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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

Plain Gold Ring

(Part 2)

You left a few minutes before he did. He ran up to his place to change. The two of you had already showered together. You had meetings all day and so did he. You agreed to meet for lunch.

Your thoughts drifted to him all day. His strong hands and the spice of his skin were all you could think about. You should have felt guilty but you didn’t. You two really seemed like you connected on a deep and spiritual level. You told yourself not to be naive. Men who cheat never leave their wives. You were a means of escape for him. You decided to proceed as planned and move forward with your Chicago interview.

At lunch Andy came bounding into your office. Before you could even hand him his fork he had his hands on you. “I can’t focus. You’ve been in my head all day.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah? You thinking of my cock?”

“Your cock, your hands…fuck…your tongue.” He slipped his hand in your panties to find you already dripping.

“Shit, baby. I have to be inside of you. This is gonna be quick.” He slammed his hips into you a few times before you both completely lost it. He eased you back down peppering kisses on your neck and chest. You readjusted your panties, smoothed your hair and sat down at your desk to drink some water.

“Oh my goodness are you going to stay like that all day?”

“Like what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about. You just wanted to hear him say it.

“With my cum dripping out of you? Don’t you want to clean up?”

“I’m good.” You winked at him and handed him his lunch.

He chuckled, “There goes the rest of my day.”

You had easy conversation for the rest of lunch. You asked him about Jacob and how he seemed to be coping. He was happy to talk about it. It was evident he adored his son. And there went the guilt bubbling up again. He could see it in your face. “Is this weird for you?”

“A little. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“We don’t have to talk about him.”

“It’s ok. I like hearing about your life. Besides I brought him up. I just want to be sure I’m not reading too much into this. Like we’re just friends who fuck right? I don’t know if I’m trying to catch feelings.”

He was a little offended but couldn’t express that to you. You had sex the second day that you had known each other. That was clearly not something he did nor did he take it lightly. He meant what he said. He really liked you. He would just have to work hard to show you how much. For now, he would follow your lead.

“Oh yeah. Of course. Friends who fuck sometimes. No feelings to catch.”

You went about the rest of your day and got home at a respectable hour. While you were at your mailbox in your building you noticed Lori and Jacob coming in. You smiled and turned quickly to get to the elevator. You realized a lot of people likely knew who they were and made it awkward like you just did. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone and went back to introduce yourself.

“Hi. I don’t mean to interrupt. Are you Lori Barber? My name is Y/N. I work with Andy.” She looked relieved to hear your name.

“Of course! Y/N. So nice to meet you. Andy told us all about you. This is our son Jacob.” He waved to you and you very awkwardly waved back.

“Well I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hi.” She looked like she wanted to talk more but you hightailed it out of there up the stairs. You felt like an asshole. She looked like a perfectly nice person. If you weren’t fucking her husband you’d probably be friends. Damn it. You couldn’t do this with Andy. As much as you wanted to, knowing Lori was in the same building was too much for you.

That bottle of red on your counter was calling your name. You ordered dinner and prepped for your interview. Hopefully you’ll get a decent offer and out of here before you make a bigger mess.

——————————————————————

While you were in the bath Andy texted. You didn’t respond. While you watch tv he texted again. No text back. After the third unanswered text he called.

“Hey, Andy.”

“Are you ghosting me?” He sounded like he was joking but not really

“No. Just busy. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Too busy to see me?”

You wanted to say yes. Yes you were far too busy to spend time with a married man. You wanted to tell him go back to his wife. But you didn’t. “Of course not. I’ll unlock the door.” You were a goner.

A few minutes later you heard him calling your name. “Bedroom.” you called out. You had been crying about it all night but you have to end things before it gets serious. Even though you weren’t really dating and you said no feelings, you knew yourself. Under the facade of an overly ambitious lawyer you were a hopeless romantic. In the very short time you’ve known Andy he’s been a great guy. The fact remained, he was kind of your boss and very much married. You couldn’t continue.

“Hey. Are you crying? What’s wrong?” He sat on the bed and pulled you into his lap. You sobbed harder. “Y/n. Baby? Talk to me.”

“I met Lori and Jacob. He really has your eyes. We can’t do this, Andy. I know you and Lori are going through a rough patch but I can’t do this.” He was crestfallen. He rubbed your hand while you talked nodding where appropriate. When it was finally his turn to talk, he didn’t trust his voice to be strong.

“I know we just met, Y/N but, I’ve never cheated on Lori. Not ever. I slept with you because I liked you from the first moment we met. I know you said no feelings but, I feel like if you weren’t on the verge of caring, you wouldn’t be crying over me right now.” He was right. You felt all the things you weren’t supposed to feel.

You stayed up talking for a few more hours and ended up falling asleep in his arms. When you woke up the next morning he was gone. It was just as well. You got your notes together for your interview and called in.

The whole conversation was amazing. You and the managing partners really hit it off. They were younger than the partners at your current firm. A lot of women on the senior team. Not twenty minutes later did you friend text you to say they wanted you to take a trip out to Chicago.

When you got into the office you asked Caitlin to clear your schedule for the rest of the week and booked your flight. You were due in court so you grabbed your bag and badge and headed out.

——————————————————————

You were one of three attorneys on this case. Today was the voir dire so all you’d be doing was taking notes on possible jurors. One of the team members was unable to make it so Andy filled in. It was a pleasure watching him work. This part of the legal process was generally pretty boring. Watching him was like theater. You were fawning all over him like a school girl. It was frankly disgusting. At the end of the day Andy called a team meeting to compare notes and start working on court strategy.

You worked through dinner. All of you were exhausted by the end of the night. Since you were leaving the next morning, you handed your coworker Jeremy all of your notes and went to your office to pack up.

“Y/N, can you be in a little early tomorrow? I want to run through a couple of things.” Andy called from your doorway.

“Sorry. I’ll actually be in Chicago. Family emergency. I put it on your calendar this morning. Jeremy has all of my notes. I’ll be out of pocket for most of the trip. Shoot me an email if you need something. I’ll try to get back to you.”

He frowned and let out a deep sigh, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important this case is. Can the trip be rescheduled?”

“I’m sorry. It can’t be. Jeremy is up to speed on everything. He’s done just as much leg work as I have on this case. You’re in good hands.” You patted him on the chest and excused yourself.

——————————————————————

Andy got home and grabbed a beer. Jacob was sitting at the table finishing some school work. “How is your new job, Dad?”

“Good. Everyone there is really nice.”

“Mom and I met Y/N at the mailboxes yesterday. She’s pretty.” Andy was surprised that Jacob even noticed you. He’s always staring at his phone.

“Yeah. She’s pretty.” He ruffled Jacob’s hair. “What are you working on?”

Lori came in to grab a water. She looked like she was running on the treadmill. She hadn’t found a good route around the neighborhood yet. “Hey. I didn’t hear you come in. We met your coworker. She was really sweet.”

“She’s the one who put you in touch with Linda Raymond.”

“Oh. That was nice of her. We should have her over for dinner. I remember when I was single I had nothing but wine and old Chinese in my fridge. I’m sure she’d like a home cooked meal.”

Andy was irritated with Lori’s assumption. “She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she feeds herself.” He knew you did because he’s been in your fridge.

“Well anyway. I’d like to thank her. I’ll send her a bottle of wine. Maybe you can ask her assistant what she likes.”

“She drinks Cabernet.”

He got up from the table and changed into his gym clothes. There was a really nice gym on the bottom floor of the building. He had every intention of going there but he couldn’t get you off of his mind. You mentioned all of your family lived down south. What kind of emergency could you have in Chicago. Maybe it was a guy. You didn’t mention one. He didn’t ask. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had a booty call in Chicago. You were distracted all evening texting someone. He pushed the button for your floor.

——————————————————————

Your flight was early so you started packing when you got home. Half way through your wine fueled solo dance party, Andy was at your door. You were a little tipsy and feeling bold so you answered wearing only a tshirt and panties.

“Evening, Andy.” You opened your arms to welcome him inside.

“Evening. Do you have a minute?”

“Sixty an hour, sir and they’re all for you.” He followed behind you to your bedroom.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet. But! The night is young.” He watched you dig through your closet selecting dresses and shoes. Nothing very casual.

“You sure do dress up for a family emergency.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“What do you want, Andy?”

“What’s in Chicago?”

“What’s with the questions?”

“Why are you answering my question with a question? Nothing more suspicious.” Fucking lawyers.

“What do you want, Andy? I won’t ask again.”

“You. I won’t see you for a few days and I’ll miss you. If you are going to see a guy, as I suspect by the amount of lingerie you’ve packed, I want you to remember how good you have it at home.”

Your cheeks heated and your cunt started paying attention. “So demanding, Mr. Barber.” You patted him on the head and attempted to walk away from him. He grabbed your hips and ran his hands under your tshirt over your bare belly. “Andy, we agreed.”

“No, you agreed. I did not. I still want you.” His index finger stroked the wet spot on your panties. “Looks like you still want me too.” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned into his touch. He nuzzled your clothed pussy nipped and sucked. His hand rubbed broad strokes over you before he pulled them down and began flicking his tongue over your clit. You let out a low moan of appreciation. “Want me to stop?”

“Andy…” He cupped your pussy and slipped in two fingers grinding the palm of his hand against your clit.

“What’s that, honey? Answer me. Do you want me to stop?” His body was pressed against yours.

“No. God no. But you have to. Your wife…”

“Don’t worry about her. Worry about yourself. Do you want me to stop? Tell me to stop.” he growled into your ear. He pressed his erection into your hip she continued finger fucking you.

Your head went blank and your pussy took over again. “Don’t stop. Please, Andy. Never stop fucking me.”

He spent the rest of the night squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from your body. You showered and ate a very late dinner after which you fell asleep watching a movie. This was a level of bliss you had never enjoyed in your whole life. You were falling in love with him. Fuck your stupid feelings.

Your very full bladder nudged you awake. As you slipped back into bed, Andy’s phone screen illuminated the very dark room. You went to turn it off and saw several missed calls and texts from Lori.

You felt like you were doing something horribly wrong. Not like you could see anything she said. You weren’t sure if you should wake him. But, what if it was an emergency? Something could be wrong with Jacob. You nudged his shoulder but he didn’t budge. This man slept like the dead.

“Andy? Wake up.” you whispered in his ear.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Lori keeps calling. I wasn’t sure if it was an emergency.”

He grumbled and scowled at the device. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“It has to be something or else she wouldn’t have called you so many times.”

“I missed counseling tonight. She’s pissed.”

“Go home, Andy. I can get myself to the airport.”

“No. I’m with you tonight. She’ll have me the rest of the week. Come back to bed. Please, baby. I have to get my fill of you before you leave.”

You had a choice here. You could get back in that bed and spend the rest of the night with this beautiful man. You could feel happy and loved and ignore the fact that, two floors up Lori was likely pacing the floor. Or, you could tell him about Chicago and be done with this mess. You chose option B. It was going to hurt like hell but you had to rip off that bandage.

“What’s in Chicago is a position with a major firm. I’ve already had my first interview. They asked me to fly out for a few days. They’ll make me an offer and I’m going to accept.” He was silent. “Say something. Please.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” You smacked him in the face with your pillow. “Ow! Hey! What the fuck?! Stop it. Y/N stop! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You were pissed and on the verge of tears. You switched on the bedside lamp and paced the floor mumbling to yourself. “We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. Fuck you. You aren’t falling for me. You’re in love with the fantasy that is our relationship.” You took his left hand and pointed to his wedding band, “As long as this is on your finger, you belong to Lori. You will never be mine. Go home, Andy. I’m going into that bathroom. When I come out, you need to be gone. Who the fuck says they’re falling for someone right before they get on a plane?! You’re almost guaranteeing it will crash.”

That stupid wedding ring. He never took it off. It must be graphed to his skin by now. You felt it when you held hands. It pressed into your breasts when he grabbed them. He was never aware of it but you always were. Painfully aware.

After a few minutes you heard your front door slam. You popped a nerve pill and got back in bed. Fuck Andy fucking Barber for being so perfect. Fuck your stupid pussy for getting you involved in the first place and fuck your stupid heart for feeling anything. You cried yourself to sleep.

——————————————————————

At six am Andy stood in his floor to ceiling window drinking his coffee. He saw you pacing the street waiting for your Uber that was five minutes late. The guy didn’t even take your bag. The car sped away taking his whole future with it.

He couldn’t fathom why you had such a soft spot for his wife. You had from the first time you met. You got her a job and went on a one woman crusade to save their marriage. He guessed you just felt like she had gone through enough. Andy hadn’t really forgiven her for almost killing them in that crash. She didn’t forgive him for his father’s involvement in Jacob’s acquittal. There was no going back. He filed for divorce the next day. Whether the two of you got together or not, he and Lori were done.

——————————————————————

When you got home you went to the mailbox first. You had a few magazines stacked on the table. You guessed no one wanted to steal your copy of Forbes. You saw Lori and smiled. Your earbuds were still blasting away so you didn’t immediately hear her talking.

“I’m so sorry. Did you say something?”

“It’s ok. I’m used to it with Jacob. I said I never got to thank you for passing on my information to Linda. I got the job.” (you already knew) “Anyway. I wanted to invite you for dinner sometime as a thank you.”

“I appreciate it. You really don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. I can use the company since Andy moved out.”

You dropped your things and cursed under your breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s ok. It was a long time coming. Let me know what works for you. I’m good anytime really.” She got onto the elevator and you stood in the lobby frozen.

You didn’t want to let Andy know you knew right away so you just sent him a quick message. “I’m back.” When you got back into your place your phone rang.

“Did you take the job?” He hadn’t even given you a chance to say hello.

“I did. They need me there in a month. Taking on a class action. I’ll wrap up what I can here and then I’m gone.”

“And I can’t convince you to stay.”

“It’s a really impressive offer. I can’t pass it up.”

“I filed for divorce.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” (No you weren’t)

“So I have a month to make you fall in love with me.”

“Andy…”

“Can I come over?” Say no. End it. Absolutely not.

“Sure. No physical contact.”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Now if you could only say the same for yourself.

#andy barber smut #andy barber x y/n #andy barber #defending jacob

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hrtiu · 3 years

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Paradigm Shift Chapter 2

I just couldn’t get enough of Tech and Travie so I added another chapter 🥰. This one written in letters! For the first chapter, click here.

______________________________________

Dear Travie,

I made it back to Dantooine safely. My apologies for the delay in messaging you—I was assigned a high-priority mission as soon as I reached base. I would tell you an amusing anecdote from the mission, but unfortunately the entire thing is classified. All I will say is that rhydonium and Wrecker do not mix.

How are you? I hope the weather has not been too harsh. How is the blaster mod program coming?

Best,

Tech

______________________________________

Tech,

It’s good to hear from you! Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting messages all the time. I understand that you’re busy. I’m glad you completed your mission safely. I don’t know what Wrecker is, but I can imagine Wrecker and rhydonium would be an explosive combination.

The weather is awful, as per usual. I really don’t have anything else to say about it, unfortunately. I’ve been testing our three best mod prototypes out in the field and recording how they react to sustained use. So far so good, but only time will tell.

-Travia

______________________________________

Dear Travie,

I had assumed that you knew who Wrecker was since you seemed to know who I was when we first met. Wrecker is a member of my special forces team. He, Hunter, Crosshair, and I are all modified clones who worked together during the Clone Wars and continue to function as a unit for the Rebellion. Wrecker was modified to enhance his brute strength, Hunter his senses, and Crosshair his sniping skills. We have a fifth member of our team named Echo, who was a regular clone but due to an unfortunate POW situation is now over 50% cybernetic material. I hope one day you can meet them. I’m not very familiar with non-clone familial dynamics, but I believe they can best be described as my family.

How is the prototype testing going? I was thinking about it this morning and I theorize that one of the less-efficient prototypes will prove most durable, because the conditions under which we calibrated them were controlled and ideal. I think one of the more conservatively-modded blasters will likely hold up slightly better to real-life wear and tear. I am eager to hear your results.

Best,

Tech

______________________________________

Tech,

You were absolutely right about the more conservatively-modded blasters holding up better over time. If only real life was a frictionless vacuum—then everything that worked in the lab would work outside it, too. Anyway, I’ve decided to double-coil the radaxium coils to try to get better durability from the mod. I think it will work but I only started testing it yesterday. I’ll keep you posted.

I’d only heard of you from your monthly updates on Alliance R&D, so I didn’t know you were part of a special forces team. What is your team like? Since you are clones, did you grow up together? I don’t know if it’s rude to say, but you don’t look the same as the other clones I’ve seen.

Please stay safe. I miss you.

-Travia

______________________________________

Dear Travie,

I miss you, too. Do you mind your nickname? I noticed you sign your name “Travia,” and you’ve never commented on it, so I wasn’t sure. I understand that pet names are a standard part of relationships, but I also realize that individual tastes vary. Let me know.

The double-coil method is a clever fix that I think should work. It is more difficult to ensure regularity across different units with this methodology, however. That would be my main concern.

I spent most of my formative years with my teammates. We are not batchmates, as many other clone squads are, because we were each developed individually at different times. We were also each developed with different purposes in mind, hence our unique features. I am actually the oldest of the modified clones, though I was something of a disappointment when I was first decanted. The Kaminoans had been attempting to increase clone intelligence from our base template, and while they succeeded, they did not anticipate that other traits of Jango Fett’s might degrade in the process. Essentially, they were disappointed I was small and relatively weak compared to the standard clone.

Wrecker and Hunter are the next oldest, and they were decanted at almost the same time. Wrecker was a correction from me, but like me his enhancements in physical strength led to disadvantages in other areas, in his case in critical thinking. He is a very sweet but admittedly simple-minded clone. He is everything I am not, but I find myself frequently reminded of the advantages of not being me.

Hunter’s senses were significantly enhanced, but this led him to having even more serious sensory overload issues than I have. He is quite adept at managing them, but I understand the mental strain can be quite intense at times. He is the leader of our team, and I admire his tracking skills and intuition.

Crosshair is the youngest of all of us. When he was designed, the Kaminoans had a better sense for how to diminish undesirable mutations, but this also led to his modifications being less ambitious than the previous ones. His eyesight, breath control, and temperament were all adjusted to suit him for sniping. He is an excellent sniper, though sometimes he has difficulty seeing the bigger picture.

Echo started out as a regular clone, but the significant modifications he endured at the hands of the Techno Union has rendered him emaciated and pale. His cybernetics allow him to interface in truly unique ways with technology, and he has developed quite a skill for hacking. I do worry, sometimes, if he might one day render me obsolete.

There is much more to say about my squadmates, but unfortunately I am already running late for a lecture on potential developments in the field of hyperspace tracking. I hope you are well.

Best,

Tech

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#clone commando tech #the bad batch #tbb #fanfic #tech x oc #tech x travia #travia is not technically an oc #but yeah she's basically an oc #nerds in love #chapter in letters

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mentally-in-northern-italy · 4 years

Text

Raising the Stakes — Oliver Wood x reader

***not my GIF***

Summary: you are the newly appointed Slytherin captain, ambitious to win at least one match after your two previous losses. But when the stakes are raised, you seem to be playing for more than just to clear your name as a “failed” captain.

Word Count: ~3.4K

A/N: OH MY GOSH! I’m so sorry, I know I “announced” that I would be writing my first fic a while ago, but to be honest, I was so overwhelmed with everything else that I had to keep putting it off. Anyway, this fic is super duper long, because I totally got carried away while writing, I’m so sorry! It’s a lengthy one, but if you give this a read, I’d be so grateful! Feedback is more than welcome, as I’ve never really done this before. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!! :)

____________________________________________________________________

The day before a Quidditch game was always tough for you. And, rightfully so, seeing as the pressure that was put on you every single time was incredibly overwhelming. See, this year was not a good year for Slytherins when it came to Quidditch. When Marcus Flint was temporarily suspended from his position as Quidditch Captain due to very distasteful, (what many would refer to as... foul) play, they needed someone who could fill his shoes, and fast.

You just had to be the one who got the short end of the stick.

Being Quidditch Captain came with many benefits, of course -- anyone could see that. You were able to order around everyone on the team, especially the people who you didn’t get along with too well, decide the times for practices to fit your schedule best and if the match resulted in a victory, get all the credit for the marvellous match.

Except every seemingly perfect thing has its flaws, after all. Flint’s shoes as Captain were hard to fill. Many people at Hogwarts may tell you that he is the most disgusting, obnoxious, and arrogant person around… and they wouldn’t be wrong. But what many people cleverly omit is that he is a brilliant Quidditch player -- when he doesn’t resort to cheating. The Slytherin Quidditch team, under his strong guidance, was practically unbeatable. They were doing better than they’ve done in years. Needless to say, when they won match after match, the team’s thrilling victories were all attributed to the fact that they had someone as masterful and godly as Flint as their Captain.

You, however, had a different approach as Captain. While you weren’t an angel, you certainly weren’t Flint. Your approach to leadership may be considered too laid-back for some, but you never wanted to be as overbearing as Flint.

Unfortunately, this approach wasn’t exactly successful. The Slytherin team had now broken their winning streak, and lost two games ever since you were appointed Captain. Naturally, they blamed these losses on your failed leadership.

The first game that was played with you appointed as the new Slytherin Captain was against Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff had a strong team, their plays were tactful and their brilliant seeker, Cedric, almost always managed to pull through and catch the snitch. However, and one can blame it on the fact that this was because you were simply a Slytherin, you and the rest of your team had severely underestimated the sunshine-coloured team. Call it overconfidence or just sheer misfortune, you and your team had not trained nearly hard enough and the match was over extremely quickly, and all the plays that you had devised, hunched over in the common room, all went to waste.

This was a devastating loss for Slytherin, as it had broken their streak. People whispered about you whenever you walked by them in the halls, spreading gossip and judgement because of your failed leadership.

But true to the verdant-coloured house’s core values, they stayed loyal to you. Many excused your failure by simply taking into account the fact that it was your first match as Captain, after all. The second one will be better… right?

Wrong.

For your second match, you took the opposite approach. You trained hard, and made sure that everyone else trained hard as well.

Oliver, the Gryffindor team’s beloved Captain, took notice of how often the Quidditch team was booked under your name. And he would never give up on an opportunity to tease you.

Oliver and yourself, had a complicated relationship. You were never exactly friends… no, that was definitely not the right word. You two had a few classes together, but barely ever talked off the Quidditch pitch. You thought he was incredibly infuriating with his smug smile plastered on his face 24/7 and his thick Scottish accent. But even you, couldn’t deny that he was attractive. He thought you were… well, this bit was a bit more complicated.

He didn’t like you, but he couldn’t possibly hate you. He had always thought you were incredibly pretty and the way you always raised your hand in class was adorable. He loved how out-spoken you were… that is, until you picked up a Quidditch broom.

You could still remember your first match like it was yesterday. You had done a spectacular job as a chaser, scoring not five but six goals against Oliver. And when the Slytherin seeker finally caught the snitch, your team had consequently won that match. You were ecstatic, meanwhile Oliver had decided that it was his new-found goal to beat you. After the match, he had come up to you and told you that you had played horribly. Taken aback a bit, you gave him no response, but only smiled at him coolly. Your smile perfectly disguised your new-found resentment of the Gryffindor, who instead of congratulating you, had just insulted you.

“Training hard, I see,” he said as he jogged over now, to you one evening after a particularly lengthy training session. You were bent over, trying to properly place all the balls in their rightful places in the box.

You looked up to glance at him before turning your head back downwards, paying no attention to him.

“You know, Ravenclaws aren’t particularly skilled when it comes to Quidditch,” he said casually as he took in how attractive you still looked, even when you were drenched in sweat.

“Thank you for your input, Wood,” you said sarcastically, not even bothering to look up.

“No problem,” he smiled at you smugly as you began to stand up, “I think you can beat them. Good luck.”

“Why would you want me to win?” You questioned with narrowed eyes. This was not like Oliver.

“Because no matter what happens in the match tomorrow,” he drawled as he leaned in slightly, “Gryffindor will still beat you.”

There it was.

You groaned and shoved him lightly and started to walk off. You could hear him chuckling under his breath as he watched your receding figure.

But when it came down to it, in the middle of the match, most of your team had begun to realize that there was no way they were going to come out of this victorious if they followed your plays. Malfoy, ever so resourceful, pulled the rest of the team aside and advised them to completely abandon the plays that you once again had worked hard for and try offensive.

This lack of unity within your team inevitably led to another loss.

And your house was not happy.

___________________

So, here you were, eating your breakfast in the Great Hall with extremely shaky hands. You could not afford to lose the match tomorrow. There was no way you could let that happen. That would surely end your Quidditch career before it even started, and the whispering in the halls would not come to a stop. You tried to run through the Quidditch plays once again in your head, to ensure you had them down for the practice tonight when Malfoy swaggered in and took a seat beside you.

“We better not lose again, [Y/L/N],” he grunted as he reached over to grab the jam, “you’ve failed us enough.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” you snapped at him after rolling your eyes so far back into your head that it hurt a little, “maybe if you played well and followed my plays that I spend HOURS creating, we would do better.”

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath as he took a bite, “Flint was better.”

With a groan you decided that you had had enough food to eat. You felt as though if you ate anymore, you would surely have to rush to the girls’ lavatory and throw up. You stood up and started to head towards the exit of the Great Hall, not having any particular idea what exactly it was that you were heading towards.

All you knew is that you had to win.

____________________

“[Y/L/N],” called two familiar voices from somewhere behind you.

You had been walking, on your way to the common room, to try to have a final look at the Quidditch plays when you heard the seemingly identical voices.

You turned around to see the Weasley twins, with Oliver, standing in the hallway, discussing something hurriedly. Oliver’s back had been turned to you, but it wasn’t hard to recognize his very distinct broad shoulders that Quidditch had blessed him with.

Oliver turned around and met your gaze, before looking back at the twins confusedly.

“Um, yes?” you said, reluctantly as you walked closer to them.

The twins had a toothy grin stuck on their face which, you decided, was not a good sign. This meant that they were up to something. Oliver continued to look between the two twins and, occasionally you, with a dumb-founded look.

“Ready for the match tomorrow?” one of the red-headed twins asked in a teasing matter.

“Yes, actually, I am,” you said rather defensively. You crossed your arms to try to look more intimidating but this clearly failed as the other twin started to snicker.

“You know, Oli here thinks so too,” the other one started to say as he clapped Oliver’s shoulder, “he’s a little scared about tomorrow. Doesn’t think we can beat you.”

You raised your eyebrows at this. Well, this was a new development. You looked at Oliver for confirmation.

“What? N--” he exclaimed at the twins before the twin to his right shushed him and cut him off.

“Georgie and I think it would be rather fun to raise the stakes, don’t you think?” Fred said quickly before Oliver could interrupt him again, “Motivate him a little, perhaps?”

Oliver had gone back to looking lost.

You didn’t say anything to this but George must have picked up some sort interest in your gaze.

“Tell you what, [Y/N], you win tomorrow and Oli boy here,” he says as he claps Oliver’s shoulders again, making him slightly wince in pain, “owes you a favour.”

Oliver opens his mouth to say something but is once again, cut off.

“Anything you want.” Fred said.

“Whenever you want.” George finished.

You opened your mouth to reply but you were unable to find the right words. Of course, you wanted this. You could make Oliver give over all his booked quidditch pitch hours, you could make him carry your books, do your homework---

“Hello?” George said as he jokingly waved a hand in front of your face.

“Uh, yes! I mean, yes. Yes, that sounds good, I guess.” You said as you tuned back into the conversation.

“I--” Oliver started.

“But what if you win?” you ask suddenly as the realization dawns on you. You were not about to add onto your humiliation of losing three consecutive Quidditch matches by becoming Oliver’s personal servant as well.

“Glad you asked, dearest [Y/N],” Fred smirked as if this is exactly what he was waiting for.

“If we win, you and Wood go on a date,” George said with a big smile, “that’s it.”

“A pretty great deal if you ask me,” Fred added in quickly.

Oliver’s expression contorted into absolute shock as his cheeks started to redden the faintest shade of pink. He opened his mouth to yell at the twins but was unable to. Something compelled him to shut up and turn to you, desperate to see what you thought of this. A small part of him hoped that you would agree.

This clever plea presented by the twins had taken you back by surprise, to say the least. On a date? With Oliver? Didn’t he hate you, and you him? You almost wanted to laugh at what a ridiculous idea this was, and you almost did, before you saw that Oliver was watching you with his eyebrows furrowed. Did he want this? Did he not? It seemed pretty harmless, right? Plus, if you declined, wouldn’t that show that you were nervous and unsure about the match?

“Fine. You have a deal.” you said assertively and reached out your hand to shake Oliver’s.

Now, Oliver wasn’t a bright student, but he wasn’t dull either. But at this moment, his brain had completely stopped working as he stared at you, taking in your eyes that twinkled and your perfect lips that looked so soft---

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by Fred’s aggressive approach to bringing his attention back to this conversation; he shoved Oliver, almost causing him to fall over.

“Wha--? Oh, yes. Yes. Date,” he stammered, trying to find the right words, “I mean--, no, not a date. Dea--Deal. Yes.”

He extended out his incredibly sweaty hand to take your noticeably smaller hand in his and gave a firm shake. He smiled at you and you returned it hesitantly before you turned back around to walk away.

What a weird night this has been.

______________________

The match had started nearly ten minutes ago and Oliver had not taken his eyes off you once. It did work in his favour a bit, as you were a chaser, so it didn’t look out of the ordinary at all. But Fred and George caught on quickly and exchanged knowing looks, smirking slightly.

The match, dare you say it, was going extremely well. The other chasers had already scored multiple goals and this offensive-style play was proving to be very effective.

But your head was not in the game. Not at all.

The way that Oliver was flying on his broom, strategically blocking goals and giving a victorious smile each time to the crowd was proving to be particularly distracting. And it may just be your brain playing tricks, but you could’ve sworn you saw him watching you a few times, too.

It was somewhat of a revelation last night. This morning, you saw Oliver in a completely different light. Your mind even tried to convince you that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if your team lost again. You quickly mentally slapped yourself to get rid of this thought. You had to win.

______________

The match went on for a while after, and it came incredibly close to being a victory for Gryffindor.

But it wasn’t.

Many people blamed it on Oliver’s lazy and distracted gameplay, and many on your brilliant one.

You exclaimed loudly and smiled broadly as Malfoy caught the snitch, and the stands erupted into applause and cheer.

You hopped off your broom and went to congratulate Malfoy and your other teammates, all the while the stands clapped and screamed. It sounded like music to your ears. You were so incredibly happy that your hard work had paid off and you had broken the losing streak.

Your smile faltered, however, as you saw how defeated Oliver looked. This was a major bruise to his ego. He was not used to losing. But you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he looked that disappointed because he would be unable to go on that date. If you were being honest, part of you was also disappointed for the same reason.

_________________

You were sat in the library, trying to focus on your Charms homework but that was proving to be quite… impossible.

Oliver was sat two tables ahead of you, and while his back was turned, you still felt yourself feeling a little flustered.

You had been gazing shyly at the back of Oliver’s head when a sudden tap to your shoulder scared you half to death.

“Hellooo [Y/L/N],” said the slightly taller twin, which you now were able to tell was Fred.

“For Merlin’s sake,” you exclaimed with hand to your chest, “you can’t scare me like that, Fred!” You whirled around to see Fred standing behind you with his infectious smile on his face and George, standing beside him in an identical manner.

“Sorry.”

“What do you want?” You questioned dryly, picking your quill back up again, pretending to get invested in work.

“Congratulations on your win, [Y/L/N],” George said pleasantly as he patted your shoulder, “you played well. It's a shame though, isn’t it, Freddie?”

“Yes, it really is, Georgie.” Fred said, crossing his arms, faking sadness.

You turned around to face them, your eyebrows furrowed, “What? What is?”

“Oh, just Oliver,” George sighed.

“What about him?”

“You know, after the match…” Fred added.

“What?” you said again, curiously. You desperately wanted to know. What were they talking about? Was Oliver alright? Was he mad at you?

“Oh, you know…” George sighed, again, faking disappointment.

“Fred, George, will you please just get on with it?”

“Well, y’know,” Fred said but stopped again.

“Merlin’s beard, you two are infuriating!” you whisper-shouted, “what is it?!”

“Hmm, you seem to care about Oli boy a lot,” George said thoughtfully, with a hand to his chin, “I wonder why that is, eh?”

“Please just get to the point,” you huffed, annoyed at yourself for feeling butterflies at the mention of this ridiculous idea. You were glad your hair was covering your cheeks or else they would surely be able to see you blushing.

“He’s quite disappointed he wasn’t able to go on that date with you,” Fred said smugly, “He was crying about it.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, turning back to your work. They were only pulling your leg, you could tell.

“Ok, ok, maybe he wasn’t crying,” Fred rushed to tell you, “but he might as well have been.”

“Yeah, right,” you rolled your eyes.

“We aren’t lying, you know,” George rushed to Fred’s aid, “why would we ever do that?”

You snorted quietly under your breath.

“Alright, alright, all jokes aside, we saw you staring at him,” Fred told you, as he sat down beside you, “it’s obvious you like him.”

“And, it must be your lucky day, because he likes you too,” George added, taking a seat on your other side.

“So just ask him out.”

“It’s as simple as that.”

“We’re bloody geniuses, Georgie.”

“We bloody are, aren’t we?”

You were watching this scene unfold in absolute horror. Your cheeks were as red as a tomato and your stomach had dropped. People knew? They knew you liked him? Did you even like him? Did he even like you?

“I don’t know what you two are talking about,” you started, trying to compose the storm raging within you, “I don’t like him, you two are mad.”

“You have a favour, lying around in case you forgot,” George said, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “use it.”

The truth was, you had forgotten. You did have a favour overdue. The excitement of the win had made you forget that you could make Oliver do whatever you wanted.

“I will not do that! Are you two insane?” you exclaimed again. This idea was mad.

“Come on,” Fred whined, “it’s not like he can reject you. Which, if you ask me, he wouldn’t do anyway because he’s so bloody in love with you.”

“No! Absolutely not. There is a reason I’m not a Gryffindor, you know.” you protested.

“Hey! Oliver! Wood!” George shouted, much to Madame Pince’s dismay. She gave him a mean look and carried on reading. You looked at him in shock and harshly whacked him in the shoulder, to which he responded by snickering. What was he doing?

Oliver turned around and looked at you three before furrowing his eyebrows again. He got up from his spot and walked over to your table, while you gave George a murderous look.

“Hi.” he said, quietly, looking only at you.

“Hi,” you muttered back, a little breathless. Merlin, why were you behaving like this? You hated it.

“[Y/N] here, has something to say,” Fred said suggestively, as he stood up from his seat.

“Have fun, you two,” George said as he, too, stood up and walked away with Fred, leaving you and Oliver feeling incredibly awkward.

“So…” he tried to say casually but he was much too nervous to be in your presence.

“Uhh, I--, I wanted to call in that favour you owe me,” you said, thinking quickly before this becomes even more weird.

“Right,” he said gloomily, once again reminded of his loss.

“I…” unable to think of anything, you uttered the first things that came into your head as you glanced down at your incomplete homework, “I need you to tutor me.”

“Tutor you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“At the Three Broomsticks.” you added, not really sure why.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” he nodded, looking a little surprised at your odd request.

Before you knew it, you were uttering the three words of confirmation that made both of your hearts leap simultaneously, “It’s a date.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to say. A date? You cringed at yourself for even thinking of saying that.

“A date?” he asked, still surprised, but his tone suggested it was pleasant surprise more than anything.

“Uh, yes.”

“Alright.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at 11? Next Saturday?” his heart was beating a hundred times per second but it was evident that the Gryffindor courage had kicked in.

“Yes. I’d like that,” you managed to get out.

“Alright, it’s a date.”

286 notes · View notes

pickalilywrites · 3 years

Text

it’s my first fic since i started my job ❤ i hope you enjoy ^^

..........

You and Me at the End of the World

Falbi. SF8 AU.

11194 words.

Read on Ao3!

»»————- April 3, 2026 ————-««

Falco wakes, a sigh escaping his lips. He feels an incredible weariness in his bones as if he had run a marathon yesterday even though he hasn’t really had PE in a month. He hasn’t had PE since his teacher had run off just like everyone else did when they heard that an asteroid was hurtling towards the earth and set to destroy life as everyone knew it. Everyone Falco knew just up and left their jobs and homes to pursue their dreams: his classmates dropped out of school to become idols or viral TikTokers, the mailman stopped delivering mail to Falco’s house and decided to fly to every place in the world he had always wanted to visit, and even the principal of Falco’s school had resigned but not before advising all of the students to drop out of school because it was useless now that they were all about to die.

Many people had taken the principal’s advice, but not Falco. He still goes to school on the weekdays and spends the weekend completing homework assignments that will never be graded. A few students had visited the school even after the principal had closed the school down, but they had stopped coming after they saw how many of their peers had dropped out and saw how even the teachers didn’t bother coming back.

It doesn’t bother Falco that he goes to school every morning and studies in an empty classroom all day or that he has to fish out study plans from the notebooks his teachers left behind just to give himself something to do. His parents have asked him why he bothers going to school when all of his classmates have pretty much given up, but Falco really doesn’t have an answer. If he had to say anything, it’s probably that he doesn’t have anything in particular that he wants to do.

Falco acknowledges that he’s never been incredibly ambitious like some of his classmates have been. His talents are unspectacular. He knows that he’s neither athletic nor smart. He’s always been average. He never studied too hard because he knew he’d never get the highest score in the class and he never exerted himself too much in PE because there was always someone stronger or faster than him. It isn’t something that ever bothered him, and he’s grown to accept that part of himself.

He doesn’t have any special interests either. Sure, Falco enjoys playing video games and playing sports like any kid his age, but he can’t see himself wasting the rest of his days on them. Some of his classmates even asked him to join them. Falco has had multiple offers: join a band as a bassist even though he’s never touched a bass guitar in his life, become a part of a dance crew despite his coordination being awful at best, start a video channel pulling off different stunts and tricks to gain a little bit of spotlight before they all died, among others. He declined all of them in the end, preferring to be alone, and even now Falco doesn’t regret his decision. He’s content being a normal kid living out the rest of his tedious life as monotonously as he always did.

His parents live quite normally too except for the fact that they quit their jobs like everybody else did when news of the asteroid came out. Rather than return to their jobs every morning, his parents go out on long walks together, often visiting places from their younger days. They usually leave long before Falco wakes, but his mother is always sure to leave out a freshly made breakfast for Falco and his older brother Colt.

Colt hasn’t made any drastic changes to his lifestyle, not like some other people his age. He, too, dropped out of school like many of his peers and Falco’s classmates, but he usually spends his time visiting internet cafés or playing baseball with his friends. The elder brother once curiously asked Falco why he bothered going to school and the younger just simply shrugged. Colt never bothered to ask again, and Falco was fine with that.

Falco rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth as he normally does. His hair looks like a mess. Since news of the upcoming apocalypse, people either care excessively about their appearance or they don’t care about it at all. Considering his circumstances, Falco should probably fall in the latter category, but he fixes his bed head all the same, patting down the cowlicks and running a comb through his hair to get rid of all the tangles.

After washing his face and getting dressed in his school uniform, Falco wanders into the kitchen where his breakfast is waiting for him. On the stove sits a pan with fluffy scrambled eggs mixed with little bits of crispy, dark spinach leaves, and sweet gruyère. Falco twists the knob on the stove with a sharp click before popping bread into the toaster. As he waits for the eggs to warm up, he fixes himself a glass of orange juice.

Falco ends up splitting the eggs in half, leaving a portion for Colt whenever he decides to roll out of bed. He sits at the kitchen island by himself, munching on some generously buttered toast in between bites of egg. It’s a much fancier breakfast than his mother used to make. Scrambled eggs were usually plain except for a dash of salt and pepper, but his mother has become more experimental with her cooking now that the end of the world is evident. It’s a good change, Falco thinks as the blend of savory bacon and salted eggs melt onto his tongue. It probably would have been nice if his mother had decided to be more adventurous with her cooking beforehand, but it’s not as if having regrets about this can change the past so Falco just eats the rest of his breakfast before dumping his plate in the sink and calling out to his brother that he’ll be heading to school. He doesn’t even wait for a response from Colt before heading out the door.

Ever since news of the asteroid, Falco has begun seeing very interesting people on his way to school. Some of them are familiar to him. Others he’s never seen before in his life. They’re not all strange, of course. Sometimes there are just kids running up and down the road kicking a soccer ball or couples holding hands as they take a morning stroll. But there are more than a few eccentrics on Falco’s way to school.

Lately, there have been people claiming to be superheroes. They have superpowers, they insist. Some will rush up to strangers on the street and show off their powers, but Falco has never seen any proof of their alleged superhuman talents.

Some people post videos online demonstrating their special gifts. Falco has seen a handful of them, mostly because his friend Zofia keeps sending them to him every few days when she finds them particularly funny. He finds them mildly intriguing, although he’s fairly certain that most (if not all) of the videos are either staged or edited to look real. He’s never been fully convinced by any of them.

On this particular walk to school, Falco passes by a person who claims to be able to create seismic shifts and another person who she can talk to animals. Neither person is particularly believable. Falco only gives a passing glance when the first person begins to demonstrate their powers by spinning in a circle and letting out a low groan that begins to grow into a loud shriek. The earth, Falco notices, does not shake. He’s even less interested when the animal girl starts shouting post-apocalyptic prophecies about how giant bugs will inherit the earth once the dust has settled on the earth after the asteroid impact.

Falco reaches the school gate and pulls it open himself because there isn’t a teacher there to welcome him like there used to be. He leaves it open to save trouble for anyone who ends up coming after him, although he highly doubts anyone will be joining him. He walks across the courtyard where some of his former schoolmates play soccer, looking at them briefly but not bothering to bid them good morning. When he gets to the building, he pulls open the door and steps inside. The sound of his shoes against the speckled tile echo across the empty hallways as he makes his way to his classroom.

As usual, it’s empty. Falco could probably sit anywhere he wants, but he ends up at his old desk, the second seat in the third row from the right. He sits down with a thud and lets his backpack fall off his shoulder. He pulls out his notebook and looks at today’s lesson that he copied from his homeroom teacher’s planner earlier last month: geometry, English, social studies, art, and science.

Falco dutifully completes his assignments for the day. He even double-checks his answers once he’s done. Maybe he’ll look over the answer key after school if he feels like it. He spends his break staring at the window at the kids playing ball in the field or playing pranks on each other in the quad. He doesn’t make any attempt to join them.

At 2:15, Falco packs his things. He puts away his pens and pencils neatly in his case, zips up his backpack, and slings his bag over his shoulder. As he walks to the door of the classroom, he thinks he imagines footsteps running down the hall. It makes him wonder if the impending apocalypse is making him go mad because he can’t imagine why anyone would be here when the world is going to end in a week. When he pulls open the door, he sees his friend Zofia about to reach for the door.

“Oh, good,” Zofia pants. She bends over, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Ashy blonde locks are falling out of her ponytail. “I was afraid I missed you. You weren’t replying to any of my texts.”

“We’re not allowed to use our phones in school,” Falco says as he looks down at her.

Zofia looks up, an expression of mild disbelief on her face. “Geez, I can’t believe you’re still doing this.” She straightens up and sighs. “Our teachers probably appreciated what a goody-two-shoes you were back when they actually cared about their jobs, but I assure you that they don’t care at all now that the world is about to end.”

Falco rolls his eyes and walks past Zofia. He can hear her following him from the extra footsteps that accompany his. “What do you need? I thought you were busy trying to pet ‘every dog in the world’ or whatever before the asteroid strikes.”

Zofia’s arm links with Falco’s and she flashes a cheesy smile at him. “I realized it was impossible so I settled for petting ‘as many dogs as possible.’ I’m pretty satisfied with my work, so I’ve decided on pursuing something else.” She doesn’t immediately follow up with what it is she’s working on, and Falco knows she’s absolutely itching for him to ask.

“... What is it?” Falco asks.

“I’m glad you asked!” Zofia says, tugging him closer to her. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and flips through it for a bit before finding what she wants to show Falco. On her screen is a long post on one of the message boards their classmates post on. “There’s this girl. She’s totally crazy.”

A glance at the phone screen confirms Zofia’s words. It’s a post that looks like it’s been circulating through message boards of different middle schools in their area. The original poster is someone named Gabi Braun, aged 14, and she attends Liberio Middle School across the city. Her post is a call for all people with superpowers to contact her so that they can save the world together.

Falco looks at Zofia and wrinkles his nose. “And you’re showing me this because …?”

“Because she’s absolutely crazy, but she’s interesting,” Zofia replies as she pockets her phone. She smiles at Falco. “Let’s go visit her.”

“What? No!” Falco says. He yanks his arm away from Zofia. “You said she was nuts! Why would we look for her?”

“Because the world is ending in a few days, so we might as well do something stupid,” Zofia replies. She links her arm around Falco’s again and pouts, batting her eyelashes up at him. “Come on, aren’t you the least bit curious? There’s a girl our age who thinks she can save the world if she gathers enough nutjobs who think they have superpowers.”

Falco isn’t curious at all. “I have homework,” he says to Zofia, which he knows is the wrong answer. Although Zofia hasn’t tried to convince Falco to stop going to school like the rest of their peers, she has been pretty vocal about how stupid she thinks Falco is for living the end of his life so mundanely.

“You also have a friend,” Zofia says. She begins to tug at him after every other word, trying to get him to follow her. “A friend you care about deeply and don’t want to see hurt if she ends up walking into some creep’s trap.”

“Then why are you going at all if you know it might be dangerous?” Falco mutters, but he knows Zofia’s right. His normal school life consists of him going straight home after classes and doing his homework, but it occasionally includes him reluctantly following Zofia sometimes to make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble. He’s not too surprised when he ends up walking with Zofia to the meeting place the poster mentioned in their message.

Normally, Falco and Zofia would have taken the bus into the city, but it’s difficult to flag down a bus. The schedules are erratic at best and oftentimes buses don’t show up on schedule at all. It is the end of the world, after all.

It’s a curious thing, seeing the city at the end of the world. It’s a little bit like how the movies portray it, but not at all like the movies at the same time. Cars fill the street while drivers honk their horns and shout at each other to hurry up because they don’t want to spend their last days on earth stuck in traffic. The doors and windows of so many shops and buildings are smashed in and their contents gone. If people aren’t running around and screaming at each other on the street, they’re walking around like it’s a normal day save for the fact that they’re all looking for the next thing they want to do before they die.

“I’d suggest going to the mall downtown or something later, but it’s probably ransacked like everywhere else,” Zofia says with a wistful sigh.

“We could have just gone to the arcade in our town,” Falco mutters. The internet café and the arcade in their town is a mess because none of the gamers there bother to clean up their trash anymore, but at least there are still computers there and nobody has hauled off the arcade machines.

The two wander about the city and linger near the subway station entrance the message board poster had mentioned. There are people going up and down the stairs to the subways and some kids skating around and doing tricks on their skateboards. Adults pass by hurriedly with their phone stuck to one ear, rushing to make plans with someone on the other end because they have limited time left. It feels like Zofia and Falco are just standing frozen in time while the world rushes around them.

“Who do you think it is?” Zofia whispers in Falco’s ear.

Falco scans the scene, his eyes quickly flitting over anyone that didn’t look like a middle schooler. He doesn’t think it would be any of the skateboarders, so he glances over them too. Whoever this Gabi Braun is, she doesn’t have any interest in anything aside from saving the world with her impossible idea. She must be looking for people just like he and Zofia are looking for her.

Finally, his eyes land on a girl their age with a stern expression on her face. Her dark eyebrows are knitted together and she turns her head from side to side every few seconds as she scans the subway station, her brown hair whipping from side to side. She leans against the railing near the subway entrance, her arms folded across her chest. Somehow, she looks familiar, but Falco doesn’t know why.

“Her,” Falco says. He raises his hand and points to her only to realize it’s rude and quickly lets his hand fall to his side. He’s about to jerk his head over in the girl’s direction, but Zofia has already seen who he was pointing to and starts dragging him over.

“Excuse me,” Zofia says, catching the girl’s attention. The girl’s gaze is intense, her brown eyes scrutinizing the two of them, but Zofia doesn’t shrink away from the girl like Falco does. Instead, Zofia holds out a hand cordially and gives the girl a friendly smile. “You’re Gabi Braun, right? I’m Zofia, and this is my friend Falco. We saw your message reposted on our school forum and wanted to help you.”

The girl looks at them suspiciously but takes Zofia’s hand, shaking it reluctantly. “You really want to help?” Her eyes flit towards Falco, who looks down immediately. “Why do you want to help me?”

“Hmm,” Zofia hums and tilts her head to the side. “Because the end of the world isn’t something I’m particularly looking forward to.” She looks over at Falco and, with a grin, elbows him playfully in the ribs. “And this guy doesn’t have anything better to do, so I had him come along.”

“What were you doing before?” Gabi asks curiously.

Falco purses his lips. It’s not that he’s ashamed about how he’s spending his last days. Living plainly is a far better choice than some people have made. Apparently, some people decided that murder was something they needed to check off their bucket list. If you ask Falco, he thinks being a normal student is far better than being a last-minute murderer. Still, it’s not something he wants to say out loud to a stranger.

He kicks at the sidewalk and mumbles, “Just … homework and stuff.”

To his surprise, Gabi doesn’t ridicule him or ask why. She simply nods as if this is a perfectly normal way for someone to spend their last days. She doesn’t ask them any more questions, somehow satisfied with Falco’s answer. She’s already digging around in her back for something and pulls a laptop out of her bag.

“I’m still waiting for people to show up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if nobody ends up showing,” Gabi says, gesturing for the two of them to sit beside her. Her tone doesn’t sound disappointed at all. In fact, she sounds rather like she expected this to happen.

Zofia sits on one side of Gabi, peering curiously over the brunette’s shoulder as she types away. Falco wants to sit beside Zofia. It would be more comfortable than sitting next to a stranger, but he would have difficulty seeing the screen. Reluctantly, he takes a seat next to Gabi.

“I’ve been looking at videos,” Gabi tells them. “People have been submitting them after seeing my message on the school forums.”

“Is there anyone particularly interesting to you?” Zofia asks.

“Not really,” Gabi says. She opens up a folder on her screen and a video file pops up. She presses Play. “Technology lets you edit anything into videos now. Some of these powers look super fake, but I still have to take a chance in case they do have powers and are interested in saving the world, right?”

The three watch the video play out. There’s a man on the screen claiming to have pyrokinesis. He’s wide-eyed and staring at the camera, holding out his hands with his palms to the ceiling. His explanation of his powers is similar to everyone else who has posted these kinds of videos on social media: he was just born with them and never bothered to reveal them until now for fear of being ostracized.

The flame doesn’t ignite right away. It’s a flicker — a spark, really — that grows into the smallest flame. The fire is hardly the size of the man’s fingertip, but he looks delighted just the same. The three children watching are not as thrilled.

“You really think this guy can save the world?” Zofia asks, raising her eyebrow.

“I don’t think this guy can save anyone,” Gabi replies. She’s so brutally honest that it would be funny if they weren’t discussing the fate of the world. “But I’m taking whatever help I can get at this point.”

They spend the rest of that afternoon looking through applications. Most of them are just internet trolls and Gabi has to roll her eyes more than once before closing out the applicant’s video. There are a few promising candidates Gabi moves to a separate folder but only when Falco and Zofia also agree that the person might be worth looking into. They go through written applications too, often filtering out any CVs that aren’t descriptive enough and sometimes those that are too descriptive and more fitted to some sci-fi character description than an actual person. Gabi calls a few numbers from the short list of people that the three all agreed on, but nobody ever picks up. Nobody shows up either. Still, Gabi doesn’t seem to be discouraged.

“Why are you doing this?” Falco asks at one point while they’re watching a video of a man who claims he can read people’s thoughts.

“Hm?” Gabi says, looking away from the video.

“Just … this whole thing,” Falco says and vaguely waves at the screen. “You know it too. This might not work, so why even bother trying to save the world?”

Gabi frowns and her eyebrows knit together like she doesn’t quite understand Falco’s question. “Well, what else would I be doing?”

Falco doesn’t respond because, well, he doesn’t have an answer. It’s not like he knows what to do with the rest of his life either. If Zofia hadn’t convinced him to come here, he’d just be at home with his head stuck in a textbook. Even if it’s useless, whatever Gabi is doing is far more interesting.

»»————- April 4, 2026 ————-««

Falco’s parents drop him off at the edge of the city. His mother had wanted to drop him off closer to his destination point, but Falco assured her that it wasn’t necessary. Besides, there were a lot of weirdos in the city, he reasoned, especially now that the apocalypse was coming. She reluctantly allowed him to be dropped off at the edge of the city, but not before giving him a can of pepper spray and a baseball bat in case he ran into anybody cruel enough to mug a middle schooler.

He doesn’t have any trouble meeting Gabi at the library they agreed to meet at. Zofia isn’t there with him after deciding this morning that saving the world wasn’t what she wanted to spend her last moments doing. She did, however, request that Falco send Gabi her best wishes, which Falco promised to pass along.

The two of them sit on the tenth floor of the library at a table by the window. The library isn’t exactly empty, but it’s not exactly filled up either. There are a few other visitors in the library with them. Some are seated at tables or couches, but others choose to sit between bookshelves, folding up their legs so that people can walk around if they need to get through. Hardly anyone pays attention to Falco and Gabi. They’re too busy flipping furiously through their books, eyes scanning the pages in seconds, as they try to finish their reading list before the world ends.

While Gabi watches more videos of superpowered applicants while Falco gathers books on powers that interest them: pyrokinesis, psychokinesis, time travel, to name a few. As he gathers research articles, he also stumbles across the section of the library dedicated to outer space and celestial bodies and decides to grab a few books on asteroids and meteors as well. There’s a slim chance that they might help, but Falco might as well try.

Gabi doesn’t talk much to Falco, too engrossed in her research to hold a conversation with him. He doesn’t talk much to her either. He does, on occasion, glance up at her to observe her progress, but she always seems to be staring at the screen with the same dissatisfied frown on her face. Every once in a while Gabi will lean over and ask Falco about whether or not a certain candidate looks promising, but his answer is almost always no and she goes back to staring at her screen.

At noon, the two take their lunch break. Gabi hadn’t brought anything. She tells Falco she was planning on just grabbing something from the snack machine near the elevators. The library remains one of the few places that was relatively untouched by thieves and vandals because not many people think “let’s rob the library” when they hear that the world is ending. Because Falco’s mother has a tendency to overpack his lunches, Falco decides to split his meal with Gabi. He figures that a sandwich is far better than whatever half-filled bag of chips Gabi would end up grabbing from the vending machine.

Falco munches on his katsu sandwich. It’s a favorite of his: two slices of pillowy milk bread with a thick cut of juicy pork cutlet covered in crispy bread crumbs wedged in between. A little butter and mustard give the sandwich a little bitterness that makes the tip of his tongue tingle and savory tonkatsu sauce drizzled over the thinly sliced cabbage underneath the katsu complete the simple but scrumptious sandwich.

He looks over to see if Gabi is enjoying her food as much as he is, but she’s scarfing it down so quickly that he isn’t sure she’s even taking the time to taste it. In between bites, she’s scrolling through her laptop with greasy fingers, frowning. A glance at the notebook beside her tells Falco that Gabi hasn’t found many promising candidates.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Falco asks. He’s halfway done with his lunch but Gabi is a bite away from finishing hers.

Gabi shrugs. She doesn’t look up as she answers. “I don’t know. It’s worth a shot, right?” She scrolls a bit more before she pauses, her fingers hovering above the touchpad. Her eyes flicker over to Falco so suddenly that he nearly drops his sandwich. Gabi narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, her attention entirely on the boy. Her gaze is intense and she scoots to the edge of her seat, leaning in towards Falco. “You’re awfully skeptical about this plan for someone who’s trying to save the world.”

Falco gulps, trying not to shy away from her intense gaze. If he were a turtle, he’d be curled back in his shell right now. “I just want to make sure we’re not wasting our time,” he mumbles.

“Falco, do you not believe that people can have superpowers?” Gabi asks.

Falco is about to shake his head and say that that’s not the case but before he can Gabi settles back into her seat, arms folded across her chest, and announces, “I have a superpower.” She says it quite loudly, loudly enough for her voice to be heard across the entire floor, but people are too preoccupied with their reading to pay much attention to her although a few readers do shoot her a dirty look for being so loud.

Falco is not quite sure what he expected Gabi to say, but it wasn’t that. He sits there awkwardly, sandwich still half-finished in his hands. After a moment, he asks, “Er, what is it?”

Gabi pops the last bit of her sandwich in her mouth and wipes her fingers on her jeans. After she chews and swallows, she leans towards Falco once more and gives him an impish grin. “I can read people’s minds. Telepathy,” she tells him. She doesn’t wait for him to ask for a demonstration.

Gabi puts one hand on Falco’s chest and stares deeply into his eyes. Falco’s heart is beating wildly in his chest. If by some miracle Gabi doesn’t hear it, Falco’s certain that she’ll be able to feel it underneath her fingertips. She doesn’t say anything about it, though, just continues to stare at him with those intense brown eyes of hers as she reads every single thought racing through his mind right now, like how he’s never been quite this close to anyone, how he’s never had his heart beat quite this fast, or how he thinks he might just die right here right now before the asteroid even hits.

Suddenly, Gabi’s face breaks into a smile and she pulls her hand away, Falco’s chest feeling achingly empty now. Gabi is laughing now, but Falco doesn’t have any idea why.

“God, I didn’t think you’d believe me,” she laughs. She’s laughing so hard that it’s difficult to make out what she’s saying. “I didn’t think you’d believe me, but you really did. You’re really gullible, aren’t you?”

Falco blinks, confused for a minute as he tries to process what just happened. “You … can’t read minds?” he says a beat too late.

“No, god, but you thought I did,” Gabi laughs.

“Then what’s your power?”

Gabi’s still giggling as she answers. “Something else. It’s not important. I’ll tell you if it ends up being useful.”

She’s laughing. She’s still laughing. It’s a laugh that comes from her stomach and has her clutching her sides. People are glaring because it’s disrupting the peace, and Falco feels like he should tell her to stop but he finds that he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t even mind that she’s laughing at him. He just likes the sound of it.

»»————- April 5, 2026 ————-««

They sit with a pack of chocolate-covered biscuits shaped like little bamboo shoots between them. While Falco eats them one at a time, usually popping one in his mouth after he’s read a few pages of whatever book he’s reading, Gabi shovels them into her mouth by the handful without even looking. They’ve gone through their fifth pack of the little chocolate biscuits and it’s not even noon yet.

“Do you think you can do it?” Falco asks at some point.

“Save the world?” Gabi asks. She sucks her thumb, trying to get the chocolate off. Falco nods and Gabi says, “Well, who else if not me?”

“Literally anyone else,” Falco replies because, well, they’re only kids.

“Right, and just die young, dumb, and stupid like every other kid our age,” Gabi says with a roll of her eyes. “No thanks. I’d rather have died trying to do something. Besides, it’s not as if the adults are having that much luck either.”

Gabi slides her laptop over so that Falco can see the screen. On it, a video plays of a rocket shooting into space. The caption on the bottom reads “NASA Space Missile Failure.” Falco vaguely recalls hearing about the missile launch earlier this morning. The scientists were excited about it, hoping that the missile would collide with the oncoming asteroid and shatter it into smaller pieces that would burn up in the atmosphere, but it seems like they had been excited for nothing. Apparently, they had miscalculated the trajectory of the missile and it would miss the asteroid completely.

“That sucks,” Falco says finally. He’s not exactly sure how he feels about the news. He should probably feel disappointed, but he feels the same way he did a month ago when he heard the world was ending: perfectly indifferent.

Gabi shrugs. “Armin said it wouldn’t work. He said their calculations were off,” she says. She glances at Falco and adds, “Armin’s a genius. He’s my mentor’s husband.”

“A genius? Is that his superpower?” Falco asks. If Gabi knows someone who’s a literal genius, he doesn’t see why they’re doing all this work. Shouldn’t this genius, whoever he is, have all the answers?

Gabi thinks for a minute, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not sure. My mentor just says Armin’s a genius, but he’s way too humble to admit it,” Gabi finally answers. She frowns, leaning forward with her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “He can’t help us though. He’s busy tending to his fish.”

Falco isn’t certain he’s heard her right. “His fish?” he repeats.

“Yeah. He’s a marine biologist. He likes to have some fish at home,” Gabi explains like it’s the most normal thing in the world to take care of your fish when the world is about to end. “He says it calms him down to see them swim around.”

Falco is still trying to wrap his head around all of this — Gabi and her willingness to save the world, the genius she just spoke of who just wants to take care of his fish, and the asteroid hurtling towards the earth. He doesn’t understand any of it. “So it’s okay for you, a kid, to try and save the world while a literal genius is taking care of fish at his house instead of trying to prevent the apocalypse?”

Gabi blinks. “Yes,” she replies as if there could be no other answer. “Because it’s what I want to do. And it’s what he wants to do. Why should we be doing anything different?”

“But shouldn’t you be doing, I don’t know, kid things?” Falco asks. He’s starting to feel a little frustrated talking to her. This isn’t what she should be doing at all. This isn’t what they should be doing. They should be enjoying the last few days they have together. They should be playing games at the arcade, or wandering around the empty mall, or eating snacks at the park, not … whatever this is.

“Maybe. Probably. But I don’t want to,” Gabi says. She turns the laptop back and starts typing away. “I don’t like the idea of doing something just because the world is ending. I’ve always done what I wanted, so I don’t have any regrets. This is the only thing I want to do now.”

It’s more than Falco can say. Like Gabi, he doesn’t have anything he wants to do, but then he’s never really ever wanted to do anything. All his life he’s been floating from place to place and participating in whatever was expected of kids his age: attending school, joining a sports team, learning an instrument. He didn’t care about any of it. He doesn’t have any regrets about it, but he does feel a sudden wave of admiration for Gabi. She’s saving the world now because she feels like it, but she could just as easily leave this task for another if something else strikes her fancy. Falco wants to know what it feels like to pursue something so impulsively.

He wants to want things. He wants to be with Gabi. He wants to help her save the world.

“Is there something you want to do before the world ends?” Gabi asks. She’s just asking to be polite. Her eyes are already glued to the screen of her laptop, her face turned away from him. “You don’t seem to be as into the whole ‘save the world’ thing as I am.”

Falco shrugs even though she’s not watching. “I don’t mind it.” Falco could leave it at that. He doesn’t have to say anything else, but he does. “There isn’t really else I want to do anyway,” he tells her, but it’s a lie.

He wants to hold her hand.

»»————- April 6, 2026 ————-««

Falco has never looked forward to anything as much as the researching sessions he has with Gabi. He’s never really looked forward to anything before, actually, and he’s not sure why being surrounded by books and looking at (mostly) fake superhero videos with Gabi appeals to him so much.

He likes a lot of things about the way Gabi works. She’s quiet and focused, eyebrows knitted as she decides whether or not to call another applicant that probably won’t pick up. She never gets discouraged even though things don’t look promising. They’ve probably called dozens of people and only a third have actually responded. Most of them turned out to be trolls, which isn’t surprising considering they were taking submissions from strangers on the internet, but Gabi still carries on. Maybe it’s Gabi’s passion and stubbornness that has drawn Falco to her, but it feels like it’s more than that too.

He feels, in a way, like Gabi completes him. Before he met her, he was wandering aimlessly. Now he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. Staying at home and studying seems unbearable when the option of being with Gabi exists.

Falco isn’t sure how Gabi feels about him. He doesn’t even know if she has any feelings towards him — if she likes him, hates him, or just feels completely indifferent. At any rate, she doesn’t seem to mind spending her last few days on earth with him, and that makes him feel a little better about the world ending. Occasionally, he thinks about how Gabi probably wouldn’t notice if he stopped coming to help her. Well, she might notice, but Falco doesn’t think Gabi would change her routine. She’d just continue saving the world with or without his help.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Falco asks at one point. Gabi looks at him with a raised eyebrow and he elaborates “We hardly know each other and we’re just here … saving the world together.”

Gabi frowns, a thoughtful look on her face. “I don’t think it’s weird,” she says to Falco, and he feels his heart flutter in his chest. “A lot of weird stuff has happened because it’s the end of the world and we just happened to meet each other. If a total weirdo had showed up instead of you, then maybe I would be saving the world with them and we never would have met.” She doesn’t seem to mind the thought of working with a total weirdo in place of Falco.

Falco slumps in his seat, deflated, but Gabi doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m glad it was you though,” Gabi continues.

Falco lifts his head. “Really?” He scoots closer in his seat, curious. “Why?”

Gabi twirls her pen between her fingers, looking upward as she thinks. After a moment, she shrugs. “I don’t know,” she answers. “It just feels better knowing I’m working with someone. It’s better than working alone, I guess. I might feel the same way even if it were someone else, but I also might not. Still, I’m glad it’s you.”

It doesn’t really mean anything. Like she said, it could have been some other kid who ended up answering Gabi’s post and helping her with her impossible quest to save the world. It could have been some other person sitting with her and looking up useless articles on asteroids and meteorites. It could have been someone else having this conversation with her. But, Falco reminds himself, it wasn’t. It’s him sitting beside her, eating snacks and discussing the end of the world. It probably isn’t fate that they met, but it kind of feels like it is.

»»————- April 7, 2026 ————-««

Tired of the same snacks from his pantry, Falco decides to try the café on the first-floor of the library for some new things to eat. He had asked Gabi what she wanted and she told him to just get her anything.

The first floor café is relatively well-stocked for the end of the world, but maybe it’s because bookworms prefer literature to satiate their appetites rather than food.

The display case, usually filled with dessert sandwiches with slices of strawberries and kiwi and slathered with whipped cream, is cleaned out, but the shelves behind the cash register are still stocked with different kinds of chips and candies. Falco scans the shelves, looking for his favorites: baked potato chips covered in rich butter, little rice crackers flavored with soy sauce and red pepper flakes, and chocolate cookies in the shape of tiny hamburgers.

Falco stares, for the longest time, at the other snacks and wonders what Gabi would like, if she has a preference for anything. Maybe he should have paid more attention when they were eating together to see if she ever seemed to gravitate to certain foods he brought or commented on any of the snacks they ate together, but he can’t recall anything. He feels stupid for not noticing, but he also doesn’t want to keep Gabi waiting and ends up grabbing whatever grabs his attention.

He arrives at their designated research table, huffing from the flights of stairs he had to climb. Falco deposits the snacks rather ungracefully in front of Gabi, letting them fall out of his hands and onto the table. Gabi looks up from the noise, her eyebrows raised, but she smiles when she sees that it’s him and Falco’s heart flutters almost painfully in his chest.

“These are yours,” Falco says, shoving Gabi’s share of the snacks towards her.

“Thanks.” Gabi picks up a snack with a gray cartoon cat on the wrapper. It’s a puffed corn stick. Pizza-flavored, the wrapper says. She opens it with a grin. “How did you know these were my favorite?” she asks.

“I … I don’t know,” Falco says. “Must have been a lucky guess.”

But it doesn’t feel like it.

It feels like he knew, from the beginning, what she had wanted. It’s like he had let his instincts take over when he had randomly chosen snacks for Gabi and somehow selected her favorite ones. It was as easy as picking food for someone he had known for his whole life, which is impossible because he hadn’t even known Gabi a week ago. Maybe, then, he had known Gabi in a past life and that’s how he happened to pick her favorites. Or maybe they really are fated to be together and knowing things like her favorite food are just second nature to him. The latter two explanations are almost impossible and yet so much more likely than the first explanation. He doesn’t know how to explain it though, not without seeming crazy, so he doesn’t say anything.

»»————- April 8, 2026 ————-««

Tomorrow is the end of the world and they are no closer to saving everyone from the asteroid hurtling towards the earth than they were yesterday. In fact, they are no closer to saving the world than they were a week ago when this effort began or even a month ago when they had first found out the world was going to be destroyed. Their attempt to prevent the world’s end was futile and their effort today will probably be equally useless. Still, here they are on the tenth floor of the library doing the same thing they did yesterday.

The sun is about to set and it’s almost time for them to head home. Falco wonders if they’ll be here tomorrow spending their last moments at the library when the world ends or if Gabi will call it quits and suggest they spend their last day without each other. He’s too afraid to ask.

They pack up silently, Gabi slipping her notebooks and laptop into her bag as Falco arranges the books into neat stacks on the slim chance that they’ll return tomorrow. Falco notices that Gabi packs the same way she always does — quickly, dumping everything into her backpack as if she doesn’t care if they get damaged — and it stings a little bit that she doesn’t pack a little slower this time like he does just so that he can spend a few seconds more with her. Maybe he shouldn’t be so disappointed because it’s obvious she doesn’t care for him more than she would care for a coworker or a classmate she was randomly paired with to complete an assignment.

Falco is silently pining when Gabi speaks, startling him.

“So, the world ends tomorrow,” she says easily. It’s like she’s talking about the weather. “Are you satisfied with how you spent your last days? No regrets?”

They’re two questions that seem related, but Falco’s answers for them are very different.

He is satisfied with how he spent his last days. The past week perhaps isn’t as spectacular by other people’s standards. Falco didn’t go bungee jumping or skydiving or deepsea divings like some of his peers. Some people would argue that the way he spent his last few days was as boring as the way he spent the past month, although Falco would argue that it was infinitely better because he had Gabi. He’s convinced that however he chose to spend his last days, as long as they were with Gabi, he would be happy. He could even watch the grass grow with Gabi and he’d be completely content. So, yes, he’s completely satisfied with how he spent his last few days, but he has many regrets.

He regrets not meeting Gabi earlier. He regrets not being able to spend more than a week with her. He regrets not doing things with her that kids their age should be doing: playing soccer in the field, catching butterflies by the river and letting them go, and hanging out at the arcade and beating their high scores. But most of all, he regrets feeling this way about Gabi and not being able to tell her.

Falco doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he asks, “Do you?”

“No,” Gabi replies with a smile and it makes Falco feel a little better about the ache in his chest.

»»————- April 9, 2026 ————-««

Falco doesn’t expect Gabi to call him the next day. Before bidding each other goodbye yesterday, Gabi suggested they not see each other again.

“You should spend the day with your family or something,” Gabi said to him. “Your parents probably want to spend their last day with their kids. I’ll just do this by myself. And, you know, thanks for everything.”

He had wanted to tell her that it was fine if they spent their last day together. He spent his whole life with his parents. He should at least spend one more day with Gabi if this is his last one, but he bit his tongue and said goodbye to her with the fakest smile before turning on his heel and walking as quickly as he could to where his mom would pick him up.

Falco was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling when Gabi called and told him to meet him at the bottom of the hill near the outskirts of his town. She said her mentor was coming back today and that they could visit her to see if there was still a possibility of saving the world. Falco didn’t even question her or ask if they really have any hope after their days of research lead to nothing. He just leapt out of bed, told his parents he would be out and that he loved them, and biked up to the hills where Gabi asked to meet him.

When he gets there, Gabi is already waiting for him, bundled in a navy peacoat and a gray scarf tied loosely around her neck. Her face breaks out in a grin when she sees him and she waves a gloved hand to greet him.

“How did you get here so fast?” Falco huffs once he finally reaches her. The hill gets too steep for him to bike, so he gets off his bicycle and walks with Gabi beside him.

“My uncle Reiner drove me here,” Gabi replies, shoving her hands in her pockets. She rolls her eyes, but her mouth twitches with a smile. “He says he wanted to spend a little more time with his favorite niece before she becomes famous for saving the world.”

“You really think we’re gonna do it?” Falco asks.

Gabi shrugs. “I think if my mentor thinks so, we probably have a good chance.”

They arrive at the mentor’s house at the top of the hill. It’s small, more like a tiny cabin than an actual house. When Gabi knocks, they’re greeted by a blond man with big blue eyes. The man smiles when he sees Gabi, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hello, Gabi. I guess Mikasa told you she’d be coming back today,” the man says. He looks over Falco. “Hello. You must be Gabi’s friend Falco. I’m Armin.” The man offers a hand for Falco to shake.

Falco nods, wondering why the man’s name sounds so familiar. It’s only when he’s shaken the man’s hand that he remembers Gabi had mentioned Armin a few days ago when they were researching in the library. He’s the genius that likes to spend his days taking care of fish.

Falco follows Gabi when the man invites them into the cabin. Falco’s a little taken aback at how simple the interior is. The living room is small and the kitchen is smaller with only the essentials. There isn’t even a microwave.

“Sit down,” Armin says, gesturing at the dining table in the middle of the room. He heads towards the kitchen cabinets where he takes out three mugs. “I’ll make tea for us while we wait for Mikasa.”

“Can we see your fish later, Armin?” Gabi asks. She’s already settled down in a chair, kicking her legs back and forth. It’s clear that she feels at home here. When she notices that Falco hasn’t taken a seat yet, she gestures for him to sit down at the seat closest to her. To Armin, she continues, “I was telling Falco about you and he was curious about what a genius would be up to at the end of the world if he wasn’t trying to prevent the apocalypse.”

Armin chuckles. “Do you like fish, Falco?” he asks. He smiles when Falco makes a surprised noise, an answer stuck in his throat. “Sure, we can take a look a little later.”

Over apple tarts and tea, Gabi and Armin fill Falco in on Mikasa. She’s Armin’s wife, Gabi’s mentor, and the key to saving the world. Mikasa has a superpower, Gabi explains, that allows her to identify other people with superpowers and what those powers are. She helps people utilize their powers, but she took off for a month when the end of the world was announced to gather people with powers that might prevent the asteroid from crashing into the earth.

“Did Mikasa tell you if she met any promising people?” Gabi asks. She’s licked her plate clean and cinnamon sticks to her lips.

Armin shakes his head, a resigned smile on his face. “Unfortunately, no. She said all the candidates she met didn’t have any sort of useful power, but who knows? Maybe she’ll meet someone on the way here that can stop the meteor.”

“Ah, it’s a meteor now?” Falco asks, sitting up in his seat.

“It’s been one for a while,” Armin says. He glances out the window for a second. It’s not blue like it was when Falco woke up this morning. It’s orange now., not like a sunrise but more like someone has set the sky on fire. “We should be able to see it soon. The estimated time of impact is soon if I recall correctly. Hopefully, we get to see Mikasa soon.” His eyebrows are knitted together in concern, but Gabi looks just as unbothered as ever.

“I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Gabi says. She collects her empty plate as well as Falco and Armin’s before depositing them in the sink. It’s an awfully normal thing to do considering the fact that the dirty dishes won’t matter when the earth is destroyed. She lets them soak in the sink and then turns to Armin. “Can we go see your fish now? Falco hasn’t seen them yet.”

“Sure,” Armin says with a smile. He gets up from the table and gestures for Falco to follow him. “Let’s go see the fish.”

Armin leads the children to a side room. Inside is a large glass fish tank with so many plants, shells, and rocks that Falco doesn’t see the fish at first. He and Gabi crouch beside the tank, their faces not quite touching the glass. Falco can see neon fish the size of his pinky darting back and forth between plants. He spots a miniature catfish the size of his thumb hiding behind a rock while a school of ten or so black and white striped fish zips around the 50-gallon tank. There are many more fish that Falco spots, lots of which he doesn’t know the name of but Armin patiently points them all out and tells Falco both the scientific and the common names of each fish and their habits. It’s clear that he loves it, taking care of the fish and looking after them, and Falco thinks he understands a little bit why Armin has chosen to spend the rest of the world like this. Occasionally, Gabi pipes in with whatever she remembers about each fish, usually their behavioral patterns she’s noticed when she’s visited, and Armin always grins whenever she speaks.

The three don’t notice when Mikasa arrives. They’re too busy staring at the fish swimming back and forth in the tank without a care in the world. The fish can’t grasp the fact that the world is ending. After all, their world only consists of the four glass walls that encase them and anything outside doesn’t concern them. It’s only when the door to the room opens and Mikasa steps in that the three realize that she’s returned. The fish, however, just keep swimming.

“That’s a nice way to spend the end of the world,” Mikasa comments. She has a tired smile on her face. She wears a soft cream-colored turtleneck, a long black coat hanging over her arm. “I see Gabi has joined us. As has her friend.” The woman nods at Falco.

“H-hello,” Falco stammers. He’s not sure what he was expecting Mikasa to look like. Perhaps like a woman with all the answers, someone who looked like she had seen the world, but she doesn’t. She just looks like any other woman, maybe a little more tired than other women, but still just a normal person. She doesn’t look like she has an amazing superpower, but then again neither does Gabi nor any of the potential candidates that claimed to have powers. “I’m Falco.”

“Ah, yes,” Mikasa says with a nod. “Gabi mentioned you before. I’m Mikasa, her mentor.” She drapes her coat over a nearby chair and walks over to join the three of them beside the fish tank.

“Did you find anyone?” Gabi asks. She looks out towards the living room, craning her neck to see if Mikasa had brought someone they didn’t notice.

“No, nobody that could save the world, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mikasa sighs, shoulder slumped. “Although, I did run into a guy who was convinced that the only way to save the world was to destroy it. I got away from him as quickly as possible.”

“Probably a smart decision,” Armin says with a nod, and Mikasa smiles in reply.

“Well, shall we go watch the end of the world together?” Mikasa asks, putting an arm around Gabi. She looks around at the others. “I heard it was going to be quite spectacular. Like a meteor show in the middle of the day.” Her eyes settle on Falco and her smile begins to falter. Her brows knit together and she opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something.

Armin notices the change in her demeanor and looks back and forth between Falco and Mikasa. “What’s wrong? Are you …?” It seems like something clicks in his head and he quickly turns to Falco. With a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Armin asks quickly, “Falco, do you have a power you haven’t told us about?”

The question startles Falco and he jerks away from Armin’s hand in surprise. “I … I don’t know,” he says, stumbling over his words. He’s never felt like he had any kind of superpower. He’s never shown any sign of being special. He’s always just been … normal.

“You … do you not know?” Mikasa asks, her eyebrows raised. She looks at Gabi. “Falco can save the world.”

It’s too much for Falco to take in when the world is about to end so soon. He has too many questions like: What power is he supposed to have? How come he didn’t know about it before? Is there still time to save everyone or is it too late? He opens his mouth to ask, not knowing which one will come out of his mouth first, when he feels a comforting hand on his elbow. Falco looks over to see Gabi standing beside him, somehow calm despite this revelation.

“What’s his power, Mikasa?”

“He can travel back in time,” Mikasa says, still staring at Falco with her intense gaze. “Under the event of an unexpected death like, say, getting hit by an asteroid, he can go back in time and prevent it from happening. But only if he remembers that it will happen in the first place.” Her eyes flicker towards Gabi for some reason.

“What … what does that mean ‘only if I remember’?” Falco asks Gabi.

Gabi’s biting down on her lip, expression contemplative. Finally, she tells Falco, “My power is that I’m unforgettable. If you reset your time after the meteor hits, usually you won't remember what happened, but you will if I use my power. You’d be able to remember me and everything we’ve done together. If you go back in time, maybe you can find a way to save the world because you’ll know what to expect.”

“Then … then that’s good news!” He doesn’t know why everyone around him isn’t jumping up and down in excitement right now. They’ve found a way to save the world. If not this time, then the next time or the time after that. “Isn’t this good news?”

“I mean, it is,” Gabi says. She doesn’t sound as confident as she usually does. Instead, she’s hesitant, almost shy. Falco doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gabi shy before. She’s looking at the floor now, kicking at the hardwood floor with her sock-clad feet. “It’s just that … I have to make you fall in love with me to make you remember me.”

Falco’s mouth falls open and no words come out.

“It’s not like it’s hard,” Gabi says almost hurriedly, more because she’s embarrassed than in a rush to save the world. She’s shed off her embarrassment and assumed her usual confident demeanor. “I’m very lovable, you know. It’s just …” Her voice trails off again.

“She has to seal it with a kiss,” Mikasa finishes, and Falco can see why Gabi was so embarrassed. His cheeks redden just from the thought of kissing Gabi. Mikasa adds rather apologetically, “It’s just the way it works, her power. She needs to kiss you.”

“Only if you’re okay with it, of course,” Gabi adds. She’s still avoiding his gaze, her eyes on the floor. “I’m fine if you’d rather not. You might just be stuck in the loop all by yourself. It’d be a little less painful since you won’t remember each time but still -”

“I’m okay with it,” Falco says.

Gabi looks up, surprised. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Falco says. “I’m … I’m fine with it. Let’s save the world. Together. That’s what our entire plan was, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Gabi repeats and she smiles. It’s different from how she’s smiled at him before. It’s a little bit bashful, a little bit excited. It looks nice on her, Falco thinks, and he’s so distracted that he’s surprised when he realizes she’s holding his hand.

Mikasa tugs at the elbow of Armin’s cardigan and the blond man nods. Taking Mikasa’s hand, he turns to the kids and says, “We’ll be out there just to give you two some privacy. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again soon.”

The door shuts softly behind the two adults. Falco doesn’t know if they wait in the living room or if they’ve gone outside to admire the sky. From the window, Falco can see that the sky has changed from a burnt orange to an explosion of different colors: shades of violet, pink, blue, and yellow all together almost like a watercolor painting. There are streaks of white in the sky. It’s like a meteor shower in the middle of the day just as Mikasa had said.

When he turns to Gabi, she’s looking at him with her hand still holding his. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek, but she smiles when she sees he’s looking at her.

“Are you still up for it?” Gabi asks.

“Y-yeah,” Falco says, his voice cracking. He feels his face flush, but he likes the sound of Gabi’s giggle even if he’s the one she’s laughing at. He licks his lips nervously and leans in just the tiniest bit. “Is … is it okay if I kiss you?”

Gabi bites her lip and nods. She leans in too and Falco takes it as his cue to close his eyes and close the gap.

He doesn’t know what to expect from this kiss. Maybe warm lips pressing against his while his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. Maybe Gabi’s hands gripping his arms while his hands hover awkwardly around his waist. Maybe the world ending and, when his eyes open, Falco waking to thoughts of Gabi and how to find her next. But none of this happens. Instead, Gabi puts her hands on his shoulder and pushes him gently but firmly away.

“I can’t do it,” Gabi says.

“Wha-?”

“I can’t do it,” Gabi repeats with a shake of her head. She looks upset, but Falco doesn’t know why. He wonders what it is he did to offend her. Maybe she doesn’t want to kiss him. Maybe she finds him repulsive and doesn’t want to kiss him even if it means saving the world. Falco thinks this would be the case if Gabi didn’t look so apologetic. “I can’t kiss you. Not like this.”

“What do you mean?” Falco asks, panicked. He takes a glance at the window. Outside, the meteors in the sky look brighter. It’s like a million stars are falling to the earth. It’s only a matter of time before the world ends. He doesn’t know why Gabi is doing this.

“I don’t want to kiss you just to save the world and I don’t want you to kiss me for the same reason,” Gabi says, taking a step away from him. She shakes her head, tears pricking her eyes. “I want you to kiss me because you like me, not because you have some responsibility to save the earth so … so find me again and kiss me. Find me again and tell me you like me and kiss me hard. And then … and then we can save the world.”

But he wants to kiss her now. He wants to kiss her because he likes her. He wants to kiss her because the world is ending. He wants to kiss her even if the world isn’t ending. He wants to tell her that, but he doesn’t have the words.

Ever since Mikasa had revealed Falco’s power, everything has suddenly made sense to him. Falco understands now why his life felt so empty before he met Gabi and why he never felt the desire to do anything. He knows why he was so drawn to her when they first met that day in the city and why he felt like she completed him. It’s because they were meant to meet each other, meant to be together, meant to save the world.

Falco wants to kiss her so badly. He wants to hold Gabi’s face in his hands and put his lips on hers and kiss her until the world ends and when he wakes up again he’ll find her and kiss her again and again and again. He wants to tell her he likes her now and that he’ll like her again. He wants to tell her that he’d like her even if the world weren’t about to end, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t get to tell her anything.

A bright light flashes from the window. All Falco sees is Gabi and then white, and then nothing.

»»————- March 9, 2026 ————-««

Falco wakes up and rolls out of bed. He brushes his teeth in the bathroom and brushes out his hair before blearily heading down the stairs where his mom is making breakfast. His father hasn’t left for work yet, he notices, which is rather strange. His mother hasn’t finished making breakfast yet and his brother isn’t dressed for school. He stares at them, wondering why they’re acting so odd. It takes them a moment to realize he’s there.

“The world is ending next month,” his mother tells him. She points at the TV screen that Falco’s father is staring at. On it flashes a picture of an asteroid hurtling towards the earth. The little banner underneath the picture says it’s far too big to burn up in the atmosphere. Scientists have no hope of human survival.

“If I knew, I would have slept in,” Colt mumbles.

His family looks shocked by the news, but Falco doesn’t feel anything. He grabs a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen and starts to head out the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Colt asks him.

Falco pauses by the door. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. He’s not sure what to do now that the world is ending. There isn’t anything in particular that he wants to do. “I’ll go to school, I guess.”

He leaves after assuring his parents that it’s fine, that he really doesn’t mind going to school because he isn’t sure what else to do. He stops by his mailbox and looks up at the sky. It’s clear and blue, no asteroid in sight.

He takes a deep breath and then releases it. It sounds like a sigh.

#falbi #snk #sf8 au #falco grice #gabi braun

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

Text

Pompous Gits and Slytherins - Harry Potter Series Percy Weasley Imagine

Author’s Note: Ok, so I know technically no one asked for this. But I really couldn’t get this idea out of my head AND there was a Harry Potter marathon on TV today. I’m really not responsible for my actions, honestly.

I’m open for requests! I’d love to hear anything you guys have to say :)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

The potion was turning brown.

“Pompous git,” you muttered, frantically trying to pierce a Sopophorous bean with a silver knife.

“You were supposed, 3, to already have the beans, 4, cut,” Percy Weasley insisted. He was holding the cauldron at an angle, counting out loud as he dropped wormwood essence into it. “5. Are you almost done? 6. 7.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to go slower.” You caught the bean as it tried to bounce off the cutting board.

“8. It might, actually. 9. If I get a poor grade on this, 10, I’ll--”

“You won’t have perfect NEWTs and then you’ll never become Minister of Magic.” Slamming the flat of the knife onto the bean, you crushed it, releasing a thick, green juice. “Everyone knows your plans, Percy.”

As Percy leveled the cauldron, you scraped the juice in, speeding up its slow crawl across the board.

“Everyone also makes fun of your plans,” you added as you picked up a beaker filled with water and chopped up Valerian roots. You handed it to Percy so he could measure out seven drops. Last Potions class he’d called you “heavy-handed,” so you had decided that adding drops was now his responsibility. While you would be angry if he messed it up, you couldn’t deny that you’d also feel smug.

He began pouring, the tips of his ears turning a red that rivaled his hair. “I don’t see why anyone would make fun of them.” His voice sounded far more confident than he seemed to feel.

“Because you act like you’re better than everyone. Don’t you know that’s a Slytherin thing?” You arched an eyebrow and adjusted your green tie.

Percy refused to look up as he set the beaker back down. He only scowled at the table.

You rolled your eyes, picking up the wooden spoon and beginning to stir the potion clockwise. Percy eyed your movements like a hawk. “That was a compliment,” you said.

“I don’t see how.”

You completed the tenth stir, now staring at a pale lilac mixture, and offered the spoon to Percy. He took it with his right hand and began to stir counterclockwise, quietly counting the seconds each stir took.

“There you go again, acting as though you’re better than everyone. There’s nothing wrong with being a Slytherin.”

Percy briefly peeked up from the potion, which was growing paler by the second, to shoot a pointed look at the table in front of yours. Kaden Shafiq, a Slytherin notorious for bullying anyone who wasn’t a pure-blood, was stirring his potion and sneering at the Hufflepuff girl beside him.

“He’s an anomaly,” you assured Percy.

Percy didn’t seem convinced.

You picked the silver knife back up and began cutting a Valerian root into square pieces. “Most of us don’t believe in his ideologies.” Feeling Percy’s heavy stare, you amended, “Well, some of us don’t.”

“I caught some third years making fun of Ron for being a Weasley just yesterday.”

You glanced up, but Percy was staring at the potion. His lips moved silently as he counted. You looked back down at the Valerian roots. “I take it he wasn’t being made fun of for having the red Weasley hair?”

Percy sniffed haughtily and pulled the spoon out. The potion was clear as water. “You know what they were saying.” Percy took one of the squares of Valerian root that you’d cut up and dropped it into the potion. “They were calling him a blood traitor.”

You dropped another square in. “That’s radical thinking. I don’t believe that and I don’t associate with those who do. My parents don’t even believe that, and you know how backwards old pure-bloods can be.”

Taking another square, Percy gave you a measured look, as though he was trying to see if you were lying. After a few seconds, he turned back to the cauldron and added the Valerian root, looking unsatisfied.

To be fair, that could have just been his normal face. His lips seemed to naturally form either a pout or a frown, and his eyes, hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses, always seemed judgmental.

You picked up more Valerian root and let it fall into the potion. “How many squares was that?”

Horrified, Percy whipped around to face you. “You weren’t counting?” His eyes were huge, his freckled skin pale.

You laughed. “I’m teasing, that was 5.” You added another square to the clear, bubbling potion. “Care to do the last piece?”

Percy shook his head, frowning as you dropped in the last square of Valerian root. As soon as you pulled back your hand, he began stirring the potion counterclockwise. He seemed so concentrated that you found yourself wracking your brain to come up with something to distract him. To your surprise, he spoke first, his voice formal. “What are your plans for after graduation?”

The smile you had at him speaking first died on your lips once you processed his question. Buying time, you waited until Percy completed the tenth stir, then handed him the beaker of Powdered Root of Asphodel, waited for him to finish pouring, took it back, set it down, and finally said, “My plans are spreading around the school like wildfire.”

Percy took the cauldron in his right hand and started to stir with his left. “I haven’t heard.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile. “Of course you haven’t.” You toyed with the silver knife, not wanting to see his face. “I’m betrothed.”

“Betrothed?” Percy nearly dropped the spoon. His cheeks flamed, only growing redder when you helped him steady the cauldron. “You’re 17.”

“Exactly. I’m finally old enough for my parents to act on the plans they made years ago. Keep stirring, Percy.”

He reluctantly complied. “Who is it?” Every word out of his mouth seemed to offend him. He wouldn’t stop staring at you.

Steeling yourself, you said, “Some pure-blood old enough to be my father.” You looked back down at the knife, ashamed to be admitting it, ashamed to be ashamed, ashamed to be doing any of this in front of Percy Weasley, of all people. Head Boy Percy. Going to be the Minister Percy. “He doesn’t even live in this country. He’s off in America. Have you been counting the stirs?”

“Counting the...damn!” Percy quickly pulled the spoon out and set the cauldron back on the desk. He ran a hand through his hair as he peered at the potion. When he finally pulled away, his face was bright red, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were askew.

You laughed.

He frowned. “If you’re going to America, where will you work? I guess you could Apparate or use the Floo Network to get to the Ministry, but you wouldn’t even be living here--”

“My work is done. I found a husband.” Your words were so bitter you could taste them. “Slytherins are ambitious, but for the girls that only means being ambitious with your marriage options.” You chuckled, devoid of humor. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Slytherins are awful.”

“But...but...you’re...smart,” Percy said, not even gloating over you saying he was right. His compliment came out stilted and awkward, like his lips weren’t used to forming the words. “How can you not work in the Ministry?”

The conversation was becoming painful. It felt like something was wrapped around your chest and squeezing, but you refused to cry, refused to show any sign of weakness. You needed the upper hand again. “Oh, Percy, you shouldn’t compliment a girl so much. Someone might think you’re in love.”

Percy spluttered and you decided you quite liked how a blush looked painted across his cheeks. “You can’t say that! Especially not when you’re--you’re--”

“Betrothed? I think it’s the perfect time to say something like that. Merlin knows I won’t have any fun after the wedding.” You pretended to mull over that thought, even though you’d spent the past week worrying about just that. “Probably not during the wedding, either. My mother will plan the whole thing, using the groom’s money, of course, which means it will manage to be simultaneously extravagant and dull. Maybe I’ll invite those twin brothers of yours to make things more exciting. Don’t worry, you can come, too.”

Percy shook his head. His cheeks were slowly returning to their normal shade of pale. You could see his freckles again. “I’ll have to decline.” Puffing his chest slightly, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll be working in the Ministry by then.”

He was looking for your approval, so you shook your head and sarcastically said, “Of course you will.” You checked your watch, eyed the cauldron, and dropped one last piece of Valerian root into it. The potion turned a pale pink.

You expected to hear a sigh of relief from Percy at the success, but instead, he said, “I will be in the Ministry.” He scowled as he ladled the potion into a flask to hand to Professor Snape.

The bell rang. You slid your textbook into your bag and stood. “And I’ll be the Minister of Magic.”

With that, you left the classroom, hoping Percy wasn’t as hurt as he’d looked. He started it. He didn’t have to rub his future in my face after I just admitted to having no future.

Even so, you felt off for the rest of the day. You bit back with more venom at your friends, you completed classes with a frown, and you snapped every time you heard someone gossiping about you. The mix of anger and guilt and anxiety only grew as the afternoon turned into evening, and it was time for you to do your duties as a prefect.

You knew who you would find waiting for you outside your common room.

Percy Weasley stuck out like a sore thumb in the dungeons. Sometimes you’d come out and make some teasing remark about that, but tonight you only nodded at him and began to walk.

Percy matched your pace. The air between you two was uncomfortable, the silence uneasy. You were climbing a set of stairs when Percy broke it. “Well,” he said, staring straight ahead, “are you going to apologize?”

“Why should I apologize? You’re the one who had to rub it in my face.”

Percy stopped in his tracks. “You’re not in the right here.”

You stopped too, crossing your arms and staring at him, fire brewing in your chest. Your fingers itched to grab your wand and hex him, to finally make him be quiet about his grand plans for the future. “Yes, I am. You’re not.”

Percy took a step forward. “All you Slytherins do is make fun of people for having goals. You’re supposed to be ambitious. You’re supposed to understand.”

You laughed. “We’re not the only ones making fun of you. Your brothers do it more than the rest of us combined.” He shifted his weight between his feet, but before he could speak, you said, “I don’t have a problem with your goals.”

He closed his mouth, watching curiously as you continued. Was that a glimmer of hope behind his glasses?

“I have a problem with your timing. You didn’t have to bring it up then. Not after...after I told you about what I’m doing.”

Any peace that might have been building was squashed.

Percy spun on his heel and began marching away. “I was hoping it would make you realize that you don’t have to settle for that.”

You glared and stormed after him. Grabbing his robes and pulling him back, you snarled, “You think I want to do this? I’d rather snap my wand!”

His eyes locked on yours. “So do something about it! You’re ambitious! You’re capable! You’re a Slytherin!”

And just like that, you were pulling him even closer, and your lips met in a clash of wills. His hands went to your waist. You didn’t realize you were backing up until you felt the stone wall behind you. Your heart beat furiously. One of your hands went to Percy’s face, felt the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, then moved into his hair, pulling on his red curls. He kissed you harder.

Maybe that git Percy Weasley had a point.

You were a Slytherin, after all. You could figure something out.

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natasha-romanoff-deserved-better · 3 years

Text

Children of Yesterday- Chapter Five

Summary:

Standing in front of him, are two more children, only slightly older than the one he had found. The blonde child was freakishly skinny with dark bags under his eyes, and was standing with another black-haired slightly taller child who had a bony arm wrapped around him.

The blonde was wearing an over-sized Captain America costume that drowned him, and the other only wearing a leather jacket with sleeves that covered his hands and fell to his knees.

Tony almost chokes.

The blonde in the Captain America costume. The black-haired child standing over him. The scared, timid kid on his hip with glasses and bruises.

He knows who these kids are.

After an accident with Hydra and the time stone, Tony and Rhodey are left with six of their teammates turned into young children. Trying to keep the six young, traumatized and rambunctious children safe all while finding a cure and attempting to give them a taste of a real childhood might be their biggest mission yet.

Continue reading below or click here to read on AO3!

The car ride goes as well as any of them expected, with the six kids arguing over who got to sit where; who got the window seats, who got to choose what radio station they listened too, how hot or cold the car should be, and even who had the “best” seatbelt, whatever the hell that meant. Thankfully, they reached the tower within fifteen minutes, and the sight of it stunned all six into total silence.

“Whoa,” Clint breathes out, after several seconds of awe. “Coolest foster home ever!”

Tony doesn’t bother to correct him.

Tony and Pepper leave the car out front, Friday taking over control to direct it into the garage. Rhodey meets them inside, having flown his suit back.

“I confiscated all the weapons in the common areas. Or…. All the weapons I could find. You never know with…” He stops himself from saying Clint and Natasha’s names, realizing how much confusion it would create. “With those two.”

“Rhodey, you are an absolutely savior.” Tony praises.

“I’ll go find everyone some pajamas from their rooms,” Pepper tells, frowning at the hospital clothing the kids were still wearing. “At least some old T-shirts would be better to sleep in, I’m sure.”

Tony stares at the kids. They stare back.

“Who’s tired?” They say nothing. “Right…well. You’re all going to sleep anyways. Because I know none of you got much before you Houdini-ed your way out of SHIELD.”

It had already been decided, wordlessly, that none of them would be spending the nights in their original adult rooms. The main worry had been Clint and Natasha and the sheer number of weapons they had hidden all over their quarters, but it would also be much easier to keep an eye on all of them if they were all on the same floor.

The tower had a floor consisting all of guest rooms- It had been a joke at first, mainly from his wild playboy days. Now, it was used for guests staying overnight, be it for parties, galas, or several day long conferences. It was usually the safest option for many, eliminating the need for hotels and allowing the meetings to take place with much more secrecy. Tony loaded them all into elevator and brought to them to the guest room floor.

Whether they were willing to admit it or not, it was obvious they were all tired. For one, Bruce couldn’t stop yawning every other minute or so, which would set off a chain reaction through all the kids. Sam and Clint were both rubbing their eyes, Steve and Bucky looked like they were about to drop dead. Even Natasha was showing signs of tiredness, her eyes drooping closed for split second before jerking back up.

Pepper meets them on the floor, holding old shirts that she passes out to each respective owner. After everyone has their shirts, Tony randomly assigns each their own room. Steve and Bucky completely ignore him and enter the same room.

After everyone is all settled into their rooms, Tony is headed towards the end of the hallway to the suite room when Natasha pokes her head out her door.

“You forgot about me.”

“What?” Tony’s brows furrow, trying to think what she could possibly mean. She simply holds out her wrist to him, an expectant look on her face. “Sorry, kiddo, but you’re gunna have to help me out here a bit more. What’s wrong?”

Natasha drops her arm in annoyance at his ignorance. “Handcuff?”

“Oh. No, Nat, god. No, no handcuffs.” Tony crouches to her level, hoping to get his point across. “You’re free to move around as you wish here. Got that?”

If the look on her face is anything to go off of, Natasha does not got it. Her nose is scrunched up and forehead creased slightly in confusion, but she still nods.

“Alright, good. I’m just going to be down in that room over there, so you can call me if you need anything at all, yeah?”

Natasha nods again, whispers a quiet “thank you, sir” and steps back into her room, leaving Tony dumbfounded in the hallway.

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

Tony closes the door, leaning his back against it. “Oh, god.” His hands come up to rub at his face.

From her side on their bed, Pepper lowers her book and raises an eyebrow at him.

“What the hell did I do, Pepper? What the fuck was I thinking?”

“You were thinking about their best interests—”

“Best interests,” He scoffs. “I’m me, Pep. I can’t take care of six kids! Hell, I can’t even take care of myself!” He runs his hands through his hair, grabbing tufts and pulling slighting. “Oh, god.”

“Tony- just breathe for a minute,”

“Fucking hell. What if something happens to them? It will be all my fault. What if they run away from me as well? Or if I crash the car while driving them somewhere? What if,- I don’t give them enough food and they starve and.. Oh god, I don’t even know if any of them have any food allergies or not? There’s no way Steve isn’t allergic to something. And these kids are way too smart for their age. You should have seen them on those tapes. Jesus Christ, I’m going to get them killed. There’s no doubt about it.”

“Tony.” Pepper demands. He looks up at her, panic written all over his face. She pulls back the silk sheets covering her and opens an arm in invitation. “Come here.”

Tony scrambles over to her, climbing up onto the bed and then her, resting his head on her chest. She pulls the covers back up over them, hugs him close. “I can’t do this, Pepper. I don’t know how to take care or interact with kids. Especially not kids with their backgrounds…. I don’t want to ruin them even more. That’s what I do. I ruin people.”

The last sentence, she knows, is a reference to his weapon making past, but also to Peter. She chooses to ignore it- they don’t need to go down that rabbit hole tonight- and keeps the focus on the team.

“The kids are going to be fine. They’re tough. And if god forbid anything does happen, we’ll get through it. The same as we do everything else. You have me. And Rhodey… And Happy, if Peter hasn’t given him one too many heart attacks yet.”

Tony snorts out a laugh at the mention of Happy and nuzzles deeper into his partner.

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

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea, Tony,” Pepper says, eyeing the children who are sitting at the table, happily munching on their breakfast of pancakes. It’s a stark difference from one hour prior, when Steve and Bucky had woken everyone up with their screaming after FRIDAY had said something to them.

(In retrospect, he probably should have mentioned the ceiling will talk back to you last night, but oh well.)

“We can just order clothes and whatever we need from online.”

She’s right- they could. It would be the easiest thing to do.

But Tony remembers his clothes as a kid. Always too itchy or rough or too soft, never the fun colors or designs like the other kids got to wear, never what he actually wanted. There had never been anyone around who could be bothered enough to take him to a store, to wait while he picked out his own things.

“I’m taking them.”

Pepper sighs. “Well just know you two are on your own.” She checks the time on her watch, a habit. “I have all kinds of things I need to settle, since it seems as if you’re going to be out of commission for a while.”

He knew she was right, even though he was tempted to beg her to come with. He and Rhodey only knew so much about kids, but she had seemed to have some kind of natural maternal instinct with them. He would be willing to bet his whole company that she would have no problem controlling the kids. But there were meetings, galas, conferences, so many things in his schedule that Pepper now that to cancel or reschedule or do herself.

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

The kids pour out of the cars as Tony stands aimlessly, staring at the building of the mall.

“Which stores even have kids clothing? I don’t know any of these names.”

Rhodey has beaten him to it, again, pulling out a google list on his phone. “Let’s start with… uh, that place.” He points some doors to his left, double checking the name of the store. “I don’t know. It’s a kid store and has five stars, so...”

“Good enough for me.”

They herd the kids the best they can towards the store, not wanting to lose anyone before the first ten minutes. Tony was about to just open the doors and turn the kids buck wild, but Rhodey stopped them all before entering.

“Okay, guys. Here’s the rules. You be nice to the employees, and don’t be disruptive. That means no screaming, yelling, fighting. None of that. And no leaving the store. You can go off by yourself within the store but don’t go out. Got it?” They all nod.

Tony adds on. “Yeah, what he said. But other then that just grab whatever you like and that fits. Price doesn’t matter, yeah?”

The kids run off in all different directions, each going towards whichever section caught their eye the most. He gives some time to run around by themselves, before going to check on them.

Bruce has stuck to mostly neutral colors, gray and brown sweaters hanging off his arms with the same pair of jeans hanging over his arm. Sam has gone ambitious, picking out shirts with the most obnoxious patterns and designs Tony has seen.

Steve and Bucky have each picked out a few things, but glancing at them, Tony can tell the clothes the two boys are holding are not their correct size.

“Those are way too big, you two. Do you know how to check sizes?”

“No, we know how.” Steve tells him, going red slightly. “It’s just that…it’s good to get bigger clothes. So you have room to grow.”

Realization dawns on Tony as he recalls this is most likely a symptom of being depression era kids.

“Steve, Bucky. Get your correct size. I promise I have more than enough money to buy more clothes the second either of you two grow an inch, okay?”

“How do you have so much money?” Bucky asks, but Steve shoves at his arm.

“Don’t be rude, Buck!”

“It’s not rude, I’m just asking!”

“Guys, it’s okay. Just trust me on this. Money won’t ever be an issue while you’re with me, alright? I want you to have things that fit you.” Deciding quickly to make it less about them and more himself, he adds, “It would really make me feel a lot better if you did that.”

That does it for them, and the pair returns the wrong sizing before moving to a completely different section to find the correct ones.

Checking in on Clint, he finds Natasha trailing after him several feet away, her arms empty. Tony frowns.

“Not finding anything you like, Nat?”

She shrugs.

“Well. Why don’t you let me know what you like, and I can help you look?” She shrugs again. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she whispers something, too quiet for Tony to hear. “What?”

“I don’t know what I like. We do not choose clothes in Russia.”

“Oh. Right.” Of course she was confused. She had most likely never been given a choice of clothes before in her life. He racks his brain to try and think of what she might like. Black. Black was a safe option. He glances around himself for a few seconds before finding a plain black tank top and pulling it off the hanger. “What about this? It’s soft- here, feel it.”

Natasha tentatively reaches out a hand to run a small finger over the fabric, lips quirking up slightly at the smooth texture. Tony figures that’s the best he’s going to get from her and places the top into her hands.

He helps her pick out several other things. He tries other colors, but she seems to actively hate almost everything else. At one point, he pulls out a purple shirt, and she doesn’t sneer at the color like she has all the others, so he counts it as good enough and begins loading her up with purple things as well.

To the side, he can hear Rhodey speaking with Clint, suggesting Clint get some shirts other than graphic tees, and Clint’s flabbergasted “why would I do that?”

Once all the kids have each gathered a decent number of tops and bottoms, Tony and Rhodey gather them all up to pay for all the new clothing. Sam and Clint are both bouncing on the heels of their feet, trying and failing to contain their excitement at getting so many new clothes. Rhodey has the brilliant thought to distract Steve and Bucky when the cashier tells him the price for all the items, as to avoid a freak out from the two.

One store down, Tony and Rhodes steer the group into another child clothing store, hoping to load up on as much as possible in one trip. Tony prayed they were just being overly cautious, and his teammates would be back to normal before they had a chance to wear all their new outfits.

It’s going well, Tony assures himself- Steve and Bucky have gotten more confident after the first store and have amassed a good amount of clothes between the two of them, Bruce has decided to go a little more adventurous this time and pick a green long sleeved. Natasha only has one thing, but she picked it out all on her own. Sam and Clint are-

Not there.

Tony whips around, eyes scanning the store frantically for the two boys. He had just seen them, not even five minutes ago. They’re not on the floor. Not in the dressing rooms.

“Rhodey!” Tony calls loudly, ignoring the ugly look sent at him from a middle-aged woman. “Have you seen Clint and Sam? Please tell me you’ve seen them.”

Rhodey copies the same move Tony had done just seconds earlier, twists around to sweep the store, as if Tony just hadn’t looked hard enough.

“I knew I’d lose them eventually. Fuck.”

His glasses-FRIDAY- sensing his stress levels, points him to the east, signaling to him she had picked up the two’s heat signatures in that direction. Tony and Rhodey take off, the other four kids following closely at their heels.

FRIDAY directs them, and they end up in the Disney store, surrounded by bright lights and colors and children’s music blasting from the ceiling speakers. “Sam! Clint!” He calls out loudly, ignoring the stink eye he gets from a mother holding a snotty nosed sleeping baby in her arms. The two boys pop out from between some aisles, each holding several toys in their arms.

“Tony! Look what we found! Look how cool!” Sam runs up to show him the toys they had found. Clint hangs back slightly, eyeing Tony for a second before dejectedly placing the toys onto a rack near him. Tony watches this, feels a slight tug on his heart strings.

“Clint,” Clint’s eye shot back up to his, a trace of guilt in his face. “Pick them back up. You’re not in trouble.” Tony turns to the other four, who Rhodey is standing behind. “Why don’t you all go pick out some toys or stuffed animals you like, yeah?”

Steve and Bucky link hands and hurry over to the aisle with the dress up solider uniforms, while Natasha hesitates but makes her way over near Clint, who points out a Simba lion stuffie to her. She rolls the fluffy ears between her fingers, before smiling slightly and pulling it into her arms.

By the time they’re all finished, the pile of stuffed animals and toys on the cash register is absurd, but the beaming faces of his teammates make it worth it. Over the pile, the girl working the register flicks her eyes between Tony and Rhodey and the kids.

“They’re adorable,” she says, smiling at them. “Must be quite the handful with so many. Are they all yours?”

Tony snorts. “You’re telling me. And, uh, yeah. Mostly. Something like that,” He says, not quite sure exactly how to answer.

She nods, looking between the two adults again and smile growing bigger. “Well, I think it’s wonderful. I can’t believe there are some groups out there that would try and stop you two from adopting,”

“Hm?” Tony says, reaching into his wallet to pull out his black card, only half heartedly listening. “Oh yeah, for sure. We- wait, what?”

“Oh, I’m just saying, clearly you two are very loving dads.”

“Oh! Um,” Tony splutters, completely caught off guard. This is not what he was expecting to have to deal with today. Natasha trying to stab someone, sure. Steve somehow ending up in a hospital from a freak medical illness, fine. Clint climbing up a clothing rack, whatever. But not being mistaken for a gay couple with six children with his best friend.

Next to him, Rhodey is laughing. The bastard. Rhodey throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulls him in, playing it up, and plants a sloppy kiss onto his cheek.

Thankfully, before Rhodey could pull anything else, the cashier scans the last stuffed animal and lets him know the final price. Tony happily pays it and hurries the kids out of the store, bags upon bags of new clothes and toys.

#children of yesterday #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #marvel fanfiction #clint barton #natasha romanoff #Steve Rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #sam wilson #james rhodes #Bucky Barnes #kid fic #marvel kid fic #look i actually wrote something

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wilwywaylan · 4 years

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The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below - Part 4

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 3473 words

Last part of the fic for the Same Prompt Challenge ! Finally, it’s done !

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Also on AO3 !

Step one : wash self. It would do no good to present himself to Enjolras looking like some kind of cave troll. So Grantaire took a shower, taking great care to wash his hair and untangle the curls. Once mostly dry and dressed in clean clothes, he aimed for the kitchen. Not for the coffee, even if he started by making himself a nice cup, but for something far more ambitious : he was going to cook.

Four hours later, his kitchen was a mess, every horizontal surface was covered in flour and there was even some sticking to some vertical parts, the sink contained more dishes that he believed he owned, and he was in dire need of another shower. But there was a whole plate of cookies in the oven, and it smelled quite good. Not that Grantaire wanted to brag, of course. He didn't have any time for it, anyway, he was way too busy watching the biscuits by the small window. He didn't want...he couldn't mess them up. He didn't have the courage nor the ingredients to start again.

But luckily for him, the cookies got out deliciously golden, and absolutely perfect. He transferred them into a metal box, resisting the urge to eat one himself. After a second shower that got rid of most of the flour, he went to sit at his easel. Now came the third, and most important part. Cookies were a nice touch, but he wouldn't be forgiven just with this, Bahorel's super secret recipe notwithstanding. No, he needed to find the perfect present that would melt Enjolras' anger like a cube of ice during summer. And nothing could be more of a perfect present than something handmade, or in his case, hand-drawn.

The white page was almost intimidating, at first, more than during one of his assignments, even. Assignments, he could bullshit his way through them if inspiration didn't strike. But this.... this was way more important. Okay, no, maybe not. He couldn't claim a cute boy was more important than his studies. It was important in a different way, but he couldn't just pretend he knew what he was doing. He needed to know. He needed to make it perfect.

The first strokes were hesitant, almost shy, barely scratching the surface. But as he went, the picture in his mind grew clearer, his gestures became more assured, and he started working faster.

When he finally moved, the sun had set, his neck was sending jolts of pain up his skull, his fingers hurt, and his hoodie had lost all pretention to be an actual color. He stretched, sending his arms above his head, only realizing now that his stomach was growling. Probably loud enough to wake his neighbors up. But he didn't care. He felt well. The painting on his easel was probably one of his finest works since... oh, several years. Enjolras stood in the middle of it ; Grantaire had painted him dressed in a XIXe century style, with a red jacket with a cockade pinned on the lapel, a black cravat resting undone on a white shirt under a black waistcoat. There was a smudge of blood on the cheek, but he was brandishing a red flag above his head. The whole sky behind him was a brilliant whirlwind of pink, orange and yellow, and a timid sun was stroking Enjolras' face with gold rays. Any critic would have dismissed the piece as "overly pompous" and "pretentious", but Grantaire felt a mix of pride and anxiety watching it. It certainly was fine, but didn't he exaggerate, making Enjolras' face softer than it was ? Maybe his eyes weren't fierce enough, not full of fire enough ? And what if Enjolras didn't enjoy a portrait of himself ? Oh well, too late now, it was done. Tomorrow, he would make his move. But for now, he wanted nothing more than sleep. He made his way to his room, abandoning his clothes on the way, and dropped on the bed. The remnants of Bahorel's impromptu breakfast were still on the nightstand, and he devoured the rest of the croissants. Once sated, he wrapped himself in the blankets and just laid there, content and sated, for the first time in days. Maybe things were looking up, after all.

~*~

Next morning saw Grantaire up earlier than he'd been in months. He'd woken up almost with the sun, and had been since tossing and turning under the blankets, trying to keep himself busy until it was a decent time to put his plan in motion. He didn't know about Enjolras' sleeping habits, and didn't want to wake him up. That wouldn't put him in good dispositions. So he browsed the internet, trying to distract himself until it was time to move.

At around 10 AM, he decided to act. He rolled out of bed and got ready, going through the motions with application, concentrating on each gesture to ignore the way his heart seemed to try to get free from his chest. He took the box of cookies, the painting, and snuck out into the hallway. It was dark and deserted. Perfect. He went down the stairs, his socked feet silent on the tiles. Still no one. He managed to reach door 32 without a hitch, without any nosy neighbor opening their door to see who was playing spies in the hallway. He carefully put the painting down, put the box beside it, with a small message he'd spent at least fifteen minutes writing. Nothing fancy, just a heartfelt "I'm sorry I've been an ass". No need to start babbling on writing. Good.

He rang the bell... and ran away, up the stairs, almost falling down and hitting the ramp in his hast. He had barely reached his story, when he heard a door open. There was a moment of silence. And a thought hit him right between the eyes : what if Enjolras decided to climb here to see who put the presents on his doorstep ? He'd see him crouching behind the railing like an idiot. He dashed inside his apartment, closed the door, then opened it a tiny sliver. No Enjolras materialized on the landing, but there was a rustling. Like things being picked up and carried inside. So he had found the presents. Very good.

Grantaire retreated inside, pondering on the next move for a second. He could start working on his assignments again, clean a bit of his flat, maybe scrub his bathroom. Things would go back to how they were before all these guitar shenanigans. But that wasn't what he wanted, right ? So he needed to follow the plan.

He needed to rummage a little (a lot) through the mess accumulated under his bed and in his cupboard, but he finally unearthed an old, battered case. The guitar inside had lost a bit of its shine, but the intricate patterns on it, flowers and clouds, were still as vivid as always. He took it back to his window and sat as comfortably as possible. It was out of tune, of course, after so much time in storage, but the gestures came back to him easily, and soon, it was fit to play. He stroked the strings, just enjoying the sound for a few seconds, then started to warm up. The notes flew by the window, carried by the wind, soft and round at each vibration of the strings, climbing the scales up and down. His fingers were dancing, almost on their own, modulating the melody almost perfectly.

Under him, a window opened. He didn't hear footsteps, but he imagined them all the same. Time to go to step five. Or six, he didn't remember. He abandoned the scales for real melody. Still no noise coming from under him. Oh well, he could still play for himself, couldn't he ? After all, he did like this song. And so, he started singing softly, almost under his breath.

Lay down in the stars, my bonny lass Lay down in my arms, we'll make it last The senses aspire to this far greater time As the rivers flow your heart will be mine

He played the song from start to finish, enjoying how easily it was all coming back to him, the lyrics and the melody, how delightful it was to play again. The last notes fled outside, fading slowly as the strings stopped singing. Grantaire leaned on the guitar, feeling the vibrations stop under his fingers. The silence after a song always had a special quality, soft and serene, like it was another part, something that completed the song.

- Are you there ?

Enjolras' voice cut the silence, made him jump so hard that he almost dropped the guitar. He did call for him. Enjolras wanted to talk to him ! Do not ruin this, play it cool. He walked to the window and leaned out. Enjolras was peering up at him, and Grantaire's heart gave a little tug at the beautiful eyes fixed on him, so large and so blue that they seemed to hold the whole sky. He also noticed that he didn't look as angry as yesterday. Or perhaps he was very good at hiding his feelings. Grantaire composed himself a friendly smile, and answered :

- I am, yes. Hello, Enjolras.

- Hello. I heard you playing, so I wondered....

- If it was me, or the ghost of Christmas past ?

Enjolras frowned, and Grantaire remembered that he was supposed to be nice and friendly, not rile him up again by making fun of him.

- Sorry, he added. What can I do for you ?

- Someone put a box of cookies and a very nice painting on my doorstep, and I was wondering if you knew something about it.

The urge to roll his eyes was stronger than ever, but he refrained heroically.

- Why yes. Do you enjoy cookies, at least ? Because I didn't really ask...

- Oh, so it was you ?

- Yes ? I mean, I signed the note, so....

Enjolras frowned again, more perplexed that angry this time.

- Yes, but.... you.... didn't really introduce yourself. Your friend called you "R" that time, but I didn't know that it stood for "Grantaire", so...

This time, Grantaire facepalmed. Count on him to be so stupid he forgot to officially introduced himself.

- Sorry. I'm Grantaire. Pleased to meet you.

- Pleased to meet you too.

Grantaire tried not to smile too wildly.

- So, what do I owe the pleasure ?

- I heard the guitar. Were you playing ?

- Ah yes, I felt like getting it out of storage and tickling the strings a little.

- That was really great ! I didn't know you were such a good player !

He really needed to stop complimenting him, because Grantaire wasn't sure he was going to maintain his composure for long.

- It's been a while since I've played, but....

- Do you think you could... come down, and we'll play ?

What ? Did he hear right ? Was he....? This was a dream. This could only be a dream. Did Enjolras really ask him to come back ? But he was watching him with his beautiful eyes, and still looking expectantly up at him, and pinching himself didn't suddenly wake him up. That was reality.

When the information reached his brain, Grantaire grabbed his guitar and, once again, ran all the way to Enjolras' door. As he knocked, he suddenly realized that he had bypassed shoes entirely. Too bad, Enjolras was already opening the door, his cat in his arms. Grantaire scratched the little head between the hair, refrained from doing the same to Enjolras.

- So, he said instead, I heard you wanted to play ?

Enjolras lead him to the balcony again, where two cups of coffee were waiting, smoking quietly. Grantaire was both oddly touched by the welcoming gesture, and impressed at how Enjolras seemed to be sure that he would come done. But then again, maybe Bahorel was right and his crush *was* visible from space.

- Anything you want to play ? Grantaire asked once he’d sat down on the rickety chair.

- Can you play Wonderwall ?

- Of course, I taught you. Together ?

Enjolras picked up his own instrument. He carefully placed his hands as Grantaire had shown him, tuned it a little, then turned to face him. Grantaire counted the rhythm as he had taught it, careful of not going too fast.

It was weird, playing together like this. Enjolras did lack a bit in rhythm, forcing Grantaire to adjust, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He didn't dare sing at first, rather enjoying Enjolras' voice, but after the first verse, he just let himself get carried away. It was great, moving like this, in unison, almost like they were two halves of the same thing. Grantaire didn't want to read too much into the situation, but it was... exhilarating. It felt like flying. Like being, for a few seconds, at the top of the world, with him.

It ended, because of course, it had to end, leaving Grantaire disoriented, and a little breathless. Probably the singing, of course. But Enjolras looked as affected as him, so maybe he hadn't imagined the connexion they shared for a minute or two. He tried to play it cool, picking at the keys to retune the strings. Enjolras watched him do with interest.

- Can you play something else ? he asked suddenly.

- Of course. What do you like ?

- Anything you want.

Anything ? Grantaire didn't have to pick his brain to find a song. Of course, that would be a very daring move, but Fortune favored the bold and all that. What did he risk, except a slap and being thrown over the balcony rail ? (probably not). He started playing the chords, softly at first, then seeing that Enjolras didn't run away, launched into the song.

Wise men say only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you...

It was a good thing he knew the words by heart, because Enjolras was so close their knees were brushing, and Grantaire had great trouble stopping himself from jumping each time he touched him. His heart was beating fast, so fast, and he was sure he could hear Enjolras', beating in tune. Or that may just be wishful thinking.

He didn't know how he got to the end of the song without running away or bungling anything. He was ready to jump out of his skin at each light touch. And as he lifted his head, it was to discover the beautiful blue eyes set on him, pinning him in place. He couldn't turn his head, he couldn't say anything, he could just look at him, and hope his eyes would do the talking.

Suddenly, Jude jumped on his master's lap, almost knocking the guitar over, breaking the spell. Enjolras patted him as he kneading his pants, and asked :

- This song...

- Yes.... Did you like it ?

- A lot... It's very pretty.

- Very, yes.

Perfect. When did they land in a potboiler and get turned into shy teenagers ? Grantaire would have slapped himself if he didn't fear looking like an idiot. He'd always hated that genre, so to suddenly find himself like this, babbling and muttering, incapable of speaking his mind... They'd never get there, not like that. Someone needed to take the reins of the conversation for something to happen, anything. He opened his mouth, but Enjolras beat him to it.

- Did you choose it for a reason ?

Ah, short and to the point. Enjolras certainly didn't embarrass himself with subtleties. But now, he was expecting an answer. And this meant Grantaire needed to think very hard about the answer he was going to give, and quick. And Enjolras was still looking at him, so he needed to focus extra hard to not say anything stupid or incriminating. And he needed to think, and to think quickly, instead of being sidetracked like this.

- I....

Great start, Grantaire. Now say something, or he's going to lose his patience, and maybe his temper. But what could he say ? That he really, really wanted to kiss him ? Hold his hand and the rest too ? Set his life at his feet ? Well, yes, this was what he wanted. But he couldn't say it, or Enjolras would run away. But he needed to say something now. Anything.

- I like it.

Oh great. This time, he hit his head against the guitar, lightly, of course.

- Is that the only reason ?

Grantaire took a deep breath, lifted his head. There they were. No going back now.

- I....

It didn't want to come. He was ready to say it, that was the best moment, the only moment, it was perfect, the atmosphere, the guitar, everything, and he couldn't say it. Count on him to be so stupid he couldn't confess his feelings.

A hand closed on his and squeezed gently. He looked down at their fingers, then back at Enjolras' face, who kept his eyes down.

- I don't want your whole life, he said, but I could... take your hand, if you want.

Grantaire was a bit tempted to laugh, but he refrained.

- Would you, really ? He asked, very low.

- I want to try, at least. If you want to.

He was looking at him, now, with such an open expression that Grantaire almost wanted to scream and tackle him. But no. Act like a normal person. He lifted the hand Enjolras wasn't holding, stroked his cheek, very slowly. His movements were measured, to give him all the time he needed to move back. But Enjolras didn't move back. Not when Grantaire bent down, very, very slowly to kiss him. It was soft, almost too much. Clumsy, too, like Enjolras wasn't used to being kissed. They just kept like this for a moment, barely moving. Not enough for Grantaire, he wanted more, way more, he wanted to ravish him, to leave him red, breathless, to hold him tight and never let go. But it was perfect none-the-less.

They parted for breath, and because Grantaire's neck was starting to hurt. Enjolras was looking at him, his cheeks a little red, his smile a little shy. Positively adorable. Without letting go of Grantaire's hand, he moved his chair a little closer, until he could lean against his shoulder. It was not the most comfortable way to sit, but Grantaire wouldn't have let go for anything in the world. Still, he felt compelled to ask :

- Are you sure you want this ? I mean....

Enjolras moved a little, and he wanted to hold him back, but he didn't step aside, not even a little.

- What do you mean ?

- Well... I'm me, and....

This time, Enjolras shifted to be able to look at him without leaving his shoulder.

- Yes, I know.

- Are you sure this is what I want ? Because....

- I am sure, yes. I know what I'm getting, and what I don't know, I will discover. And I'm sure I will like it.

A very large emotion got stuck in Grantaire's throat, effectively cutting all the words he could have used. So he just held Enjolras' hand tighter, and twisted a little to be able to lay a kiss on his forehead.

They sat like this for a moment in silence, watching the sparrows fly by. Grantaire's thumb was stroking the soft skin on Enjolras' hand, very gently. Suddenly, Enjolras asked :

- It wasn't... too awkward, was it ? When I said... (He gestured vaguely with his free hand.) About your life, and....

- It was, Grantaire chuckled, but that was adorable. It's very... you.

Enjolras laughed a little.

- You better get used to it, it seems that I'm very clumsy at speaking my feelings.

- Don't worry, I like it a lot.

- Good. Now would you maybe play that song for me again ?

Grantaire let go of Enjolras' hand with a hint of regret, and took his guitar back. Immediately, Enjolras settled back against his shoulder. Grantaire didn't know if he could play with someone against him like that, but he certainly wasn't going to ask him to move. Certainly not. He stroked the strings again, and started the song a second time. Enjolras was warm and heavy against him, and it was perfect. The notes started to fly above the roof, to tell everyone listening that they had finally found each other.

Songs are True Life Song by Jon Anderson, and Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #same prompt challenge #dorks #such dorks #they are so dorky #I love them

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haylanmakesstuff · 4 years

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Day 1 & 2 of my 21 day Skeksis Costume Build

I usually work as a seasonal Interpretive Ranger for outdoor agencies, like National Parks and Forests, and last year when I got back from working all the way across the country from my home, I had less than a month to pull a Halloween costume off! I always make my costumes from scratch (except things like shoes, but I often alter them, etc.)

I wasted about a week of my time debating what I should do. I had a few ideas but I wasn’t crazy about them. I often feel like I need to be CRAZY excited about whatever I make. When I didn’t work during the summers out of state, I would often start my costumes any time between late June and early August depending on how ambitious it was. Now I had less than a month!

I had been watching The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance and was thinking about how since I was a little kid I’ve always wanted to make a Skesis costume. Then I realized – I didn’t have a job or anywhere to be until school started, so why not go nuts and make one in just 21 days? I did just that. I took pictures along the way to be able to show how I did it…now welcome to the first post detailing the experience!

Also, I had posted about this costume on a Halloween Costume Club I used to run as a Facebook group and actually had people being jerks about it. I am not here for your negativity. I am here to share my process and love of crafting with others, and I am happy to answer questions, too. No, you don’t have to make this costume or anything in just 21 days, even I would usually start months in advance and only work on it intermittently for a better product, I just didn’t have that option in 2019. But please, I’m here to share the happiness of crafting, not to hear how stupid you think my hobbies are.

First, the end game:

Now, let’s back up 21 days and start from the beginning. I kept a calendar with notes on what I worked on because I eventually wanted to go back and make this post. Currently (July 2020) I am updating the costume for a second Halloween (if that happens during this pandemic) and those updates will be the last post of this series. Enjoy!

DAY 1: OCTOBER 10TH

Today I worked on the head/face, and eyes. Go big or go home, because if I couldn’t make the most important part of the costume, then the rest is cancelled. I first gathered a bunch of screen shots of Chamberlain from the new Netflix show, googled images of the character, the puppet, and models. I started the head and completed that process before I realized I liked Skekso’s character design WAY more than The Chamberlain. And I had seen Chamberlain done several times before online and realized I wanted to take on a new challenge. That’s why you’ll notice the head shape is that of Chamberlain and not of The Emperor. That morning I went to craft stores and hardware stores and got the stuff I would need to start off. This would mean many trips to these places, and since I live in a partially rural area, it’s a drive for me so I try to limit these visits so I don’t waste all my creating time driving. You’ll see each material listed as we go along.

First, here is Skekso, The Emperor from Dark Crystal; Age of Resistance, so you know what he looks like from the source material. If you haven’t seen this show, obviously I would recommend it, and would tell you start with the show, not the movie from the early 80’s, because the show is a prequel. I think to new viewers the movie may be more exciting if you see some of the back story on why it’s happening.

So now to the build:

1.) I started with plastic craft mesh in white to make a skull shape:

I used a paper pattern so my sized would line up correctly, etc. You’ll notice I’m not only terrible at math, but I absolutely hate it. Not a great quality for a Maker and I have to compensate A LOT for my lack of math love and skills. I missed a lot of school growing up and never actually learned stuff like long division until college, so….make do! Our weaknesses and flaws won’t end us, we just find a way around them.

2.) Once I got the plastic mesh pieces the right shapes, I glued them together with hot glue, very carefully. I cut out a spot for the eyes making sure the future-eyes that were still ping pong balls fit snuggly. Notice all of my shopping and material decisions are heavily reliant on being light weight – I’m only 5’2 and not very strong, I knew I couldn’t pack a 50 pound costume around all night. I can keep my carry-on bags under 20 pounds usually, so I was confident in tricking this costume to be as light as possible.

3.) Next, I used upholstery foam from the craft store (look in the furniture/upholstery section) to coat the mesh skull with without any contours, etc. That will all come later. I also made my favorite 3 ingredient pumpkin cookies that are the BOMB. Let me know if you want the very short recipe.

4.) After I had all the basic forms of foam where I needed them and hot glued on, I started carving out the foam into the various shapes and valleys to look like Skekso. This took a long time and make a crazy mess, so beware if you have pets, roommates, or husbands – you’ll owe them some of those cookies to put up with your bull.

5.) Then, I started on the eyeballs. Keeping it lightweight, I used regular old ping pong balls.

In the background, to the left of this picture, you’ll see a yellowish-hand. During this time I was also making a Halloween Decoration/Party Decoration; a full size Dementor from Harry Potter, for my yard for the month of October, and for November when I have an annual Hogwarts Feast; both of which I will showcase on here later! I liked these hands so much I ended up adapting a fancier version for this Skekso costume, so more on that later.

DAY 2: OCTOBER 11TH

Face, teeth, eyes, and head dress.

1.) Today I continued painting the eye balls, giving a base coat of off white, painting the iris and pupil, and veins. I used acrylic for all of this, but dipped the reds and pinks in water before using tiny brushes and toothpick points to create the veins. I actually glued a part of a wooden skewer (thicker than a toothpick) short, maybe 1.4 inches at most, to the back of the eyeball so I would always have something to hold onto without messing up the paint job. I figured this would be handy when gluing it into the head later, and it was.

I also continued the carving of the foam on the head from yesterday, finally getting it where I wanted it, ready for the next stage.

2.) Next, I drew dark spots of different sizes on the jaws of the head to see how many of what size teeth I wanted Skekso to have. I used a picture as reference and got it as close as I could. Counted how many large, medium, and small teeth there were, so I knew how many to make.

Then, clearly, it was important that I sang him a little song of encouragement. It could be reenacting that scene from Alien 4 that’s so darned sad too, hard to say.

Now I know what you are wondering: What the heck am I wearing on my head? No, I don’t have a mushy skull like a bitty baby, I’m actually preparing myself to get used to the helmet that will be used for the costume later. I am not sure how heavy it will be, so I want to get used to the bike helmet, and you’ll see later I slowly add some weight to it. Yeah, I look kinda crazy, but at least I got to do it in my own home. And I am not superhero Christine McConnell – I never dress in anything but slouchy pajamas for the most part if I’m heavy into a crafting project. I want comfort and not to ruin everything I own because shit gets messy!

3.) Now that I know how many and what sizes teeth I need, time to make them. I bought a shit ton of Crayola Modeling Magic for this costume because it’s lightweight and I am used to using it. I used only white, mold it how I want it, then it dries for at least 24 hours for these little teeth. Anything bigger will add time – you’ll see more made of this later. Here are the little teeth on a pretty platter to dry:

4.) Now time for more work on the head: I painted the mesh inside of the mouth black so it couldn’t be seen once the head is done. The mouth will be slightly open so you can see the teeth. If I had more time, I would have made a tongue, to.

5.) First unexpected fix: when working on the head I noticed I didn’t like how wide part of it was, between the eyes. The head already is Chamberlains head shape instead of The Emperor, so I used a stitch through the middle to pull in the eyes, making the bridge of the nose narrower.

That’s all for today! And it was a lot. Come back for more posts about my journey through the Cliffs of Insanity to build this Skeksis costume in 21 days. Happy Halloween All Year!

#skeksis #skeksi costume #cosplay #costuming #the dark crystal #jim henson #muppet shop #netflix #age of resistance #the emperor #skekso #halloween #halloween costume #haylan makes stuff #craft foam #quick build #maker #crayola #crayola model magic

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anxceit · 5 years

Text

just as the milky way dreamed

Summary: Roman and Patton plan a holiday celebration to end all holiday celebrations. There’s just...one small hitch.

Pairings: Platonic DLAMP

Word Count: 5373

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi there, @minshinxx, I’m your Secret Sanders gifter! You mentioned you liked the 12 Days of Christmas and Fitting In episodes, so I figured I’d do a sort of “include the new family member” type of episode with Deceit! I hope you like it, and let me know if you have trouble accessing the full thing! Title is from “Beautiful Fiction” by Pinnochio-P, which is generally a very good song for Deceit. (Also, thanks to @starlightparade for letting me bounce ideas and for reminding me that I almost forgot the entire last scene.)

Roman hums along to a Christmas station on Spotify as he plans out the tree he wants to conjure this year. He’s been forced to wear headphones after Virgil slammed into his room to inform him that Thanksgiving was YESTERDAY, Princey, calm down, but he’s not letting that Ebenezer Snooze stifle his creative whimsy! It’s the most wonderful time of the year, after all!

A spiral-bound notebook drops with a slam onto his desk. He blinks down at it, up at Patton (who was not there a few seconds ago), and back down at the notebook. “Sanders FamILY Xmas 2018” is written across the cover in loopy handwriting, surrounded by holographic stickers of snowflakes and Christmas trees.

“I had a few ideas for caroling this year,” Patton explains. “It’s not super important, but if you get a chance...”

He’s vibrating.

Roman chuckles and sets his plans aside. “I’d love to see what you came up with,” he assures him.

Patton claps his hands together loudly, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Ooh, goodie! Thanks, Ro!”

Roman flips through the notebook. Patton’s ideas are far more targeted to each side than Roman’s were, including plenty of time off-stage for Virgil and a “beat poetry(?)” section for Logan. Stapled to one of the pages is a recipe for shortbread cookies with jam in the center. Patton has definitely been working on this since long before the holiday season.

He flips to the next page and stops abruptly. “Patton.”

Patton has taken it upon himself to untangle the Christmas lights Roman dragged out of storage this morning. “Yes?” He looks so hopeful, Roman almost hates to ask.

Almost. His Christmas needs to be perfect, and he can’t let a detail like this ruin it. “There’s a whole section in here for...Deceit.”

“Mmhmm! Is it good?”

Roman stares at him. “Is it...Patton. We cannot have Deceit at our celebration.”

Patton’s brows knit together. “Why not? He’s been in videos before.”

“Because,” Roman snaps, frustrated. “He’s Deceit. He’ll ruin everything. This celebration is supposed to be for the family.”

Patton abruptly stands to approach Roman, but gets tangled in the Christmas lights and falls flat on his face. Roman cries out and jumps up to help him.

Patton takes his hand and sits up. He sniffles, rubbing at his eyes as Roman hands him his glasses. “I just don’t want to see anybody get excluded again.”

Roman will not cave. He won’t. Patton is cute, and Roman feels bad that he fell, but Christmas is important. He’s not going to just—

Patton is crying now.

Roman caves. “Alright, fine, Deceit can come to the Christmas celebration.”

Patton launches forward into Roman’s arms, and Roman rubs circles into his back as he calms himself down.

Eventually he sits up straight again, beaming even though his face is still red. “Thank you, Roman! This is going to be great, you’ll see!”

Roman sighs. “Of course it will,” he declares. “After all, you and I are planning it!”

Patton giggles. “We’re the best team, huh?”

“Of course.” Roman hops to his feet and grabs the notebook again. He leans against his desk to read. “You’re right, though,” he says to the page, “we don’t know much about Deceit.”

“He’s a very private person,” Patton agrees. “But we still need to do our best!”

“Of course, of course.” Roman waves him off, wheels starting to turn. “Why don’t you go...get cleaned up a bit, and I’ll do some brainstorming.”

Patton nods. He knows better than to get caught up in Roman’s brainstorming after that time Logan almost got clocked in the head with a book. He sinks out just as things start to rattle.

Three days later, Patton and Roman sit together on Roman’s floor, looking over the revised copy of the planning book. It’s somehow evolved from a simple carol set into a full play, complete with costume ideas and set design. The basic script is written out, too—a cutesy special in which a single nonbeliever is taught the meaning of Christmas by loving friends.

“Oh, you designed costumes and everything,” Patton whispers, turning the pages with admiration. “Roman, this is amazing!”

Roman winks at him. “Why, of course. You did come to the best, after all.”

“Oh, and it’ll let us bring Deceit into the celebration too,” Patton realizes. "This is the best idea ever!"

"This is the worst idea ever," Virgil says. He's staring up at Patton and Roman from the couch, brows knitted together in an incredulous frown. Patton wilts visibly. "I mean, like, no offense, it's cute, it'd be great with just the family..."

"Which we want Deceit to feel part of," Patton reminds him firmly.

There's a beat of silence. "...Anyway, there's no way Deceit will go for this." He scans their faces for understanding. Finding none, he sighs and sits up properly on the couch, dropping the notebook on the coffee table so he can rest his head on his hands. "Listen, Pat, you know how I had to ask you to stop with the cutesy nicknames?"

Patton nods. "I really am sorry, I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't mean it," Virgil reassures him quickly, "but that's because I knew you for a while beforehand. I knew you weren't trying to be insulting."

Roman lifts up the notebook to scan the page it's flipped open to. "So...you think Jekyll and Lies will believe we're making fun of him?"

"First of all, he's used that pun for himself more times than I can count, so you're not allowed." Roman pouts. "But, uh, yeah, he'll flip his shiiii-lid if you try to talk him into this, and it'll be forever before he speaks to you again."

Patton hangs his head. "...I really wanted this to work out," he admits.

Roman looks from Patton to Virgil, who shifts uncomfortably on the couch. He raises his eyebrows. Virgil shrugs and shakes his head. Roman reaches over and gently pats Patton on the back.

Patton sniffles.

"Okay, alright, fine," Virgil bursts out, "I might be able to figure out a way to make it work, please don't cry."

Patton's head jerks up, bad mood completely cleared. "Let's get started then!"

Logan was only planning to fill his water glass when he came downstairs. Of course, things can never be that simple with a family like his.

The coffee table has completely vanished. In its place, the three members of Logan's family are sitting in a circle around a piece of poster paper, chattering in a low whisper and giggling. As Logan watches, Patton says something so uproariously funny that it causes Virgil to fall on his back with laughter.

Logan walks over to investigate (his first mistake), standing directly over Patton (the second error) in order to check on Virgil.

"Hey, Specs," Virgil greets, without bothering to sit up.

"Am I interrupting something?" Logan asks, tilting his head. "You all seem to be enjoying yourselves."

"Actually..." Roman draws out the last vowel in his typical dramatic manner, grinning. "I think you're just in time to join us."

Logan pauses and waits for further clarification (strike three). Patton takes advantage of his momentary hesitation to reach up and yank him down by his tie.

He refuses to admit to the undignified noise he made in response.

Virgil knocks on Deceit's door, Patton and Roman flanking him on either side. "Hey, Deceit," he calls. "Are you decent in there?"

"Morally?" comes the immediate response. "I'm insulted you even feel the need to ask."

Virgil rolls his eyes good-naturedly and pushes the door open. Patton and Roman follow him in.

Deceit glances up at them with mild interest from his desk. "Oh, Patton and Roman as well! To what do I owe the pleasure? I do hope I'm not in trouble again..."

"We...actually need a small favor," Roman responds. Deceit's eyebrows rise.

"So, uh, every year they do a little Christmas carol...musical...thing," Virgil explains, gesturing to the other two. "Patton and Roman write it, and Logan just gets sucked in. Well, this year they need someone to play a villain role. Roman refuses to do it, Patton won't let me do it—" Patton's back straightens as he nods – "but nobody can take Patton seriously, and Logan...I love him, but he can't act anything but annoyed."

Deceit snorts and leans back in his chair. "I fail to see what this has to do with me."

"We need a villain and you owe us for the stuff you pulled with Patton." Virgil drops a pile of papers on the desk. "That's your script. The performance is in a week."

"Thank you for the help," Patton adds, slowly dragging the other two out of the room as Deceit watches.

"Virgil," he calls, "if you would wait a moment."

Patton and Roman freeze, but Virgil waves them off and strolls back inside alone, shutting the door behind him. Deceit picks up the script and skims through it. He slowly rounds his desk and stalks up to Virgil, backing him up against the door.

He taps Virgil on the nose with the script. "Don't lie to me again," he drawls.

Virgil pushes Deceit's arm aside with a crooked smirk. "Just humor them, okay? They worked hard on this." He opens the door behind him and ducks out again.

"They'd better live up to the hype," Deceit tells him as he leaves.

"Hope you're good at improv!" Virgil calls back, disappearing.

“Isn’t this a bit ambitious?” Logan asks, looking around at the beginnings of the set Roman has been working on. “Last year it was a simple carol, not a musical.”

“And we couldn’t get through that without fighting the whole time,” Roman agrees, “even without Deceit present.”

“...Yes.” Logan stares at Roman where he hangs upside-down from an overarching beam. “So why are we doing something even bigger?”

“Because it’ll be fun!” Patton chirps. Roman gives him a thumbs-up and swings back onto the beam to keep working.

Virgil slams into Deceit’s room without a word. “Virgil?” Deceit asks, startled. “Do you need something?”

“Gotta borrow you for a sec,” is all Virgil offers as explanation before hooking his arms under Deceit’s and lifting him off the ground.

“Virg—what are you—I can—hey!” Virgil drapes Deceit over his shoulder and carries him out of the room. “Was this really necessary?” he mutters into Virgil’s shirt.

“Mmhmm.” Virgil pats him on the back. As he carries him down the stairs, he calls, “I got him!”

“Perfect,” Deceit hears Patton cheer. “Now we can get started!” Virgil drops Deceit on the ground and blithely ignores the vicious glare Deceit turns on him.

All three of the Light Sides are standing in the middle of the living room, staring at him and Virgil. “Get started with what...?”

Patton claps his hands together. “The Secret Santa assignments, of course! It’s so much fun when you don’t know who your gift will be from!”

“...Right,” Deceit says. “Forgive me for repeating myself, but what does this have to do with me?”

“You’re part of the cast!” Patton and Roman chorus. Logan offers Deceit a sympathetic glance.

Roman turns aside to where a small pile of folded scrap paper lies. “Let me just put these all in...”

Virgil cuts him off. “Here, use this.” He swipes Deceit’s hat off his head and hands it to Roman.

“Hey!” Deceit cries. “Give that b—I mean...do what you want.” He crosses his arms tightly over himself.

Patton pouts at Virgil. “Virgil, don’t be mean.” Virgil shrugs.

“Is it alright if we use this?” Roman asks, waving the hat towards Deceit.

“Whatever.”

“...Alright! Let’s get started then!” Roman sweeps the papers up and into the hat, making sure to mix them up well. He then extends it into the center of the circle with a flourish. They all reach in and take a scrap.

Deceit unfolds his paper. As soon as his eyes flash across the name written on it, his face twists into a grimace. Next to him, Logan hums contemplatively.

“Alright, everybody got one?” Roman asks.

Deceit glances up at Roman and nods. Virgil gives him a thumbs-up. Patton, who is nearly vibrating with excitement, sings, “Yup!”

“Nobody got themselves, right?” Silence. “Deceit?”

Deceit rolls his eyes and snips, “Your observational skills are unparalleled, Roman. Of course I got myself. Now, give me that.” He snatches his hat out of Roman’s hand. “If we’re all done here, I have nowhere better to be.” He stalks back upstairs.

They watch him go. Patton leans over to Roman. “That could have gone better,” he murmurs.

“Do you think he’ll actually make a gift?” Logan questions.

Virgil nods. “He will. He won’t be happy about it, but he’ll do it. He’s probably going to try and show Roman up just because he’s irritated.”

Roman chuckles. “I’d like to see him try.”

Roman paces backstage. “I gave him a very specific time to be here so we could all get ready!” he shouts. “Is that really too much to ask?”

Patton bites his lip, glancing at the other two. Logan looks vaguely concerned, at least. Virgil just seems bored. “Virge, should you go get him?”

“Nah, he’ll probably be...oh, there he is.” Virgil glances up just as Deceit breezes into the room, completely unconcerned about his own tardiness.

“Deceit!” Roman cries. “Where have you been? I needed to have you in costume twenty minutes ago so I could make adjustments!”

Deceit gives him a once-over, then glances at the other Sides. Patton and Roman are dressed in matching red-and-green outfits complete with copious amounts of glitter and shoes with bells on the tip. Virgil is in a similar but far less ostentatious outfit, far closer to a formal suit than the almost elvish inspirations of Patton and Roman’s designs. Logan is the only one who looks different. He’s in a deep navy blue outfit with a sheer cape and silver trim.

“What happened to your glitter?” Deceit teases Virgil, who shrugs.

“Didn’t want to be a main role,” he explains simply. “Too embarrassing.”

“I see.” He puts a gloved finger to his chin and turns back to Roman. “Well, as much as I’d love to see what you have prepared for me, I have my own outfit.” He winks at him and vanishes. “See you on stage!”

Roman glares at the spot where he was standing.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Logan whispers to Virgil. Virgil snorts.

Patton falls to his knees in front of a trashed toy shop. Roman runs up next to him, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he surveys the damage done to their shop.

Opposite them, Deceit stands on one of the only unbroken tables. He’s wearing a tailored black suit with a green dress shirt, looking the part of a businessman. He gives them a sly smile as he watches their reaction to the destruction he’s caused.

“Who are you?” Roman demands. “Why are you doing this?”

Deceit chuckles. “Oh, my name isn’t that important. I’m just part of a system, after all. And as for why I’m doing this, well...” He shakes his head. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“You won’t get away with this,” Roman seethes.

“Oh, won’t I?” Deceit tilts his head. “Try and stop me then.” He steps backward and vanishes in a puff of smoke just as Roman reaches for him.

Patton sniffles behind Roman, who returns to wrap him in a hug. Patton returns the hug, crying into Roman’s shirt, “Our shop...how will we be ready by Christmas now?”

“Not to worry about that,” echoes a voice from behind them. A beam of light shines into the shop, and the wreckage begins to levitate, putting itself back in order as if guided by an invisible force. Patton and Roman whirl around just as Logan strides in, twirling a silver rod between his fingers.

“How did you...?” Patton starts, but Logan cuts him off.

“If you don’t mind, I actually have a request for you two.”

Patton looks down at his new uniform as he and Roman wander a forest path. “Still, isn’t saving Christmas a lot?” he asks doubtfully. “I mean, we’re just toymakers.”

Roman shrugs. “If it falls to us to defend the spirit of the holiday, then I’ll fight with all my power!” he declares. He draws his sword (newly obtained from Logan along with Patton’s) to punctuate the statement, and narrowly misses slashing Virgil in the face as he backs away with a yelp and falls to the ground. Patton gasps and puts a hand to his own sword, and Roman brandishes sword at the interloper. “Who are you?” he demands.

“H-hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” Virgil stutters, leaning away from the sword. “You guys met my boss earlier, right? Green shirt, stupid smirk?” Roman and Patton share a glance and nod. “Well, uh, I want to help you. I don’t like what he’s doing, and I want to try and save Christmas.”

Deceit turns as the trio enters, facing them with a confident smile. “Ah, it seems you’ve caught up to me,” he purrs, “and with one of my own associates, no less.”

Roman and Patton draw their swords. “We won’t let you threaten Christmas any longer!” Roman shouts.

“Really?” Deceit tilts his head and chuckles. “Well then—” he holds out a hand, and a slim silver rapier materializes— “let’s see you try.”

Deceit holds his hands up, allowing his sword to clatter to the ground. “Alright, alright, I concede,” he says. “I, alone, am not strong enough to defeat the three of you.” Roman grins and sheathes his own sword, while Patton drops his entirely in order to run up and hug Roman from behind. Caught up in their celebration, neither of them notice Deceit’s eyes catch on something behind them.

“Don’t you think it’s time to come clean, boss?” he purrs.

There’s a half-second pause, and then the point of a sword presses into Patton’s back. He and Roman both whirl around to find Virgil smirking at them, weapon now aimed at Patton’s heart. His outfit shifts before their eyes to become a perfect mockup of Deceit’s, with a red shirt instead of green.

“Virge?” Patton gasps. “Wh...what are you doing?”

Virgil chuckles darkly, holding his head high to look down on Roman and Patton. “Did you really think I had defected to your side?” he asks mockingly.

Patton and Roman exchange glances. “Um...yes?” Roman says.

“Idiots!” Virgil stabs forward with the sword, and Roman sweeps Patton behind him to shield him. “This ‘Christmas’ you’re protecting is a sham! It’s nothing more than a corporate ploy to force people to spend more money!”

“We’re just trying to bring joy to the world!” Patton defends.

Virgil laughs again, shaking his head slowly. “Wake up! You’re not bringing joy to anyone! You’re just teaching greed!” He stands up straighter, swinging his sword out to the side to punctuate his next statement. “Now, stand down...unless you plan to die for that blind faith of yours.”

“Virgil, no,” Roman hisses.

“Yes, and...” Behind Roman and Patton, Deceit has recollected his weapon and aimed it at the two of them. He purrs, “Now, why don’t you show us that Christmas spirit of yours?”

Roman unsheathes his katana once more, while Patton scrambles for his, but just before they launch into battle Virgil holds up a hand. “One sec.” He turns his head to the side of the stage. “Hey, Lo, you wanna get in on this?”

Logan peeks out from the wings. “Must I?” He produces a copy of the script and leafs through it, frowning. “It seems somewhat contrary to my characterization thus far.”

“You can hit Roman with a sword,” Deceit offers.

There’s a brief pause while Logan considers this. He sighs and drones, “Oh, no, I seem to have fallen under the influence of those dastardly villains.”

“Logan,” Patton cries, “not you too!”

Deceit conjures a rapier and tosses it to Logan. “They were just too convincing,” Logan says, still deadpan even as it lands at his feet. He picks it up robotically.

“Alright,” Virgil says, turning to the other two with a sharp grin. “Now we can get started.”

Midway through the battle, Logan bumps Virgil out of the way to square off against Roman one-on-one. “Listen to me,” he hisses as Roman swings forward at him, “I need everyone to stop fighting. I think I have an idea.”

Roman pauses. “Do something dramatic,” he advises. “That works for me every time.” He rushes past Logan after Virgil once more.

Logan taps his chin, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. Something dramatic... “Ah.”

The stage lights go out, bathing the room in darkness. A single spotlight cuts through the dark, illuminating Logan alone. “Everyone, please, stop this.” He tosses his own sword aside and spreads his hands outwards. “We’re all fighting for the same thing.”

A second spotlight shines down on Roman. “What are you talking about?” he demands. “They’re trying to destroy everything we’ve worked for!”

“Listen,” Logan says, serene. The light glitters on the silver trim of his jacket. “You’re working to keep Christmas joyful. They aim to rid it of the commercialism which has become so pervasive in its celebration.” He walks up next to Roman and spreads a hand towards him. He gestures with the other at Virgil, who is kneeling in a sudden third light. “Rather than this pointless infighting, would it not be more prudent to join hands and work together to save the season?” Roman and Virgil lock eyes, hesitant. Slowly, Virgil stands and offers a hand to Roman, who shakes it firmly. The stage lights come back on, and Patton dashes across the stage to lift Deceit into a hug.

Snow begins to fall over the five of them.

Patton looks up into it, still holding Deceit’s arm with both hands. “I think this is going to be a good Christmas,” he murmurs.

The curtains fall.

They all drop into the living room, in their normal clothes once more. Patton sidles up next to Roman. “So did everyone have fun?”

“I know I did!” Virgil says, grinning.

“Of course you did,” Roman grumbles, “you take joy in ruining my cre—” Patton elbows him in the side. “I mean...you were very cool on stage.” Virgil grins at him, obviously ignoring the slight.

“It was rather enjoyable,” Logan admits. “What did you think, Deceit?”

Deceit blushes and looks away. “It was...fine.”

“Just fine?” Virgil nudges him, and Deceit slaps his hand away.

“Are we doing this stupid Secret Santa thing or not?” Deceit demands, crossing his arms.

Roman’s face brightens immediately. “Oh! I’ll go first!” He extends his hand with a flourish, and a wooden box appears in his palm. “Patton, I drew your name.”

Patton gently takes the box into his hands, glancing only briefly at the small rod sticking out from the side. “Oh,” he coos, “it’s so pretty!”

Roman grins wider. “Go ahead and open it.”

Patton blinks at him, then undoes the small clasp on the front. When he opens the lid, staccato notes begin to play in a soft rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” as the rod spins.

“It winds itself so that the rhythm stays steady. I think that song is an excellent fit for you, wouldn’t you say...?” Roman trails off. “Patton? Are you crying?”

Patton sniffles and rubs at his eyes. “It’s just...really sweet. Thank you, Roman.” Deceit shoots Virgil an bewildered look. Virgil shrugs.

“Are you okay to keep going?” Logan asks. “Or should we come back to you?”

Patton shakes his head, inhaling sharply. “No, I’m good!” The music box vanishes, presumably to his room, and he puts his hands on his hips. “Let’s keep this party moving! Virge, I got you!”

“Oh!” says Virgil in a vaguely terrified tone. Roman winces in sympathy.

“...So I made you some cookies!” Patton hands a Tupperware container across the circle to Virgil, who pops it open. He pulls out a dark brown cookie and stares at it, puzzled. Patton leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “They’re dark chocolate.”

Virgil snorts suddenly at that. He immediately reels back and covers his mouth, dropping the cookie back into the container. Glancing around at the others to make sure none of them are judging him, he closes the lid and mutters, “Thanks, Pat.” Patton smiles widely at him, and he returns the favor with a crooked grin of his own. “So, I, uh...” He lets the cookies vanish. “I had Logan, and I was trying to think of something practical to give him...”

“Always appreciated,” Logan interjects, nodding.

Virgil hesitates. “Uh...so I ended up deciding on this, because I figured it’d have to come into use sometime. Like, statistically. And stuff. Here.” He hands a small object off to Logan, who flicks it open to reveal a Swiss Army knife.

Logan’s eyebrows rise. “Hm. Interesting.” He pockets it. “You are correct in seeing it as a pragmatic gift, although I hadn’t considered obtaining one myself. Thank you, Virgil.”

Virgil huffs, looking away. “Glad you like it.”

Logan inclines his head in Virgil’s direction, then turns to Deceit. “Well, I received Deceit’s slip.”

Deceit jumps, as though he’d forgotten he’d be receiving a gift in the exchange. “Great.” Logan ignores him.

“Well, I don’t know you particularly well, seeing as you do your best to avoid contact with the four of us, but...considering your reptilian nature, I hope this is satisfactory.”

Deceit catches the yellow stuffed snake Logan tosses him. He stares at it in disbelief. “Really creative, Logan. Nobody’s ever thought of a toy snake before,” he deadpans.

Logan raises an eyebrow and snaps, “Can I finish? I wasn’t finished. Is it okay if I finish?”

“Oh, please, go ahead,” Deceit says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Are you sure?” They glare at each other for a moment. Logan sighs. “As I was about to say, the snake is filled with flaxseed. It can double as a bedwarmer if you microwave it.”

Deceit considers the snake for a moment. “...Alright then,” he concludes, “seems I was correct earlier.”

“Apology accepted,” Logan responds with a smile. “You’re welcome for the gift.” Deceit rolls his eyes at him without malice.

He sighs. “Well, obviously, I didn’t get Roman.” He produces a box wrapped in red paper, with a gold ribbon, and hands it to Roman carefully.

Roman immediately starts to tear into the wrapping, but Deceit hurriedly puts a hand on top of Roman’s. “Don’t...!” Roman gives him a confused look. He sighs. “...Open it when you get to your room.”

“Don’t open it here?” Roman confirms. He looks down at the box and back up at Deceit. “What is it, a bomb?”

Deceit throws his hands up in exasperation. “Yes, of course, I got you a bomb for Christmas.” He gathers the snake under one arm and turns sharply to leave. “If we’re all done here, I’d absolutely love to stay.”

“Aww, come back,” Patton cries. “We were about to have our holiday movie marathon!”

“Have fun with that,” Deceit shoots back. Patton deflates.

Virgil looks up and swings an arm loosely around Patton’s shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t blame you for leaving,” he calls to Deceit’s retreating back. “Patton gets really clingy on movie nights, especially when the weather’s this cold. Must be nice to get some time alone.”

Deceit pauses on the first step. Virgil leans forward and continues, “Sometimes I wake up completely trapped. I guess I’ll deal with it though, since you’re going off on your own.” Patton opens his mouth to say something (apologize for invading Virgil’s personal space?) but Virgil merely winks at him and gestures toward Deceit.

Deceit sighs. “Well, I suppose we all must make sacrifices.” He whirls around, cloak furling outwards. “I’ll stay down here, and see if we can’t lessen that burden on you.”

Virgil puts a hand to his heart. “My hero,” he croons. “Come help me make popcorn then.”

He drags Deceit into the kitchen, leaving the other three Sides to watch in varying states of relief and bewilderment.

“I cannot believe that worked,” Logan whispers to Roman.

Patton claps his hands together joyfully. “What movie should we watch first?”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas,” Virgil and Deceit chorus. Patton gives Roman one final, grateful hug and turns to the DVD stack.

Deceit was gone when they awoke the next morning, disappointing Patton (who had cheerfully cuddled Deceit for as long as he was allowed). He bounced back quickly, though, at the sight of Deceit’s gift to Roman, still lying unopened on the table. He had pressed it into the arms of a barely-awake Roman and shuffled him off to his room to open it alone “since he asked you to, and you should respect that!” Not that it really mattered either way, since Logan was in the kitchen making coffee and Virgil was still asleep upside-down on the couch.

Roman flops down on his bed, bouncing twice on the mattress, and sets to tearing open the wrapping paper. He doesn’t know why Patton’s so excited. Deceit’s so rude all the time! He probably wanted Roman to wait just so that the other Sides wouldn’t see how crappy his gift was.

He tosses the lid off the box and freezes as the contents shine in the light of his room. He lifts the accompanying placard with gentle hands. Written in gold calligraphy, it reads “This seemed the most befitting of your status. Every prince needs one, after all.”

Roman suddenly feels very, very underdressed.

He swaps his pajamas for his proper princely regalia and takes a few seconds to brush out his hair properly. With that settled, he reaches into the box and removes the crown Deceit gifted him, taking a moment to admire the way the inlaid rubies catch the light before setting it carefully on his head.

It’s a perfect fit, naturally.

Roman strides over to the full-length mirror he uses whenever he considers a costume change and spends a few moments trying out different dramatic poses. The weight on his head is strange, but he figures he’ll get used to it after wearing it every single day for the rest of his life. He hides his face in his hands briefly to contain his excitement, then stands up once more and straightens his clothing.

Roman rises up in the living room in his pose of choice (one hand over his head, the other on his hip) and looks out at his family with a smirk. “Hello, nerds.”

Patton lets out the loudest squeal any of them have ever heard in their life.

“Wow,” Logan agrees, pausing midway through a sip of coffee.

Virgil, still lying upside down, raises his eyebrows. “Damn, he really did show you up.”

Roman huffs, refusing to allow Virgil’s gloomy outlook to ruin one of the best gifts he’s ever received. “I prefer to call it creative competition. Anyway, guys, how cool is this?” he gushes. “Look, there’s rubies in it and everything!”

Patton claps his hands to his cheeks. “It’s perfect!” He bounces up to Roman. “Looks like he did the opposite of ruining Christmas, huh?”

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” Logan muses, “since opposites are his whole...thing, so to speak.”

Virgil finally sits up properly. “Well, you have two months ‘til his video anniversary thing you guys do. Better get working.”

“Right!” Roman snaps. “I’ll show him who’s the real creative boss then!”

Logan squints at him. “...It’s obviously you. That’s literally the name of your aspect, I don’t...” Virgil waves him off.

“Before all that,” Patton interjects, “let’s have breakfast! Little princes need a healthy diet, you know!”

Virgil hauls himself off the couch to follow Roman into the kitchen. He stops him just outside and mutters, looking away, “It really does suit you, y’know.”

Roman beams. “Why, thank you, Virgil! It’s rare to receive such a kind compliment from you.”

Virgil’s face goes red even as he scoffs, “Just get in the kitchen already,” and pushes Roman inside to join his family.

#dlamp #sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #my writing #secret sanders

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noona-clock · 5 years

Text

Whatever You Want to Call it - Part 3

Genre: Office!AU

Pairing: Jackson x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

The whole Copy Room Disaster incident really made you stop and think.

Yes, training Jackson had thrown a wrench in your job responsibilities, of which you now had more than usual since being assigned a project manager. Yes, Jackson was extremely chatty and the most Eager Beaver -- no, actually, the better way to describe him would be as an Eager Puppy. He definitely had a dog-like quality to him because he was hard-working and dedicated and super adorable.

You had never denied the fact Jackson was cute. More than cute, actually. He was downright gorgeous with a body to match. And he had a way of making himself look even cuter when he either was listening intently to you or felt he was in trouble for some reason. So calling him an Eager Puppy was probably the most accurate description in the world.

But anyway.

Yes, training Jackson had been inconvenient. But he was your co-worker, whether you liked it or not. He was a fellow employee, and more importantly, he was a fellow human being. (Although, with his good looks, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually an extraterrestrial being.)

It was really only right that you give him a fair chance. And your boss was right: what did it say about you if you couldn’t handle managing a project and training an employee? It said you valued your own career over someone else’s, and while that might be true, you did still care about your fellow man.

You were ambitious and career-driven not heartless.

So you had spent the past two weeks really and truly training Jackson.

You still found him slightly annoying, but you had to admit: you no longer disliked him. If anything, you were just indifferent. Which was a lot better than disliking him, wouldn’t you say?

I mean, it’s not like you looked forward to seeing him every day, but you didn’t necessarily dread it. And you could tell Jackson was a lot more comfortable, a lot happier. It was obvious you didn’t resent him anymore, so your dynamic was just a lot easier.

All in all, things were pretty okay. Not great but not horrible. And you really couldn’t ask for more at the moment.

Well, things were a bit more than okay now because it was Friday. You loved your job, and you kind of preferred going to work than not going to work, but you did still love the weekend. You enjoyed this small bit of time off even if you were always ready to head back to the office come Monday morning.

As you slung your bag over your shoulder after shutting down your computer, you let out a soft sigh and headed out of your cube toward the elevator. You almost ran into someone as soon as you stepped away from your desk, though, a breathy, startled cry escaping your lips.

“Oops!” Jackson chuckled, stopping suddenly as his hands darted out to steady you. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no worries,” you replied with a little smile.

“Heading out?”

You hummed positively, continuing on toward the elevator when Jackson held an arm out to usher you to go first.

“What are your plans for the weekend?” he asked as he fell into step next to you.

“Oh,” you began, a bit taken off guard by his question. You weren’t sure why but probably because the two of you hadn’t really had many personal conversations before. “Um... Nothing, really. Just relaxing, I guess.”

“Good, you deserve to relax.”

And before you could say anything or ask him why he thought you deserved to relax, he continued on.

“My sister is in town, so she’s bringing my niece over for some quality Uncle Jackson time,” he beamed. “I’ll be busy taking her everywhere and spoiling her and avoiding my sister’s scolding.”

“Sounds fun,” you said with a soft chuckle. But deep down you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt; he was scolded by his co-worker and his sister.

He was a grown man, though! He could handle it! Stop feeling sorry for him!

When you reached the elevators, Jackson continued on toward the stairwell, lifting up a hand and bidding you a nice weekend.

“You, too,” you replied with a nod, trying to tamp down the shame of taking the elevator. Not that he was judging you, but... I mean, maybe he was. On the inside.

Okay, what was your deal? First, you felt guilty for scolding him. Now, you felt ashamed for taking the elevator?!

Ugh. It was actually ridiculous.

Thankfully, by the time you arrived back at your townhouse about half an hour from the city, you’d completely forgotten about Jackson.

As was your Friday tradition, you placed an order for takeout (Chinese tonight), pulled up a cheesy romantic comedy on Netflix, selected a face mask to use, a new nail polish color, your comfiest pajamas...

You knew how to work hard, so you definitely knew how to relax hard.

But... the thing about relaxing hard... you couldn’t really do it for long. By Saturday afternoon, you were itching to be productive.

You didn’t have any extra work you’d brought home, so that was out of the question. You definitively were not going into the office on a weekend.

You’d hired a cleaning lady a few years back, so there was no vacuuming or dusting or scrubbing or anything to do around your place.

What else could you do?

Well, what else did you do when you were out of ideas? You called Jinyoung.

“What’s up?” Jinyoung answered after the second ring. You could always count on him to answer promptly, especially when you really needed to talk to him. It was like he was psychic or something...

“I’m bored, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how someone can get bored in this day and age. With all the technology we have?! Watch Netflix!”

“I already did last night!”

“What, you watched all of Netflix and can’t watch anything else?” he countered.

“Just talk to me and be a good friend,” you demanded with a roll of your eyes.

“Okay, fine. What’s new in the world of Y/N?”

“Well... not much...” Before you could stop yourself, you brought up your encounter with You Know Who yesterday. “Jackson asked me what my plans were this weekend as we were leaving work.”

“...Okay? So?”

“I mean, don’t you think that’s weird?”

“...No. I don’t think that’s weird, actually. I think it’s very normal.”

“Yeah, but why was he being so nice to me? It’s not like we’re friends.”

“Maybe he was being nice to you because he’s a nice guy. And...”

You paused, waiting for him to finish. But he didn’t.

“And what?” you asked.

“And I think he kinda likes you.”

“What?!” you cried with an astonished laugh. “He does not!”

“How would you know? You’re too busy ignoring him and hating him to notice anything these days.”

“I do not hate him!” you corrected, clearly offended. “I’m just indifferent to him now.”

“Whatever,” Jinyoung chuckled. “My point is, I don’t think he feels the same way.”

“Why did I call you again?” you asked with narrowed eyes.

“Because I’m a good friend, and you constantly need my help and advice --”

“I do not. I don’t need your help, I just like talking to you.”

“Okay, okay, sorry. I forgot you have that weird thing about help.”

“...What weird thing?”

“Never mind. Listen, I’m at the movies with Emily. Can I call you later?”

“Jesus, Jinyoung! If you’re with your girlfriend, you don’t have to answer your phone when I call! Have fun, watch the movie, and don’t even think about Jackson’s feelings for me.”

“I won’t,” he assured you immediately. “And you think of something to keep you busy.”

After you heard the line disconnect, you let out a deep sigh as you set your phone on the kitchen counter. Well, great. That had done nothing but stir up thoughts of Jackson maybe having feelings for you.

Come on, there had to be something productive you could do.

You gazed around your kitchen, lips pursed in thought... when your running shoes sitting by the laundry room door caught your eye.

Aha!

A little exercise never hurt anyone, right?

Since you lived a bit farther out from the city, you weren’t limited to the bustling streets or a crowded gym; in fact, there was a pretty nice park nearby with sprawling lawns, sports fields, playgrounds, and miles of trails for walking and running. The weather was fairly nice outside, if not a bit chilly, so why not?

It only took about ten minutes for you to change into some more appropriate clothes (since pajamas definitely wouldn’t do the job), and then you were off to the park.

While you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a frequent runner, you did enjoy the peace and quiet it granted you. It gave you time to think, something you rarely got at work - especially since you’d started training Jackson.

To be fair, though, Jackson was super helpful. And he was learning quickly, as he’d told you at the very beginning. Most likely, you wouldn’t have to train him for much longer. And then you could get back to your condominium project, focus all of your energy on that. Jackson would most likely be on your team, of course, since he now knew the ins and outs of the project from being at your side for the past few weeks, so it’s not like you would really get a break from him, but --

Wait, was that --

...Were you thinking too much about Jackson and were now suddenly seeing visions of him outside of work? Did Jinyoung bringing him up cause some kind of... weird curse or something?

Or...

“Y/N!”

Oh, no. That was definitely Jackson’s voice calling your name, and that was definitely Jackson jogging over toward you with a little girl clinging to his neck.

Seriously? Why would Jackson be at the park by your house with his -- he’d said his niece was coming to visit, right? Yeah, his niece. Definitely his niece.

You plucked one earbud out, plastering on a smile as you slowed to a halt on the running trail. “Jackson,” you greeted breathlessly once he’d arrived close enough. “Hey, small world.”

“I live around here. This park has the best playgrounds, so I wanted to bring Aimee. Oh, this is Aimee, by the way,” he said, smiling at the little girl he was holding and rubbing her back. “Aimee, this is Y/N. We work together.”

The little girl simply buried her face in Jackson’s neck, and he chuckled softly.

“She’s adorable,” you grinned. “You guys having fun?”

“Oh, absolutely. Aimee loves Uncle Jackson, right?” He poked his finger into her side, his eyes lighting up when she giggled. “Right? Who is the best uncle in the world, huh?”

Aimee squirmed away from his tickles, though she still squealed out his name with glee.

Oh, good lord she was cute. It had been a while since you’d been around kids, probably since last Christmas when you’d flown back home to see your family. You had nieces and nephews, too, but you certainly weren’t the Cool Aunt.

...What did that say about you? What did it say that your brother never came to visit you with his kids? That your nieces and nephews never clung to you like Aimee was clinging to Jackson?

“Sorry to bother you,” Jackson said, successfully interrupting your (verging on an existential crisis) thoughts. “Just thought I’d say ‘hello’ real quick, introduce you to my niece. You go on back to running.”

“O--oh, okay,” you stammered. You managed a half-smile before Jackson turned back around, setting Aimee down and immediately running after her, screaming that he was the Tickle Monster coming to get her.

You shook your head before resuming your own run, setting your earbud back in place and trying to let your music drown out your thoughts.

And while you did stop wondering why you weren’t close with your family... you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over at Jackson and Aimee (and a woman you presumed to be Jackson’s sister). You saw him pushing her on the swings, helping her down the slide, picking her up and carrying her on his shoulders. And then, when she fell and scraped her knee, you saw him carry her to a bench and coddle her.

It was too freaking cute and too freaking unfair.

Unfair because now you found you were barely thinking about anything else. Your mind was filled with thoughts of Jackson and how good he was with his niece and how adorable they were and how adorable he was and how naturally he took care of her and how --

Suddenly, your foot stepped on something - a small rock, it would seem - and it threw you off just enough to send you tumbling to the ground. You felt your ankle twist as you fell, a sharp pain shooting up your calf. You cried out as your arms flew out to break your fall, the cement digging into your palms and knees.

Oh, shit.

Had you really just tripped on a rock because you’d been too distracted thinking about Jackson?!

Part 4

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aliferous-ly · 6 years

Text

Ambitious

this was a fic long in the making.... it’s,,, pretty personal but i want to post it so lol. me in math

Summary: “Virgil, ironically, religiously completed his homework while Logan finished much of it two or one night before the test (when the homework packet was checked to gain the option of correcting a test). Logan’s approach was not at all systematic, but had worked thus far.

Well... until, that is... calculus.”

Words: 1860

Genre: it’s angst. not like, heavy themes angst just... yeah.

Pairing: platonic analogical ig, mainly none

Warnings: LOTs of self deprecating thoughts in here. incompetency , etc. mentions of thorns (metaphorical), sharp thorns. virgil forgets to take care of himself. it’s not a satisfying ending, and if there’s anything else please tell me!

Tags: @sassy-in-glasses @rose-gold-roman @justanotherpurplebutterfly @anxious-but-whatever @echomist13

“You’re too ambitious for your own good.”

Logan blinked and frowned, hands curling into the fabric of his backpack. “Sorry?”

“Dude, TA? What are you even doing with your life?” Roman said, laughing and shoving grapes into his mouth at the same time. “You barely have enough time as is, I can’t imagine yet another responsibility...”

“I’m fine, I have plenty of time,” Logan said, waving his hand. He spent needed time on classes, yes, but no more than he should be.

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that,” Roman said. “You’re crazy good at managing time.”

Logan nodded uncertainly. “I keep a planner and don’t procrastinate.”

“That is such a lie and you know it,” Roman said, laughing. “How many social studies essays have you bullshitted on the last day?”

Logan sniffed. “I’d say about five.”

Roman snickered and knocked shoulders with him. “Alright, Einstein. How’s math with the Virge?”

“Calc is... fine,” Logan said. He stared at his sandwich, a gross knot of feelings tightening in his gut.

“Calculus sounds so hard,” Patton said, entering the conversation after watching their back and forth.

“It is hard.” Logan sighed, and leaned his cheek on his palm, elbow propped up on the table. “I don’t understand anything. The lessons are quick and complex, it’s hard to keep up, especially with everything else going on right now.”

“Yeah, you have a busy week,” Patton said sympathetically. “But you’ll be okay! You’re our smart Logan, you’ll get it!”

A thorn jabbed into Logan’s chest at the statement, a growing vine of sharp points twisting and squeezing. “...Yeah.”

He tapered off and took a bite of his sandwich, letting Roman take the wheel of the conversation and explain the newest drama between Remy and Nate, who everyone thought were going to get together despite Remy’s obvious infatuation with band nerd Emile Picani.

Logan listened attentively, the thorn twisting deeper and deeper.

—

“See ya after school,” Roman said, waving as he left for spanish.

“Bye,” Logan said, heading off to class. He moved around a line of girls walking on the wrong side of the hallway.

Roman’s earlier statement kept bouncing around in his head – was he too ambitious? He knew he was ambitious, yes, but...

Well, as least he wasn’t actually a TA, just a helper around his old english teacher’s class in his free period. Many times he was there to receive help from her for his new, more advanced english class.

But... he would spend more time teaching other kids, helping around a classroom, than he would studying, which cut into more time at home...

Logan mentally shook himself. No need to focus on that now.

“Hey.”

Logan glanced to the right and saw Virgil meandering alongside him, a crooked grin set on his face.

“Hi,” Logan said back, nodding his head in greeting. “Ready for calc?”

“No,” Virgil said, snorting. “Never.”

“That’s fair,” Logan said. His hands clenched a little tighter around his backpack straps. “How do you think you did on the test yesterday?”

“Dude, you should’ve seen me taking it,” Virgil said, spreading his hands in front of him, palms down, as he spoke. “My hands were clutching the pencil so hard. If he can read my equations it’s a miracle. I think I almost passed out.”

“That’s... not good,” Logan said. He frowned in thought. “Was the stress that much for you? Perhaps a different form of test could be done...”

“Nah, just a lot of little things, y’know? Didn’t eat or drink much, got maybe three hours of sleep from studying all night...”

“Oh,” Logan said, falling silent. “That’s... still not good.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, screwing up his face. “I know.”

“Did you eat breakfast this morning?”

“No.”

“Water?”

“...also no.”

“Have my water bottle,” Logan said, reaching behind himself and hooking his finger on the loop of his water bottle. “I think I have an extra in my locker from last week.”

“I...” Virgil stared at the bottle shoved into his chest and grabbed it to stop it from crashing to the ground. “I can’t take this.”

“Then throw it away,” Logan stated firmly. He walked into the calc room, cutting off the conversation for a few seconds. Virgil mumbled something, playing with the hard plastic of the bottle absentmindedly.

He and Virgil had been in the same math class since sixth grade, save the last year when they’d been devastated to learn they’d have to take pre-calculus without one another. They knew each other’s ups and downs, they knew how the other functioned in relation to math.

Virgil, ironically, religiously completed his homework while Logan finished much of it two or one night before the test (when the homework packet was checked to gain the option of correcting a test). Logan’s approach was not at all systematic, but had worked thus far.

Well... until, that is... calculus.

Calculus.

How he hated calculus.

The test had been more difficult than any test he remembered in math, and it was only the first one. His teacher was more than understanding. In fact, Logan had spent an hour and a half with him after school, working through homework problems and such, and his teacher had – on multiple occasions – mentioned that it was okay to not do well right off the bat. It was okay to not understand.

Calculus was not like other math.

“Are we getting the tests back today?” Logan said numbly, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and settling into the chair.

“God, I hope not,” Virgil mumbled, face down on the table. “I don’t want to face my failure just yet.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Logan said, wrinkling his nose. “I just want to know what I got and be done with it. I’ll be stressing all weekend otherwise.”

“Even if you get a bunch wrong?”

Logan laughed. “You mean when I get a bunch wrong?”

Virgil grinned at him. “Oh what a mood.”

Logan cracked a smile back, but before he could reply, the teacher was talking and class had begun. They exchanged a few more quips in lulls or when they were working on problems.

Only... Logan didn’t get it. He didn’t understand any of the problem... sure, he could type it into his calculator just fine, and sure, he could calculate the height and time and so forth, but he didn’t understand what his teacher was actually trying to teach – the theory behind it. The why. Normally Logan’s favorite part.

“Any questions? You’re good?” the teacher asked the class, examining everyone to make sure he’d gotten through to them.

Please repeat that entire explanation but slower and more thoroughly, Logan thought pitifully.

“Alright, then, with that...” he continued on, writing on the smartboard. Every so often he would pause and ask for the answer to a particular question and someone would shout it out. Only heaven knew how they knew the answer, because Logan felt like they could’ve asked what seven minus nine was and Logan would have to take a dozen seconds to figure it out.

He struggled through the three simple practice problems and when the teacher went through them he numbly wrote the answers and the process, trying trying trying to comprehend what it all meant, what the numbers on the page equated to and which belonged to where and how this all applied –

“Now, I won’t be giving this equation twice. This is the only time I’m giving it to you,” his teacher said, laughing a bit. Logan felt like weights were slowly attaching themselves to the vine around his lungs, dragging his heart lower and lower.

Virgil was dutifully jotting all the notes down, handwriting a little jumbled. Logan tried to focus on his paper, the lines starting to run together and his hand shaking between his fingers. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Why don’t I understand?

Logan wrote down a few more notes, trying to make sense of the equation set before him, the equation given at the beginning of class, the equation he’d learned all about not five minutes before. I don’t understand I don’t understand I don’t understand

I’m stupid. Logan was familiar with the voice in his head and he made sure he copied everything from the teacher. Maybe he could relearn it in another hour. Maybe then he’d be okay. Why did he take this class? I’m stupid, why did I take such a hard class?

Logan considered himself relatively smart, all things considered. He managed to get into many advanced classes, shooting himself two years ahead of his peers in math. Virgil, along with other math students his age whom he’d learned to recognize relatively consistently, had also been thrown forward two years.

One semester of calculus in two semesters or two semesters of calculus in two semesters?

At the time, it’d barely been a question. Of course he’d take the most advanced class – he was Logan Sanders. He didn’t shy from a challenge, and wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he took the one in two. He needed max college credits.

I don’t understand I don’t understand I don’t understand

Too ambitious for my own good

“Ha, I barely understood any of that,” Logan said weakly as they were packing their things.

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah. It’ll make sense soon. You’ll probably learn while taking the test, knowing you.” He ended the statement with a quick burst of laughter and Logan smiled back, lips wobbly and nervous.

He had a tendency to do that in pre-calc, not quite understanding the content until the test itself, but even he could realize that calculus – at least, the one he was taking – was on a completely different level.

I don’t understand I don’t understand

Logan was crouched by his backpack, zipping everything back up, when the thought struck him like a bullet. I’m not smart enough for this class.

He’d never been not smart enough for a class. Teaching incompatibilities, perhaps, or the content needed a bit more work than instant comprehension, but never completely missing the lesson, the point of the lesson. Math built on itself; losing a lesson was like losing a vital block while building a tower, and when a great wind blows the tower must stand strong.

The thought struck him so strongly and quickly that he couldn’t move for a few long seconds. Virgil rustling around in his bag brought him back to the present and he stood, long legs shaking imperceptibly.

Logan shifted on his feet. “Ready to go?” At least his voice sounded natural.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, slinging the bag over his shoulder and stalking out the door, eye on Logan.

Logan followed but couldn’t bring himself to speak, a lump settling in his throat and refusing to budge.

They walked in silence.

Logan could barely breathe.

I’m not smart enough for this class.

A bit too late, huh?

Too bad if you drop you’ll be the utter disappointment. You want to go into a math career, and you’re going to fail calculus? What a joke.

Logan shuddered and parted from Virgil, who was headed to his chem class.

I’m not smart enough for this class.

Too ambitious.

#sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #logan sanders angst #platonic analogical #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #brabbles #aghhhhhhhh #its better now i think i understand more but math is HARD #im usually good at math ;-;

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unusualvisionsblog · 5 years

Text

Sky full of star: Chapter 1

My first original series/ book! Ah I'm super nervous and excited. Its pretty cringy I guess but I hope y'all don't hate it yeet.

Summary : Kathleen Hunter, 23 and a redhead is a daring and an ambitious flight attendant who wants to travel the world. But when her jobs brings her to a new love and brings back an old flame, what will Kathleen do?

Warnings : none actually, cringe probably, swearing later.

There might be a few spelling mistake since I posted this at like 1am yeet

Word count : 1615 or something

So here we go oof

CHAPTER 1

Never had she hated her life more. Her alarm didn't ring and she had already stubbed her toe on that darn bedside table. Ouch. She really couldn't afford to be late today.Sighing deeply, she checked the time. Today was really important for her, because if this flight went well, her career would really take a jump. Being a flight attendant was definitely not an easy job. She had to deal with rude passengers and crying babies. She looked at herself in the mirror, biting her lips in criticism. Her strawberry blonde hair were a mess but there wasn't enough time to do a decent hair style.

Kathleen would never believe anyone whenever they complimented her on her looks, because having been called plain and boring by her mother for 23 years, it was hard to believe anything else really.

But when someone else would see her for the first time, they would notice how the loose tendrils of her silky hair would cover her face and how her alluring blue eyes would peek out and how they would shine brilliantly when her pink lips uplifted to form a sweet smile.

Putting her hair in a quick messy bun, she got dressed and grabbed a coffee before leaving. She quickly reached the bus stop and waited, tapping her feet constantly and after every two sips, checking the time. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice a group of suave business men and women heading towards her when suddenly "BAM!". A young man talking to his colleague bumped into the frowning woman. At this sudden motion, Kathleen stepped back, dropping the hot coffee on her uniform. Now this really was the cherry on top of an already bad day. She crossed her arms, glaring right into the brown eyes of the fair young man, "Excuse me, are you actually freaking blind? You've completely ruined my day AND my coffee!"

Taken aback, "I apologise for the coffee but this is just as much your fault as it is mine" the man huffed, his brows creased. This only infuriated Kathleen more and she was more than ready to retort back,"Hah! You- " when the woman next to the man interjected,"David we really don't have time to argue with random people on the street, you're getting late!" and with that they all moved forward with David looking over his shoulder and scowling at the woman one last time, muttering, "God what a horrible start to the day."

Having finally reached the airport, Kathleen quickly changed into her second set of uniform and did her make up before getting on board the flight.

As tiring and exhausting this job was, Kathleen really did love being a flight attendant as it was the only way she got to travel the world. She'd been to France, Germany, Italy, India.. the list goes on and on.

She had met people who had impacted her life throughout her journey and she was excited for her next one and if this went well, there was going to be a sweet sweet salary bump for her.

Having helped all the passengers in the economy section feel comfortable, she moved to the business class where she finally got a chance to talk to her best friend, Tracy Sawyer. Tracy smiled brightly at her as she walked towards her, "Omg, are you excited?! This is your first flight with you in charge!! You are so going to kill it!"

"Wow you have way more confidence in me then I have for myself." She chuckled in reply.

"Okay first shut up, you're definitely getting that raise and second you have got to see that hottie in first class, single and wohoo he is a snack!"

Raising her eyebrow, "Don't you have like a boyfriend Tracy?" She questioned.

"God you are so dense, Kathy he isn't even my type, I was talking about you! You've been single for like 8 years!"

"3 not 8!"

Tracy rolled her eyes in reply, "Whatever you're serving first class today! See you around love! First seat on the right" She said winking at Kathy and moving to the next section.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't even a least bit interested in checking out this so called handsome single man. She took a deep breath and walked right into the first class section and with a bright smile turned towards the right side, " Good morning and thank you for choosing Blue sky airlines, how can I help you today?" She lifted her eyes and that's when her smile faltered. They were the same brown eyes that had glared right back at her in the morning.

"You- it was you at the bus stop wasn't it? Screaming at me?"squinting at her with his lips pressed

" I-i act-" she stuttered.

" Do you know that I am the CEO of Timetrend?"

Wide eyed, her breathing became rapid but she could not speak.

"This is an interesting turn of events" with a smirk on his face.

At this point Kathleen composed herself, "Sir allow me to apologise to you profusely, I truly am very sorry." But let's be honest, they both knew she wasn't.

"Well I guess you can make it up to me by getting a glass of champagne or is that too much for you?"

Biting her lips to prevent her from making the situation worse, She replied, "right away sir."

She cursed Tracy severely in her head. And to make matters even more abominable, there was only one first class passenger. And he was a pain in the ass.

He couldn't believe his bad luck, imagine having the same clumsy woman as your flight attendant. At least here he had an advantage, he could order her around completely although he wasn't actually that cruel. He was having a hard time trying to control his laughter looking at the flustered girl who was so composed before.

As much as he tried to distract himself, he was extremely bored, he had finished all of his work so that he could spend time with his girlfriend on the flight. Well Ex girlfriend now since she broke up with him yesterday. He was upset sure but not heartbroken. He didn't really love her and she probably didn't either although she tried to but the effort was only one sided. He didn't have time for relationships. He was a busy man after all.

He tried to sleep but he just couldn't. He heard the sound of her heels and guessed that she was making the rounds again. He sat up straight and decided to order another glass of champagne, this was a long flight after all.

" Do you need anything sir? " She questioned, still afraid to meet his eyes.

"Yes, I'm bored."

At this her eyes shot up, with eyebrows raised but she quickly hid it with her normal smile

" Well we have a wide range of movies, if you'd like. We also have mag-"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean no, I want to have a conversation. Tell me something about yourself."

" Are you drunk sir?"

" No of course not! Who gets drunk after two glasses of champagne?"

" Well okay, what would you like to know?"

"For starters, tell me your name."

And somehow, to both of their surprise, they were able to keep an interesting flow of conversation going without any awkward silences or anything of the sort and soon they were laughing like old friends. Well actually Kathleen was laughing, the closest David came to laughing was giving her a genuine smile. Soon Kathleen returned to the other attendants for the rounds, returning soon enough to first class, with smirking glances from Tracy.

"Kathleen, might I ask you why did you choose to become an air hostess? You don't have to answer." He added cautiously

"One call me Kathy, I actually do not like Kathleen at all.

He chuckled slightly taking a sip of his drink

"Two it's not really complicated. I mean I didn't always want to be an attendant. I wanted to be a pilot. But you know financial issues."

"Oh. Yeah I get that"

There was a comfortable silence between the two before Kathy had to leave again.

"We'll be landing soon, so I'll take your leave." She smiled at him warmly. There was something so innocent about her smile that he couldn't help but smile back.

She got up to get back to her seat with Tracy when a sudden turbulence caused her to stumble forward but before she could hit the floor,a pair of strong hands grabbed her waist and prevented any accident that would end up with her having a huge boil on her head. She felt her heart pound as she looked into his brown eyes slightly converted by his brown hair for what seemed like 10 minutes but was actually 5 seconds? She was being ridiculous! She shook her head and smiled at him,thanking him and went on her way avoiding eye contact.

-----

He really couldn't help but smile at her and he was pretty astonished about himself. They were getting ready to descend, when there was a slight tremor and he realized that it had completely shooken Kathy and she would probably fall down but before that he grabbed her firmly by the waist and immediately stood up. He didn't know what happened but something in her blue eyes pulled him towards her. He saw a strand of her glossy red hair on her soft pink cheeks, he was having a hard time fighting the urge to tuck it behind her ear. He didn't even register the fact that he was staring at her before she blushed and pulled away. For the first time in his life, he felt flustered at the sight of her. He probably was just tired. Hopefully.

#love #angst #romance #chicklit #original #fiction

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migleefulmoments · 5 years

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“you can all celebrate him willingly walking to his execution and I promise that after I make a few final goodbye” Dear lord. HIS EXECUTION?! I’m gonna need them all to take like a zillion massive steps backward. They’re really saying Darren marrying Mia is equivalent to his death. I can’t. What the hell? They can’t honestly think this sounds sane, can they?

In all fairness they have spent the last 4 or 5 years with ajw as their Chairman of the Board. She is a ruthless leader who had no trouble spinning a fantasy that was predicated on anti-Mia hate and bullying. As the self-appointed leader, she took a position of claiming most of her fabricated theories were the truth and she often claimed she knew WHAT Chris or Darren were thinking about a given situation. I could go on and on and on but her statement yesterday is a great summation of how her thinking is jaded by her fantasies.

The thing is nonnie, it isn’t just career. This isn’t just choosing straight. It is choosing straight AND:

A woman he literally despises and that has egregiously hurt him repeatedly

RR, the most inept manager of all time, who works for his beard

The bar that has complete personality disorder and that requires him to promote it more than anything in his career and to be physically present frequently

All of the enablers who need to be promoted constantly and this includes her friends and many of his friends

Likely giving up C for good because to me, the situation looks much different when it becomes willing. A marriage is willing, I just don’t see C being ok with this.

Being paired to a woman that acts badly. She rolls joints in cars and posts in SM, has not work ethic, parties continuously, etc etc

To me IF he wanted to choose straight, he would choose a classy beard that actually was ambitious and would bolster his image not hinder it.

This is about so much more than choosing straight. If marries M, I don’t think he ever breaks free. And M comes with too much baggage. I honestly don’t see him surviving it long-term.

And for the record, I don’t think D is choosing straight, but i just want to emphasize M is much much more than just choosing his career over his truth. I literally think he would need a personality transplant to make this choice.

This entire manifesto of HER beliefs about Darren getting married are nothing more than HER theories based on HER fantasy and HER HER HERHERHERHE.

Choosing straight? Darren has constantly and constantly said he is straight since 2010. At NO time did he suggest, hint, or hem & haw that he was anything but straight. The “Darren is queer” trope is entirely fabricated and perpetuated within the CC fandom. They truly believe he is queer and then proceeds to out him on a daily basis. That is fucked up.

A woman he literally despises and that has egregiously hurt him repeatedly? Darren has never so much as suggested he was angry at Mia let along “despises” her. We have never seen them break up or take a break. They worked together on Glee and they own a bar together. They spend a lot of time with one another. In fact, the CCers have spent many hours arguing that “it isn’t normal” that they spent so much time with the one they love. The few times that Darren has talked about Mia over the years have constant - he loves, he loves her a lot. She has accompanied him to events for many years and in the last 4 yeas she has been to most of his events. The only ones who “despise:” Mia are the jealous CCers.

Egregiously hurt him? Once again, there is not one story that is rooted in reality. Most couples hurt one another at some point but there is nothing that we, as fans, are privy too and nothing that reaches the level of “egregiously”. If there was then it would up to Darren’s family and friends to intervene and his family and friends like her. Darren’s family interact with her in a way one would expect of their soon-to-be DIL. Fans have seen them together at shows. There is nothing to suggest they don’t like her. And there are no stories of Mia hurting Darren that weren’t manufactured by the CC fandom.

RR, the most inept manager of all time, who works for his beard? I know you won’t be surprised to know that stories of RR ineptness are also made up. How would any fan know what Ricky is doing for Darren? We don’t. We do know that Darren calls Ricky his good friend and that he followed Ricky when he started his own business. I know that he hired a music PR company and told them that he only needed promotions services because he had his own manager he wants to stick with( I randomly met the music PR company CEO on an airplane). Darren’s career is flying, he is busy AF with lots of projects and the two men have worked out relationship that works well for them both. Managers aren’t allowed to control their actors lives as CCers have suggest. He must work on behalf of Darren, in Darren’s best interest at all times or Darren could end the contract. Ricky isn’t working for Mia…where would Mia get the money to pay him? Why would he hurt someone that so many people in Hollywood love- he would ruin his career when that got out. Nobody who is in Darren’s world sees anything amiss but we are supposed to believe CCers? OKAYYYY This is another trope that AJW fabricated that isn’t based on a shred of reality but it helps her explain why Darren is not out of the closest and why he doesn’t talk to Chris and why Mia is still around.

The bar that has complete personality disorder and that requires him to promote it more than anything in his career and to be physically present frequently The bar doesn’t have a personality disorder. It is an over-21 bar with theme nights that are well advertised. It is so easy to find a rationale explanation for why Darren promotes the bar more than anything in his career: Because IT IS HIS BAR and he LIKES it.

All of the enablers who need to be promoted constantly and this includes her friends and many of his friends This is disgusting. These are his friends…. friends he has cared about for many years. The ccProblem is that they like Mia and that can’t be so they are labeled ccEnablers. Darren’s important relationships are belittled and denigrated so that CCers can ignore the obvious - that Darren’s friends love Mia. They aren’t enablers: they are supporting a real relationship between two people they all love very much.

Likely giving up C: He was never with Chris. That was all made up in the cc fandom’s head. Chris is living his live unbothered by what is happening in Darren’s life right now because they have nothing to do with one another.

Being paired to a woman that acts badly. She rolls joints in cars and posts in SM, has not work ethic, parties continuously, etc etc Let’s be clear, there are no examples of her acting badly that are based in reality. The CCers spend a lot of time and energy creating and publicizing Mia Acting Badly but it is all ccNonsense. Pot: She and her friends rolled 1 joint, in 1 car, 1 time. Most Americans are smoking pot today and it is legal in CA so it is ridiculous to keep bring this up. She has no work ethic: She OWNS a bar. We have no idea what else she does. She could be doing projects that we don’t see- things that aren’t made-for-social-media moments. She is on Ryan Murphy’s charity and she has done freelance work so there may be stuff we don’t know of, idk. It doesn’t matter if she is doing a lot or nothing more than owning her bar and supporting Darren’s career because that is the choice that they made as a couple in a relationship as couples do. It isn’t any of our business.

Parties continuously: Also a CC trope that has no evidence to back it up….they just keep throwing it out hoping it sticks. It hasn’t. This trope is based on CCers deep desire to slander Mia and they caught her standing near glasses of unknown substances, belonging to unknown person at TSG so yaknow, she’s drunk amirght? Most of the time, Mia is with Darren so idk where they get the idea she is a partier unless Darren is a partier and we know that they cannot EVER, Ever, ever entertain the idea that Darren is or was ever a drunk, frat-bro. The other day they dug up a blind from 2014 that claimed Mia was doing cocaine and acting like an asshole but there was nobody thought to grab their phone and start recording. SHOCKING. Also utter BS.

etc etc etc: All of their examples of Mia “acting badly” are fake. I have vetted them all. There are a lot of stories of Mia treating fans badly and yet there is not ONE video; not one photo of these moments? Amazing that fans are video taping Darren’s show and the stage door moments but they never catch Mia being a raving bitch to Darren’s fans. It’s almost like they aren’t real.

To me IF: yes to me to me to me to me me me me me memememememe its all about her.

M comes with too much baggage: Louis Vuitton? I’m super jealous. Darren has loved Mia for almost 9 years. He knows her baggage well. The CCers on the other hand, have no clue what is real and have fabricated a lot of fantasy luggage they will be left standing with as Darren and Mia walk down the aisle toward one another and their new life.

I honestly don’t see him surviving it long-term.This always makes me chuckle. What exactly do you imagine will happen? What actually happens to people who “don’t survive long term?” That makes for a great fiction story, the plot of many movies but what happens in real life? She imagines what about Darren?

According to CC trope, Darren is living a life of hell right now- lying to everyone, having to keep a billion balls in the air and all the lies and stories straight. He has to lie to everyone and keep track of those lies- lies to friends, fans, family, interviewers, team members, Mia’s family, Mia’s friends,TSG patrons, and people he works with on set. He has to pretend and ACT like he likes Mia at Hollywood events, TSG, weekends with Starkid, in front of fans and with their families. He has to spend all day with Mia and run home to Chris for 2 hours of snuggling and spooning. He has to engage his parents in participating in stunts to keep the ruse going. He has to get everyone who knows to lie for him.

If he breaks it off with Chris and marries Mia, he stays in the closet and just lives his life. Yes, he is denying his sexuality-but many men in Hollywood have done so for many years. and according to ajw, staying in the closet and having a beard is the norm right now. Let’s be real, he is doing all of this- hiding in the closet, marrying Mia, and forsaking Chris in order to keep his fame. There is no other reason to keep his sexuality hidden except for fame because literally nobody but Ryan Murphy, Fox Studio, Ricky Rollins and Mia Swier CARE what Darren’s sexuality is. He could be a lawyer in NYC and nobody would care if he was queer…or an actor in San Francisco or run a theatre in Michigan. He is literally Ariel, trading his sexuality and sexual freedom to Ursula in exchange for his career.

Staying hidden deep in the closet and forsaking his love would be a horrible price to pay for sure but to me it seems far less horrible than the story spun by the CrissColfers that describe a life of deception, fear, and a lack of integrity. In this scenario, marrying Mia means he lies to himself about his sexuality but in exchange he gets to stop lying to EVERYONE else.

The truth is that all of the CC theories are based on 2 things:

the CCer’s baseless hatred of a woman they don’t know

they are concocted to explain why Darren’s behavior and words do not support the most basic CC trope: that Darren is queer and that he and Chris are in a long-term committed relationship.

Every single CC trope and theory was fabricated in direct response to something Darren did or said that did not reflect that is queer and/or in love with Chris Colfer. The tropes are fabricated as explanations for behavior that does not uphold CrissColfer and this has led to an enormous number of unrelated and complicated tropes. As we get farther away from Glee and it became readily apparent to everyone except the CC fandom that Chris and Darren do not have a public relationship, the tropes rely more and more on an endless number of “contracts” that seem to serve no purpose other than to “promote” Mia and/or ruin Darren’s life. It is all utter rubbish.

The most logical, most simple, easier explanation as to why Darren said or did something that doesn’t uphold CrissColfer is that

Darren Criss Loves Mia Swier

That one simple sentence solves all of the mysteries about Darren’s behavior over the last 10 years.

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cbraxs · 5 years

Text

Warped [Time Warp Trio Fanfiction] - Chapter 8

Izzy ran away. Again.

She hefted on her snow coat on as she exited Joe’s house, throwing a hasty goodbye to his parents before the door slammed shut behind her. Light snow fell on the streets of Brooklyn, blanketing everything in a layer white. Izzy shivered, but not from the cold.

The Monocle Man… Mad Jack, was realer than ever. She dreaded this happening for years, clinging to the hope that maybe that incident with her and her mother was a bad dream she’d mistaken for a memory. In less than an hour, she’d met her boogie man, learned his name, and found out one of her friends was his nephew. Could she trust Joe anymore? Could she trust any of her friends?

Of course I can, she thought. Just because someone had bad relatives didn’t mean that they themselves were bad. Her maternal grandparents disowned their only daughter to the point of not even attending her funeral, but her mother was the most loving person she knew.

Izzy’s dad must have trusted Joe, too. Why else would he tell her to go find Joe if he was in cahoots with Mad Jack? If Joe was working with his uncle, something would’ve happened by now.

This opened more question for her. How did her mother know that time traveling madman? Did she know about time travel? What about her dad?

It wasn’t hard for her to believe that they knew about time travel and never told her. But why? She knew about magic. Her parents taught her what it was. They taught her how to use it, to respect, and not to abuse it. Why not tell her about time traveling?

Magic and time travel might be similar, but Izzy knew they weren’t the same. With magic, the witch or wizard was in complete control of the outcome if they studied, trained, and knew what they were doing. Time travel, at least from Izzy’s experience, wasn’t as clean cut. You could be prepared, know your history, have the means to protect yourself, but you could still be at the mercy of others. Between Master Mysterio and Mad Jack, Izzy knew how dangerous things could get.

So her parents kept it from her to protect her.

Izzy sighed, her breath trailing into the air in misty wisps. She was being a brat. For one reason or another, some kids didn’t have their parents looking out for them. She was lucky to have even one who cared about her safety. Izzy shouldn’t complain about a few kept secrets when her parents only meant to protect her. Besides, she had secrets as well. How could she be upset with her parents when she was keeping her situation away from her friends and not feel like a big fat hypocrite?

Were her parents time travelers? It made sense the more she thought about it. Her dad read her history books to sleep when she was little instead of picture books or fairy tales. Her mom would decorate their home with old-timey knickknacks that always seemed a bit more authentic than a Made in China replica.

There were other things, too. Vague memories of vacations when she was no older than three or four. Meeting people she’d later learned were dead for centuries. Trips to countries that no longer existed. For years thinking the great pyramids were white, only to find out in the fifth grade that that was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Things she disregarded because she thought they were simple misunderstandings.

Those trips, however, ended with a visit to Egypt. Izzy remembered crying; her mother’s distressed face; cold, manic eyes that bore into her. She tried to recall more details, but it was like trying to roll a boulder uphill. Just when she was about to get somewhere, it would all come crashing back down, and she’d wind up back at square one.

Izzy tried to put these thoughts aside that night and get some rest, but the thoughts invaded her dreams, morphing and transforming into strange and weird images that confused her even further.

~*~

The next day at the Craft Shack, Izzy helped Joe pick out color chips and tried to stifle a yawn.

The Craft Shack was this local hobbyist store that carried everything an artist/seamstress/scrapbooker could ever want/need/buy and forget they had. It was meant to be just her and Joe picking out colors for their trick box, but Sam and Fred tagged along and she was happy to have them there.

Sam lagged behind, his nose in an engineering book. Despite declaring he had no eye for color theory, he chimed in every now and again, adding his two cents on what he thought about each shade of purple they looked at. Fred had… questionable taste when it came to color coordination. He seemed to think clashing colors would help them stand out more. It would, but not without damaging some corneas in the audience.

Joe was dead set on picking out the perfect colors for the trick box Izzy built for their talent show. Joe was one of the most ambitious people Izzy had ever met. The talent show wasn’t for another month, but ever since Joe asked for her help, they’ve been practicing whenever they could after school. Izzy was practically finished with the box so they could start working on the payoff of the trick instead of just the setup.

There were still things they needed to work on, outfits to buy, etcetera. It was a lot of work, but Izzy enjoyed it. At her old school, kids wouldn’t care enough to put together an act the way Joe did. She admired him for that.

“How about this one?” Joe asked, pulling out another purple paint chip.

“Dude, just pick one.” Fred waved a flippant hand at the row of paint chips. “These are all the exact same color.”

“No, they’re not,” Izzy said and picked out two different chips to show him. “Royal aubergine has more red in it than uncut amethyst, which is a lighter shade of purple. See?”

Fred nodded. “Oh, uh huh. Definitely.”

Izzy frowned. “Was that sarcasm?”

“Oh, uh huh. Definitely. Of course you can tell the difference. You’re a girl. Chicks see more colors than guys do.”

Sam shook his head. “Fred, that’s…” He blinked, reconsidering Fred’s statement. “Actually true.”

“See, what’d I tell ya? All these names are pointless. Violet Twilight? Lavender Razzmatazz? What even is a razzmatazz? Some kind of sprinkler?”

Izzy examined the last chip Fred pointed out. “It’s my middle name.”

“Lavender?” Sam asked.

“No.” She mentally kicked herself for even bringing it up. “It’s… Razzmatazz.”

Fred and Sam looked at her. Even Joe, who was previously fixated on looking at colors, turned to stare at her. After a second, they busted out laughing. Shoppers gave them weird looks as they passed by their isle.

“Razzmatazz?” Joe asked in disbelief. “So your name is Izzy Razzmatazz Shabazz?”

“Like the crayon?” Sam managed in-between laughs.

Fred wiped a tear from his eye. “How much did your parents like the letter Z?”

Izzy’s cheeks burned. “I-it was my parents’ incantation. When they did shows.”

She signed more heavily than she intended. Thinking of her parents reminded her of Mad Jack. Her hands trembled.

The boys stopped laughing. Joe noticed her shaky hands. “You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Fred said. “We didn't mean anything by it.”

Izzy clenched her hands. “No, it's not that.”

“It's Mad Jack, isn’t it?” Joe asked.

Izzy flinched. Her first instinct was to brush off his guess but then she stopped herself. She wanted to tell him the truth, to tell all of them the truth. She wanted to talk about her troubles and she wanted to talk about it with her friends.

“You’re right,” she said. “I keep thinking about… Mad Jack. Yesterday wasn’t the first time I saw him.”

“So you do know him?” Joe asked.

Sam and Fred were both equally surprised. She realized they thought she knew more than she was letting on.

“No!” Izzy insisted. “It’s not like that. I don’t know know him. Not personally, anyway. I mean, I met him once before, like a hundred years ago. Well, a hundred divided by ten, give or take a couple years—”

“Slow down,” Fred rubbed his temples. “No one said that there was going to be math involved with this story.”

“Start from the beginning,” Sam suggested.

She looked down, twisting her earrings. Words were not her strong suit.

“I know Mad Jack freaked you out,” Joe said when she was silent for too long, “but we’ve dealt with him dozens of times before.”

“We haven’t actually seen him all that much lately,” Sam added. “He might’ve given up on trying to steal The Book.”

So Mad Jack wanted The Book? It made sense. The Book was seriously powerful and could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands.

Fred smiled with confidence and punched his palm. “If we do see him again, I’m sure we can handle him.”

Izzy wanted to cry in relief. She was grateful she had such great friends that wanted to ease her worries. She felt guilty for ever questing if she could trust them. She wanted them to trust her, too. Which meant no more secrets.

“I met Mad Jack when I was little,” she said. “Me and my mom went to see the pyramids. After that, it’s blurry. I remember his face, he said something or did something. My mom was so scared. She told me if I ever saw him, I needed to run. When we went to Mysterio’s show and he tricked me, that’s what he told me. He said word for word her warning to me.”

Joe shook his head. “That’s awful.”

“No wonder you ran,” Fred said.

“I never told anyone this before,” Izzy said, “but I trust you guys, which is why…”

“Why what?” Sam asked.

She had to tell them about her dad. But not here. Not like this. Her situation wasn’t exactly normal, and she’d already dumped a bunch on them today. Telling them would be easy, but how they’d handle it was a different story.

“Brownies,” she said. “We need the Brownies of Coping.”

The boys all looked at each other, confused. Fred was the first to ask, “Uh, the what of what now?”

“There's a lot of to go over,” Izzy said, “and I feel like if I start babbling about it next to the yarn, someone will overhear and I’ll get vaporacted.”

Joe frowned. “You mean baker acted.”

“That’s what I said.”

Fred held up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m all for free food, but why do we need brownies?”

“To soften the blow of difficult news,” Izzy explained, “you always need the Brownies of Coping. Whenever my parents had some hard news to tell me, like when my goldfish drowned, or that the Easter bunny wasn’t real, they’d make me brownies and—why are you guys looking at me like that? Do your parents not do this?”

“Uh, no,” Fred said. “That’s weird.”

Joe elbowed him. “It’s not weird. It’s just… not exactly common.”

“Because it’s weird.”

“Wouldn’t this tradition of yours lead to emotional eating?” Sam asked.

Izzy looked at him like he spoke in French. “What else are we supposed to do with brownies? They're not for show.”

“That's not what I... Never mind.”

“Well, if you’re making free food, I’m down,” Fred said. “What about you guys?”

~*~

Monday after school, Izzy weaved through the crowd on her way to her locker. The hall was filled with students heading to after-school clubs, chatting with their friends on their way to the car circle, and rushing to make it to their busses on time. By now, Fred would be on his way to baseball practice, Sam to mathletes. Joe had left earlier that day to get his braces tightened.

As Izzy stuffed her textbooks into her locker, a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. She sighed. It was the pop quiz she had in math that morning. A big red 48% stared back at her, the second F she’d gotten on a math test since she’d transferred to H.G. Wells High. Mrs. Reynolds, her Algebra I teacher, talked to her after class about getting a student tutor to help her. Izzy didn’t mind asking for help, she was never the best at school. But getting help from another student felt embarrassing.

Why did they have add letters to math? Izzy thought. Letters, her only weakness.

She bent to pick the test up as a group of giggling girls headed down the hall behind her. One of them waved at her.

“Hey, Isabella,” she called out. “Loooove those pigtails, girl!”

“Too cute!” Another one said.

Izzy waved back. “Thanks, I—”

Their attention was already off her and back on each other, laughing as they headed towards the bus circle.

Izzy stood and grimaced. Those girls spoke at her, not to her. It left a bad feeling in her gut.

“Hey, Izzy!” A voice called.

It was Sam, making his way upstream through the crowd.

She crumbled the test and smiled. “Hey, Sam. I thought you had a meeting with the mathletes today.”

“I did,” he said, having reached her, “but Mrs. Reynolds had to cancel and go home. Something about faulty flip-flops and a cactus? Anyway, I figured, I meet up with you.”

“Cool.” Izzy tossed the test into her locker. “I could use your help moving the box to the theater, that is if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all, that is if I can even manage to move it. How big is it?”

She pulled her hands apart and squinted at the distance between them. “It’s about Joe’s size plus some… so about a Joe and a half?”

“Very specific.”

~*~

At shop class, Mr. Morrison greeted them. “Miss Shabazz and friend, welcome.”

Mr. Morrison was a middle-aged guy with long sandy hair and a scruffy beard. He always wore flannel and a permanent smile. Izzy didn’t take shop class, but Mr. Morrison was happy to let anyone who took interest in shop use the tools after school.

“Hope you two don’t mind some company while I run out to get your cart. I got someone coming to fix the projector— Oh speak of the devil.”

A girl with long dark hair up in a ponytail strolled in, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie. If Izzy had been drinking, she would’ve spat it out. Sam made a terrified noise in the back of his throat.

Rin scowled at them.

“Y-y-you have students fix your electronics?” Sam asked Mr. Morrison.

“Isn’t that against several rules?” Izzy asked.

Mr. Morrison laughed. “So is leaving you alone with power tools every day while I go chat up that cute math teacher.”

“Wait, it is?”

Rin shook her head in disbelief.

Mr. Morrison clapped Rin on the back. “Patinkin here works better than the people who get paid to do it, and she actually comes down when you ask.”

“For a price,” Rin said.

“Of course, of course. I didn’t forget again.” He brought her over to the projector, explaining what didn’t work.

Meanwhile, Izzy showed Sam the chest she’d been working on. It was a simple solid wood chest, with vintage gold corner protectors and swirly designs carved along the sides. A lotus flower was carved onto the lid.

“Wow,” Sam said. “You made this yourself?”

Izzy nodded proudly. “Yup. I designed it after my parents’ chest.”

“Why don’t you and Joe just use that one?”

Izzy deflated a bit. “I had to leave it behind when I, uh, moved. I’ll explain later.”

Sam frowned but nodded. He inspected the chest with interest. “How’d you learn to do this?”

“My mom taught me. That woman was the queen of power tools.”

“You’re lucky,” Sam said. “I can come up with ideas, but I’m not the best at executing them.”

“I can help you build stuff,” she offered, “if you want a flying car made out of wood, nails, and a mess of gorilla glue.”

Sam chuckled. “Thanks, but that wouldn’t be at all practical.”

Izzy’s laugh was cut off by Rin banging the projector with her fist. “What did he do to you this time,” Rin muttered to herself. She mumbled curses under her breath and scrutinized the projector like a car that wouldn’t start.

Sam gulped then cleared his throat. “W-what’s wrong?”

Rin shot her eyes at Sam’s so fast he flinched. She glared at him for a second, before sighing in resignation. “Morrison manages to break this thing at least once a week. Usually, I can fix it by blah blahing the blah and blah, but I have no idea what wrong with it this time.”

Sam cautiously walked over to her. “These projectors are pretty old. There’s a component that pops out of place sometimes when it gets overheated. Have you tried blahing the blah blah?”

“I did blah.”

“Uh, what about blah blahing the blah blah?”

Okay, so they weren’t really saying “blah blah blah,” but Izzy couldn’t comprehend their technobabble. They might as well have been doing Chinese Sign Language.

Well, at least Rin understood what was being said. She tinkered with the projector as Sam suggested. It whirred to life and the light flickered onto the wall. Rin sighed and dropped her head. “Finally.” She slipped something silver into her hair that looked a bit like a flattened wrench. It disappeared into her mane of dark hair before Izzy could get a better look at it.

Sam headed back over to Izzy.

“Hey!” Rin called out.

Sam flinched. “Eep! I mean, yes?”

“Thank you.”

Sam stood there, stunned. “You’re welcome.”

Mr. Morrison pushed the cart into the room. “I come bearing gifts! Your payment, Patinkin. Heads up!”

He tossed Rin a can of Cherry Bovine. She caught it effortlessly and cracked it open. She threw Sam one last glance before downing the drink and sauntering out of the room.

“You pay her in energy drinks?” Sam asked.

“Those were her terms,” Mr. Morrison. “Now, let’s load up this chest, shall we?”

~*~

“So what do you think Izzy wants to tell us?” Fred asked Joe.

The two of them waited at the porch of Izzy’s apartment complex and tried not to look like stalkers. Joe’s mom dropped him off after his dentist appointment and Fred showed up a little later, fresh out of practice.

“Beats me,” Joe said. He winced. He’s gotten his braces tightened before and knew how to combat the pain by taking some ibuprofen beforehand. But the anesthesia was wearing off and his mouth was beginning to ache. “She already told us her history with Mad Jack. What could top that?”

Joe fiddled with the object in his hand—some miscellaneous plastic and Styrofoam pieces mixed with a few rubber bands in a plastic sleeve. He’d been thinking about the same question Fred had since Sunday. He couldn’t figure out what was so bad Izzy felt like she needed to give them food as some sort of apology.

Fred blew rings into the cold air. “Maybe she— oh there they are. Hey guys!”

He waved at Sam and Izzy bounding down the sidewalk towards the two of them. Izzy spotted them, and smiled, waving back enthusiastically. “Joe! Fred! Were you twowaiting here long?”

“I can’t tell,” Joe said, “my watch froze.” He handed her the object in his hand. “Here. You’d appreciate this a lot more than me.”

It took her a second to understand what it was. She grinned. “Is this one of those DIY whirly helicopter toys?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “The dentist still thinks I’m ten. I usually toss ‘em.”

Izzy oohed and ahhed at the toy as she let them in.

“I guess it’s true what they say.” Fred shrugged off his jacket. “One dude’s trash is another chick’s treasure.”

“The treasure, in this case, being a child’s toy that will break in six minutes,” Sam said flatly.

Izzy’s home was a cozy little studio apartment. Some paintings hung on the wall he recognized as hers. There was a TV almost as long as Joe was tall across from a pink and turquoise bed-sized couch with matching polka dot pillows. Comics and art supplies were strewn across the coffee table.

Looking around, Joe noticed how small her apartment was. He rubbed his achy jaw. “You live here with your dad?”

Her face darkened and he mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to sound rude.

“I’ll explain in a bit,” Izzy said. She dropped her backpack and made a beeline for the kitchen, letting her rabbits out of their cage on her way.

“Cage” didn’t do it justice, it was a three-story bunny condo that took up a big chunk of the room, filled with toys, deluxe, fluffy bunny beds, and plenty of room for the rabbits to hop around in.

Dini hopped out to greet them. Bess turned her nose up at them and stayed in her condo.

“I think your rabbit hates us,” Fred said to Izzy, scratching Dini on the back.

“She’s just a shy baby,” Izzy said. She pulled something from the freezer. “You guys wanna give them a treat? They like Bok Choy.”

She handed Joe an ice pack.

“This doesn’t look like Chinese cabbage,” he joked.

She chuckled. “It’s for your jaw. It looked like it hurt.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He was caught off guard by her gesture, he barely noticed the ice pack was the girliest shade of pink dotted with white hearts. Fred snickered at him but otherwise didn’t say anything.

The three of them fed her rabbits Bok Choy while doing their homework. Well, Sam did his homework. Joe and Fred thumbed through her video game collection. There were the expected things like DDR, Guitar Hero, some sci-fi and fantasy RPGs for the Wii. Then he saw the last thing he expected to see.

He pulled the game out. There was no mistaking the grungy white font splattered with blood and gore, and the ominous hill in the background. “What are you doing with a copy of Hill of the Dead?”

Izzy smiled embarrassingly and scratched her cheek, smearing flour across her face. “I, uh, really like the atmosphere?”

“Seriously?” Fred asked. “We played this game when it first came out. The lights were on and Sam still nearly wet his pants.”

“I did not!” Sam protested.

“He totally did,” Joe said.

Sam turned his glare from Fred to Joe before rolling his eyes and returning to his homework.

After an hour, the brownies were finally done. Izzy called them over to the breakfast bar and handed them each a napkin.

“I haven’t made brownies in a while,” she said, cutting them each a neat square piece. “I hope you guys like them.”

Joe placed the ice pack on the bar. “They smell amazing.”

Fred was the first to scarf one down in his usual way. He stiffened as if someone flicked him in between the eyes. “Oh, my God…”

“What’s wrong?” Izzy asked. “Did I add too much salt?”

“These brownies are incredible!” Fred grabbed the pan of brownies and started cutting himself a large slice. “Izzy, marry me and make these for me all the time. Better yet, I’ll just marry these brownies.”

Sam rolled his eyes and brought his brownie to his mouth. “Fred, they can’t be that–”

Fred pushed Sam’s hand to shove the treat into his mouth. Sam’s pupils dilated. “Holy cow.”

“Right?!”

Joe took a bite out of his brownie and understood. They were fluffy and sweet—but not too sweet—with the chocolate morsels still warm. It melted in his mouth.

“How did you manage to bake happiness into these?” Joe asked.

“It’s just butter and love,” Izzy said, “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“I can taste the love,” Sam said, getting another slice.

Izzy poured them each a glass of milk as they chowed down on brownies. “Okay,” Joe said coming back up for air. “You sweetened us up enough. What did you have to tell us?”

The three of them looked at her expectantly. She put down the gallon of milk and sighed, lacing her fingers together. “You already noticed that my place is pretty small. Well, that’s because my dad doesn’t live with me. I mean, he used to, but he left a couple weeks ago.”

“So you live all by yourself?” Joe asked.

“It’s not that bad,” she lied. She didn’t look them in the eye.

Fred’s expression turned serious. “Oh, man.” Then he grinned. “You could totally through a wicked party here!”

Izzy frowned. Joe and Sam gave him a Seriously? look.

Fred cleared his throat. “Just a thought.”

“Anyway,” Izzy said, “weeks ago, my dad disappeared in the middle of the night. He left me a letter explaining some things.”

She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Joe. He looked at her and she nodded, giving him the go-ahead to read it aloud. “Isadora, when you wake up, I will be long gone. I can’t say for certain where I’ll be. I need you to follow my instructions very carefully. This is extremely important. It’s a matter of your safety.”

So far, so strange, Joe thought. He kept reading.

“Pack up your things and move out as soon as possible. I put the address on the fridge; a moving crew will help you. Our home is no longer safe. Afterward, you NEED to destroy this note.”

Joe looked at her. “This isn’t going to blow up in my face, is it?”

Izzy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

That’s reassuring, he thought. “Put these earrings on IMMEDIATELY. “Spin them so the sand is always pouring. The sand moves slowly, so you won’t have to do it often. I’ve enrolled you into a new school on Friday. Find the magician named Joe.” Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He can protect you if the need arises.”

“Why Joe?” Fred asked as if reading Joe’s mind.

Joe lowered the note. “Yeah. I don’t know your dad. Well, I know of your dad but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know me, like, at all.”

Izzy shrugged helplessly.

“Not to be that guy—” Sam started to say.

“You love being that guy,” Fred pointed out.

“Maybe your dad meant Joe’s uncle?”

That made sense to Joe. Still, he didn’t think uncle Joe knew Izzy or her dad either. His uncle would’ve mentioned them before, even in passing.

Joe continued. “Money will be left for you every week for you to buy whatever you need. There will be more than enough for you to order takeout, buy painting supplies, or some other third thing. Think of it as an apology for my absence, though I know this doesn’t make up for it.”

Izzy shrunk into herself. Joe felt weird about reading the next part, partly because it was so personal, partly because she got sadder and sadder the more he read. But she didn’t try to stop him and he already read most of it.

“I am truly sorry for leaving you with no adequate explanation. I realize I should’ve explained things to you sooner, the way your mother wanted. But we shouldn’t change the past, only learn from it. Isadora, I wanted you to have a normal life, unperturbed by the dangerous adventures awaiting you in your future. I only wanted to protect you.

“I have no idea when I’ll be back. I WILL be back. Whatever you do, do NOT go looking for me. I know it'll be difficult, but understand that I'm doing this for your sake. Love, always and infinitely, your father, Anthony J. Shabazz.”

Joe lowered the letter. The room was silent for a while as the three of them took in this information.

“Now I get why you wanted to sweeten us up,” Sam said finally.

“So your dad just left you all alone?” Joe asked.

“That’s nothing new,” Izzy explained. “He’s left before, not just the time I told you about back at the museum. I have no clue where he goes, but he’s always back in a week and we always talked about it beforehand. This time, I got no warning, no time to prepare. Everything was fine one day, and then he was gone in the morning. I…”

Her voice quivered at the end. She cleared her throat. “I know it’s a lot to ask…” She looked at Joe with pleading eyes. “Can I use your Book to find my dad?”

He rubbed his arm. “I dunno, Iz. He said not to try and find him and—”

“I don’t care anymore. It’s been too long. I need to know that he’s okay. Please, Joe?”

Joe wasn’t sure. Her dad was pretty clear in the letter for her not to go after him. Joe may not understand what was going on with him, but it was obvious that whatever it was, it was serious. Izzy should stay put until he came back.

But then Izzy gave him the puppy dog eyes, and Joe’s resolve shattered.

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll help you find your dad.”

He pulled The Book out of his bag and Sam nearly fell out of his seat. “You can’t pull that thing out without giving us a warning!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Sam, do you know how many times I’ve had The Book on me when you were around and we didn’t warp?”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes!”

Fred clapped Sam on the back. “Relax. Joe totally knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, until he doesn’t,” Sam muttered.

Joe was just going to ignore that little quip for now. He’s been doing this for years at this point, and most of the time (like five—no six—times out of ten) things went off almost without a hitch. He was going to become a level three warper any day now. For a kid whose gotten minimum guidance when it came to operating a magical time machine when he was ten, that wasn’t half bad.

Joe flipped open The Book and looked for any mention of Izzy’s dad. Usually, he could find a single person, historical or not, easily if he thought about them, as if The Book was reading his intentions. But he couldn’t a single entry on Anthony J. Shabazz.

“What’s wrong?”

Izzy’s voice broke Joe out of his concentration. He realized he’d been scrunching his eyebrows. “I can’t find him anywhere. Maybe if I try looking for you I’ll get to him.”

And he did, finding Izzy easily. Isadora Razzmatazz Shabazz, born October 31st 1995, yadda yadda yadda, daughter of Dulari Shabazz and .

Joe stared at blank space in total bewilderment. “What?”

“What what?” Fred asked.

“I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He turned the page and came across his family tree. He was ready to turn the page; he’d seen his own family tree dozens of times, but then he stopped. It wasn’t his, it was Izzy’s. A portrait of Izzy sat at the top of the tree, the thin, winding branches connecting her to her ancestors towards the base. Beneath her was a picture of her mother, a beautiful woman with long, flowing dark hair. Where Izzy’s dad’s picture should have been was a blacked out box like someone scribbled his picture out with a marker.

“This is so weird,” Joe said, half to himself. “It’s like he doesn’t exist.”

Izzy grimaced, her worry etched all over her face. Joe stood. “Let me try something,” he said. “Let’s warp back to the night he left. If we both confront him before he leaves, he’ll have to give us some answers.”

It was a long shot, but at the moment there weren’t many other options. Izzy smiled, her eyes alight with hopeful determination. “Let’s do it.”

Joe turned to Sam and Fred. “This shouldn’t take long, guys.” He opened to the transporter page.

“Wait!” Izzy bounded around the breakfast bar and clamped onto Joe’s arm.

He looked down at her. “You gonna do this every time?”

“If I can help it.”

Joe shrugged and hit enter. Green mist surrounded them and they were sucked into the glowing green cyclone of mist.

~*~

Joe would like to say that after warping with The Book for nearly six years he was a total pro. At best, five-and-a-half times out of ten he’d land on his feet after reaching his destination.

Time travel with The Book was a smooth ride as long as you were prepared and knew how to right yourself so you didn’t end up tumbling through space like a dead fish down a flight of stairs.

Unfortunately, Izzy hadn’t mastered the technique yet. As soon as they left her apartment, she lost her grip on his arm. She yelled and flailed as she plummeted along, bumping into the misty walls of the wormhole like a pinball.

Suddenly, the green mist around them stopped churning. Izzy slammed into an invisible wall and sprung back like she bounced off a trampoline. She was hurled, screaming, into Joe, the force of her impact throwing them both back to their starting point.

They dropped back into Izzy’s place, crashing right on the floor on top of each other. The Book bounced off Joe’s shoulder and slid to the TV.

Sam and Fred jumped. “You guys alright?” Fred asked.

Joe helped Izzy up. “Yeah, I think so.”

“What the heck happened?” Sam asked.

“I have no clue.” Joe explained what happened to the two of them.

Izzy rubbed her shoulder. “H-has that ever happened before?”

Joe shook his head. He hadn’t the slightest idea what the heck was going on. He’d never encountered this before. There was once or twice when one of them was stuck in The Book, midwarp, but they were never slammed into an inviso-wall and pitched like a fastball back home.

Izzy’s shoulders slumped as she went to pick The Book off the floor. “Thanks for trying anyway, Joe.”

“There might be another way,” Joe said. “I know who might be able to help.” He meant Jodie. He hated to admit, but Jodie knew how to work The Book better than anyone he knew, maybe even his uncle Joe. If anyone could help, it was her.

“You’ve done a lot already,” Izzy said. “I feel like a burden.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Joe insisted. “I want to help you.”

She smiled at him, but her eyes were sad. “It’s not fair to leave it all on you. I just wish I knew what was going on so I could help, at least…”

Izzy hugged The Book to herself, and green mist seeped from the pages, cocooning her. A final look of shock flashed across her face before she vanished into The Book.

The three of them stared in shock at the spot where Izzy previously stood.

Fred gripped the sides of his head. “We lost her again!”

“Where did she even go?” Sam asked.

Again that day, Joe had no answer.

~*~

Izzy ricocheted off the side of a pyramid and fell on her face, eating a handful of sand. She stood and spat, trying to catch her bearings. The tall white pyramid standing before her told her she was in Egypt. Ancient Egypt. She turned. Nearby, there were remnants of an old settlement. A few people milled around, but it looked abandoned otherwise, with the housing falling apart.

Further away was the palace. A sea of people gathered in front, their cheers audible even in the distance.

The Book was still in her arms, no doubt unable to slip away while in the vice grip she had on it. This was good. It meant she could just warp back home… that is if she even remotely knew how The Book worked.

“It can’t be that hard,” she lied to herself and opened The Book. “All I have to do is figure out what I have to do. Easy-peasy.”

The letters on the pages flipped and twitched and swam around. Izzy shut her eyes and breathed, trying to calm herself. If she was too freaked to even read, then there was no way she was getting back home. She needed to relax.

She exhaled and opened her eyes, the words less chaotic than before. She managed to find instructions and she stumbled through a couple pages.

A burst of yellow light in her peripheral broke her out of her concentration. After a moment, a little girl no more than three ran from around the corner and bumped into Izzy’s legs. The little girl giggled and snapped a photo of her with a disposable camera.

Izzy just stared at the child, unable to understand who she was looking at.

“Slow down, Malpua!”

A woman appeared from the corner, and Izzy’s heart sunk.

Her long chocolate hair flowed behind her as she raced to the little girl, not noticing Izzy yet. The little girl turned and snapped a picture of her mother.

The mother knelt and gently took the camera out of the daughter’s hands, a soft smile on her face. “Oh, Malpua, don’t use up all the film.”

“Sorry, Mama,” the little girl said.

Izzy dropped The Book. A lump grew in her throat, salt rubbed into the wound that never quite healed.

The woman frown at The Book, then her eyes shot wide. She looked up and met Izzy’s eyes, noticing her for the first time.

Izzy gulped. “Mom.”

#time warp trio #timewarptrio #fanfiction #fanfic #fan character #OC #joe #sam #fred #izzy #high school #time travel

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