's a bingo!!! Pastel goth & goth punk solidarity! Well, they have a lot in common despite the incredibly different power scale they operate on. Cindy is definitely...not right in the head either but at least she can recognize and enforce the importance of consent & look after Hysteria. It's a really adorable friends with benefits situation between two young women who enjoy their sexuality and don't know nor care when to shut up.
Cindy x Seviathan
You know how long I wanted to do a love story involving reincarnation and not in the traditional way?? They are adorable, can see them as the jock-cheerleader trope a tiny bit as she is bloody athletic. Her traumas, personality feel like they balance his chaotic dumbass out a little while also enabling him. A fun dynamic between literal cosmic horrors and I'm here for it
Cindy x Frederick
I think we both know what she will do if she breaks up with Seviathan, plus burning down most of his belongings- Getting with his dad is definitely not sane or safe but at least consensual and something she would definitely do. She's aware Frederick is married buuut...yeah. It definitely would be a one time thing, I don't think she would be interested after she got what she wanted: revenge and tentacle dicks.
Cindy x Velvette
I mean...it would be fun buuut Cindy is not Rozy. I feel like Velvet could potentially bring up even accidentally too much of her traumas and Cindy won't hang out with a rapist pimp without ending his life. She also chooses to not drink or do drugs in order to protect her voice; the customizing employees would freak her the fuck out. Also if she's stabbed for the fun of it, she will stab back.
Cindy x Leviathan
Cindy carries a surprising amount of envy. She has suffered so much and she doesn't feel she 'got her reward for it' . Many would say cosmic level power IS a reward but sometimes it feels more of a burden. To know, to hear, to experience so much as a bystander. I think Leviathan could very much play with her anger laced envy, for a while. Until Cindy learns he has been holding her distant relative captive. Until he learns that she's a fucking Véghváry.
Cindy x Cupid
Cindy doesn't understand why the sweet angel of love doesn't hate her. It is extremely wholesome, touching that Cupid is trying to show her how love should work, you know without the murder part. I feel like it probably will be platonic, they are adorable, Cindy needs some kindness in her life...and idk if Cupid needs her chaos in hers though😂
Cindy x Pitch.
Based mainly on @spxcemuses Pitch, but if you want to throw yours I'm ( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ) Okay. Hooooly fuck. The first ever ship I've written on Tumblr and I'm not over it the slightest. The enemies to lovers, the struggle whenever exploit her fears to tear down the strongest opposing force; the pain whenever to rip the fearlings out of him for him to be free at last. Technically, he is too a cosmic horror & with my original lore about the creator of fearlings Serin'th adds an extra layer of spice. They...gone through so much, there are many layers, threads, jokes tying them together and honestly it's in my top 10 ships ever written.
Hysteria x Cindy x Seviathan
Fun, chaotic and after a while Cindy would probably lose her patience.😂 I do like the concept and the shenanigans it would cause, the pranks, the 'alliances'; I think they would have a great time. But...she needs something more serious in the long term. Someone who is strong enough emotionally for her because she is not.
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Two Years
Pair: Fred Weasley x Reader; he/him.
Summary: You got back to Diagon Alley after the war and desperately wanna talk to him and explain why you were basically non-existent during the war. But is Fred ready to talk to you?
Warnings: Swearing.
Notes: Reader is Draco's Cousin! Hope you enjoy!
~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~
-
Complicated couldn’t even begin to describe your relationship with the Weasley’s.
For to start, you were related to the Malfoys which automatically meant it was rocky. You were Draco’s cousin. Your family didn’t believe in the same ideology as Lucius and Narcissa, leading to family feuds being normal during literally any time of the year. Your family didn’t exactly want the attention of the Malfoys or the Dark Lord once the war reared its ugly head, so your family fled to America, dragging you with them. They wanted to get as far from the war as possible.
And two, well, you were Fred’s partner before the war broke out. Since your family was absolutely dedicated to being hidden, you lost communication with him when your family decided to just get up and go. You didn’t even have time to tell him goodbye or really anyone and it hurt. You knew you hurt him too and no matter how you begged, your parents wouldn’t let you see him, let alone send him a letter. Owls couldn’t travel across whole seas and you were basically in lock down, even if you were a grown adult.
You stayed up most nights because of nightmares. You’d wake up in a cold sweat more times than you could count on both hands. After these tear jerking visions from hell, you’d usually climb from your bedroom window to the room, gazing out at the moon like a love struck teenager, hoping maybe even praying Fred was gazing at the moon at the same time you were.. Most nights he actually was.
During the war, Fred had come into a.. Complication. He ended up fracturing his leg, resulting in a cane and physical therapy. George took up fixing and running the shop with Ron while he was borderline trapped between surviving at the Burrow and physical therapy.
Fred spent most of his free time sketching out ideas of products to tire his mind long enough to ignore the stupid nightmares and gazing out the window, hoping you’d apperate across the field and come comfort him, but you never came. Everyone in the Burrow avoided mentioning your name around Fred, anyway.
When the time came, Fred went straight back to work with his twin, spewing out ideas about different treats, potions, trinkets, anything and everything he came up with while bed ridden and they both got to work quickly.
It was nice, relaxing, normal again. Everything was normal to Fred but a piece of him was missing. You were across the world and you held a piece of his heart and he hated you never gave it back.
No matter how badly he missed you or longed for you to hold his hand, he wasn’t ready to face you when you entered their shop. He literally wasn’t ready to face you. He turned around when the bell went off, ready to say the shop wasn’t open yet but dropped the box he was holding. He ignored the sound of shattering glass and immediately booked it back into the room, where he nearly knocked over his brother.
“What’s wrong?” George asked, swiftly setting the box he was holding down on the shelf. “Are you going into another attack? Do you need to go upsta-” He was silenced when Fred's hand covered his mouth.
“Hello?” A soft voice called out, causing George's eyebrows to furrow before his eyes grew wide. Fred moved his hand, using it to slowly shut the storage room door, making sure to turn the handle so it shut silently. The separation allowed the twins to whisper to each other in peace.
“Isn't that-”
“Yeah.”
“Then why-”
“Because I’m not ready.”
“..You’re not ready? Blimey, Fred, it’s been 2 years since he left.” George ran a hand down his face, the other landing on his hip sassily. “What do you mean you're not ready? You always talked about how you missed him but now you aren't ready?”
“You wouldn’t understand-”
“Don’t even give me that, Freddie. Talk to me.” George smiled, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. “I know you're older by like, 1/4 a second, but you don’t have to be a rock. Come on, don’t bottle it up.”
Fred let out a sigh, his eyes casting downward before he let out the smallest of chuckles. His hand came to rub the back of his neck.
“Fine.”
George almost squealed with joy when his brother decided to open up to him. He wanted to clap his hands and jump around like a child, but opted for not compromising their position.
Fred went on to tell George about how you left, how you didn’t even leave a note, how he didn’t know how to ask if you two were still together and if you loved him anymore. George has already known all of this, causing his face to melt into an unamused expression.
“.. You realize you're being ridiculous, right?”
“Gee, thanks George. I will most definitely come back to you when I have emotional turmoil.”
“No, no, mate, listen.” George wrapped his arm around his older brother's shoulder, gently guiding him away from the wall. “Listen, ok? You’re such a top notch guy, not as handsome as me,” George smiled wider when his brother snorted, “but you’re trying! So why not at least talk to the bloke, yeah? You guys were snogging before he left, so why not try to snog after?”
“I just told you why I can’t.”
“Who are you and what did you do with Fredrick Weasley?” George put the back of his hand across his forehead, being the dramatic shit he is.
“Don’t call me that, you prat-”
“I thought I knew you! Confidence was your middle name! Frederick Confident Gideon Weasley!” The youngest twin only became cockier when the older one groaned and covered his face. “Oh, Frederick, where did you go?” He wrapped his free arm tighter around his brother and dragged him out the door, ignoring his protests and grabby hands reaching to hold onto the door frame.
“George, wait!” Fred’s hushed whisper floated in the air, completely ignored by the other red-head.
“Fredrick! Where did you go, Freddie?!” He called out, knowing damn well you were still in the shop. Neither of the twins heard the shops bell ring a second tie, indication your departure.
“George?” Your voice echoed in the closed shop, leading George to dramatically turn to his brother and smirk at him. “Is that you?”
“Why yes, my dear friend! How are you?” George let go of his twin, allowing him to scurry off to the side and hide behind one of their many filled shelves. You walked up to him just after Fred hid, much to his delight and George’s dismay. George’s smile faltered ever so slightly when he took in your appearance.
Your hair was a nest fit for Scabbers, the bags under your eyes would need to be checked with baggage at any muggle airport and your clothes. Not that there was anything wrong with a hoodie and sweatpants, but it was summer for fucks sake. He could see the sweat across his brow and wondered if he should turn the AC on.
“I’m as well as I can be, I guess..” You fiddled with a stray strand hanging from your hoodie. George noted the fraying hand made thumb holes and his eyebrow raised in confusion. “I um-” You ran a hand through your hair, “I wanted to talk to Fred, do you know where he is?” While your eyes were darting across the top level of the shop, George’s eyes flashed to his brother.
The shop owner shot his brother a glare when he shook his head back and forth fast enough to make anyone dizzy.
“Um, no.. I haven't.” George grumbled out, his hands going to his pockets. He looked down at the floor deciding it would be better than the disappointed expression on your face. “Um, do you want me to give him a message for something?”
“No, yeah, if that’s ok?” You went back to fiddling with the stray thread. You didn’t notice Fred peaking at you through the products lined on the shelves. “Just um- Could you tell him I’m sorry for me? I’m sure he’ll know what I mean..”
“Yeah, sure thing, (Y/n/n). Anything for you.” George ran a hand through his hair after you turned on your heel and mumbled a thank you before exiting the shop. “You owe me.” The red-head turned to his identical and sighed when he saw the longing expression. “Merlin’s left tit, you’re fucked, mate.”
“I should’ve-” Fred hit his forehead against the wood of one of the shelves, a yell of frustration leaving his throat.
“Say it.”
“..You were right. I should’ve talked to him.”
“Damn right I was. Now, go get your bloke before he cries in the street or worse, goes to Malfoy for romantic help.” George faked a shudder at the idea. George watched his brother turn, slamming his back into the shelf and slide to the floor. “Ok, Fred, seriously, this is getting kind of sad.”
“I can’t go talk to him, George!” Fred was pulling at his own ginger locks, his knees coming up to his chest. “I- No, I can’t.”
“Do you want me to do it?” George’s voice was soft. He plopped himself on the dusty floor right next to his brother. “I can talk to him as you? See what all of this is about?”
“I don’t know, Georgie..” Fred’s voice was softer than his twins. He looked at his brother with a hopeless expression and glossy eyes. George figured from this it would be best to tackle the problem tomorrow so he just pulled his brother into his side and held him for a good while.
-
The next day was easier for Fred. The store was bustling, as it was Monday, morning and all the happy customers provided a great distraction. He took over the register while George focused more on the floor work: answering customer questions, restocking shelves. It was a lot for two twins to handle, but they managed, especially when Ginny or Ron offered their free days to come down and help.
Fred had just finished closing the drawer, handing a youngster his change back when the bell above the shop's door caught his attention. He shifted on his feet when Draco was practically dragging you into the shop wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The red-head was starting to wonder if you were ok.
“(Y/n)!” George yanked you into a hug before you could even blink, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles that left Fred absolutely yearning to have you by his side again.
“Hey Geo!” You briefly hugged him back before pulling away, causing his attention to shift to your cousin.
“Malfoy.” George looked the blonde up and down. He’d throw hands if he had too, even in his own shop.
“Hey, be nice. He’s on our side now.” You punched the tall suited man lightly in the arm before shoving your hands in your pockets.
“It’s unfortunate but true. Most birds did appreciate my bad boy ages.” Draco ran a hand dramatically through his hair while George snorted. “But that isn’t why we’re here. Is your brother around?”
“He’s at the til, why?”
“I’m just here to make sure (Y/n) actually talks to him like he promised too.” Draco put a hand on your back and gently pushed you forward. “But how is business, Weasley?”
While George went on to talk about statistics and boring old shit, you slowly walked over to the red-head who was trying to distract himself by restocking some of the knickknacks in the class case beneath the counter. You cleared your throat, clearly scaring him. He let out a squeak and hit his head on the underside of the glass case.
“I-I’m sorry, Freddie! Are you ok?” you asked, your hands awkwardly fidgeting in front of you as the male stood up and rubbed the back of his head. You bit your lip, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and check his head.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He had his eyes squinted so tight he could see stars flashing behind his lids. He couldn’t look at you yet. You’d looked like a kicked puppy yesterday when you left and it pained him so much.
“Did, um.. Did you get my message from Geo?” You were fiddling with the string again. Fred opened his eyes slowly, nodding to you while he played with the product in his hand.
“I.. Look, I don’t wanna beat around the bush, but I-”
“I already know.” Fred spoke up quickly, louder than intended. “I know, it’s fine.”
“S.. So it’s fine then?” You looked around, a tiny bit confused. Fred wasn’t one for jumping to conclusions, but it seemed his legs weren’t tired yet.
“Yeah.”
“So, I just wanna be sure we’re on the same page, you know my family dragged me to America?”
“Uh-”
“And basically put me under house arrest so I couldn’t see you or message you or leave or really live? And I haven’t forgotten you and my feelings for you haven’t changed and Godric, Fred, I miss you so much.” Tears pricked your tired eyes as you glanced at him. You cleared your throat over the awkward silence you felt was your fault. Fred was replaying your words like a record stuttering on a player and the bloke was still confused.
“.. Come again?” The red-head blinked stupidly, subconsciously leaning over the counter. Maybe he wasn’t hearing you right over the noise of the shop. You couldn’t help but release a borderline silent chuckle that bubbled into your throat.
“I still love you, Freddie bear.” You twiddled with your fingers, your eyes glancing down to his lips before looking back into his sparkling eyes.
“You do?” The co-owner was trying to keep his joy nestled deep down in his chest.
You nodded your head.
“Oh thank fuck.”
“Wha- Ah! FRED-”
The male had all but jumped over the glass counter, dramatically picking you up by your waist and slamming his lips to yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, while your hands gripped to his shoulders like your life depended on it. You immediately fell under the spell of his kiss and didn’t even hear your cousin and your boyfriend's twin brother whooping/gagging.
Fred soon set you down, his usual cocky grin spread across his face until his knee buckled. The strain of his dumb ass jumping over the counter and picking you off your feet like you were a feather was finally catching up with him.
“Ah, ow, ow.” Fred groaned out, bending over to hold his right knee. You put a hand on his shoulder, worry etched across his face. “Ah, so um.. I should probably explain-”
“We both have a lot to explain, Freddie. Two years is a lot of time to be apart.”
#fred weasley x male reader#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley#hp imagine#hp x male reader#male reader#george weasley#draco malfoy#x male reader#Ronny Writes#fic#hp male fic#hp fic
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duet | {im}mature
description: you were supposed to be fred’s best friend. but you sure weren’t acting like it.
a/n: this broke my heart to write, but i think a bit from fred’s perspective would be wonderful. again this is the wonderful wonderful story i am writing with @ickle-ronniekins and you have to follow her, i honestly owe so much to her because this is something i’ve always wanted to do and haven’t had the chance yet.
DUET MASTERLIST
warnings: swearing, blood
wordcount: 5K
taglist: @highly-acidic @feffffffy @sweetpeastrigger @stuckindilemma @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @harrysweasleys @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld @shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual
no smut taglist: @parker-potters
Fred adored you. Truly. You were his closest friend, aside from George. The little Hufflepuff with the ribbons who’d shouted him down after a prank only four short years ago. The one who truly would tell him what you thought of his pranks.
Perhaps that was a lie, but he liked your opinion more than most others.
He often didn’t want to hear it, but that's beside the point.
Now though? Now he wanted your opinion. His mother told him once long ago that the reason he got into such intense arguments was that he poked and prodded others until they told him what he thought was wrong, and then he would pounce.
What utter rubbish, Fred thought as he stared you down from across the D.A. Room. All he wanted to know was why you were so against his suggestion that you come with them when they leave Hogwarts.
Very simple.
Not to mention how annoying it was that you were paired with Longbottom. All he ever heard was George prattling on about how much he missed spending time with you. If Neville weren’t careful he would catch the bad end of a Nosebleed Nougat.
You for your part, seemed to be returning his gaze with an equal amount of fervor. In between longing glances at George.
If Fred weren’t such a firm believer in keeping promises, he would have locked the two of you in a cupboard long ago to shag it out.
Alas, he was frustratingly loyal.
What a terrible flaw to have.
It was towards the end of the meeting, when you looked near tears of frustration of being unable to figure out the expelliarmus charm, and George was fawning over you that he approached. Even Harry had left.
“Y/N.”
George shot Fred a warning look, a look that said ‘if you pick a fight I’ll knock you out’.
Fred hadn’t been knocked out by George yet.
It was like an itch he couldn’t help but scratch. Fred wouldn’t admit it, even if there was a wand pointed to his jugular, but he was every inch as self conscious as George. Perhaps even more. People who knew them always talked about how confident Fred was and how smart George was. How his twin had the more mature personality.
Perhaps it was true, but the thought that he was missing out on something that others might have noticed dug underneath his skin and clawed against his skull.
You took in a shaky breath.
Fat tears on your cheek. Fred let out a grunt. He could be emotionally mature. He could be the more mature one. More mature than George obviously-- he could state things in a clear way, and even wait to say them.
He could do it.
This was a time to wait. “You want to be a healer right? No one’s going to come at you as a healer. Let’s go get you to the kitchens then to your dorm.”
The little smile you gave eased his heart a bit.
He’d always been uncomfortable when you’d cried.
You were mad. He could tell. You were mad at George, Fred knew it like he knew Quidditch formations. You always got weird and pouty when you sat on the other side of the Great Hall. You could have asked to sit over with them. It was the weekend. Life was boring without a bit of risk. But you took your seat at the Hufflepuff table and kept looking back over at George.
Fred wasn’t able to hang out with you either. Every free moment you chased after his twin.
You were supposed to be his best friend too.
You were a prat sometimes. And you were too wrapped up in your ‘unrequited’ love to notice it.
With a huff, Fred followed you out of the hall as you tried to escape. Presumably to cry in your dorm room again instead of coming over to speak with them.
Madness! What was George going to do, push you away?
And even if George didn’t want to talk-- which he always did-- you could have been speaking to him.
What had happened to best friends?
“Oi!” his voice was loud in the corridor, with his large frame and fiery hair it was easy for you to locate the sound. “Why are you running out without talking to us?”
He meant ‘me’, but that was too messy.
You frowned up at Fred, lip wobbling, eyes wet. It was hard to be intimidated by someone who looked like they were about to cry. “You seemed plenty busy, Fred.” When you turned on your heel and tried to stomp off, Fred followed you.
Followed you through empty corridors, easily outpacing you.
“Why won’t you come with us? Why aren’t you spending time with us?”
“Why aren’t you two spending time with me then?” Your voice sounded like he’d brought sandpaper to an exposed nerve.
“No! Stop turning it around! I have to listen to George pouting every day--” Of course talk of him is what gets you to soften. “Will you fucking stop with that!? Acting like your world revolves around him? If it did you’d come with us--”
“I can’t come with you, I need to finish my schooling! Some of us are studying for a job that requires a complete education, Frederick! Not all of us can just run off without thinking--”
There it was.
“And our plan is bad because it doesn’t need us finishing up here?”
“Will you shut up Fred? You’re taking words out of my mouth!”
“Then say your bloody words!”
Later on, Fred would be thankful that you two were in a relatively private location.
“IT’S NOT MY JOB TO COME WITH YOU, ALRIGHT? I’M ALLOWED TO BE UPSET YOU TWO ARE LEAVING!”
“IF YOU WERE OUR FRIEND YOU’D BE HAPPY FOR US--”
“SOME OF US ARE EMOTIONALLY MATURE ENOUGH TO FEEL MORE THAN ONE THING AT ONCE, FREDERICK.”
Fred felt himself pale, and pressed on despite George making his way over.
“Nice enough of you to call me emotionally immature. At least I can say what’s on my mind.”
Now you look every bit as hurt as he was. Good. Though, he had to admit, you looked much more intimidating now that you were getting truly angry.
“Shut up Fred. The only reason you’re picking fights right now is because you’re scared about leaving!”
“I’M NOT SCARED!” Fred’s voice bellowed and echoed down the hall. He shrugged off George’s hand on his shoulder.
“You are! You’re scared and confused and nervous, you’re just too fucking proud to admit that you might actually care about the risk you’re taking!”
“Will you two fucking settle down?!” Like always, George was trying to be the voice of reason. The mature one.
What horseshit. And he couldn’t even go let off steam at practice.
“Why should I calm down-- he’s the one who came over picking a fight!”
“You’re the one pouting like a fucking five year old, aren’t you? Why don’t you tell George then why you won’t go with us? Been making him upset too but you’re too busy thinking about yourself--”
You looked like you might cry again, though more than that you looked like you might smack Fred. “I shouldn’t have to explain why I need to stay here to be a healer! If you had any fucking sense of empathy you’d understand--”
“Hey!” This time, George stepped between the two of you. Apparently, hearing George bellow was enough to stun you both enough to stop shouting for a bit. “Go walk it off, Y/N.”
You gave George a look that Fred knew would bring his brother near tears later. George seemed near tears more than usual these days.
It only made Fred want to argue with you more. You were so determined to deny that George obviously couldn’t love you, that you rejected the notion that he might be just as sensitive as you were about some of these things. You rationalized his tears and fears so far away from yourself that any guilt on your part seemed absolved.
Fred opened his mouth to get the last word in, but stopped when he felt a rather rough grip on his shirt from his brother. He used his forearm and pushed him away. “Don’t touch me mate. I’m allowed to get mad at her.” You were far enough away that he could speak at least part of his mind. “Just because you like her doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to get mad at her. She’s my friend too. She’s been a prat, and she hasn’t been supportive enough even though she was one of the first people you told!”
“She’s upset!”
“SO? We all are! She doesn’t support us. And I’m not going to spend the rest of the year watching her feel sorry for herself about it. I’m sick of watching you pine over someone who’s too stubborn to even try to talk to us in the hall.”
Fred shoved past his brother and bit down his tears. He was mature. He didn’t spill either of your secrets. That was mature. Keeping secrets even when you were mad at the other person was mature. He knew that.
Something hot and wet was falling down his face. It must have been raining, he thought, as he walked blindly outside into the autumn night. It rained often in Scotland. People were often so focused on the fact that he and George were twins that they forgot that Fred was exactly in the middle of the rest of the Weasley children.
George complained to him once about not feeling like an individual, and like a good big brother, like someone mature, he bit his tongue and listened to his twin’s feelings.
Of course he knew what it was like to play second fiddle. He got labeled as the ‘mean’ twin. The rude one. The hot headed one. There was truth in that, and Fred wouldn’t deny it, but it stung still. You’d been nice about it though. You’d called him bold. Knew him apart immediately. Sanded down his edges over the years.
You’d called him your best friend last year. Laughed when he’d asked about George. Said you were always too nervous to tell George what was exactly on your mind. It was always so easy to talk to him you’d said.
So why wouldn’t you talk to him anymore? If you were supposed to be his best friend, why weren’t you trying to spend time with him?
Fred coughed into his sleeve as he finally ran out of breath. Eyes swollen. You were supposed to be his best friend too. You were supposed to prioritize him too. He was angry too about being kicked off the team.
He wasn’t scared. This was going to be an adventure. Fred landed himself onto the grass, shoulders shaking. If he could shout, he would. But instead his teeth seemed to lock together.
Fred Weasley didn’t get scared. The late nights he spent working on things where his heart wouldn’t stop pounding against his chest wasn’t fear. It was excitement, obviously. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared reading about more muggle attacks. He didn’t get scared remembering that you and so many other of his friends were muggleborns.
He certainly hadn’t panicked realizing what could happen to you and your family when you’d joined the D.A.
Fred Weasley didn’t get scared.
He didn’t cry either. His face was red as he rubbed his sleeve rather roughly against his eyes. The rain had gotten in them, clearly.
He would show you. He’d show you he wasn’t scared. He’d show you that he was mature. He’d show everyone that this was a great idea, and he’d been smart convincing George to do it.
Far off in the distance, a few first years were chatting amongst themselves, wondering why one of the Weasley twins was sitting alone in the grass, rubbing his eyes so harshly on such a perfectly clear night.
George was sad. Fred didn’t like it when his twin was sad. It crawled under his skin. It scratched at his bones.
Fred knew why his twin was sad, and it made him even more uncomfortable.
You were also upset. Something that shouldn’t have bothered Fred as much as it did, seeing as the two of you were arguing at the moment.
That didn’t matter though. Everything would be alright obviously-- he was the strong twin. He didn’t get sad like George did. He wasn’t going to be the type to lose his mind over someone not spending time with him, obviously.
He would never make George admit it, but the younger of the two of them had always leaned a bit towards anxious tendencies.
It was Fred’s job to keep himself strong so that George didn’t have to worry about things.
Thinking about you again made him rankled.
If you would just stop ignoring them, everything would get better. He couldn’t make you come with them-- and deep inside his gut Fred understood why you wouldn’t come, but if you would put everything aside everything would get better.
George was shaking his head when Fred asked if he was going to come to breakfast. “Don’t feel well?”
“It’s my stomach.”
Fred frowned at his brother. If he were the type to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was making things worse for his brother.
“Stay in bed then. Umbridge will only make things worse for you.”
Perhaps he could have been more comforting.
Perhaps he could have been better at explaining things.
Perhaps Fred shouldn’t have argued with George after his argument with you.
Perhaps Fred wanted someone to scrutinize his emotions like people scrutinized George’s.
Perhaps that was a silly thought. Fred Weasley didn’t get sad, after all.
When it was the three of you in detention it was easy to laugh it all off. Sure, writing in your own blood hurt, but you could all laugh it off imagining what may happen if you’d misspelled a word.
It was an awful experience, but it was easier to forget when it was the three of you.
Now though?
“Keep writing, Weasley.”
Fred wondered if he would be able to knock the lights out of Nott before anyone could stop him.
Being expelled wouldn’t be the worst thing--
Unless they snapped his wand.
For the moment though, Fred settled on a glare before staring back down at the parchment in front of him.
Just a little while longer.
I must act my age.
Malfoy sneered at him from across the room, no doubt excited to have some sort of revenge from the beat down he’d gotten just a few weeks prior. “Yes, come on then George. Or are you illiterate?”
Fred was about to open his mouth to make a crack, but you seemed to beat him to it. “That’s Fred.”
You’d never spoken in detention before. Malfoy strode over to your desk, and you met his stare with another one, “What was that?”
Astonished, Fred watched you rise to your feet, eye to eye with Malfoy who seemed to flinch and step back. “I said that’s Fred. If we’re here for detention, perhaps you’re here for a remedial lesson then since you can’t seem to understand two word sentences. Don’t get cocky Malfoy.”
“You’re the one who’s being cocky if you can’t even duel.”
“Clearly I don’t need to duel you to send you off crying to the hospital wing.”
“Miss Y/L/N!” Umbridge’s voice was shrill from her desk. “Another week of detention for threatening another student.”
Instinctively, Fred grabbed his bag when the timer went off, ready to grab your sleeve and pull you out. Unfortunately it seemed Umbridge had another plan.
“Miss Y/L/N. You’ll be staying behind. I need another twenty lines from you.”
You shot Fred a look, as if you were reading his mind. Rarely could he read someone as well as he could read George.
This was simple though.
Get going.
Fred knew your footsteps. He’d memorized them over the years. When he heard you walk by the statue he was hiding behind, he stepped out just enough for you to see him. “You didn’t have to do that.”
You frowned at him, “I did. He called you illiterate.”
Ah yes. Hufflepuff loyalty.
Hufflepuff stubbornness.
You two continued to stare each other down before finally Fred spoke again. “Your hand is bleeding.”
“Stunning observation there.”
With a scowl, he gestured for you to follow him behind the statue and down one of the hidden passages. “Let me clean it up for you at least.”
You sat down on the cold stone floor once the two of you were far enough away to be heard, and continued to glower at him as he sat across from you.
Fred kept your gaze inch for inch.
“You’re being awful nice for someone who saw fit to yell at me for being shy.”
“If you think that’s why I’m upset you’re just as thick as I thought.”
Fred kept the edge in his voice, but he kept his touch gentle as he dabbed the blood off your hand.
“How am I supposed to spend time with you two when you’re constantly busy with other people--”
“You just come over!” Fred’s voice echoed throughout the passage, louder than he’d intended. However, he was on a roll. “You’ve been our friend for years, you already know our friends because they’re your friends too, you spent the fucking summer with us! You just come and sit down, but you’re too fucking set on George coming over to do that aren’t you? You’ve always got that love story stuck in your head. Can’t see past it far enough to think about your other friends.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I spend plenty of time with my friends!”
“Do you?”
The lack of comprehension on your face was frustratingly astounding. Biting back the urge to start screaming like he’d been doing into his pillow the past few nights, Fred allowed his voice to sound as bitter as he wanted as he rubbed a salve onto your hand.
“We hardly ever see you! Just have to watch you stare at us from across the hall. Do you think I don’t notice? It’s obvious what you think, that you’re wishing someone will come over and tell you it’s alright. You’re not the only nervous one you know! You’re not the only one who gets scared or anxious-- have you thought about that? Getting so upset when I offered you to come with us-- you could have just said no!”
“I did say no!”
“You got so defensive-- like we were attacking you! You’re a muggleborn, I wanted you out of here before things got nasty! Making it sound like a terrible idea-- for every Malfoy that says those terrible words to your face, there’s a dozen others who are too cowardly to. But now Voldemort’s back! Can’t believe you want to stay here where it’s so dangerous. Your career isn't everything! Being a healer can wait!”
You were curiously silent, and if Fred were to snap out of his heated rant he would have noticed the odd expression on your face.
“That’s another thing, Y/N! You’re always so caught on George! He’s not the whole world you know-- do you know what it’s like to hardly see your closest friend, and when you do see them alone they just talk about their crush? It’s bloody annoying! Makes you feel like you’re not a priority! Or hearing that your idea to leave is a bad one when you’re just trying to be brave--” Fred’s voice felt thick, his vision became blurry with tears but he continued. “I am brave! And just because I’m not George doesn’t mean I don’t get scared or sad-- Everyone always prattles on about how he’s feeling, I don’t feel wonderful all the time either! But I have to keep pushing on, like nothing is bothering me! Because this was all my fucking plan, and if I don’t push on all this work will have been for nothing!”
Fred forgot sometimes, that you could read him better than you could read George. “I’ve made you feel looked over, haven’t I? Is that what it is Freddie?”
He wasn’t supposed to cry. So why was he crying? “You have! You said I was your best friend, and then you just start ignoring me--”
It was a strange hug that you wrapped him in. He had to crouch down on his knees to be properly held in your arms, but it didn’t stop him from crying into your shoulder as he continued to rant and rave. It wasn’t until his throat ached from speaking that he noticed you rubbing circles into his back or your hand in his hair.
He was brought back to many years before, how it felt to be wrapped in his mother’s arms after a long tantrum.
“I’m sorry Fred.”
He pulled away, sitting on his heels and watched you rub your own teary eyes.
“I should have thought more about how you felt. You’re right.”
“Why won’t you just come over to be near us?”
“I was scared you two might not want me there. You always look like you’re having so much fun.”
His brow furrowed, what a silly reason. It hardly made any sense. “You’ve known us for years. You spent the summer with us. Why wouldn’t we want you there?”
You gave him a very halfhearted shrug, giving the impression of someone who didn’t quite understand themselves. “Don’t know. Since all of this has started… haven’t quite felt myself. I’ve been burying myself in studying. Trying not to think of much.” you looked as if you were willing yourself up to say something. “Was that why you invited me then? Because you were worried about me?”
“Someone’s got to-- you can’t even manage a simple disarming spell.”
Thankfully, you had the grace to laugh at that, even with tears in the corner of your eyes. “That’s mean!”
“It’s not mean if it’s true.”
“I want to be a healer. I’m not leaving early. I’m bad at fighting, but I’m good at healing. So I’ll be doing that during the war. I know you’ll do something silly and get your ear blasted off. Someone’s going to need to know how to patch it back on.”
“I’m the smart twin. That’ll be George who does something that stupid.”
You waved your hand as if it were all unimportant. “My point stands. I’m not afraid of Malfoy. I’m staying here and finishing up my education and I’m going to do well on my NEWTS so I can get into a good program.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Again, you shrugged. “Can’t just let you two try to beat up everyone for me.” With a half smile as you wiped away your tears with your sleeve, “And I reckon I made you feel bad about your choice?”
Fred hardly needed to nod as he shifted himself to sit beside you, arm squished against arm as you both leant back on the cold stone wall. “Didn’t make me feel good about convincing George to leave early.”
“Ah. I should have known it was your idea.” There was a silence, as you took his hand in yours and tapped your fingers against his palm. “I do support you, you know. And I know your ideas and marketing will do well.”
It was nice to hear you mention the marketing-- it’d been Fred drafting up the ideas for it. George tended to be the one to work out the specifics.
“I just get sad thinking about being apart from both of you. And I could have said that better.”
“We’ll miss you too, you know.”
“Even if I’ve made you sad?”
“Yeah. It’ll be hard for me to make you feel guilty about that if you’re all the way here in Hogwarts.”
When you pinched his hand, Fred let out a loud laugh.
“I could have said this all better. I’m sorry.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s hard to talk about this stuff.”
“It’s difficult to open up when we’re scared.”
You read him too well.
You knew that he did get scared, every once in a while.
Even if he’d never admit it.
It was Fred who woke up first, shivering with an ache in his throat and his head with a rather harsh nudge to his thigh.
“Why are you two in here?”
He would have known that irritated voice anywhere.
“Morning Georgie.”
Fred sat up, and realized he’d fallen asleep using your forearm as a pillow.
“Answer my question.”
Fairly certain he had a fever, Fred looked up at his twin. “Clearly we had a passionate night of lovemaking, as evidenced by us both being fully clothed.” When George continued to scowl down at him, Fred let out a shrug and a cough, “Talked. Patched things up. Fell asleep.”
George used the back of his hand to test the temperature of Fred’s forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”
“Thank you Healer George.”
“Oh shut up. I was worried about you.”
“How’d you find us?”
“Borrowed the map from Harry.”
You finally began to stir, shivering just as much as Fred had been.
Sleeping in a cold tunnel towards the end of fall truly was a horrible idea.
“Why’s my arm asleep?” when you noticed George, you frowned a bit, “Why’re you here?”
“He came looking for us. He’s jealous I got to spend the night alone with you because of our torrid love affair, and that’s something he wants instead.”
Like always, the comment seemed to fly over your head. “We don’t have one of those.”
“Don’t hide our love, Y/N.”
George rolled his eyes, and offered his hand to help you stand. “You two are hopeless. Let’s get you to the hospital wing.”
“Not going to help up your brother?” Fred chuckled as he watched George put his coat over your shoulders before helping up Fred and wrapping his scarf around his brother’s neck. While he was sliding mittens onto his brother’s hands he shook his head.
“Just glad you two aren’t fighting anymore. Thought I was going to have a heart attack from the stress.”
“Sorry Georgie.” both you and Fred spoke at the same time, resulting in an amused smile from George.
“Hopeless. Just like I said.” with that, he slung an arm over Fred and wrapped his other around your waist. “C’mon. Now you both get to spend Saturday sick in bed. Terrible judgement, you two.”
Fred grinned as you let out a tired laugh.
Things felt a bit closer to normal.
#george weasley#george weasley oneshot#george weasley imagine#george weasley x reader#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley fanfic#fic: duet#my writing
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The monsters playing dnd
When Nicky brought it up for the first time it was right after Neil had come in for summer practice. Nicky thought they needed a unifying way to spend time together and an adventure game might keep Andrew occupied. He also thought it may bring the twins together and Kevin would enjoy role playing if he could get out the stick lodged in his ass.
He never thought they would agree
They started out by letting Kevin DM. This was a terrible idea and after just two sessions it was ruled he was never allowed to DM again.
He micromanaged the players and wouldn’t let them stray at all from his storyline. The others found it too constrictive and would actually try to mess up his campaigns.
They didn’t know what to do who would DM? Andrew doesn’t talk enough and Nicky talks too much.
Enter: Aaron
He was skeptic at first but while he was drafting his first campaign he started to get into it. He loved the ideas of creating arcs and mini arcs for their characters to follow. The others secretly admired how all of the arcs tied together to be one cohesive story.
Aaron came to realize that he could rely on Andrew’s memory to help move the story along and solve any riddles based on past actions. (Betsy was pleased to hear that they were bonding) Kevin was really good at the puzzle games Aaron would create and Nicky could charm almost anyone and was great at making distractions for the others to work.
Andrew played a rogue half orc named Jimmy. He created the character when he was still on his court mandated drugs and after he got off them he still felt oddly connected to the character.
Nicky plays a human bard named Eduardo because “why mess with perfection and by perfection I mean me”
Kevin plays a high elf artificer named Charles Merryweather.
As Andrew grew to trust Neil, eventually they invited him to join their group. Andrew helped him make a character and he played a few times but he found he liked watching them a whole lot more.
He also saw how Aaron would end up using the same voices for different NPCs so after talking to him one night he starts to voice the minor characters the crew would encounter. Aaron would give him a sheet of who the characters were and what they know and some things he wants the characters to say and then Neil would interact with the players as that “npc”
The others love it because Neil has a knack for doing all of these different accents. One day Nicky off handedly asked how a “boy from bum fuck Arizona” can mimic so many different accents. Neil kept cool and told them that he used to watch a lot of TV from all these different countries. “I guess I just picked up in the accents” he would say.
At some point during the year Aaron had him voice a character named Frederick Von Frostgiggle. On this characters sheet it simply said “Frederick is known for his body odor (he reeks of sulfur) and his pompous attitude”
Neil has the perfect accent in mind. When the characters first interacted with Frederick Neil cleared his throat for an ubnoxious amount of time before punching his nose shut and using an overboard British accent to say “well hello gentlemen my name is Frederick Von Frostgiggle”
Nicky soon forgot the characters name and accidentally referred to him as Fart Face. This then became his name and the crew loved him as a character. Neil felt ridiculous voicing him but it made him feel like a normal kid so he did it anyway.
After the introduction of fart face, not an arc went by without the appearance of that stinky boy.
One day as the monsters were heading towards their dorm room they were laughing up a storm from a reference Nicky had made in the elevator on the way up. Dan and Matt were just leaving the dorms when they heard the commotion and asked what was so funny.
Neil had no clue what came over him but he responded in all his fart face voice glory “it is, hmm how do you say- ah, none of your business”
What decorum the group held was completely shattered when his hand came up to his nose and they knew what was coming. Even Andrew looked amused as Nicky doubled over. He was laughing so hard it took him five tries to get the key in the lock.
Matt and Dan gave each other weird looks but decided not to comment because they were all getting along and they didn’t want to ruin that.
After the finals and all the bad stuff that had happened Neil and Aaron started to warm up to each other. Neil started working with Aaron and giving him campaign ideas. They creatively worked well together and started making these elaborate campaigns that were subtle until the end when everything came to the foreground and blew the players minds.
It didn’t happen often, but sometimes Andrew would ask what he should expect or do the next time they played. Neil never told him anything but if Andrew made a guess he could tell by Neil’s smile if he was right or not.
They continued this tradition of playing for years. When they all moved out of palmetto they would do it over Skype. It was a major stress relief from their daily lives and a way for them to stay connected. It caused so many inside jokes and made Neil feel deeply connected to his friends.
#can’t I just wish they were happy#aftg#all for the game#tfc#neil josten#dan wilds#matt boyd#andrew minyard#aaron minyard#nicky hemmick#kevin day#dnd#dungeons and dragons#this was created using my knowledge of dnd from TAZ#dnd au#foxes play dnd
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👀
Here's an unfinished fic I was writing earlier this year for a Stan Frederick/EMH Crossover AU. I posted some parts of it when I was originally working on it but I never actually finished writing it (and I probably won't since the new season of SF is coming out) so it never got posted. It literally ends midsentence and I'm not gonna go back and reread the whole thing before I post it but I remember it being good so here you go.
_____
"If we are ever that desperate... " He had trailed off, not even wanting to finish the thought, perhaps not realizing that he may not have been the desperate one after all.
*****
It had been almost a year since the events of 'Amendments'. Almost a year of freedom. Well, kinda. Stan didn't quite know if he would call it freedom. Sure, he was free of Connor, of the monsters that had haunted his past life, but he was on the run, knowing that his monster would be back for the rest of him once it realized it had missed a piece. Sure he was free, but what was freedom if you weren't even really alive to enjoy it, if you were constantly on the run, and if you couldn't go back to the ones you loved for fear of dragging them back down the rabbit hole with you. In this sense, Stan didn't consider himself anymore free than he had been in those years where the monster had lost it's effect on him and he was actually able to help people.
Help people. That wasn't something he quite did anymore either. Obviously he couldn't go back to his position as a 'signal disruptor', that would just pull him back into the fray, and that certainly wasn't an option. Plus, being what he was now, dead but not really, in a way he was just the type of monster he would've been called to investigate in the first place.
A Corruptelum. That's the name he had given to beings like himself back in the old days of investing monsters. Alive, but not quite, a shadow of his former self. He didn't quite like the name anymore, and he wasn't able to rationalize between whether that was because he actually felt the title didn't fit or if he just couldn't quite recognize himself as one of them under that name. Either way it made him uncomfortable applying the term to himself and often he did his best not to think about it, though it was rather hard not to think about, considering his situation.
He had been traveling from place to place, exploring the country as a way to distract himself and stay safe while avoiding places like Maine, New Jersey, Alabama, and Florida, where he knew the monsters often lurked or had victims they were already hunting. Sometimes he fell into the routine of travel so easily that it was almost like he was back on the road investigating again and he almost forgot everything that had led him to this point. Almost.
The only place he could truely cease thought was sleep. Sure, being what he was, he didn't need sleep, but it was a small comfort from his past that he wasn't easily able to abandon in his new form. Most nights were dreamless, an upside considering that almost any dream he did occasionally have seemed to be a nightmare about his monster coming back to collect the pieces it had missed. Even the rare times he had a normal dream he found himself saddened knowing that the dream scenarios he came up with were never going to be real.
Tonight, Stan was almost sure he was having a nightmare when he awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. Well, not quite unfamiliar, the place had a strong hold on his subconscious, he was sure he knew where he was, but he couldn't remember exactly why the place did feel so familiar to him. Either way, it wasn't where he had fallen asleep, and that was never a good sign.
Stan pushed himself to his feet, the air around him crackling with static energy, as if it knew he didn't belong and was trying to push him out. He could sense supernatural power in the house, something that almost felt like a protective force surged through the walls of the home, but more importantly, there was definitely someone, or something, in the house with him, and close too. Alarms were immediately going off in his head. He was starting to realize that this may not have been a nightmare.
He heard the opening and closing of a door somewhere nearby and suddenly the lights flicked on. He blinked to adjust his vision out of instinct, though he didn't actually need to since light levels didn't affect his vision the way it would have if he were truely alive. He was in some sort of livingroom type area, and judging by the small window near the ceiling he thought he may have been in a basement.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the large room. Stan whirled around to face whoever it was walking up on him and was met by a face he had never wanted to see in person. His eyes went wide and he was sure he looked horrified at the realization of where he was. The creature facing him grinned wildly at his terrified expression, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned against the wall casually, looking Stan up an down like a predator would it's prey.
"Stan Frederick, you are a hard man to find." He announced, his voice was rough and low, edged with an echoey static that hinted at his not so human origins. "Or should I call you Evan? That is your real name, right?"
Stan narrowed his eyes, causing his opponents grin to widen further. "Why did you bring me here Habit?" He jumped straight to the point, feigning confidence. He wasn't going to allow Habit to play with him the way he had seen the creature do to others before him.
"Oh, come on, ease up Stan, I'm not gonna hurt you." He paused, chuckling, "... Yet."
Stan took a step back to distance himself, "What do you want?" He questioned bluntly, refusing to give in to Habit's teasing.
"Man, you are seriously no fun." Habit whined sarcastically, standing up straight and stretching his back, the popping of his joints echoing through the room, putting Stan on edge. Well, more than he had been before that is. "And so rude too. You see, I'm trying to be nice to ya' pal, which isn't a pleasure I allow all my guests," His eyes narrowed to a sharp glare as he snarled like the feral monster he was, "So I don't exactly take nicely to your standoffish attitude." His voice was low and threatening, sharp like the edge of a freshly sharpened knife, that demonic undertone that hinted at his true form becoming more prominent.
Stan grimaced, knowing this encounter wouldn't end well if he were to be too stubborn with the creature before him. Habit's rabid smile returned as he realized that Stan understood his thinly veiled threats and would almost certainly be more willing to cooperate.
"So, Stan, buddy, how have things been for you lately?" He questioned, mischievous and arrogant as ever, his lazy, threatening grin gracing his lips once more and his voice sounding almost normal once more. To the point where if an unwitting friend of Evan's were to hear him speak they might just mistake the creature inhabiting their friend's body for their actual friend.
Stan had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at the question, "Well, you know, not great honestly, considering everything that happened." He answered honestly, annoyance and contempt edging his words.
Habit's grin widened. It was exactly the answer he had wanted and though the words that left his mouth were relaxed and calm, almost lazy, it was obvious he had prepared for this before hand.
"Oh yeah, that's right, you had an... incident, about a year ago, right?" He didn't wait for Stan to respond, continuing with an ever widening smile, "That was a pretty interesting trick you pulled on the old stick-in-the-mud, kind of impressive if I'm being honest." He paused for a second, looking as if he was thinking, "What is it that you called creatures like yourself again?"
He walked across the room theatrically as he continued, his gaze intense, "Alive but not really, a shadow of your former self, a broken puzzle missing its pieces!" He looked to Stan with an excitement in his eyes. Stan was sure at this point that Habit had been preparing for this exact moment for a while.
"A corruptelam." His voice was low and calm, corrupt as ever, "That's what you called them, right?"
If it wasn't for the fact that Stan could quite literally feel the supernatural power flowing off of this creature in waves he may have lashed out. Hearing someone else call him by that title, it hit him hard in a way he hadn't realized it would. He very suddenly regretted coining the term in the first place, as accurate as it was. It was just so dehumanizing. He realized all at once that that was the reason why he had felt uncomfortable applying the title to himself for all this time, the implied lack of humanity that came along with it. For so long, in a world surrounded by monsters, the one thing he had been certain about was his own humanity, the thing that separated him from the creatures before him and joined him with the rest of the world, as fucked up as that world might've been at times. A pit grew in his stomach as the entity before him smiled wickedly at his crestfallen expression.
"Oh, you don't like that, do you?" Habit questioned, amusement clear in his voice.
"Shut up... " Stan's voice was quiet, but commanding.
"But you were the one that coined the term Evan, it's what you are, why is it that you seem so upset then?"
"Stop. Whatever you want, I want no part of it." Stan told him, his voice a bit stronger as he grew angrier at the homicidal entity's mind games. Hearing the creature mutter his real name wasn't helping either. He knew he was being manipulated, but all the same he knew it was effective manipulation, and that scared him more than any title he could be given.
"You say that now, but I have a feeling you'll want to hear me out." Habit smugly suggested.
"And I'm telling you that I don't deal with murderous, baby eating gods with anger issues and a want for war." Stan held his ground, but he honestly wasn't as confident as he sounded.
Habit's face fell, it wasn't hard to tell he was getting tired of Stan's defiance and he didn't try to hide it either.
"Stan, I swear to god, if you don't shut up and hear me out I will feed what's left of you to the old stick-in-the-mud as if I was Micheal goddamn Andersen."
Stan froze. The threat, despite everything, still scared him. The possibility of that monster winning after all the effort he had gone through to make few sure it didn't, it was, in a way, the perfect threat.
"Fine." Stan begrudgingly gave in, arms crossed "Make your offer."
"Perfect." Habit's grin returned as if nothing had happened, "Now Stan, I don't know if you've ever stopped to consider this, but I think it's quite obvious that we share a common enemy."
Stan raised an eyebrow.
Habit sighed in exasperation, "Oh, don't play dumb!" He exclaimed, his patience obviously wearing thin, "I know for a fact that you're not on the stick-in-the-mud's good side, and if you're even half as aware or intelligent as I think you are, then you know that we don't exactly get along well either."
"And?" Stan questioned, just as exasperated as Habit was, if not more.
"If you would just let me finish I'd get to it!" Habit growled, his hand slamming down on the small table next to him.
If Stan didn't know as much as he did about the dangerous entity before him he probably would've been a bit entertained by the dramatic being's frustration. Instead he stood facing a seemingly immortal, openly homicidal, self-proclaimed god, with anger issues currently focus entirely on him, and despite being mostly dead, Stan found fear creeping into his subconscious once more.
Habit took a deep breath and composed himself, his now narrowed gaze focusing back on Stan, "Anyways," He hissed, "You probably know this, but I've been working with
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slowly slides in and places fred + all on ur desk :) time for Perishing !
sdjfsdhjfsdhi’m love you. okay so ladies and gents we are taking a trip away from london and korea and heading to the united states which is where this is set, massachusetts most specifically. onto freddie —
QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs
What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?
a solid five minutes. he’s not hyperactive or anything, but just, the feeling of doing nothing is so awful to him. he has no chill. meditation isn’t real. also like, he sometimes gets little intrusive thoughts if he’s tired.
How easy is it for your character to laugh?
surprisingly easy ! fred laughs at a lot of things, despite how preppy and harsh he may seem at first. of course, half of it is either fake or a bit overenthusiastic but he’ll laugh. he’ll laugh at a lot of things.
How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)
usually studying for a bit — he does that before bed anyway. otherwise, it’s usually not that hard for him to fall asleep. he works hard and sleeps harder.
How easy is it to earn their trust?
no one has ever earned frederick michael estelle’s full trust. not his father, not his mother, not his two step-mothers, not his brother, not any of his friends. it’s for the better that way, in his opinion. superficial trust for small things though, is easy to earn, so long as you’re a decent human being.
How easy is it to earn their mistrust?
well, whatever someone has done really has to bother him on a very moral level in order for him to genuinely refuse to trust someone even superficially. otherwise, because he rarely shares his secrets or deep considerations, trust isn’t even a big deal to him.
Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?
at the beginning of his character development, he has an enormous respect for law, and considers them completely immovable. over time, he comes to understand the flaws of modern america and adopts a less extremist point of view.
What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?
drives with packed cars. diners. marble floors. loads of things. fred’s childhood was peak americana, with an upper class vibe to boot. he spent a lot of time at dinner parties and in tuxedos, in debates, getting a convertible for his sixteenth birthday and so forth. what in generally triggers the most nostalgia for him is his home city ; boston. god, he loves that place, despite all its flaws. and he loves that feeling, especially because he can always relive many of his memories that are related to the city.
What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?
fred was a good kid, to be quite honest. he was always determined to impress everyone around him, so he’d bend to their will if they wanted him to act a certain way. refinement? you got it. charisma? work up the charm. intelligence? bring it on. if anything, he had some frustration and anger issues in his teens, especially in between his father’s marriages, and he was told to shut up and deal with it. and that’s what he did.
Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?
like a motherfucking sailor. he may be WASP-y but he’s seen how much high society curses, so go ahead. swearing is a more effective way of getting rid of anger than — breaking things, or whatever other people might do. and fred is bad at bottling things up. first swear word was probably ‘fuck’. a classic. and he has immense respect for classics.
What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?
fred doesn’t lie too often, but he does make a lot of false promises, mostly related to visiting his family. he hates going back home, which is unfortunate considering he studies less than an hour away from his hometown. he’s tried everything from the ‘i’m sick’ excuse to ‘declamation club’ to ‘broken ankle’ to avoid visits.
How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?
perish. he’s a stubborn fool who will try to understand everything on his own terms, and if he gets an incomplete picture, too bad, he’ll live with it. although he knows he probably won’t get an incorrect picture in the first place, he’s just way too thorough for that.
How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?
get a friend to scratch it for him. duh.
What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?
fred looks pretty good in sober colours, and its what he usually wears too. but, just as a wild card, he does look really, really, good in more adventurous choices, especially stark whites, blacks and even reds. but he’ll never wear them, he hates looking loud and attention-seeking.
What animal do they fear most?
no animal. why the hell would you be scared of animals in new england —
How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?
extremely confident, and he’s well-capable of thinking as he talks without much hesitation. it’s really one of his best talents, making sense while giving great presentations with fantastic oration. he doesn’t need to rehearse jack.
What makes their stomach turn?
people crying or screaming, it just has him totally taken aback, which he’s not as used to as you’d think. he is utterly incapable of handling debates in a rational manner if he’s being goddamn screamed at.
Are they easily embarrassed?
surprisingly, yes. underneath that façade of utter and sheer confidence, he’s really concerned with maintaining that impression with others. he doesn’t take kindly to being humiliated or having his pride attacked. he won’t respond with embarassment as much as he’ll respond with unbridled rage. and angry fred is terrifying.
What embarrasses them?
levity in situations which do not need it. so pranks, mocking jokes, being teased or belittled in public. compliments don’t embarass him one bit until they become on the subject of his looks. then he gets a little flushed, but flattered nonetheless.
What is their favourite number?
why does that even matter ?? ( it’s 9. )
If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?
he’d bark at being asked to define familial love, he’d say it doesn’t exist. and then if you asked about platonic and romantic love he’d tell you to buzz off. it’s one of the questions he just doesn’t know how to answer. in his conception, if he’d want to kiss them and marry them, it’s romantic.
Why do they get up in the morning?
because you don’t get rich and hit it big without fucking working. he’s actually really driven, half out of demonic pressures to do well, and half out of spite for his brother, who he has to out-do in every respect.
How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
jealous fred is the worst. he will get so aggressive and possessive and rude, with seemingly little control. however, it takes a lot to push him to that limit, and he’s usually good at warding off encroachers on what’s his before they even try to make a move.
How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?
there’s really only one thing that he’s envious about — the love and attention his parents give his elder brother nicholas who’s just as much of a prick as he is, except just a little less concerned with doing the right thing. and he’s pretty much made it his life’s goal to get to the world of finance quicker than nick and do better.
Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?
kind of ? he’s a hot-blooded teenager so it’s not like sex is something sinful or foreign to him, but he doesn’t really discuss it with people anyway because there’s no one he’s close enough to talk to about it. also, why would you talk about it anyway — it’s not even something worth discussing.
What are their thoughts on marriage?
to summarise: marriage is great, but only if you’ve found the one. since finding your version of the ‘one’ is impossible, and will likely lead to at least two divorces that permanently fucksup your kid’s perceptions of family and marriage — don’t ever get married. @ his dad.
What is their preferred mode of transportation?
his own car. that kind of freedom can’t be beat.
What causes them to feel dread?
situations that he’s unprepared for, essentially. if some kind of curveball comes at him (and he didn’t know that there would be curveballs involved), he’ll panic. it’s why he needs his more inventive friends around to be at his best.
Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?
nah. rip the band-aid off. end the suffering quick. besides, it’s not like he’s had the privilege of knowing a lot of sweet lies over the course of his life.
Do they usually live up to their own ideals?
every now and then he gets something done that he’s really proud of, and that’s when he considers himself to have ‘lived up to his ideals’, but it’s usually only for the short term, and the gratification is there and gone in an instant.
Who do they most regret meeting?
all his friends at uni.
Who are they the gladdest to have met?
all his friends at uni. now figure that one out.
Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?
most of his stories are kind of posh experiences like country clubs and stuff, but he’s seen a lot of businessmen’s embarassing moments. he’s really good at anecdotal humour.
Could they be considered lazy?
nah, def not. if he needs to get something done, he’ll get it done, with the maximum delay of a day or so. of course, that’s only when he’s feeling healthy and normal. if he’s reached a threshold of despair or whatever, then he’s way less productive.
How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?
easy tbh? if something was his fault then he makes sure to try and make up for it before the guilt starts weighing in on him. of course, if these matters are emotional then he takes a longer while to make up for it, so he starts Perishing sooner.
How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?
he … tries to be. it’s fine when someone comes up to him to chatter about their new favourite video game, but not when someone shows up excited about their new boyfriend or girlfriend or significant other. he’ll listen, sure — but he won’t really listen, y’know.
Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?
he was highkey hoping that college would be the time when he finally experiences the mystery of love. but it’s not really looking that way — he has way too much coursework.
Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?
fred’s memory is impeccable. he laughs in the face of your puny lists and phone notes. names and numbers are doable, but if things need to go a particular order, usually he can just brute force the memory in. just parrot it.
What memory do they revisit the most often?
times with his first stepmom. she was the only one that actually tried to be more than just a wife to his dad, tried to be a mom. took him places he wanted to go, bought him stuff, baked cookies for his bake sales and accompanied him on school trips as a chaperone. she was the closest to a mom that fred will ever get.
How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?
he can’t ignore them, really. it’ll always be there at the back of his mind that you’re loud or you’re irresponsible or that you’re arrogant. but that’s not all there is to you. so he’s pretty level headed in that respect.
How sensitive are they to their own flaws?
not.. at all. he says he accepts constructive criticism but he doesn’t consider a lot of criticism constructive. he’s surprisingly bad at handling criticism. he just thinks he knows better than most people.
How do they feel about children?
they’re okay. not great. he could do without them.
How badly do they want to reach their end goal?
so. so. SO. badly. his end goal is to eventually surpass his elder brother in terms of material success without resorting to foul means. and by GOD he will do it.
If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?
[ bo burnham voice ] straight…. white…. man
QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS
A) Why are you excited about this character?
he’s a fool. but he’s my fool. also he’s like…. a really old oc lmao i made him in like … 2014? and he was in middle school back then so it really feels like he’s grown with me as i shifted him to a college story.
B) What inspired you to create them?
i wanted to make a vaguely contradictory kinda character where he’s a total mess and extremely capable at the same time. so he’s very productive, smart, efficient, but also has a short temper, panics in every situation that he’s not ready for, and so forth.
C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?
he was the sidekick to kazu, my mc. but by now each one of them stand on their own.
D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?
i think he was a ginger in the first draft. he’s got dirty blonde hair now. he’s also a bit more… muscular, shall we say.
E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?
maybe? i’d think he was a prick to be honest. i feel like we’d get along only if we were forced to get to know each other. but otherwise we wouldn’t even want to meet.
F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?
he’s my idiot son. a combination of pride and frustration and amusement.
G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?
he truly needs to fucking RELAX like fred please not everything is a matter of personal pride and performance.
H) What trait do you admire most?
he’s very sincere. surprisingly moral, wants to do things honestly and with integrity. the way he takes everything so seriously is honestly kind of cute sometimes.
I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?
three cheers for unoriginality!
J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?
ok i still don’t know what this question means but to be safe i’m gonna say no.
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Klance and a visit to the zoo
turned into an aquarium visit too... but i hope you dont mind!
pls suggest more fluff prompts ill love you forever if you do
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“Keeeeeith,” Lance whined like a two year old as Keith dragged him like a dead weight through the crowd of excited children and less excited parents. “It’s hot out! What are you even looking for? And why aren’t we using a map?”
“Because you were so impatient to get through the gates that I didn’t have time to grab one,” Keith grumbled, going up on his tippy toes in an attempt to see over the heads of zoo visitors with little success. God, he’d never realized just how short he was. Was this how Pidge felt all the time?
Keith was beginning to regret not bringing anyone else along with them to the zoo. They would have forced Lance to slow down, or at least distracted or entertained him enough to allow Keith to apply his sunscreen. But this was also supposed to be their first real date together of the summer, alone. They’d gone on a few ‘dates’ in June and July, but could you really consider it a real date when their friends almost always tagged along or? Or if Allura or Shiro practically chaperone them? Keith had just wanted a time where he and Lance could just be together, not that he didn’t enjoy the others. He just wanted some time when he could kiss Lance (more than a peck) and not have Shiro gently remind them that Pidge was still kinda young and then have Pidge not so gently remind Shiro that he was literally six years old. He would gladly slather aloe vera all over his body for that.
“Well, what are you looking for?” Lance asked impatiently. “And also when are we getting dinner? It’s like, 7:30, I don’t even think the zoo is open for much longer and… we haven’t stopped by the aquarium yet.”
“The zoo closes at 8,” Keith said with a bit of a sigh. “And the aquarium is still under renovation, remember? It won’t be open for a week or two. I don’t think we’d be able to see anything even if we did have time to stop by.”
“It’ll be okay, we can come back again soon, right?” Keith reminded him hopefully. “Our apartment is only a 20 minute drive from here. We can come up over the weekend sometime.”
“I know,” Lance sighed, discouraged. “But I really wanted to just see it before we go back to school and get swamped with homework and have to be adults again. There won’t be a lot of time to make day trips just to see the aquarium, you and I both know that.”
Keith bit his lip, feeling guilty. He hated seeing Lance disappointed. That face was almost enough to make him spill the other big reason they couldn’t go to the aquarium yet just to make him feel better. Almost.
Keith knew Lance had practically grown up going to this aquarium pretty much every weekend. He could make maps on it from memory. He knew where every exhibit was, he knew the names of every dog shark and stingray in the touch pools. He was best friends with the head of the marine life care department at the zoo, Coran. This aquarium was actually where Keith and Lance first met. It meant a lot to both of them. That was why it was bitter sweet when the zoo announced they were closing the aquarium last year to make some (very much needed) renovations on all the exhibits. On one hand it was sad to see the aquarium that meant so much to them change, but they were both excited to see the new additions. Today was supposed to be the opening day and Keith and Lance had planned this day trip months in advance, which was why Lance was disappointed when the zoo suddenly announced last month that the aquarium would need another week to finalize all the renovations, but there was nothing they could do about it.
They met 2 years ago when Lance was working with the zoo and Keith was here doing research for his architecture final project. Fortunately Keith’s teacher, Allura, was Coran’s niece, and Keith had been Allura’s favorite student, so when he asked if he could be allowed to look behind the scenes Allura had pulled a few favors. Keith remembered the first time he’d ever met Lance had been standing in a pool of baby sea turtles, inspecting them for shell rot. They’d gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but since they both practically lived in the halls of the aquarium that year they soon became very close.
“Hey,” Keith said, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “We’ve still had fun today, right?”
And it actually had been a really great day so far. They’d went in a clockwise circle around the zoo, taking their time to look at all the animals, and occasionally stopping to compare each other to said animals. They’d compared their arm-span to the wingspan of giant bats, fed granola to budgies, and watched the new baby elephant romp around in a mud puddle. Lance was having a blast, reading all the facts and goofy signs out loud in an attempt to make Keith laugh, and it worked. They’d decided to eat lunch in the aviary and a beautiful macaw had landed on Lance’s shoulder and kept wolf whistling at him until a zookeeper came over with a little cup of nectar and showed Lance how to feed it without spilling the cup.
“His name is Frederick,” The zookeeper had informed them as Lance held up the cup for the hungry lorikeet to eat. “And he seems to think he can flirt with everyone that passes by him.”
“Wow,” Keith grinned at Lance slyly. “I can’t believe I found the embodiment of you in a bird.”
Lance had flicked a french fry at him in retaliation.
After lunch they’d seen tigers prowl around their enclosures and red pandas doze peacefully in trees. They ended up spending a lot of time in the enclosed desert area where they got to watch meerkats scamper in and out of their burrows and fat tortoises waddle their way across the sand. Now they were going through some of the last outdoor exhibits and Lance was getting a little tired. In fact, Keith was pretty sure the poor guy had crashed about halfway through the lemurs, monkeys, and apes exhibits. Keith didn’t blame him, they’d been here since 9 in the morning and the entire time Lance had been running around and chittering excitedly about every single thing.
“Well, if we can’t see my favorite animal,” Lance huffed, leaning into Keith. “We can see yours, what is it anyways?”
“That’s actually what I was taking you to see,” Keith said, continuing to walk towards the exhibit. “My favorite animal is a hippopotamus.”
“A what?” Lance said, incredulous.
“You heard me.” Keith’s cheeks burned a bit. “I like hippos. They’re uh… big and uh… kinda cute.”
“Cute?” Lance laughed a little bit, seeming to perk up. “I mean, the baby hippos are, but aren’t hippos like, one of the most dangerous animals in the world?”
“They are the most dangerous animal in the world.” Keith corrected as they approached the hippo exhibit and leaned against the railing. “But they’re still cute as fuck, look at them.”
Lance did, laughing a bit as the baby hippo swam circles around its mother. “I guess in a way they’re like you then: big and mean looking, but actually just adorable softies once you start digging.”
Keith turned to look at Lance, and was struck dumb for a moment. His boyfriend was leaning against the railing, watching the baby hippo dive in and out of the water as its mother stayed submerged beneath, ears flicking occasionally when a fly landed on them. The soft light from the setting sun cast an orange glow over his tanned skin and reflected back from his blue eyes. His sunglasses were positioned up in his soft, mousy brown hair. He looked… beautiful.
Wow.
That was gay.
“Attention zoo visitors.” A voice called out through the loudspeakers and startled Keith out of his gawking. “The zoo will be closing in 15 minutes. Please make your way towards the exit now. Thank you for visiting today!”
Lance sighed, pulling away from the railing. “Well, thanks for taking me out today. I had fun.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the aquarium,” Keith said, taking one of Lance’s gangly arms and slipping it around his shoulders. “I know you really wanted to see it.”
“Nah,” Lance waved him away with his free hand. “You’re right, we can come back on a free weekend. It’ll be a good date idea, right? Well, what are we doing for dinner. It’s kind of late, but I could look up a couple restaurants in the area on my phone.”
“I’ve already made arrangements for dinner,” Keith grinned as he pulled Lance by the waist away from the throngs of families pushing strollers and couples holding hands and towards a gated off path.
“Wait, Keith the exit is that way.” Lance protested, trying to tug them back. Lance may be bigger than Keith, but Keith had a strong grip on his waist. “What are you doing? We can’t go back there! It says employees only!”
“Does it?” Keith said, tilting his head at the sign in mock confusion. “It may be because I dropped out of High School and had to retake junior year, but I think it says ‘Keith is the best boyfriend ever’.”
“What are you tal-,” Lance stopped as Keith pulled out his key ring. He looked up at Keith and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing, mullet?”
“Taking you out to dinner, and don’t try to pay me back, it’s my treat.” Keith replied, searching for the key labeled ‘AQUA’. “I wanted to scale the fence, make it like old times, but Allura wouldn’t let me.”
“What do you mean Allura wouldn’t let you?” Lance asked as Keith pushed the gates open. “Keith, you know we aren’t allowed back here, and I thought you left your life of crime in the past! And isn’t this the path to the old aquarium?”“Yup.” Keith confirmed, grabbing Lance’s hand and pulling him along. “Just shut up and trust me.”
Lance was probably going to argue some more, but then he saw the impressive shiny new entrance to the aquarium and his mouth fell open. He gaped in stunned silence, allowing Keith to pull him down the lantern lit mosaic pathway. The tiles were the color of soft sand with shell shapes embedded inside to give it the impression of a beach. The tiles faded into blue with specks of iridescent stones to resemble the rolling waves of the beach. As they ran down the path, lights (controlled by Pidge in their tech room) flickered on in the reflection pool and fountains shot jets of water high into the night sky.
They stopped a few feet in front of the large new glass doors to get a good look. The old weather worn marble exterior had been replaced by a sleek modern design meant to symbolize the way water ebbed and flowed over the shore. Their had been a contest to find the design for the architecture, and the winner’s name was to be kept a secret until opening day. But Keith already knew the winner, and now Lance did too.
He turned to Lance grinning, waiting to see his reaction. Lance’s blue eyes were blown wide as realization dawned on him.
“THIS IS YOUR DESIGN!” He shrieked incredulously. “OH MY GOD! KEITH! YOU WON?”
Keith nodded. He’d been dying to tell him since he found out from Allura, but decided to keep it a secret so he could surprise Lance. “I won the contest, and got an A on my project.”
“YOU-” But whatever Lance going to say he stopped when he pulled Keith into a harsh kiss. When they finally pulled away Lance spluttered wordlessly finally giving Keith the opportunity to explain.
“They emailed me at Christmas time saying I had won the contest,” He said, “And I was going to tell you, but I decided to make it into a surprise. It’s been killing me.”
“I cannot believe this.” Lance said, covering his face with hands as Keith swiped a card and the electronic doors unlocked themselves and opened to reveal the brand new interior. “This has to be a dream. There is no way this is- THE DOG SHARK POOL!”
The minute Lance saw the small, sleek bodies of dog sharks moving effortlessly through the water he was already running. Keith laughed, chasing after him. Lance knelt reverently by the edge of the pool, looking into the crystal clear water, then looking up at Keith.
“Can I…?” He began, and Keith nodded. He reached out with two fingers and let his fingers graze against a shark near the water’s surface. The shark glided past him, fin cutting a gentle wake behind it. The blue lights from the water cast a glow over Lance’s face. “I can’t believe they kept this exhibit. When I was working here they were considering removing it because of the stress.”
“You remember that rest area idea you suggested last year?” Keith said casually, petting a dog shark.“Yeah,” Lance nodded, not taking his eyes off the water. “But the old tank didn’t have the resources for it.”
“This one does,” Keith said, pointing towards the end of the pool where natural looking rocks blocked off a section of the pool and a sign stood that read:’ Dogshark rest area, please do not pet!’. “When I designed this tank I put one in so the zoo could keep the dog sharks.”
“Oh my God,” Lance managed, sounding a little choked up. “You are… just…”
“I’m glad you like it,” Keith smiled, pecking Lance’s cheek.
The rest of the night was spent holding hands and kissing underneath the tropical reef and watching jellyfish float lazily through the clear waters and being totally, tragically, sickeningly in love.
#voltron#klance#vld#voltron legendary defender#keith#lance#keith kogane#lance mcclain#keith vld#lance vld#writing#Anonymous
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Ink and Moonshine - Chapter 2
Summary: The last thing Chrom remembers is getting a tattoo and inviting a beautiful girl he met at the shop for a couple of drinks. Not… getting hammered and waking up in his bed with said girl naked and draped across him.
Chrobin.
Rating: E
Read on AO3.
Modern AU. Slice of Life. Developing Relationship.
Chrom frowned, staring at the empty drawer in front of him. He could have sworn he just did the laundry but no presentable work shirts were to be found. Anywhere. He could feel a headache coming on, thinking about the culprit. Closing the dresser, he hauled himself to the living room, the hem of his jogging pants dragging slightly against the wooden floor, the waistband riding lowly on his hips. A month he’d known her and already she had seamlessly integrated herself into his life. Not that he was complaining, about much anyway, but he was still amazed at how quickly it happened.
“How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow if you keep stealing my shirts Robin?” He picked her up effortlessly, the blonde squirming as she laughed, head tilted back as her eyes glittered. She wasn’t sorry at all. Chrom sighed and settled himself onto the couch, Robin between his legs as she reached her arms back, switching between idly scratching the back of his ears and tangling her fingers in his hair. She may have been named after a bird but the woman in his arms was most definitely a cat. “No really, you go through my shirts like they’re yours. It’s Wednesday and I still have to go to work for two more days. Not everyone has the luxury of saying they work from home,” he grumbled wrapping his arms loosely around her waist and settling his chin on the crook of her neck. He didn’t really sound like he was complaining.
Whatever this was, Chrom was fine with it. No need to rush into things if everything was clearly good between them. It wasn’t as though they were hurting anyone by continuing this nondescript relationship. He quite liked the idea of coming home, sort of, to someone whose face lit up with joy just with the sight of him. It was nice going to bed next to a warm body, on most days, and waking up the next day sluggish but not alone. Sex was great and frequent, oftentimes at Robin’s convincing insistence. Not that he gave much, or any, resistance. Usually. It also didn’t feel like that was the only reason she stuck it out with him, no matter how many times she said it was great. They both wanted more but were fine to take things as they were, day by day.
“Sorry babe, but your shirts are just so damn comfortable!” Robin laughed, freeing herself from his grasp but quickly straddling him in turn. He shrugged, frowning, leaning his forehead against between her collar bones. She pet his head then let her fingers run up and down the curve of his neck, a pleased hum escaping her as she felt him shiver. “I’ll take a sweater next time,” she teased, resting her chin on top of his head as she continued her ministrations.
“That doesn’t solve the problem. You have your own clothes,” he continue, lifting his head as he nipped at her soft skin. Really this was his only complaint about his… thing with Robin. She had a penchant for taking one of his shirts after sex in his apartment. He wondered if he could solve it by suggesting they spend the night at her place but she was always insistent on coming over. Change of scenery, she called it. He felt another shiver coming as he slacked his body further and further against her, breathing her in, still pressing soft kisses against her. “This isn’t working. I’m not going to forgive you for taking all my nice work shirts.”
“Oh?” Robin pushed him back, a devilish smirk on her face as she toyed with the buttons. She threw it on haphazardly, the shirt asymmetrical but still providing her with… some coverage given their height difference. “It hasn’t even been half an hour since threw this on,” Robin started, red lacquered nails undoing the mother of pearl keeping the shirt closed. Chrom swallowed, blue eyes briefly flicking up to her face before following her hands as she snapped off more and more of the buttons. “How’s about I take this off…” Robin leaned forward, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Fold it neatly.” She turned her head, her lips almost touching his skin. “Put it away.” She licked his outer ear, almost perfunctorily. He could feel her lips move against him. “Then you can wear it tomorrow.”
“What about for Friday?” A lump was starting to form in his throat, his hands pushing under her, no his, shirt as they rested on the small of her back. Chrom’s eyes shut tight, languishing underneath. He couldn’t stay upset at her, not when she did things to him he could only dream of. She offhandedly mentioned having an ex, a slight pang of jealousy running through him as he imagined her with him. ‘Oh God, what the hell is happening to me?’ Whatever was going to follow his inner monologue was cut off, Robin trailing kisses along his jaw before lightly kissing his lips. His eyes crossed as his gaze followed her, vision starting to focus once more when she pulled back.
“Want me to do the laundry?” His crisp sky blue dress shirt was hanging wide open, barely covering her already stiff nipples, the pinkness of them peeking out. She started to shrug it off, slowly, her deep brown eyes never leaving his. Chrom gulped, his hold on her starting to shake. Robin loved to watch him squirm, to see him unsteady as she revealed more and more of herself to him, only to him. She ground her hips against his groin, pants tenting as she rolled her body towards his, a delighted smile on her face as she felt him react. Robin pulled the sleeves back up, reading the mix of disappointment and frustration in Chrom’s eyes as he lost sight of the delicate curve of her shoulders and the pale freckles that dotted her skin.
“I have work tomorrow…” he protested weakly, hands moving and thumbs positioning themselves against where her hip bones jutted out. He half hoped she’d call him out.
“Not very convincing babe,” she murmured, nibbling the top of his ear, her chest pressing against his. Chrom hardened even more beneath her. He could feel the warmth of her flesh and its stiff peaks atop his. Robin rolled her hips again, slotting herself further into him. “Not very convincing at all.” Her hot, heavy words, plus another lick to his ear, snapped whatever flimsy restraint held him back.
“Fuck it I’m calling in sick tomorrow!” Chrom growled, jolting upright as he tossed Robin over his shoulder, shirt riding up and pooling against her waist, her ass on full display for absolutely no one in the room to stare at unabashedly. “You better get ready and you’re still doing my laundry.” She laughed, melodious and gleeful, Chrom red from both embarrassment and arousal, as he maneuvered his way to the bedroom, the arm holding Robin squeezing even tighter.
Chrom groaned, banging his head on his desk at the office. He ended up skipping work on Friday too, Robin practically attached to him in one way or another and barely dressed the entire time. He was lucky that there wasn’t a lot to do when he ‘called in sick.’ If they weren’t fucking, which he assumed was all they did because of the palpable attraction between them, whatever feelings they had left unsaid, they were lounging around in various corners of his apartment, Robin still dressed in his clothes and nothing but his clothes. At least this time she pulled out his less used casual shirts, the neckline slipping on one shoulder, the hem managing to cover her up to mid thigh, but only just. She did make good on her promise to do his laundry, Chrom finally having a freshly stocked drawer of dress shirts by Sunday evening.
“She’s insatiable,” he grumbled, ignoring the buzz of his phone. It was probably Robin anyway. Who else would message him on his personal number this early in the morning? He somehow managed to peel himself off of her, leave a note for her on the bedside table (that he was finally off to work), and reluctantly left their apartment building. He ignored whatever part of him was saying this was all his fault too, unable to resist the woman who had quickly gotten under his skin. It had never been this way with his ex, maybe years of simply being friends before they got together had something to do with it.
“Who’s insatiable?”
Chrom jerked upright, eyes wide when he saw a familiar brunet enter his office, door closing with a soft but audible click. Frederick was a couple of years older than him, and was thankful for the brunet not treating him any differently despite his true relation to the company remaining tightly under wraps, the pair of them working in different teams but holding similar roles. “Uh, someone I met. We were talking about food,” Chrom lied quickly, ‘And if by food we mean sex.’ He was still unsure if he wanted to let any of his friends know about her. Not that Robin was a dirty (okay she was pretty dirty but he was fine with that) little secret but Chrom found he rather liked keeping her all to himself. If any of his friends knew about her, they’d be all over Robin, trying to find out if she was good enough for him according to their standards.
“I… see.” Frederick chose his words carefully. If Chrom wasn’t ready to share it, then he wouldn’t push the matter. As long as he wasn’t going to get hurt, then Frederick was fine to wait. “Meeting’s in a few minutes. You ready?” At the change of topic, Chrom quickly gathered his wits about him, plucking a pen from a mug and a notebook. “You are feeling better right? I heard there was a bug going around so I thought you might’ve caught that.” Frederick regarded him thoughtfully, almost giving him a once over to make sure that Chrom didn’t have any sickly pallor about him.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it!” Chrom nearly squeaked, cheeks burning, steam almost coming out of his ears as he pushed the mountain of a man, towards the door. Other than Frederick probably going to lecture him about skipping work for pleasure, he wasn’t about to tell him what actually happened over the weekend. He wasn’t about to tell anyone as a matter of fact.
“Are you absolutely certain? You’re red again. Are you running a fever? Best to go home and rest today to avoid a relapse.” Frederick frowned, taking the hint and starting to walk out towards the conference room.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Chrom repeated, expression settling as he walked in step with his old friend. ‘Besides, if I went home, I don’t think I’d get any rest.’ He felt heat rise to his cheeks once more, imagining Robin in a haphazardly buttoned dress shirt. The one she had just torn off of him. No matter how much he complained about her penchant for his shirts, he couldn’t deny how good she looked in them. How the sleeves were too long, how just enough of her cleavage showed through with the way she buttoned the shirt, how the cotton managed to cover just enough of her thighs but the upward curve of the sides still exposed her endlessly long legs. ‘Fuck. God dammit.’ Chrom sighed, fighting the blush that was probably very very very pronounced on his cheeks.
“If you say so.” Frederick’s brow creased even more. Chrom was unusually jumpy at discussing his weekend. What was there to be so antsy about if he was in bed, likely sleeping the day away? ‘Oh well. At least he’s better now.’
“So, Bubbles. How’s it going?” He was leering at her, proud like a peacock fanning its plumage. He was right. Apparently all it took to get her back on her feet was to get laid, having just broken up with her ex a few days before she moved back to New York. ‘Finally she got rid of that jackass.’ The grin on Gaius’ face almost made Robin want to punch the living daylights out of him, but he was one of the few friends she trusted with her life. She’d put up with his sometimes lascivious ways because no matter how much of a boor Gaius was, is, he always had her back. But, it didn’t mean she didn’t punch or kick him when he went past her tolerance for his teasing. Right now, he still had a bit of wiggle room.
“You’re right. It is fun to tease him.” Robin buried her face into her hands. She swore her cheeks were burning and steam was coming out of her ears. It’s not that she was putting on an act when she was with Chrom, far from it. She was every bit the independent and straightforward woman even with other people. But in the bedroom? Her ex always took the lead and never gave her any room to seek out her own satisfaction. With Chrom, there was a give and take between them. It was never just about him or about her. It was always about them.
“So when do I get to meet him?” Gaius pulled out the stick from his mouth, the candy left barely worth savoring. After a loud crunch, he threw the stick away, shooting it right into the trash can across the table.
“Honestly I don’t think he can handle you just yet. You’re a lot to deal with you chump.”
“My, are you suddenly that liberal? Has little Robin suggested a threeway with her mystery man and little old me? A menage a trois?” The next thing Gaius knew he was flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, his forehead thumping painfully.
“You ass.” Robin grumbled, slumping back down on her seat. She knew Gaius was just kidding, but even that was a bit much for her.
“Just kidding. I’m too needy, and greedy, to share in bed anyway. You of all people should know that.” Gaius scrambled onto his feet, pulling up the chair behind him.
They were childhood friends, roughing and tumbling when they were kids and politely setting some distance between them when puberty started to hit. Which apparently wasn’t enough because they still somehow ended up in bed together their junior year in high school. They dated for a few months, slept together a few times, and it was still always awkward, mutually deciding on a do over and remain friends. Neither particularly regretted the way things turned out, but were much happier joking around and confiding in each other like a brother and sister would. A pair of strangely-almost-attached-to-the-hip brother and sister but that nevertheless. And despite his lackadaisical attitude, he even went to Yale with her, though a different major and something he’d been tinkering with even before they ever set foot in their annoyingly clique-ish high school.
“I don’t even know what kind of relationship we’re in,” Robin confessed, not particularly perturbed but it didn’t sound like she was satisfied either.
“So why haven’t you talked about it with him?” Gaius fished another piece of candy from his pocket. Caramel.
“I don’t really want to rush into things?”
“Says the girl who nearly rode a man within an inch of his life before he took over,” Gaius snorted, eyes glinting and eyebrows raising in disbelief.
“You know I’m not that type!” Robin protested, flushing a deep scarlet. She really didn’t know what it was about Chrom that brought out a side of her she never knew about, but wasn’t displeased with.
“But does he at least like you?” Gaius suddenly turned serious.
“I guess, if you consider the fact that we’re always sleeping together.” Robin grimaced under Gaius’ withering gaze. “Sometimes it’s just the two of us in bed! No messing around.” Her voice grew small before tapering off. She didn’t want to mention they already had keys to the other’s apartment.
“Well, at least you’re happy. That’s all I want for you, Bubbles.” Gaius reached forward and flicked the blonde’s forehead. “You’ll figure it out.”
Robin nodded glumly, wondering what in the world she was headed for. It’s not like she and Chrom were dating exclusively, or even dating for that matter. They just liked spending time with each other, mostly naked and in each other’s arms, but they did occasionally manage to get over their extremely magnetic attraction to one another and make it out the door. They had dates like other normal couples, if that’s what they could be called, and they did talk about serious things from time to time, all in the span of the four-ish weeks they’d known each other. Even with all that, they never did talk about what they were and where things would go on from there.
‘Maybe we’re both scared, scared that if we take a step towards making this… thing real, the other would run away.’
“Chrom!” Robin’s bare feet padded softly, but quickly, across the wooden floor, her arms swinging themselves around his neck as she jumped into him. She smiled, burying her face into his chest as they crashed down, Chrom landing almost a bit roughly on the floor, knees bent and back pressed against his front door. All the serious talk with Gaius made her a bit uneasy, suddenly driving her into blatantly displaying her affection for Chrom. Never mind that she was acting like a petulant child.
“What’s wrong?” He dropped his briefcase to the floor, arms pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I just missed you.” Robin squeezed him even more tightly, distantly thinking that the next time she and Gaius met, she’d have to punch him again. Damn him and making her think.
“Have you had dinner?” Chrom smiled, running a hand through her hair. Robin shook her head against him, refusing to let go. He eased his left arm from her grasp, glancing at his watch. “Want to go out to Arcadia?”
“You mean that to die for cafe that’s always full?” Robin peered up at him, chocolate brown eyes shining with hope, though restrained so as not to set herself up for disappointment.
“I have a table there.” He grinned, pressing an affectionate kiss in the space between her brows, pleased with himself as he sensed a shiver down her spine.
“How?” She pressed her forehead back against his chest, muffling her question.
“Perks of working there?”
“You what!?” Robin pushed herself up, hands clutching the lapels of his coat. “Is that why you’re such a good cook? Because you work in one of the best restaurants in the city?”
“Dear god no I don’t work in the kitchens!” Chrom laughed, amused. “No I work for the hospitality group that runs different restaurants. I work the business side of things and just happened to be assigned to Arcadia. I do have a standing reservation for any of our restaurants though.”
“Even The Old Fashioned?”
“Even The Old Fashioned.”
Her eyes went wide, glittering with excitement. She’d always wanted to go to the restaurants of the Shepherd Hospitality Group but never had the opportunity. The group was known for modern twists on familiar classics and had a number of Michelin-star restaurants and chefs, world renowned bartenders, mixologists, and sommeliers. Going to any of their restaurants, or even just eating food from there, was an experience in and of itself, one she heard Gaius raving about when a client of his gave him cake from Dolce. He swore he died, went to heaven, and came back a changed man.
“I could kiss you right about now.” Robin’s eyes held so much affection and tenderness for him. What was she so worried about? Everything was so easy with Chrom and here she was, complicating everything unnecessarily. If he were at all bothered by the status of their relationship, he didn’t show it. If it did come to a point where he were, she’d deal with it them, with him.
“So why don’t you?” He had a shit eating grin, his hands pushing up against the small of her back, fingertips pressing lightly where they lay. Before he could say another word, Robin tilted herself upwards, kissing him tenderly as she cupped his face, pulling back with a sweet smile on hers. Chrom pulled her back in for another, tempted by the redness of her cheeks and her kiss swollen lips. “I missed you too,” he confessed after what felt like an eternity of tender kisses. His heart skipped a beat when she beamed at him, patting his cheek softly as he leaned into her warm palm.
“Come on let’s go. I’m starving.” Robin wiggled herself out of Chrom’s arms, fingers tracing the long line from his shoulder to his fingertips, her touch lingering just a second longer in his as their hands met. She padded off to his couch, picking up her coat and scarf, leaving Chrom to pick himself up.
Chrom coughed, smiling pleasantly as he waited for the host to notice them. Her eyes widened, but only just, when she turned back to face the next group of guests. “Oh, Sir Chrom! I didn’t expect to see you here again so soon.”
“Dinner. My date said she’s always wanted to eat here.” He tilted his head slightly towards Robin, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks as she nodded towards the hostess. “Let them know I’m here with a guest.” The hostess nodded, smiling as she stepped back to let him pass through. “No bells and whistles. This is on my own time. I expect a bill when we’re finished eating.” He sounded stern but not unkind, tugging Robin along when his employee nodded again.
“A bill?” Robin asked, eyebrow arching as she followed, taking in the quaint interior.
“I usually eat for free.” Chrom shrugged, stopping in front of a pair of French doors, glass panes frosted slightly to offer some privacy. “I work in the head office normally. I’m usually not involved in the day to day business but I do pass by sometimes to check on the service, especially when we change up the menu. While we do have permanent items, we do have seasonal offerings.” He unlocked the door and motioned her to step in. It was a private room, a spacious table for two with a pair of luxurious studded wingback chairs. “Have a seat.” Ever the gentleman, Chrom took her coat and scarf, setting them across his forearm as he pulled the chair out, seating her the perfect distance away from the edge of the table.
“Does anyone else actually eat here? I can’t imagine them ever offering this room out, especially when the boss can just suddenly show up and expect a free table.” Robin looked around, eyes resting on the pale blue accent wall, gaze briefly flitting to the raw cherry coat rack that held their outerwear. She leaned forward, taking in the cozy warmth of the room, her fingers drumming against the plush leather upholstery of the chair, heel of her hand digging into her seat.
“Most of our restaurants have a private dining area for the manager from the head office.” Chrom plucked a menu from the small side table, handing Robin one before taking his seat. “Sometimes we decide to work at the restaurant, especially when we have meetings with the staff who are actually involved in the day-to-day management. My job is to look at things with a critical eye. The staff at the different restaurants are great but sometimes they’re not very pragmatic when it comes to things they want and things that are actually possible. That’s where we come in.”
“We?” Robin held the paper menu in her hands, the cardstock smooth and the ink glimmering with a slight sheen. She hid half of her face behind it, eyes moving to the descriptions of Arcadia’s offerings then to Chrom and back.
“We run a lot of restaurants, so there are a number of us managers. We usually handle just one but sometimes a manager is in charge of two, but they’re normally smaller ones.” It was refreshing, talking about his job, surprised that Robin was paying such rapt attention despite hiding half of her face behind the menu.
“Do you ever change assignments?” Robin settled herself more comfortably, studying the seasonal section with great interest.
“Sometimes. I was recently promoted to running the business side of Arcadia soon after I got my MBA, so I’m still a little new to having the final say, but I worked my way up in this job helping run The Old Fashioned.”
“It still surprises me you don’t seem to handle alcohol well,” Robin teased, setting her menu down to shoot Chrom a toothy grin. The blonde was rewarded with a red face, his gaze turned and focusing on anything but her. “Do you have any recommendations?”
“Seasonal or permanent menu items?” Chrom swallowed the blush down, picking up the menu and already filing away a few of the things he thought she’d enjoy.
“I don’t mind either way. I mean, I hope to eat here more often. This is such a lovely room, makes for a good writing spot.”
“Oh, you dare to presume?” Chrom raised a brow, challenging her, lips upturned in a smirk. Robin leaned forward, grabbing him by the tie and whispering in his ear, pulling back with a wicked grin on her face and an even deeper red flush on Chrom, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
She wouldn’t.
Chrom stared back at her, blinking several times and wondering if he was dreaming. She did not just offer to do that for him.
“N-now!?” He squeaked, sinking down, lower back pressing against his seat.
“Do you want me to?” Her grin widened even more, too much like the Cheshire Cat. Again. “I didn’t take you for the type to do it in public though.”
Chrom burned even more, sinking even lower as Robin laughed.
“I’ve been told I don’t have a particularly sensitive gag reflex.”
He gulped. Loudly. Chrom’s head spun as he watched Robin pick up her menu once more. ‘She did not just offer a blowjob in exchange for food. Right?’
‘She’s doing it, she actually fucking doing it.’ Chrom’s mind was reeling, unconsciously bucking his hips as he dug his forearms against his bed. After her rather scandalous proposal, Robin acted as though nothing was wrong and made her selection, the pair of them having dinner quietly. In Chrom’s head, it was the fastest dinner he’d ever had, settling the bill himself before quickly dragging a laughing Robin out of Arcadia and back towards their apartment building. As usual, the head on his shoulders lost out to the one between his legs as thoughts that had nothing to do with the brazen woman between his thighs melted away. He groaned as Robin pulled back with an audible pop, a string of saliva still connecting her mouth to his shaft.
“Well?” she murmured, pressing feather light kisses on the underside. Chrom’s brain was blanking, unable to comprehend what was happening but the shivering of his body told Robin everything she needed to know. “Good,” she whispered before sinking back down, her hands spreading his thighs even wider as she took more of him in. Chrom didn’t last much longer after that, his wet heat exploding the moment her tongue pressed down on his slit.
“You…” Chrom croaked, eyes half-lidded as he pushed himself to sit, hand reaching forward as though a cup she could spit into.
Robin tilted her head, wondering what he was doing as she swallowed. His eyes widened as he watched the muscles in her delicate neck move. His length twitched at the sight.
‘Whoever god above decided to let me meet this girl and bring her into my life, I owe you.’ Chrom pushed Robin down, her blonde hair splayed against his sheets like a halo around her, left hand pinning both of hers above her head, right cupping her chin and forced her to face him. He angled his head down and took her lips, ignoring the taste of himself in her mouth. ‘I’m screwed, literally and figuratively.’
“Is there a day where we don’t have sex?” Chrom stepped out of the shower, toweling himself off.
“I think it’s happened once or twice?” Robin looked up, arms outstretched as she urged him back into bed, her hair still a little damp despite having finished ahead. Chrom sighed, climbing into bed and melting against her embrace. It was still actually pretty early and they could both get a decent amount of sleep for the next day. “Why? Too much?” Robin didn’t sound disappointed at the thought of less intimacy, picking up her brush and running it through his hair.
“I don’t know where you get your stamina. I’m always so tired the next day,” Chrom admitted, mumbling against her shirt, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Want to slow things down a little?” Her voice was soft, Chrom’s ears perking up at her words.
“Maybe in the sex department.” He lifted himself off her, quickly scrambling to sit cross legged as he pulled her flush against his chest. “But I don’t want to stop seeing you, if that’s what you’re implying. I like you.”
Robin could feel her heart beating wildly, her temples pounding.
“You… what?”
“I like you,” Chrom repeated, baring his heart out. “I’ve never met any woman like you before. I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend or anything like that, but I want to get to know you and then maybe in the future, if I find myself falling in love with you, I might muster the courage to ask you to be mine.” His face was red again, he was sure of it. “What do you think?”
Robin peered up at him, her hands against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, wild just like hers. “Okay.”
“What?” Chrom blinked, unsure of what he heard.
“I said okay. No sex when we’re together, just get to know each other first and see how this goes.”
“What? I never said no sex. Just less of it!” Chrom protested, his hold on her tightening.
Robin laughed, suddenly feeling much freer in her relationship with him. She liked the sound of that, getting to know each other and figuring things out as they went along. It was the wrong order, diving into bed at the start of their relationship but it wasn’t particularly unusual. Robin could imagine herself falling in love with this man, sweet, earnest, and sincere. ‘If I didn’t know any better, maybe I already am.’ Robin let that thought linger as she tilted her head, their lips meeting in a tender kiss, her arms locking around his neck.
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Charity
Greagoir let him out of the tower once. While the templars stripped him, searched him, and re-dressed him in robes they brought for him, so that he wouldn't hide a pick-- like he had done last time-- Greagoir circled him and told him in nasal tones how he squandered his gifts. A Spirit Healer possessed rare talents. The power of life. Yet Anders turned his back on the Maker with his disobedience. A lazy student. Selfish. Petulant.
Anders had stood there naked but for the ring in his ear. He'd just laughed, hands on his hips, daring and insolent. He said: "And do tell me, Knight-Commander, how is it that my talent is held back when you never let me leave here? Am I to lavish the Maker's blessings on every paper-cut in the archives? Someone stubbing his toe? A bit of bad elbow-- and rubbing a little raw?"
A templar threw balled-up robes at his chest, but he preferred to stand nude and smile.
Enchanter Wynne came into the chamber and frowned at him, deeply unimpressed. "There is a woman in the village who needs our care. I'll deliver the baby, and you will assist."
"Are my hands to be chained the entire time?" He'd asked. "That will surely put her to ease."
The templars rowed them across, Anders in hobbles, and Wynne staring out across the lake. Rumor said she'd had a child once, that she'd barely held it before they ripped it from her. Looking back, Anders wondered how she found the strength to go on, and even more, to help other women in that way. But at the time all he thought of were his own problems. Karl sounded strange in his last letter. Surana had made a friend of the handsome and innocent new templar. And there were hushed reports of strange creatures seen on the surface, dark things, things that bubbled up from the Deep Roads below...
A young woman and a goat awaited them in the village. She was astride a buckskin stallion that pitched back and forth, stamping its hoof. A beautiful woman, fierce, with a mass of impossibly curly gold ringlets. She was dressed like a farmhand, like a man. The goat was a long-eared brown-and-red type, and it munched a stand of weeds whilst eyeing them sidelong. A young man in the colors of the bann came riding up, then, on a flecked gray horse; he must have been one of the bann's sons, or in the retinue, a dark-skinned fellow of mixed Rivain and Fereldan heritage.
"Noreen's still holding on-- we see a foot," the woman called to them. "Mage! Can you ride?"
Anders found himself bundled up on the woman's horse, and she spurred the stallion through a breakneck gallop and jump through all Honnleath. Anders thought he would surely die. Wynne showed much more horsemanship with the young Barris and the gray mare. At the end of it, horrified, especially with his ankles chained together, he was brought before a thatch-roofed cottage where a number of villagers clustered about in a muddy courtyard.
The goat trotted up without a care.
Mia hauled him down and set him to rights. "Your life flash before your eyes?" she'd said to him, and he'd given a laugh of false bravado. For a moment he'd thought he'd seen her somewhere, but a woman's scream took his attention.
Noreen had been in labor since the night before. The babe hadn't flipped in the womb, and it wanted to come out sideways if at all. Wynne glided into the scene with wisdom and compassion, and she'd spread out her calfskin tool roll and the contents of her basket. She bade Anders to boil water, and she'd asked nearly all others present to leave the little cottage.
The reality of the situation hit him full, and he felt the woman's terror, her pain. He had learned all the technicalities of childbirth, the physical process, the remedies. The cramping. The tearing. The entire constellation of agonizing consequences. He'd seen a few pregnancies in the tower-- one he feared now and again he might be responsible for-- but this was the first time he'd assisted a birth, to be there, to help her.
The midwife sponged the woman's head, looked up, and asked, "You'll do it, then?" And also, "Must he be here?"
Wynne had answered, gently, "Yes, I've done it a dozen times before," and also, "Young Frederick is my apprentice. He can be naughty, as you see, but he has a good heart, and he is the most talented healer we've had in ages."
Anders nearly knocked his head on the beams as he came back in to hear that. He'd hardly recalled a word of praise, but he knew she meant it. Wynne frustrated him-- kindly but aloof, with a tragic past, who had every reason to resent the control of the tower but never seemed to want a change for the better. Anders hadn't wanted his gifts. He'd only wanted to go home.
The enchanter cued him with a nod, and he went to Noreen's side, shuffling that way as best he could. It was more awkward given his height, but he had no care of that now. As soon as he laid his hand upon her head, the pain came away, and Noreen gasped with relief. Anders felt the spirits hovering around them, unseen, whispering about just beyond the veil. Lake Calenhad and its environs were old places, holy places, sacred to the wild people and their gods. The spirits here took animal form, when they manifested at all, and Anders had the sense of female creatures pressing in around them.
He had the impression of a cow, broad-faced, wet-nosed, a kindly mother from the ginger cattle native to this land.
Please help her, Anders thought.
The child couldn't be pushed out now. The time for that had gone. Wynne knew a way to help, a method the Tevinters named for one of their archons. Wynne told the woman what she wanted to do, and how it would help, and Noreen nodded through tears. Just do it. Be done with it. There was only one way now to go.
Wynne took the knife from her tool roll and heated the blade in her hand. Anders brushed sweat-damp hair off Noreen's face, talked softly to her, and let his healing flow through.
In minutes, Noreen was delivered of a girl, a child with a full head of black hair, squalling at the top of her lungs.
Anders thought of the ginger cow, her long thick neck bended down, her flat muzzle snuffled to the woman's hair. Thank you, he thought, eyes shut. Thank you for helping her.
Wynne and Anders left the woman a scar. A slight scar. Just enough for her body to remember. In the thatched-roof cottage, in the room with the bloody bed, Anders felt peace, a new purpose, wanting to do this and nothing else. The hobbles weighed now more than ever. What if he promised to stay here in the village? What if he didn't go? What if people brought their sick here, their wounded? Sometimes they brought their casualties to Kinloch, when their need was great, but so many died in the crossing. What would it hurt if he stayed here or in some village?
Later, in the rowboat, Anders broke the silence. "I want to be a healer," he said. "I want to stay in a village."
Weary, Wynne had only looked at him and said, "Frederick... "
"I promise to stay there. They can rotate the templars. Fresh air-- a village." He reached across and laid a hand on her hand. "Wynne. There was a mage living in that village, Wilhelm. Why can he stay there, with his wife?"
"Wilhelm fought in the war with Orlais. He has a dispensation from the king."
"So he can tinker with his artifacts. Fuck about with his little projects. For what use? Wynne, I could heal those people! Anyone they brought. No cost. I felt the spirits there, wanting to help... "
Wynne only sighed, and Anders pressed, desperate now: "It's not fair he was favorite of the king. Is there a law, or isn't there? The Chantry tells us the Maker wants us shut up in our towers, but is the word of the king greater than that of God?"
When she said nothing in the few seconds he allotted her, Anders rushed out, "They even say there's a mage in Lothering, a healer, a runaway from the Marches. Not to mention what else they say of him! Is he above the law then also? Why?"
"I've heard of Malcolm," Wynne told him. "He has a Grey Warden dispensation, and the local templars watch him. I know that you're upset, but in time, you'll come to understand... "
He never would. He never would see her way. After everything had happened, he was told she was killed in the broken circle, throwing her body to shield the apprentices. But he'd seen her alive, somehow, in Amaranthine, a weird sheen to her eyes, but no other clue. She met him kindly, cordially, as he stood there in his new blue uniform. He healed the injured in Amaranthine then, tended their sick.
"Better than the Deep Roads," he'd told Justice, when they sat together under the spreading branches of an oak. "I don't know why we even bother. Blight's done with."
And Justice intoned, in that deep hollow voice from the chest, "It is your duty, so you must do it."
"It is your duty, so you must do it," Anders mocked in a tinny voice. A fly landed on Anders' forehead. He brushed it away with the hand that held the forceps. "Rubbish."
He was suturing Kristoff's arm back to Kristoff's shoulder. The meat was falling off the bone these days, so it fit wrong, ball-and-socket. "That's your problem, Justice," he said. "You've no imagination."
"The Wardens are sworn to defend against the Blight," the spirit told him in words that carried. They sounded made of bronze, deep, powerful. The eyes were glazed over, like three-day fish, but there was a light kindled beneath them, weird and unreal.
"The Blight which is over, you know, by the way." Anders made his stitches small and neat. His healing magic had no power over flesh that was dead, so he made do as he could, to keep his friend together. "There will always be more darkspawn."
Justice said nothing.
"Does this hurt you?" Anders peered over his shoulder.
No answer, and Anders told him, "I just want to help. I know-- I know I'm a shit, like Nathaniel says. But I just. Fuck. I'm always doing what other people want me to. Go here, do this. The tower, and now Tabris. I want to be my own man. No one telling me anything."
Justice moved the arm of the body he inhabited. There wasn't so great a range of motion. He was declining in every way. "This will do," he said.
Anders waved away the flies, and set aside his suture kit. Sighing, he laid a hand on the shoulder, felt the give beneath his hand. "If I ran way," he said quietly. "You'd say nothing, wouldn't you? I can twiddle my thumbs here.. or I could do real good elsewhere. I'd travel, heal people."
The gray head turned toward him, the eyes staring dully at him from their deep sockets, the flesh drawn tight around them. "This is your duty."
"It's what I was given to do," Anders replied.
After the longest time, staring at each other, the flies around them, Anders said, softly, "You could come with me."
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A screenwriter who worked with Harvey Weinstein on some of his biggest movie hits says 'everybody f---ing knew'
Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images
Screenwriter Scott Rosenberg has posted an explosive "poem" on Facebook announcing "everybody-f-------knew" about allegations surrounding Harvey Weinstein’s misconduct.
The screenwriter of "Con Air," "Beautiful Girls" and "Gone in Sixty Seconds" published more than 1,500 words on the topic. Rosenberg began his film career in the mid-1990s at Miramax films, co-founded by Weinstein, where he created "Beautiful Girls" and "Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead."
While Rosenberg repeatedly says that he, and others, didn’t know about allegations of rape, the screenwriter does say that people knew of "overly-aggressive behavior" and that there was "something rotten" going on.
The idea that Weinstein’s ongoing sexual harassment of women was an open secret is not new. More interviews and videos have emerged of celebrities alluding to allegations – or in the case of Courtney Love outright warning women to stay away from Weinstein.
His page now appears to be private as no posts after 2012 are displaying but, according to Deadline, this was his post:
So, uh, yeah.
We need to talk about Harvey.
I was there, for a big part of it.
From, what, 1994 to the early 2000s?
Something like that.
Certainly The Golden Age.
The "PULP FICTION," "SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE," "CLERKS," "SWINGERS," "SCREAM," "GOOD WILL HUNTING," "ENGLISH PATIENT," "LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL" years…
Harvey and Bob made my first two movies.
Then they signed me to an overall deal.
Then they bought that horror script of mine about the Ten Plagues.
For a lot of money.
Also bought that werewolf-biker script.
That no one else liked but was my personal favorite.
They were going to publish my novel.
They anointed me.
Made it so other studios thought I was the real deal.
They gave me my career.
I was barely 30.
I was sure I had struck gold.
They loved me, these two brothers, who had reinvented cinema.
And who were fun and tough and didn’t give an East Coast f--- about all the slick pricks out in L.A.
And those glory days in Tribeca?
The old cramped offices?
That wonderful gang of executives and assistants?
All the filmmakers who were doing repeat business?
The brothers wanted to create a "family of film."
And they did just that…
We looked forward to having meetings there.
Meetings that would turn into plans that would turn into raucous nights out on the town.
Simply put: OG Miramax was a blast.
So, yeah, I was there.
And let me tell you one thing.
Let’s be perfectly clear about one thing:
Everybody-f-------knew.
Not that he was raping.
No, that we never heard.
But we were aware of a certain pattern of overly-aggressive behavior that was rather dreadful.
We knew about the man’s hunger; his fervor; his appetite.
There was nothing secret about this voracious rapacity; like a gluttonous ogre out of the Brothers Grimm.
All couched in vague promises of potential movie roles.
(and, it should be noted: there were many who actually succumbed to his bulky charms. Willingly. Which surely must have only impelled him to cast his fetid net even wider).
But like I said: everybody-f-------knew.
And to me, if Harvey’s behavior is the most reprehensible thing one can imagine, a not-so-distant second is the current flood of sanctimonious denial and condemnation that now crashes upon these shores of rectitude in gloppy tides of bullshit righteousness.
Because everybody-fucking-knew.
And do you know how I am sure this is true?
Because I was there.
And I saw you.
And I talked about it with you.
You, the big producers; you, the big directors; you, the big agents; you, the big financiers.
And you, the big rival studio chiefs; you, the big actors; you, the big actresses; you, the big models.
You, the big journalists; you, the big screenwriters; you, the big rock stars; you, the big restaurateurs; you, the big politicians.
I saw you.
All of you.
God help me, I was there with you.
Again, maybe we didn’t know the degree.
The magnitude of the awfulness.
Not the rapes.
Not the shoving against the wall.
Not the potted-plant fucking.
But we knew something.
We knew something was bubbling under.
Something odious.
Something rotten.
But…
And this is as pathetic as it is true:
What would you have had us do?
Who were we to tell?
The authorities?
What authorities?
The press?
Harvey owned the press.
The Internet?
There was no Internet or reasonable facsimile thereof.
Should we have called the police?
And said what?
Should we have reached out to some fantasy Attorney General Of Movieland?
That didn’t exist.
Not to mention, most of the victims chose not to speak out.
Aside from sharing the grimy details with a close girlfriend or confidante.
And if they discussed it with their representatives?
Agents and managers, who themselves feared The Wrath Of The Big Man?
The agents and managers would tell them to keep it to themselves.
Because who knew the repercussions?
That old saw "You’ll Never Work In This Town Again" came crawling back to putrid life like a re-animated cadaver in a late-night zombie flick.
But, yes, everyone knew someone who had been on the receiving end of lewd advances by him.
Or knew someone who knew someone.
A few actress friends of mine told me stories: of a ghastly hotel meeting; of a repugnant bathrobe-shucking; of a loathsome massage request.
And although they were rattled, they sort of laughed at his arrogance; how he had the temerity to think that simply the sight of his naked, doughy, carbuncled flesh was going to get them in the mood.
So I just believed it to be a grotesque display of power; a dude misreading the room and making a lame-if-vile pass.
It was much easier to believe that.
It was much easier for ALL of us to believe that.
Because…
And here’s where the slither meets the slime:
Harvey was showing us the best of times.
He was making our movies.
Throwing the biggest parties.
Taking us to The Golden Globes!
Introducing us to the most amazing people (Meetings with Vice President Gore! Clubbing with Quentin and Uma! Drinks with Salman Rushdie and Ralph Fiennes! Dinners with Mick Jagger and Warren-freaking-Beatty!).
The most epic Oscar weekends.
That seemed to last for weeks!
Sundance! Cannes! Toronto!
Telluride! Berlin! Venice!
Private jets! Stretch limousines! Springsteen shows!
Hell, Harvey once took me to St. Barth’s for Christmas.
For 12 days!
I was a broke-ass kid from Boston who had never even HEARD of St. Barth’s before he booked my travel.
He once got me tickets to the seven hottest Broadway shows in one week. So I could take a new girlfriend on a dazzling tour of theater.
He got me seats on the 40-yard-line to the Super Bowl, when the Patriots were playing the Packers in New Orleans.
Even got me a hotel room, which was impossible to get that weekend.
He gave and gave and gave and gave.
He had a monarch’s volcanic generosity when it came to those within his circle.
And a Mafia don’s fervent need for abject loyalty from his capos and soldiers.
But never mind us!
What about what he was doing for the culture?
Making stunningly splendid films at a time when everyone else was cranking-out simpering "INDEPENDENCE DAY" rip-offs.
It was glorious.
All of it.
So what if he was coming on a little strong to some young models who had moved mountains to get into one of his parties?
So what if he was exposing himself, in five-star hotel rooms, like a cartoon flasher out of "MAD MAGAZINE" (just swap robe for raincoat!)
Who were we to call foul?
Golden Geese don’t come along too often in one’s life.
Which goes back to my original point:
Everybody-fucking-knew.
But everybody was just having too good a time.
And doing remarkable work; making remarkable movies.
As the old joke goes:
We needed the eggs.
Okay, maybe we didn’t NEED them.
But we really, really, really, really LIKED them eggs.
So we were willing to overlook what the Golden Goose was up to, in the murky shadows behind the barn…
And for that, I am eternally sorry.
To all of the women that had to suffer this…
I am eternally sorry.
I’ve worked with Mira and Rosanna and Lysette.
I’ve known Rose and Ashley and Claire for years…
Their courage only hangs a lantern on my shame.
And I am eternally sorry to all those who suffered in silence all this time.
And have chosen to remain silent today.
I mostly lost touch with the brothers by the early 2000s.
For no specific reason.
Just that there were other jobs, other studios.
But a few months ago, Harvey called me, out of the blue.
To talk about the bygone days.
To talk about how great it would be to get some of the gang back together.
Make a movie.
He must have known then the noose was tightening.
There was a wistfulness to him that I had never heard before.
A melancholy.
It most assuredly had a walking-to-the-gallows feel.
When we hung up I wondered: "what was that all about?"
In a few short weeks I would know.
It was the condemned man simply wanting to comb some of the ruins of his old stomping grounds.
One last time.
So, yeah, I am sorry.
Sorry and ashamed.
Because, in the end, I was complicit.
I didn’t say shit.
I didn’t do shit.
Harvey was nothing but wonderful to me.
So I reaped the rewards and I kept my mouth shut.
And for that, once again, I am sorry.
But you should be sorry, too.
With all these victims speaking up…
To tell their tales.
Shouldn’t those who witnessed it from the sidelines do the same?
Instead of retreating to the cowardly, canopied confines of faux-outrage?
Doesn’t being a bystander bring with it the responsibility of telling the truth, however personally disgraceful it may be?
You know who are.
You know that you knew.
And do you know how I know that you knew?
Because I was there with you.
And because everybody-f-------knew.
NOW WATCH: I won't trade in my iPhone 6s for an iPhone 8 or iPhone X — here's why
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Thank You For Coming: Talking with transdisciplinary performance artist NIC Kay about balance, Blackness, and hope
NIC Kay. lil BLK performance. Photo: iamkiamstudios. Courtesy of the artist.
NIC Kay and I met just after I moved to Chicago from Los Angeles in the fall of 2014. I was coming from the world of sunshine and contemporary dance, and was thirsty for brick buildings and East Coast aesthetics. NIC was a Chi-by-way-of-the-Bronx theater kid, deep in their vogue femme practice: soft and cunt. (NIC uses they/them pronouns.) We were both Black, conscious, weird, and queer, and became friends fairly easily. Since that initial meeting, our respective work has grown more experimental and far-reaching in terms of influences, while at the same time more focused on who it is we make work for and why. We are both explicit in our desire to use performance as a way of connecting with and lifting up Black folks, and especially Black queer femmes and women (trans and non-trans).
I’ve been working with artists in Chicago, New York, and New Orleans on several projects that orbit around what I deem “Black time,” a sense of the temporal that loops, rewinds, doubles up, and goes deep. NIC, who now splits their time between Chicago, Rotterdam, and New York, just completed the Chicago iteration of their touring show, lil BLK, and they are now embarking on a new project and fundraiser, GET WELL SOON! They’ve recently released a Web series about lil BLK called “Bronx Cunt Tour” for the queer people of color platform Open TV. We had a conversation just as NIC was wrapping up lil BLK at the Hamlin Park Theater, two weeks after I closed my show, S P R E A D, at Links Hall.
Anna Martine Whitehead: A friend of mine saw S P R E A D, which opens with a twenty-five-minute meal while my body lies prone upstage. She mentioned that a former professor of hers—also a person of color—once told her that he was so over seeing women of color make performances where they “pretend to be dead.”
I’m trying to switch off my need for validation from traditional structures and ask myself who, ultimately, am I making the work for?
NIC Kay: And I’m over seeing shows with people standing erect. I’m over ballet. I am making work for Black people, things we can connect to. I work really hard to make sure Black people can show up to performances, by inviting friends and family via text, email, calls, and the Internet. There should always be at least one other Black person in the audience. Those are the conversations I’m trying to have, based on the content of the work. I’m trying to switch off my need for validation from traditional structures and ask myself who, ultimately, am I making the work for? Why must the show really go on? That’s hard to answer if you’re not being real with yourself. But I have community. I don’t need to be on stage, with people clapping for me, to feel good about my work, about my Blackness, queerness—my otherness.
AMW: We’ve both been busy producing shows in Chicago, which is a kind of second homecoming for you.
NK: Being back in Chicago is beautiful and extremely gruesome. I was in Switzerland when it was announced that 45 would be our president. A sense of dread began to build inside of me when I thought about all the white people I occupy space with. A fatigue hit right away. I’m tired; my friends are tired; we’ve been arrested how many times? I collapsed within myself. So I began reading Frederick Douglass and Mariame Kaba’s goodnight posts on Twitter to help regain strength.
I began to understand that this election was just the beginning of a series of elections. The same way Brexit has been the beginning of a series of turns toward fascist, xenophobic ideology. There are many more such elections and bad decisions to come. And we need to take this seriously: we need to hold news outlets and pundits accountable for the way they did not take his campaign seriously. It’s like everyone went to the circus, thinking it was going to be some cute clowns, and then they realized the door’s locked and they’re not going home—no one’s going to go home. And they all should’ve done their research.
In terms of white empathy, knowing [Black people] through our virtuosity does not seem to help. If we could get free by singing and dancing, we would’ve been free a thousand times over. We’ve been ruling the artform since before we got to this continent. And the display of Black pain does not seem to help. Millennials are no less racist than previous generations. So, knowing a few Asians, or being married to a Black person, or listening to world music, or watching a killer-cop video on YouTube, obviously is not helping.
AMW: It feels especially hurtful to hear the white liberals, who often are our producers and presenters still saying in regard to the election, “What happened?”
NK: As our foremothers, forefathers, and trancestors said, these people don’t care about us. I’ve decided it’s my business to not worry about it (chase after white people). Many of them are intent on killing themselves and taking us all out with them. At the end of the day, we Black people just need to talk with each other, listen to each other, fight, and grow. It’s what I’m doing. It scares me, but it’s way more rewarding than what I feel in all-white spaces, where I find myself asked and centered to plead for my very humanity. My people may be trying me with their inability to get pronouns right, but I believe we can at least meet on some human level and grow together.
The neutrality that white liberalism supports is essentially erasure. They waiting around to see if the threats are real or what… Martin Luther King, Jr. told us: “The hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who remain neutral in times of great moral conflict.” But that’s what’s happening. The reality of the situation is bad, and I’m struggling with a sense of pessimism that I now wear as a blanket.
AMW: Having worked closely this past year with an all-white majority-straight theater company, I too have been struggling with nihilism. Sometimes I feel as though I’m just perfecting the art of shutting down internally as a means of building my resume. I can get very depressed sometimes thinking about how easy it is for me to have a great time working in a one-hundred-percent-space because my ability to dissociate is so on point.
NK: I meditate on hope as a discipline. I need hope to be able to do the work—the “wake work,” as Christina Sharpe says.
AMW: I listen to John Lewis interviews. It helps me synthesize my sci-fi Black feminist perspective with a more historical, faith-based practice. Lewis talks about preparing ourselves for the futures we already know exist. Instead of understanding the struggle as a fight, Lewis comes from this Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC)-type practice of maintaining faith that you are already in the kingdom and all you need to do is prepare yourself to make a home there. For me, that is a very quantum sort of ideology. It is about recognizing the radical black hole of liberation that already exists all around us.
knowing about ourselves as best we can is a choice that we can make to bring us closer to thriving
NK: Okwui [Okpokwasili] and I talk about the space between the human and the interstellar. Reading Octavia [Butler]’s work has helped, too. For a very long time, I felt that Afrofuturism was beyond my understanding of what a future could be, considering all the weight of being Black and femme and masculine and queer and all of that good stuff. I always felt like sci-fi was white people’s genre, so that they could find other worlds to go and fuck up. Octavia said, ‘Actually, this is what happens when you fuck up this world, and here’s how we go and make other worlds.’ Her futurism was embedded in a proto-Black pessimism. She said, ‘Let’s continue to state that we’ve gone through extreme amounts of pain and violence that can never be apologized or pathologized or written away.’ We can try and thrive within this situation, or we can barely survive. And knowing about ourselves as best we can is a choice that we can make to bring us closer to thriving. Some would say it’s a privilege to thrive. But acknowledging ourselves is a right that we all have.
AMW: This conversation is making me think about how useful group therapy would be for artists. I’ve often thought this should be a line item in any presenting institution’s budget.
NK: Yes! Can you imagine a therapist on staff at an artist residency? We could call it “Artists Anonymous” or “Untitled or Unknown Conceptual Feelings Gathering.” Because sometimes the girls be out here eating paint. Someone would be like, “I haven’t shown my work to anyone in ten years… I’ve just been collecting stuffed animals, and now my house is full of stuffed animals.” And we could all say, “Hey, girl. Thank you for coming.”
NIC Kay is a 2017 Movement Research Artist-in-Residence Van Lier Fellow in New York City.
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EMH/Stan Frederick AU (kinda) Full Explanation
Okay, so
Basically I was thinking a lot about the Stan Frederick episode where they're trying to find out more about the rake and they're going through boxes and boxes of old research and at one point Susan pulls out a binder marked with purple duct tape, which she claims has a lot of info about the rake in it, an obvious homage to EMH. Stan immediately shuts Susan down when he sees what binder she's looking at, and the specific line "If we're ever that desperate..." just really stuck in my head for one reason or another. It got me thinking about Stan and Habit interacting, and while I thought that was interesting enough to go off with as an idea, but obviously we need a context for that interaction, that's where the AU comes in.
It takes place in an alternate iteration, one in which the majority of the story is the one that we have experienced alongside the EMH crew. We've made it all the way up to 'Sleeping dogs lie.' and it is the first iteration with this format in which Habit has managed to make it this far. He's furious that Vinnie has ruined the plan by going off to follow the leads presented by the Princeton tapes and is convinced that by following those leads Vinnie will end up dead. Deciding there's no fixing the iteration in its current state, he decides to fuck with it in a way that he finds entertaining, pulling someone else into the fray and trying to get them to go along with his plan the way Vinnie was meant to.
He thinks for a bit about who he could have the most fun messing with. Noah seemed like a fun choice but that was almost sure to start a fight with Firebrand and he wasn't exactly in the mood to fight that war, there was Micheal/Patrick but he still didn't know where they were (a fact he was fairly salty about considering the lengths he went to to lure Shaun to him as bait). This brings him to wondering "Hey what about that Stan Fredrick guy? The paranormal investigator Firebrand used to complain about, what ever happened to him?"
He looks into it and is honestly kinda excited by what he finds. This Stan guy, he's real entertaining to watch and looks like he would be great to mess with, and they share a common enemy, that old stick-in-the-mud. He's also fairly curious about the concept of corruptelams and since Stan is one after the events of '40. Amendments' he could do some research. He decides that if he's able to manipulate Stan just right, with promises of defeating slender, a happy ending where he gets to go back to a normal life with his wife, maybe even hinting at the possibility of being able to bring Stan fully back to life from his state as a corruptelam, he might just be able to have a bit of fun with this collapsing iteration, and he figures, just maybe, Stan could be powerful enough to complete his plan the way Vinnie was supposed to.
Stan on the other hand, is doing fairly okay, well, kinda. After the events of '40. Amendments' he basically went into hiding, traveling around the country to avoid staying in one place too long while also avoiding places like Maine, New Jersey, Florida, and Alabama, all to avoid being found by the monsters again and being pulled back into the fray, because he knows that as soon as his moster realized it missed a piece it'll come back to collect the rest of him. He's managed to stay safe, but he's become uncomfortable with his existence as a corruptelam, hating having to use the word to describe himself, and is depressed by his lonely existence, traveling from place to place in fear, never being able to see the people he cares about or get close to anyone. He's tired, but completely restless at the same time.
Habit brings Stan to his base of operations 'Severence' style while Stan is asleep, one of the few human comforts he's able to still enjoy as a corruptelam. Stan's sure at first that he's having a nightmare when he awakes in the unfamiliar house but quickly realizes that he's very much awake when confronted by Habit, who is very real and very much a threat. Stan is forced to confront the lack of humanity brought about by his existence as a corruptelam and the discomfort that that existence brings him. Habit, having done all of the possible research he could before hand, is perfectly prepared to emotionally manipulate Stan into joining him, and despite everything Stan has aligned himself with all these years and Habit's obvious pension for dishonesty he somehow allows himself to fall victim to this very blatant manipulation and joins Habit to defeat Slender in the hopes of returning to his old life with Susan without monsters and death looming over his shoulder the rest of his life.
Habit is absolutely ecstatic that his plan is working so easily, and even goes as far as agreeing to a couple of ground rules Stan wants set before they start working together (not actually planning on following them of course). They form a kind of symbiotic relationship while living under the same roof and planning their attack on slender, slowly learning more about eachother and the world around them from eachother. Stan learning more about the monsters that inhabit their world and the magic that surrounds them, Habit learning more about the psychology of humanity and Stan's general mindset in his strange situation. Habit comes to respect Stan in a strange way, and Stan gets to a point where he almost trusts Habit, at least not fearing him quite as much as he did before.
Stan finds himself surprised by how seemingly normal everything around them seems. They live like normal people, talk like normal roommates. If it wasn't for the fact that they were both supernatural creatures planning to take down a god like monster Stan might've almost found their situation comforting. But then, as always, there are those small things that remind him that things are, infact, not normal. The static behind Habit's voice, the way the air around him sparked with static electricity, the supernatural forces at play in the house, the feint smell of blood that stuck to Habit or certain rooms of the house at times. All of them would bring him back to reality and remind him of who he was working with and why he was doing so in the first place.
This all comes to a head with the release of 'The Drive West' and then 'Finding Fairmount'. Habit is struck with the realization that Vinnie is very much alive and has found the North Star, and now he has two very good candidates to finish the job and take down that old stick-in-the-mud.
Habit brings Vinnie back the same way he does in the iteration we witnessed. To say the least, Vinnie is surprised and a bit unsettled by Stan's presence. He encourages Stan to leave as soon as they get a second alone without Habit, he's noticed something different about the creature that's been inhabiting his friend and is worried about what exactly he has planned and what's going to go down. He knows this battle is his to fight, not Stan's. Stan isn't persuaded, he's determined to reap the rewards he has spend months working towards. There's no way he abandons everything now and goes back to his lonely existence empty handed after all this time he's spent dealing with Habit to get this far.
I don't want to spoil anything further than this because I have some plans for this AU in the future, but I will tell you that, to say the least, things do not end well.
#this took literally forever to write#i hope y'all like it#stan frederick au#stan frederick#emh#habit emh#emh habit#everyman hybrid#everymanhybrid#everymanhybrid au#emh au#crossover#crossover au#feel free to ask questions if any of it's confusing#i wrote a lot of this at night so it might not sound as good as I thought it did at the time
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